THE SEQUOIA 295 



through tangles of shrubs and flower beds, gay 

 bee and butterfly pastures, the grove's own 

 stream, pure Sequoia water, flowing all the year, 

 every drop filtered through moss and leaves and 

 the myriad spongy rootlets of the giant trees. 

 One of the most interesting features of the grove 

 is a small waterfall with a flowery, ferny, clear 

 brimming pool at the foot of it. How cheerily 

 it sings the songs of the wilderness, and how 

 sweet its tones ! You seem to taste as well as 

 hear them, while only the subdued roar of the 

 river in the deep canon reaches up into the grove, 

 sounding like the sea and the winds. So charm- 

 ing a fall and pool in the heart of so glorious a 

 forest good pagans would have consecrated to 

 some lovely nymph. 



Hence down into the main Kings River canon, 

 a mile deep, I led and dragged and shoved my 

 patient, much-enduring mule through miles and 

 miles of gardens and brush, fording innumerable 

 streams, crossing savage rock slopes and taluses, 

 scrambling, sliding through gulches and gorges, 

 then up into the grand Sequoia forests of the 

 south side, cheered by the royal crowns displayed 

 on the narrow horizon. In a day and a half we 

 reached the Sequoia woods in the neighborhood 

 of the old Thomas' Mill Flat. Thence striking; 

 off northeastward I found a magnificent forest 

 nearly six miles long by two in width, composed 

 mostly of Big Trees, with outlying groves as far 



