Washington
lily, the finest of all the Sierra lilies. Its bulbs are buried in
shaggy chaparral tangles, I suppose for safety from pawing bears; and
its magnificent panicles sway and rock over the top of the rough
snow-pressed bushes, while big, bold, blunt-nosed bees drone and mumble
in its polleny bells. A lovely flower, worth going hungry and footsore
endless miles to see. The whole world seems richer now that I have found
this plant in so noble a landscape.

A log house serves to mark a claim to the Tamarack meadow, which may
become valuable as a station in case travel to Yosemite should greatly
increase. Belated parties occasionally stop here. A white man with an
Indian woman is holding possession of the place.

Sauntered up the meadow about sundown, out of sight of camp and sheep
and all human mark, into the deep peace of the solemn old woods,
everything glowing with Heaven's unquenchable enthusiasm.

_July 12._ The Don has returned, and again we go on pilgrimage.
"Looking over the Yosemite Creek country," he said, "from the tops of
the hills you see nothing but rocks and patches of trees; but when you
go down into the rocky desert you find no end of small grassy banks and
meadows, and so the country is not half so lean as it looks. There we'll
go and stay until the snow is melted from the upper country."

I was glad to hear that the high snow made a stay in the Yosemite region
necessary, for I am anxious to see as much of it as possible. What fine
times I shall have sketching, studying plants and rocks, and scrambling
about the brink of the great valley alone, out of sight and sound of
camp!

We saw another party of Yosemite tourists to-day. Somehow most of these
travelers seem to care but little for the glorious objects about them,
though enough to spend time and money and endure long rides to see the
famous valley. And when they are fairly within the mighty walls of the
temple and hear the psalms of the falls, they will forget themselves and
become devout. Blessed, indeed, should be every pilgrim in these holy
mountains!

We moved slowly eastward along the Mono Trail, and early in the
afternoon unpacked and camped on the bank of Cascade Creek. The Mono
Trail crosses the range by the Bloody Canon Pass to gold mines near the
north end of Mono Lake. These mines were reported to be rich when first
discovered, and a grand rush took place, making a trail necessary. A few
small bridges were built over streams w