Meadow and Mountain 



Edward Rowland Sill, swept to the height of wonder, 

 one day watched a cloud in the making. In his essay en- 

 titled, "A Rhapsody of Clouds," he gives his own beautiful 

 hint of how it was done. He says: "It is not often that we 

 can watch, near by, the rapid formation of cloud; but it once 

 happened to me, in climbing among the "American Alps" 

 the Sierra Nevada to find myself on a crag precisely under- 

 neath the line of low-cloud formation. Leaning back to rest 

 against the rock, and looking upward, I saw the mountain 

 drapery weaving itself out of nothing, as it appeared; blue 

 air on one side of the line; dark, slaty films (nearest it), then 

 shreds, then masses of flying cloud, on the other. Clear 

 across the sky extended the distinct edge of this swift and 

 incessant weaving. It was like nothing but a great, shadowy 

 banner streaming out in the gale from an invisible cord 

 strained tight across the sky." To see with Sill's eyes was to 

 see what was doing up there among the clouds and the sky. 

 But long before Sill's eyes saw the light, that weaving of 

 beauty had been repeated more times than man's mind 

 could count. From the spot where I write this essay I can 

 see the huge clouds literally rolling from the brow of "Old 

 Baldy," as if some giants of the heights were tossing tons of 

 irregular-formed snowballs. The play of the clouds across 

 those splendid summits and down their granite slopes is 

 bewilderingly beautiful. 



Well, I was saying a while ago that the mirages were 

 in the making before any man arrived on the plains to see 

 them. The Maker of the mirage saw them, and must have 

 been well pleased. How good it is that all the good things 

 and the beautiful are not in one place. The thing that is 

 needed most is put in the place where it is most needed. 



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