

In the Sierra 



pouring from rock mountains. Never in all 

 my travels have I found anything more 

 ruly novel and interesting than these mid- 

 ay mountains of the sky, their fine tones 

 f color, majestic visible growth, and ever- 

 hanging scenery and general effects, though 

 mostly as well let alone as far as description 

 oes. I oftentimes think of Shelley's cloud 

 poem, " I sift the snow on the mountains 

 below." 



July 26. Ramble to the summit of 

 Mt. Hoffman, eleven thousand feet high, 

 the highest point in life's journey my feet 

 have yet touched. And what glorious land- 

 scapes are about me, new plants, new ani- 

 mals, new crystals, and multitudes of new 

 mountains far higher than Hoffman, tower- 

 ing in glorious array along the axis of the 

 range, serene, majestic, snow-laden, sun- 

 drenched, vast domes and ridges shining 

 below them, forests, lakes, and meadows in 

 the hollows, the pure blue bell-flower sky 

 brooding them all, a glory day of admis- 

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