THE SEQUOIA 301 



day was nearly done, the trees with rosy, glowing 

 countenances seemed to be hushed and thought- 

 ful, as if waiting in conscious religious dependence 

 on the sun, and one naturally walked softly and 

 awe-stricken among them. I wandered on, meet- 

 ing nobler trees where all are noble, subdued in 

 the general calm, as if in some vast hall pervaded 

 by the deepest sanctities and solemnities that sway 

 human souls. At sundown the trees seemed to 

 cease their worship and breathe free. I heard 

 the birds going home. I too sought a home for 

 the night on the edge of a level meadow where 

 there is a long, open view between the evenly 

 ranked trees standing guard along its sides. 

 Then after a good place was found for poor 

 Brownie, who had had a hard, weary day sliding 

 and scrambling across the Marble Canon, I made 

 my bed and supper and lay on my back looking 

 up to the stars through pillared arches finer far 

 than the pious heart of man, telling its love, ever 

 reared. Then I took a walk up the meadow to 

 see the trees in the pale light. They seemed still 

 more marvelously massive and tall than by day, 

 heaving their colossal heads into the depths of 

 the sky, among the stars, some of which appeared 

 to be sparkling on their branches like flowers. 

 I built a big fire that vividly illumined the huge 

 brown boles of the nearest trees and the little 

 plants and cones and fallen leaves at their feet, 

 keeping up the show until I fell asleep to dream 



