to the torrent at the bottom of
the canon, and up its steep side, are large pines and live-oaks,
mountain mahogany and cedar. Near the summit we wind along a precipice
where the trail is blasted from the solid rock. Even here, any one who
is disposed to "look aloft" will see pine trees hanging over his head
hundreds of feet above.

The summit is a forest of towering trees. On the topmost ridges are the
monarchs of the mountains--oaks three and four feet, and pines four and
five feet in diameter. Of course this increase in the size of timber is
noticeably uniform, only where the soil and natural features of the
mountains favor it. But the summit of Mt. Wilson, at least, resembles a
picnic ground raised nearly six thousand feet above the sea. The air is
light, dry, and exhilarating. The ground is carpeted with pine needles.
Delicate wild-flowers are seen in their season. In April I found wild
peas in blossom, harebells, morning-glories, poppies, and many varieties
of yellow flowers. I also saw hummingbirds, butterflies, swallows, and
squirrels, and here and there patches of plain white old-fashioned snow.
It is a novel spectacle to see a small boy snowballing a butterfly. In
the spring even dead trees are glorified with a mantle of golden green
moss. It covers the trunks of some of the living pines, making an
artistic background for the deep green of their boughs.

From this upside-down mountain we look down upon rivers flowing bottom
side up. And that is California.

As to the safety of the ascent, no one need hesitate who is free from
settled prejudice against a side-hill. You will soon let the reins hang
from the pommel of the saddle. One who chooses may jump off and walk for
a change. Only, if you are at the end of the procession, be careful to
keep between your mule and the foot of the mountain; otherwise he will
wheel around and wend his way homeward. If toiling along near the
summit, absorbed in the beauties of the prospect, it might be awkward to
feel the halter jerked from your hand and to see the mule galloping
around a sharp bend with your satchel, hung loosely over the pommel,
bobbing violently up and down, and perhaps hurled off into space as the
intelligent animal rounds the corner.

Yes, it is safe, but there is a spice of excitement about it. I was
nervous at first, and seeing that the mule wished to nibble such herbage
as offered itself, I had thought it well to humor him. At a narrow space
with shar