and more, in a place like this, we feel ourselves part of wild Nature,
kin to everything. Spent most of the day high up on the north rim of the
valley, commanding views of the clouds in all their red glory spreading
their wonderful light over all the basin, while the rocks and trees and
small Alpine plants at my feet seemed hushed and thoughtful, as if they
also were conscious spectators of the glorious new cloud-world.

Here and there, as I plodded farther and higher, I came to small
garden-patches and ferneries just where one would naturally decide that
no plant-creature could possibly live. But, as in the region about the
head of Mono Pass and the top of Dana, it was in the wildest, highest
places that the most beautiful and tender and enthusiastic plant-people
were found. Again and again, as I lingered over these charming plants, I
said, How came you here? How do you live through the winter? Our roots,
they explained, reach far down the joints of the summer-warmed rocks,
and beneath our fine snow mantle killing frosts cannot reach us, while
we sleep away the dark half of the year dreaming of spring.

Ever since I was allowed entrance into these mountains I have been
looking for cassiope, said to be the most beautiful and best loved of
the heathworts, but, strange to say, I have not yet found it. On my high
mountain walks I keep muttering, "Cassiope, cassiope." This name, as
Calvinists say, is driven in upon me, notwithstanding the glorious host
of plants that come about me uncalled as soon as I show myself. Cassiope
seems the highest name of all the small mountain-heath people, and as
if conscious of her worth, keeps out of my way. I must find her soon, if
at all this year.

_September 4._ All the vast sky dome is clear, filled only with mellow
Indian summer light. The pine and hemlock and fir cones are nearly ripe
and are falling fast from morning to night, cut off and gathered by the
busy squirrels. Almost all the plants have matured their seeds, their
summer work done; and the summer crop of birds and deer will soon be
able to follow their parents to the foothills and plains at the approach
of winter, when the snow begins to fly.

_September 5._ No clouds. Weather cool, calm, bright as if no great
thing was yet ready to be done. Have been sketching the North Tuolumne
Church. The sunset gloriously colored.

_September 6._ Still another perfectly cloudless day, purple evening and
morning, all the middle hours