h the very earliest dawn, when objects are not discernible, it lies
there absolutely still, a purplish lead color. Then suddenly into its
mirror flash inverted peaks, at first a dawn darker all round. This is
a new sight, each morning new. Then the peaks fade, and when morning
is no longer "spread upon the mountains," the pines are mirrored in my
lake almost as solid objects, and the glory steals downwards, and a red
flush warms the clear atmosphere of the park, and the hoar-frost
sparkles and the crested blue-jays step forth daintily on the jewelled
grass. The majesty and beauty grow on me daily. As I crossed from my
cabin just now, and the long mountain shadows lay on the grass, and
form and color gained new meanings, I was almost false to Hawaii; I
couldn't go on writing for the glory of the sunset, but went out and
sat on a rock to see the deepening blue in the dark canyons, and the
peaks becoming rose color one by one, then fading into sudden
ghastliness, the awe-inspiring heights of Long's Peak fading last.
Then came the glories of the afterglow, when the orange and lemon of
the east faded into gray, and then gradually the gray for some distance
above the horizon brightened into a cold blue, and above the blue into
a broad band of rich, warm red, with an upper band of rose color; above
it hung a big cold moon. This is the "daily miracle" of evening, as
the blazing peaks in the darkness of Mirror Lake are the miracle of
morning. Perhaps this scenery is not lovable, but, as if it were a
strong stormy character, it has an intense fascination.

The routine of my day is breakfast at seven, then I go back and "do" my
cabin and draw water from the lake, read a little, loaf a little,
return to the big cabin and sweep it alternately with Mrs. Dewy, after
which she reads aloud till dinner at twelve. Then I ride with Mr.
Dewy, or by myself, or with Mrs. Dewy, who is learning to ride cavalier
fashion in order to accompany her invalid husband, or go after cattle
till supper at six. After that we all sit in the living room, and I
settle down to write to you, or mend my clothes, which are dropping to
pieces. Some sit round the table playing at eucre, the strange hunters
and prospectors lie on the floor smoking, and rifles are cleaned,
bullets cast, fishing flies made, fishing tackle repaired, boots are
waterproofed, part-songs are sung, and about half-past eight I cross
the crisp grass to my cabin, always expecting to f