e number of bahia
and linosyris, and a few grass tufts; each species being planted trimly
apart, with bare gravel between, as if cultivated artificially.

My first visit to Bloody Canon was made in the summer of 1869, under
circumstances well calculated to heighten the impressions that are the
peculiar offspring of mountains. I came from the blooming tangles of
Florida, and waded out into the plant-gold of the great valley of
California, when its flora was as yet untrodden. Never before had I
beheld congregations of social flowers half so extensive or half so
glorious. Golden composite covered all the ground from the Coast Range
to the Sierra like a stratum of curdled sunshine, in which I reveled for
weeks, watching the rising and setting of their innumerable suns; then I
gave myself up to be borne forward on the crest of the summer wave that
sweeps annually up the Sierra and spends itself on the snowy summits.

At the Big Tuolumne Meadows I remained more than a month, sketching,
botanizing, and climbing among the surrounding mountains. The
mountaineer with whom I then happened to be camping was one of those
remarkable men one so frequently meets in California, the hard angles
and bosses of whose characters have been brought into relief by the
grinding excitements of the gold period, until they resemble glacial
landscapes. But at this late day, my friend's activities had subsided,
and his craving for rest caused him to become a gentle shepherd and
literally to lie down with the lamb.

Recognizing the unsatisfiable longings of my Scotch Highland instincts,
he threw out some hints concerning Bloody Canon, and advised me to
explore it. "I have never seen it myself," he said, "for I never was so
unfortunate as to pass that way. But I have heard many a strange story
about it, and I warrant you will at least find it wild enough."

Then of course I made haste to see it. Early next morning I made up a
bundle of bread, tied my note-book to my belt, and strode away in the
bracing air, full of eager, indefinite hope. The plushy lawns that lay
in my path served to soothe my morning haste. The sod in many places was
starred with daisies and blue gentians, over which I lingered. I traced
the paths of the ancient glaciers over many a shining pavement, and
marked the gaps in the upper forests that told the power of the winter
avalanches. Climbing higher, I saw for the first time the gradual
dwarfing of the pines in compliance with c