THE YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK G7 



turreted like Gothic cathedrals; streaked with 

 snow in the ravines, and darkened with files of 

 adventurous trees climbing the ridges. The 

 nearer peaks are perchance clad in sapphire 

 blue, others far off in creamy white. In the 

 broad glare of noon they seem to shrink and 

 crouch to less than half their real stature, and 

 grow dull and uncommunicative, — mere dead, 

 draggled heaps of waste ashes and stone, giving 

 no hint of the multitude of animals enjoying life 

 in their fastnesses, or of the bright bloom- 

 bordered streams and lakes. But when storms 

 blow they awake and arise, wearing robes of 

 cloud and mist in majestic speaking attitudes like 

 gods. In the color glory of morning and evening 

 they become still more impressive ; steeped in 

 the divine light of the alpenglow their earthi- 

 ness disappears, and, blending with the heavens, 

 they seem neither high nor low. 



Over all the central plateau, which from here 

 seems level, and over the foothills and lower 

 slopes of the mountains, the forest extends like a 

 black uniform bed of weeds, interrupted only 

 by lakes and meadows and small burned spots 

 called parks, — all of them, except the Yellow- 

 stone Lake, being mere dots and spangles in gen- 

 eral views, made conspicuous by their color and 

 brightness. About eighty-five per cent of the 

 entire area of the park is covered with trees, 

 mostly the indomitable lodge-pole pine (Pinus 



