here fording was not practicable
on account of the softness of the bottom, sections of fallen trees cut
out, and lanes made through thickets wide enough to allow the passage of
bulky packs; but over the greater part of the way scarce a stone or
shovelful of earth has been moved.

The woods we passed through are composed almost wholly of _Abies
magnifica_, the companion species, _concolor_, being mostly left behind
on account of altitude, while the increasing elevation seems grateful to
the charming _magnifica_. No words can do anything like justice to this
noble tree. At one place many had fallen during some heavy wind-storm,
owing to the loose sandy character of the soil, which offered no secure
anchorage. The soil is mostly decomposed and disintegrated moraine
material.

The sheep are lying down on a bare rocky spot such as they like, chewing
the cud in grassy peace. Cooking is going on, appetites growing keener
every day. No lowlander can appreciate the mountain appetite, and the
facility with which heavy food called "grub" is disposed of. Eating,
walking, resting, seem alike delightful, and one feels inclined to shout
lustily on rising in the morning like a crowing cock. Sleep and
digestion as clear as the air. Fine spicy plush boughs for bedding we
shall have to-night, and a glorious lullaby from this cascading creek.
Never was stream more fittingly named, for as far as I have traced it
above and below our camp it is one continuous bouncing, dancing, white
bloom of cascades. And at the very last unwearied it finishes its wild
course in a grand leap of three hundred feet or more to the bottom of
the main Yosemite canyon near the fall of Tamarack Creek, a few miles
below the foot of the valley. These falls almost rival some of the
far-famed Yosemite falls. Never shall I forget these glad cascade songs,
the low booming, the roaring, the keen, silvery clashing of the cool
water rushing exulting from form to form beneath irised spray; or in the
deep still night seen white in the darkness, and its multitude of voices
sounding still more impressively sublime. Here I find the little water
ouzel as much at home as any linnet in a leafy grove, seeming to take
the greater delight the more boisterous the stream. The dizzy
precipices, the swift dashing energy displayed, and the thunder tones of
the sheer falls are awe inspiring, but there is nothing awful about
this little bird. Its song is sweet and low, and all its gestures,