ere trembling with the tones of the mighty chanting congregation
of waters gathered from all the mountains round about, making music that
might draw angels out of heaven. Yet respectable-looking, even
wise-looking people were fixing bits of worms on bent pieces of wire to
catch trout. Sport they called it. Should church-goers try to pass the
time fishing in baptismal fonts while dull sermons were being preached,
the so-called sport might not be so bad; but to play in the Yosemite
temple, seeking pleasure in the pain of fishes struggling for their
lives, while God himself is preaching his sublimest water and stone
sermons!

[Illustration: _The Happy Isles, Yosemite National Park_]

Now I'm back at the camp-fire, and cannot help thinking about my
recognition of my friend's presence in the valley while he was four or
five miles away, and while I had no means of knowing that he was
not thousands of miles away. It seems supernatural, but only because it
is not understood. Anyhow, it seems silly to make so much of it, while
the natural and common is more truly marvelous and mysterious than the
so-called supernatural. Indeed most of the miracles we hear of are
infinitely less wonderful than the commonest of natural phenomena, when
fairly seen. Perhaps the invisible rays that struck me while I sat at
work on the Dome are something like those which attract and repel people
at first sight, concerning which so much nonsense has been written. The
worst apparent effect of these mysterious odd things is blindness to all
that is divinely common. Hawthorne, I fancy, could weave one of his
weird romances out of this little telepathic episode, the one strange
marvel of my life, probably replacing my good old Professor by an
attractive woman.

_August 5._ We were awakened this morning before daybreak by the furious
barking of Carlo and Jack and the sound of stampeding sheep. Billy fled
from his punk bed to the fire, and refused to stir into the darkness to
try to gather the scattered flock, or ascertain the nature of the
disturbance. It was a bear attack, as we afterward learned, and I
suppose little was gained by attempting to do anything before daylight.
Nevertheless, being anxious to know what was up, Carlo and I groped our
way through the woods, guided by the rustling sound made by fragments of
the flock, not fearing the bear, for I knew that the runaways would go
from their enemy as far as possible and Carlo's nose was also to be