un does what it
can to enliven them, whilst the flame-colored oaks and blood-spotted
azaleas projecting on all sides from the shelving rocks resemble to a
startling degree galleries of blazing candelabra. Night dispels this
illusion, it is so very deep and mysterious here. The solemn procession
of the stars silently passes over us. I see Taurus pressing forward, and
anon Orion climbs on hand and knee over the mountain in hot pursuit.

Does it tire you to look so long at a gigantic monument? I do not
wonder. The secret of self-esteem seems to lie in regarding our
inferiors; therefor let us talk of this frog. I have heard his chorus a
thousand times in the dark. His is one of the songs of the night. Just
watch him in the meadow pool. See the contentment in his double chin;
he flings out three links of hind leg and carries his elbows akimbo; his
attitudes are unconstrained; he is entirely without affectation; life
never bores him; he keeps his professional engagements to the letter,
and sings nightly through the season, whether hoarse or not.

It is a good plan to portion off the glorious vistas of Yosemite,
allotting so many surprises to each day. Take, for instance, the ten
miles of valley, and passing slowly through the heart of it, allow a
tableau for every three hundred yards. You are sure of this variety, for
the trail winds among a galaxy of snowy peaks. Turn as you choose, it is
either a water-fall at a new angle, a cliff in profile, a reflection in
river or lake--the sudden appearance of the supreme peak of all, or
ravine, canon, cavern, pine opening, grove or prairie. There is a point
from which you may count over a hundred rocky fangs, tearing the clouds
to tatters. I can not tell you the exact location of this terrific
climax of savage beauty; try to find it, and perhaps discover half a
dozen as singular scenic combinations for yourself. See all that you are
told must be seen, then go out alone and discover as much more for
yourself, and something no doubt dearer to your memory than any of the
more noted haunts. "See Mirror Lake on a still morning," they said to
me. I saw it, but went again in the evening, and saw a vision that the
reader may not expect to have reflected here. It was the picture of the
morning--so softened and refined a veil of enchantment seemed thrown
over it. Hamadryad or water nymph could not have startled me at that
moment: they belonged there, and were looked for. I shall hardly again
re