bove the sea, but the height of the building itself above
the level of the ridge it stands on is about fifteen hundred feet. A
mile or so to the westward there is a handsome lake, and the
glacier-polished granite about it is shining so brightly it is not easy
in some places to trace the line between the rock and water, both
shining alike. Of this lake with its silvery basin and bits of meadow
and groves I have a fine view from the spires; also of Lake Tenaya,
Cloud's Rest and the South Dome of Yosemite, Mount Starr King, Mount
Hoffman, the Merced peaks, and the vast multitude of snowy fountain
peaks extending far north and south along the axis of the range. No
feature, however, of all the noble landscape as seen from here seems
more wonderful than the Cathedral itself, a temple displaying Nature's
best masonry and sermons in stones. How often I have gazed at it from
the tops of hills and ridges, and through openings in the forests on my
many short excursions, devoutly wondering, admiring, longing! This I may
say is the first time I have been at church in California, led here at
last, every door graciously opened for the poor lonely worshiper. In our
best times everything turns into religion, all the world seems a church
and the mountains altars. And lo, here at last in front of the Cathedral
is blessed cassiope, ringing her thousands of sweet-toned bells, the
sweetest church music I ever enjoyed. Listening, admiring, until late in
the afternoon I compelled myself to hasten away eastward back of rough,
sharp, spiry, splintery peaks, all of them granite like the Cathedral,
sparkling with crystals--feldspar, quartz, hornblende, mica, tourmaline.
Had a rather difficult walk and creep across an immense snow and ice
cliff which gradually increased in steepness as I advanced until it was
almost impassable. Slipped on a dangerous place, but managed to stop by
digging my heels into the thawing surface just on the brink of a
yawning ice gulf. Camped beside a little pool and a group of crinkled
dwarf pines; and as I sit by the fire trying to write notes the shallow
pool seems fathomless with the infinite starry heavens in it, while the
onlooking rocks and trees, tiny shrubs and daisies and sedges, brought
forward in the fire-glow, seem full of thought as if about to speak
aloud and tell all their wild stories. A marvelously impressive meeting
in which every one has something worth while to tell. And beyond the
fire-beams out in the