My First Summer 



There is nothing worth seeing anyway, only 

 rocks, and I see plenty of them here. Tour- 

 ists that spend their money to see rocks and 

 falls are fools, that 's all. You can't humbug 

 me. I 've been in this country too long for 

 that/' Such souls, I suppose, are asleep, 

 or smothered and befogged beneath mean 

 pleasures and cares. 



July 25. - - Another cloudland. Some 

 clouds have an over-ripe decaying look, 

 watery and bedraggled and drawn out into 

 wind-torn shreds and patches, giving the 

 sky a littered appearance ; not so these Si- 

 erra summer midday clouds. All are beau- 

 tiful with smooth definite outlines and curves 

 like those of glacier-polished domes. They 

 begin to grow about eleven o'clock, and seem 

 so wonderfully near and clear from this high 

 camp one is tempted to try to climb them 

 and trace the streams that pour like cata^ 

 racts from their shadowy fountains. The 

 rain to which they give birth is often very 

 heavy, a sort of waterfall as imposing as if 

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