tree, and in a fruitful year the product of one of
the northern groves would be enough to plant all the mountain ranges in
the world.

As soon as any accident happens to the crown, such as being smashed off
by lightning, the branches beneath the wound, no matter how situated,
seem to be excited, like a colony of bees that have lost their queen,
and become anxious to repair the damage. Limbs that have grown outward
for centuries at right angles to the trunk begin to turn upward to
assist in making a new crown, each speedily assuming the special form of
true summits. Even in the case of mere stumps, burned half through, some
mere ornamental tuft will try to go aloft and do its best as a leader
in forming a new head. Groups of two or three are often found standing
close together, the seeds from which they sprang having probably grown
on ground cleared for their reception by the fall of a large tree of a
former generation. They are called "loving couples," "three graces,"
etc. When these trees are young they are seen to stand twenty or thirty
feet apart, by the time they are full-grown their trunks will touch and
crowd against each other and in some cases even appear as one.

It is generally believed that the sequoia was once far more widely
distributed over the Sierra; but after long and careful study I have
come to the conclusion that it never was, at least since the close of
the glacial period, because a diligent search along the margins of the
groves, and in the gaps between fails to reveal a single trace of its
previous existence beyond its present bounds. Notwithstanding, I feel
confident that if every sequoia in the Range were to die today, numerous
monuments of their existence would remain, of so imperishable a nature
as to be available for the student more than ten thousand years hence.

In the first place, no species of coniferous tree in the Range keeps
its members so well together as the sequoia; a mile is, perhaps, the
greatest distance of any straggler from the main body, and all of those
stragglers that have come under my observation are young, instead of old
monumental trees, relics of a more extended growth.

Again, the great trunks of the sequoia last for centuries after they
fall. I have a specimen block of sequoia wood, cut from a fallen tree,
which is hardly distinguishable from a similar section cut from a living
tree, although the one cut from the fallen trunk has certainly lain on
the damp forest