My First Summer 



to the camp-fire. Of all Nature's flowery 

 carpeted mountain halls none can be finer 

 than this glacier meadow. Bees and butter- 

 flies seem as abundant as ever. The birds are 

 still here, showing no sign of leaving for win- 

 ter quarters though the frost must bring them 

 to mind. For my part I should like to stay 

 here all winter or all my life or even all 

 eternity. 



August 26. --Frost this morning; all the 

 meadow grass and some of the pine needles 

 sparkling with irised crystals, flowers of 

 light. Large picturesque clouds, craggy like 

 rocks, are piled on Mt. Dana, reddish in color 

 like the mountain itself; the sky for a few 

 degrees around the horizon is pale purple, 

 into which the pines dip their spires with 

 fine effect. Spent the day as usual looking 

 about me, watching the changing lights, the 

 ripening autumn colors of the grass, seeds, 

 late-blooming gentians, asters, golden-rods ; 

 parting the meadow grass here and there and 

 looking down into the underworld of mosses 



