ty, of Oakland, came in.
They had scaled Glacier Point that day and were about as tired and
fagged as we. The next day Mrs. Stanton kept her bed till nearly
noon; but I was up and on my horse at eight and off with the McLean
party for the Nevada and Vernal Falls....

Saturday morning, with Stephen M. Cunningham for my guide, I went
up the Mariposa trail seven miles to Artist's Point, and there
under a big pine tree, on a rock jutting out over the valley, sat
and gazed at the wondrous walls with their peaks and spires and
domes. I could take in not only the whole circuit of the mountain
tops but the valley enshrined below, with the beautiful Merced
river meandering over its pebbly bed among the grass and shrubs and
towering pines. We reached the hotel at 7 P.M.--tired--tired. Not a
muscle, not one inch of flesh from my heels to my hands that was
not sore and lame, but I took a good rub-off with the powerful
camphor from the bottle mother so carefully filled for me, and went
to bed with orders for my horse at 6 A.M.

Sunday morning's devotion for Minister McLean and the Rochester
strong-minded was to ride two and a half miles to Mirror lake, and
there wait and watch the coming of the sun over the rocky spires,
reflected in the placid water. Such a glory mortal never beheld
elsewhere. The lake was smooth as finest glass; the lofty granite
peaks with their trees and shrubs were reflected more perfectly
than costliest mirror ever sent back the face of most beautiful
woman, and as the sun slowly emerged from behind a point of rock,
the thinnest, flakiest white clouds approached or hung round it,
and the reflection shaded them with the most delicate, yet most
perfect and richest hues of the rainbow. And while we watched and
worshipped we trembled lest some rude fish or bubble should break
our mirror and forever shatter the picture seemingly wrought for
our special eyes that Sunday morning. Then and there, in that holy
hour, I thought of you, dear mother, in the body, and of dear
father in the beyond, with eyes unsealed, and of Ann Eliza and
Thomas King. I talked to John of them and wondered if they too sat
not with us in that holy of holies not made with hands. O, how
nothing seemed man-made temples, creeds and codes!

At San Jose Miss Anthony was the guest of Rev. and Mrs. Charles G.
A