STEEP TRAILS 



where firewood was abundant, rolled myself in 

 my blankets, and went to sleep. 



Next morning, having slept little the night 

 before the ascent and being weary with climb- 

 ing after the excitement was over, I slept late. 

 Then, awaking suddenly, my eyes opened on 

 one of the most beautiful and sublime scenes 

 I ever enjoyed. A boundless wilderness of 

 storm-clouds of different degrees of ripeness 

 were congregated over all the lower landscape 

 for thousands of square miles, colored gray, 

 and purple, and pearl, and deep-glowing white, 

 amid which I seemed to be floating; while the 

 great white cone of the mountain above was all 

 aglow in the free, blazing sunshine. It seemed 

 not so much an ocean as a land of clouds — 

 undulating hill and dale, smooth purple plains, 

 and silvery mountains of cumuli, range over 

 range, diversified with peak and dome and 

 hollow fully brought out in light and shade. 



I gazed enchanted, but cold gray masses, 

 drifting like dust on a wind-swept plain, began 

 to shut out the light, forerunners of the coming 

 storm I had been so anxiously watching. I 

 made haste to gather as much wood as possi- 

 ble, snugging it as a shelter around my bed. 

 The storm side of my blankets was fastened 

 down with stakes to reduce as much as possible 

 the sifting-in of drift and the danger of being 



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