Letters to a Friend 



flowers and benumbed the butterflies, upon 

 which the birds have breakfasted too heartily. 



The grand Upper Yosemite Fall is at this 

 moment (7 A.M.) coming with all its glorious 

 array of fleecy comets out of a cloud that is laid 

 along the top of the cliff, and going into a cloud 

 that is drawn along the face of the wall about 

 halfway up. These clouds are shot through and 

 through with sunshine, forming, with the snowy 

 waters and fresh-washed walls, one of the most 

 openly glorious scenes I ever beheld. A lady on 

 Black's piazza is quietly looking at it, sitting 

 with arms folded in her chair. A gentleman is 

 pointing at it with his cane, while another gen 

 tleman is speaking loudly and businessly about 

 his "baggage." "Eyes have they but they see 

 not." 



Looking up the valley, the cloud effects are 

 yet more lavishly glorious. Tissiack is mantled 

 with silvery burning mists, her gray rocks ap 

 pearing dimly where thinly veiled. Over the 

 top of Washington Column the clouds are de 

 scending in a continuous stream and rising 

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