SUMMER DAYS AT MOUNT SHASTA 



their fine furniture deep down in the darkness, 

 and how many shy wild creatures are at home 

 beneath the grateful hghts and shadows of the 

 woods, rejoicing in their fullness of perfect life! 



Standing on the edge of the Strawberry- 

 Meadows in the sun-days of summer, not a 

 foot or feather or leaf seems to stir; and the 

 grand, towering mountain with all its inhab- 

 itants appears in rest, calm as a star. Yet how 

 profound is the energy ever in action, and how 

 great is the multitude of claws and teeth, wings 

 and eyes, wide-awake and at work and shining! 

 Going into the blessed wilderness, the blood of 

 the plants throbbing beneath the life-giving 

 sunshine seems to be heard and felt; plant- 

 growth goes on before our eyes, and every tree 

 and bush and flower is seen as a hive of restless 

 industry. The deeps of the sky are mottled 

 with singing wings of every color and tone — 

 clouds of brilliant chrysididae dancing and swirl- 

 ing in joyous rhythm, golden-barred vespidse, 

 butterflies, grating cicadas and jolly rattUng 

 grasshoppers — fairly enameling the light, and 

 shaking all the air into music. Happy fellows 

 they are, every one of them, blowing tiny pipe 

 and trumpet, plodding and prancing, at work 

 or at play. 



Though winter holds the summit, Shasta in 

 summer is mostly a massy, bossy mound of 

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