cross each other and join their trunks; in one instance,
at least, a large crownless trunk has bent and entered head first the
stem of still a larger tree.

There are greater stands of virgin redwoods in the northern wilderness
of California which the ruthless lumberman has not yet reached but is
approaching fast; these are inland stands of giants, crowded like
battalions. But there is no other Muir Woods, with its miniature
perfection.

DEVIL'S POSTPILE NATIONAL MONUMENT

Southeast of craggy Lyell, mountain climax and eastern outpost of the
Yosemite National Park, the Muir Trail follows the extravagantly
beautiful beginnings of the Middle Fork of the San Joaquin River through
a region of myriad waters and snow-flecked mountains. Banner Peak,
Ritter Mountain, Thousand Island Lake, Volcanic Ridge, Shadow
Lake--national park scenery in its noblest expression, but not yet
national park.

A score of miles from Lyell, the trail follows the river into a volcanic
bottom from whose forest rises the splendid group of pentagonal basaltic
columns which was made a national monument in 1911 under the title of
the Devil's Postpile. Those who know the famous Giant's Causeway of the
Irish coast will know it in kind, but not in beauty.

The enormous uplift which created the Sierra was accompanied on both its
slopes by extensive volcanic eruptions, the remains of which are
frequently visible to the traveller. The huge basaltic crystals of the
Devil's Postpile were a product of this volcanic outpouring; they formed
deep within the hot masses which poured over the region for miles
around. Their upper ends have become exposed by the erosion of the ages
by which the cinder soil and softer rock around them have been worn
away.

The trail traveller comes suddenly upon this splendid group. It is
elevated, as if it were the front of a small ridge, its posts standing
on end, side by side, in close formation. Below it, covering the front
of the ridge down to the line of the trail, is an enormous talus mass of
broken pieces. The appropriateness of the name strikes one at the first
glance. This is really a postpile, every post carefully hewn to pattern,
all of nearly equal length. The talus heap below suggests that his
Satanic Majesty was utilizing it also as a woodpile, and had sawn many
of the posts into lengths to fit the furnaces which we have been taught
that he keeps hot for the wicked.

Certainly it is a beautiful, interesting, an