In the Sierra 



in the gray crags above the woods, with its 

 stars and streams and snow. 



September 8. Day of climbing, scram- 

 bling, sliding on the peaks around the high- 

 est sources of the Tuolumne and Merced. 

 Climbed three of the most commanding of 

 the mountains, whose names I don't know ; 

 crossed streams and huge beds of ice and 

 snow more than I could keep count of. 

 Neither could I keep count of the lakes 

 scattered on tablelands and in the cirques 

 of the peaks, and in chains in the canons, 

 linked together by the streams, --a tre- 

 mendously wild gray wilderness of hacked, 

 shattered crags, ridges, and peaks, a few 

 clouds drifting over and through the midst 

 of them as if looking for work. In gen- 

 eral views all the immense round landscape 

 seems raw and lifeless as a quarry, yet the 

 most charming flowers were found rejoicing 

 in countless nooks and garden-like patches 

 everywhere. I must have done three or four 

 days' climbing work in this one. Limbs 

 [ 339] 



