In the Sierra 



bed. The camp is silent ; everybody asleep. 

 It seems extravagant to spend hours so 

 precious in sleep. " He giveth his be- 

 loved sleep." Pity the poor beloved needs 

 it, weak, weary, forspent; oh, the pity of 

 it, to sleep in the midst of eternal, beautiful 

 motion instead of gazing forever, like the 

 stars. 



July 9. Exhilarated with the mountain 

 air, I feel like shouting this morning with 

 excess of wild animal joy. The Indian lay 

 down away from the fire last night, without 

 blankets, having nothing on, by way of cloth- 

 ing, but a pair of blue overalls and a calico 

 shirt wet with sweat. The night air is chilly 

 at this elevation, and we gave him some 

 horse-blankets, but he did n't seem to care 

 for them. A fine thing to be independent of 

 clothing where it is so hard to carry. When 

 food is scarce, he can live on whatever comes 

 in his way, a few berries, roots, bird eggs, 

 grasshoppers, black ants, fat wasp or bum- 

 blebee larvae, without feeling that he is doing 



