THE SEQUOIA 281 



scent of steaming earth. The sky is mostly sun- 

 shine, oftentimes tempered by magnificent clouds, 

 the breath of the sea built up into new mountain 

 ranges, warm during the day, cool at night, good 

 flower-opening weather. The young cones of 

 the Big Trees are showing in clusters, their flower 

 time already past, and here and there you may 

 see the sprouting of their tiny seeds of the pre- 

 vious autumn, taking their first feeble hold of the 

 ground and unpacking their tender whorls of 

 cotyledon leaves. Then you will naturally be led 

 on to consider their wonderful growth up and up 

 through the mountain weather, now buried in 

 snow bent and crinkled, now straightening in 

 summer sunshine like uncoiling ferns, shooting 

 eagerly aloft in youth's joyful prime, and tower- 

 ing serene and satisfied through countless years of 

 calm and storm, the greatest of plants and all 

 but immortal. 



Under the huge trees up come the small plant 

 people, putting forth fresh leaves and blossoming 

 in such profusion that the hills and valleys 

 would still seem gloriously rich and glad were 

 all the grand trees away. By the side of melt- 

 ing snowbanks rise the crimson sarcodes, round- 

 topped and massive as the Sequoias themselves, 

 and beds of blue violets and larger yellow ones 

 with leaves curiously lobed ; azalea and saxi- 

 frage, daisies and lilies on the mossy banks of 

 the streams ; and a little way back of them, be- 



