A GEOLOGIST'S WINTER WALK 



of the gorge, and was compelled to hasten down 

 here for water before dark. I shall sleep soundly on 

 this sand; half of it is mica. Here, wonderful to 

 behold, are a few green stems of prickly rubus, and 

 a tiny grass. They are here to meet us. Ay, even 

 here in this darksome gorge, ''frightened and tor- 

 mented" with raging torrents and choking ava- 

 lanches of snow. Can it be? As if rubus and the 

 grass leaf were not enough of God's tender prattle 

 words of love, which we so much need in these 

 mighty temples of power, yonder in the "benmost 

 bore" are two blessed adiantums. Listen to them! 

 How wholly infused with God is this one big word 

 of love that we call the world! Good-night. Do 

 you see the fire-glow on my ice-smoothed slab, and 

 on my two ferns and the rubus and grass panicles? 

 And do you hear how sweet a sleep-song the fall 

 and cascades are singing? 



The water-ground chips and knots that I 

 found fastened between the rocks kept my 

 fire alive all through the night. Next morning 

 I rose nerved and ready for another day of 

 sketching and noting, and any form of climbing. 

 I escaped from the gorge about noon, after 

 accomplishing some of the most delicate feats 

 of mountaineering I ever attempted; and here 

 the cafion is all broadly open again — the floor 

 luxuriantly forested with pine, and spruce, 

 and silver fir, and brown-trunked librocedrus. 

 The walls rise in Yosemite forms, and Tenaya 

 Creek comes down seven hundred feet in a 



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