l climates of
the globe.

On the bank of a small brook that comes gurgling down the side of the
left lateral moraine, I found a camp-fire still burning, which no doubt
belonged to the gray Indians I had met on the summit, and I listened
instinctively and moved cautiously forward, half expecting to see some
of their grim faces peering out of the bushes.

Passing on toward the open plain, I noticed three well-defined terminal
moraines curved gracefully across the canon stream, and joined by long
splices to the two noble laterals. These mark the halting-places of the
vanished glacier when it was retreating into its summit shadows on the
breaking-up of the glacial winter.

Five miles below the foot of Moraine Lake, just where the lateral
moraines lose themselves in the plain, there was a field of wild rye,
growing in magnificent waving bunches six to eight feet high, bearing
heads from six to twelve inches long. Rubbing out some of the grains, I
found them about five eighths of an inch long, dark-colored, and sweet.
Indian women were gathering it in baskets, bending down large handfuls,
beating it out, and fanning it in the wind. They were quite picturesque,
coming through the rye, as one caught glimpses of them here and there,
in winding lanes and openings, with splendid tufts arching above their
heads, while their incessant chat and laughter showed their heedless
joy.

Like the rye-field, I found the so-called desert of Mono blooming in a
high state of natural cultivation with the wild rose, cherry, aster, and
the delicate abronia; also innumerable gilias, phloxes, poppies, and
bush-compositae. I observed their gestures and the various expressions
of their corollas, inquiring how they could be so fresh and beautiful
out in this volcanic desert. They told as happy a life as any
plant-company I ever met, and seemed to enjoy even the hot sand and the
wind.

But the vegetation of the pass has been in great part destroyed, and the
same may be said of all the more accessible passes throughout the range.
Immense numbers of starving sheep and cattle have been driven through
them into Nevada, trampling the wild gardens and meadows almost out of
existence. The lofty walls are untouched by any foot, and the falls sing
on unchanged; but the sight of crushed flowers and stripped, bitten
bushes goes far toward destroying the charm of wildness.

The canon should be seen in winter. A good, strong traveler, who knows
the way and t