one mass of pure serene sunshine. Soon
after sunrise the air grew warm, and there was no wind. One naturally
halted to see what Nature intended to do. There is a suggestion of real
Indian summer in the hushed brooding, faintly hazy weather. The yellow
atmosphere, though thin, is still plainly of the same general character
as that of eastern Indian summer. The peculiar mellowness is perhaps in
part caused by myriads of ripe spores adrift in the sky.

Mr. Delaney now keeps up a solemn talk about the need of getting away
from these high mountains, telling sad stories of flocks that perished
in storms that broke suddenly into the midst of fine innocent weather
like this we are now enjoying. "In no case," said he, "will I venture to
stay so high and far back in the mountains as we now are later than the
middle of this month, no matter how warm and sunny it may be." He would
move the flock slowly at first, a few miles a day until the Yosemite
Creek basin was reached and crossed, then while lingering in the heavy
pine woods should the weather threaten he could hurry down to the
foothills, where the snow never falls deep enough to smother a sheep. Of
course I am anxious to see as much of the wilderness as possible in the
few days left me, and I say again,--May the good time come when I can
stay as long as I like with plenty of bread, far and free from trampling
flocks, though I may well be thankful for this generous foodful
inspiring summer. Anyhow we never know where we must go nor what guides
we are to get,--men, storms, guardian angels, or sheep. Perhaps almost
everybody in the least natural is guarded more than he is ever aware
of. All the wilderness seems to be full of tricks and plans to drive and
draw us up into God's Light.

Have been busy planning, and baking bread for at least one more good
wild excursion among the high peaks, and surely none, however hopefully
aiming at fortune or fame, ever felt so gloriously happily excited by
the outlook.

_September 7._ Left camp at daybreak and made direct for Cathedral Peak,
intending to strike eastward and southward from that point among the
peaks and ridges at the heads of the Tuolumne, Merced, and San Joaquin
Rivers. Down through the pine woods I made my way, across the Tuolumne
River and meadows, and up the heavily timbered slope forming the south
boundary of the upper Tuolumne basin, along the east side of Cathedral
Peak, and up to its topmost spire, which I reached at