Camping Above the Yosemite. 87 



Yosemite is the land of big trees, so the discovery that 

 the only grove of sequoias in the park is ten miles west 

 of the Valley involved a readjustment. We clattered out 

 of the forest by and by, and on at breakneck speed toward 

 the Merced gorge. Gradually the bed of the river hard- 

 ened to granite and deepened to a canon. We found 

 ourselves galloping along a narrow ledge midway up 

 one perpendicular cliff, while the stream below was a 

 torrent foaming and leaping over the rock and shouting 

 from wall to wall a splendid tune. It was as if Jove 

 were making a symphony of his thunders, playing them 

 in lordly music on this mighty reverberating instrument; 

 for miles while the gray gorge shadowed and deepened 

 the peaHng harmonies rose and fell, on a scale the most 

 grandly melodious I ever heard in nature. 



Insensibly the august music faded into mere sound 

 that hushed at last, the gorge widened as its granite walls 

 grew into mountains, and the Merced Canon became 

 the Yosemite Valley. We paused before the Bridal Veil 

 Fall, which throws long diaphanous silvery draperies 

 over the stern gray cliff — wind-blown draperies of softest 

 tulle in which the rainbows swing. We saw the gleam of 

 Widow's Tears which faded into vapor before they fell, 

 and of the long slender Ribbon Falls that fluttered in 

 the wind. We dashed through forests rich with half 

 the kinds of trees that grow, and faintly fragrant with 

 azaleas. We rounded El Capitan, that tall white master 

 of the Valley — incredibly straight and tall — incredibly 

 whiter than white, his head three thousand feet above 

 the Valley floor, his gleaming granite armor inviolate. 

 We had a distant glimpse of Yosemite Fall, and saw 

 North Dome and Half Dome lock the Valley in at the 

 east, while other mountains, shoulder to shoulder, — 

 Sentinel, the Three Brothers, Liberty Cap, Glacier Point, 

 — sternly guard its beauty forever. We paused only a 

 minute at the little row of shops, the little old hotel, and 

 then dashed on another mile under a golden sunset sky. 

 And at last we alighted, tired and very dusty, at the 



