uts and much higher in the Yosemite region. We found it this
evening in bloom a few miles above Greeley's Mill, where we are camped
for the night. It is closely related to the rhododendrons, is very showy
and fragrant, and everybody must like it not only for itself but for the
shady alders and willows, ferny meadows, and living water associated
with it.

Another conifer was met to-day,--incense cedar (_Libocedrus decurrens_),
a large tree with warm yellow-green foliage in flat plumes like those of
arborvitae, bark cinnamon-colored, and as the boles of the old trees are
without limbs they make striking pillars in the woods where the sun
chances to shine on them--a worthy companion of the kingly sugar and
yellow pines. I feel strangely attracted to this tree. The brown
close-grained wood, as well as the small scale-like leaves, is fragrant,
and the flat overlapping plumes make fine beds, and must shed the rain
well. It would be delightful to be storm-bound beneath one of these
noble, hospitable, inviting old trees, its broad sheltering arms bent
down like a tent, incense rising from the fire made from its dry fallen
branches, and a hearty wind chanting overhead. But the weather is calm
to-night, and our camp is only a sheep camp. We are near the North Fork
of the Merced. The night wind is telling the wonders of the upper
mountains, their snow fountains and gardens, forests and groves; even
their topography is in its tones. And the stars, the everlasting sky
lilies, how bright they are now that we have climbed above the lowland
dust! The horizon is bounded and adorned by a spiry wall of pines, every
tree harmoniously related to every other; definite symbols, divine
hieroglyphics written with sunbeams. Would I could understand them! The
stream flowing past the camp through ferns and lilies and alders makes
sweet music to the ear, but the pines marshaled around the edge of the
sky make a yet sweeter music to the eye. Divine beauty all. Here I
could stay tethered forever with just bread and water, nor would I be
lonely; loved friends and neighbors, as love for everything increased,
would seem all the nearer however many the miles and mountains between
us.

_June 7._ The sheep were sick last night, and many of them are still far
from well, hardly able to leave camp, coughing, groaning, looking
wretched and pitiful, all from eating the leaves of the blessed azalea.
So at least say the shepherd and the Don. Having had but littl