Letters to a Friend 



hashed them into a compost called a paper for 

 the Boston Historical Society, and gave me 

 credit for all of the smaller sayings and doings 

 and stole the broadest truth to himself. I have 

 the proof-sheets of "The Paper" and will show 

 them to you some time. But all of such mean 

 ness can work no permanent evil to any one 

 except the dealer. 



As for the living "glaciers of the Sierras," 

 here is what I have learned concerning them. 

 You will have the first chance to steal, for I 

 have just concluded my experiments on them 

 for the season and have not yet cast them at 

 any of the great professors, or presidents. 



One of the yellow days of last October, when 

 I was among the mountains of the "Merced 

 Group," following the footprints of the ancient 

 glaciers that once flowed grandly from their 

 ample fountains, reading what I could of their 

 history as written in moraines and canons and 

 lakes and carved rocks, I came upon a small 

 stream that was carrying mud I had not before 

 seen. In a calm place where the stream widened 

 [ 135] 



