ong these colossal
firs with fresh love, and extol their beauty again and again, as if no
other in the world could henceforth claim our regard.

[Illustration: SILVER-FIR FOREST GROWING ON MORAINES OF THE HOFFMAN AND
TENAYA GLACIERS.]

It is in these woods the great granite domes rise that are so striking
and characteristic a feature of the Sierra. And here too we find the
best of the garden meadows. They lie level on the tops of the dividing
ridges, or sloping on the sides of them, embedded in the magnificent
forest. Some of these meadows are in great part occupied by
_Veratrumalba_, which here grows rank and tall, with boat-shaped
leaves thirteen inches long and twelve inches wide, ribbed like those of
cypripedium. Columbine grows on the drier margins with tall larkspurs
and lupines waist-deep in grasses and sedges; several species of
castilleia also make a bright show in beds of blue and white violets and
daisies. But the glory of these forest meadows is a lily--_L. parvum_.
The flowers are orange-colored and quite small, the smallest I ever saw
of the true lilies; but it is showy nevertheless, for it is seven to
eight feet high and waves magnificent racemes of ten to twenty flowers
or more over one's head, while it stands out in the open ground with
just enough of grass and other plants about it to make a fringe for
its feet and show it off to best advantage.

A dry spot a little way back from the margin of a Silver Fir lily garden
makes a glorious campground, especially where the slope is toward the
east and opens a view of the distant peaks along the summit of the
range. The tall lilies are brought forward in all their glory by the
light of your blazing camp-fire, relieved against the outer darkness,
and the nearest of the trees with their whorled branches tower above you
like larger lilies, and the sky seen through the garden opening seems
one vast meadow of white lily stars.

In the morning everything is joyous and bright, the delicious purple of
the dawn changes softly to daffodil yellow and white; while the sunbeams
pouring through the passes between the peaks give a margin of gold to
each of them. Then the spires of the firs in the hollows of the middle
region catch the glow, and your camp grove is filled with light. The
birds begin to stir, seeking sunny branches on the edge of the meadow
for sun-baths after the cold night, and looking for their breakfasts,
every one of them as fresh as a lily and as cha