Chapter II: Part 2

The path is wet and slippery, and the ladder-stairs which carry one up the right-hand face of the cliff, just at the south edge of the fall, are steep and tiresome. But good oil or rubber suits keep out the wet, a good restful pause now and then keeps in the breath, while careful stepping and firm holding on rob the steepness and slipperiness of all their real danger. Scores of ladies go up and come down every season without accident or harmful fatigue.

Arrived at the top of the singularly square-cut granite cliff, we turn to the left, walk to the very edge of the stream and the brink of the fall, and gaze into the misty chasm in which the foot of the fall disappears. One need not fear to do so, for nature, as if with special forethought for the gratification of future guests, has provided a remarkable parapet of solid granite running along the very edge of the brink for several yards south of the fall, just breast high, and looking as if made on purpose for timid tourists to lean over, and gaze with fearless safety into the seething chasm in whose foaming depths the foot of the cataract shrouds itself in impenetrable mist.

This ceaseless mistiness makes it almost impossible to estimate or calculate the exact height of the fall with any satisfactory accuracy. Another variable element which enters into all conjectures of its height is the fact that the rock on which it strikes slopes sharply down for upwards of a hundred and sixty feet. Hence in late spring or early summer, when the volume and velocity of the river are greatest, the water, shooting further out, falls at the very base of this slope, and gives the fall a height of four hundred and seventy-five or even five hundred feet in May or June. In October, on the other hand, when the stream is at its lowest, the water, falling straight down, strikes upon the top of this slope, a hundred and sixty or seventy-five feet above its base, and thus diminishes the height of the fall by just that amount.

In its volume, this fall resembles Niagara more than any other in the valley. In width, of course, it falls far below, but its height is more than three times as great. It also resembles Niagara in its greatening on the gaze with each successive visit. In its approaches, in its surroundings, and in itself, the Vernal fall surpasses expectation and fully satisfies desire.

Half a mile above the Vernal is a small but beautiful gem of a little fall, called the

Kachoomah,

or Wild Cat Fall. The reason of the name is obvious to one standing a hundred feet below, and noting how the impetuous stream, breaking over the sharp edge of a huge transverse boulder, dashes against the sloping side of another; lying angularly across; and is thrown, or seems to spring, diagonally across towards the northern bank, readily, though roughly, suggesting the sudden side-spring of the animal for whom the observing red man named it.

Another half mile, and the rocky walls close together, shut us in and bar our further progress. The canyon narrows to a point, over whose right hand wall, close to the very angle of meeting, the same river, the main Merced, plunges its whole volume in the famous

Nevada Fall,

seven hundred feet high, seventy-five feet wide at the brink, and one hundred and thirty below. This fall is, in all respects, one of the grandest in the world. In height, in width, in purity and volume of water during the early summer, in graceful peculiarities and in grandeur of surrounding scenery, it is simply stupendous. Other falls, though few, surpass it in the single element of height, but in surrounding grandeur, in the harmony of beauty and magnificence, none equal this. None brings the visitor oftener to its foot, detains him with greater delight, or sends him away with more profound satisfaction.

The exact statement of the height of this fall is hindered by causes similar to those at the Vernal, viz: the constant and blinding spray around the bottom, and the consequent uncertainty as to the exact spot where the water strikes.

The rock beneath this fall is not vertical, but rather steeply inclined, having a slope of about eighty-five degrees through its upper half and not far from seventy-five degrees through its lower. Hence in summer, when tourists usually see it, the diminished force of the current causes the water rather to slide down the slope, than to shoot out over and fall clear of it, as in the spring. Thus, from June to November the Nevada is more properly a chute or slide than a fall. During this season the friction of the rock breaks the stream into a white froth; hence the name, Nevada, or Snowy Fall.

When the water is very low, the fittest thing to which one could liken it would be to myriads of white lace or gauze veils hung over the face of the cliff, waving and fluttering in the wind. A party of ladies originated this figure, and it occurred also to Mr. Bowles in his fine descriptions of Yosemite wonders.

As one stands in the canyon below gazing at the Nevada, the Snowy Fall, away upon his left, about a third of a mile back from the brink of the northeast wall of the canyon, rises

Mt. Broderick,

or the Cap of Liberty, whose general outline suggests its name. Its rounded summit lifts its smooth, weather-polished granite two thousand feet above the fall and nearly five thousand above the main valley. It bears upon its crown a single juniper of enormous diameter.

Away to the right of the canyon, just peeping above the edge of the cliff, and nearly two miles south-southeast of the Nevada Fall, rises the steep, conical summit of the South Dome, or

Mt. Starr King,

reaching an estimated height of one mile above the valley. Next to the wonderful half-dome, this is the steepest and smoothest cone in the region. Indian name, See-wah-lam, meaning not known. Its exact height, like that of its great namesake, has never been satisfactorily settled.

Clambering back down this canyon, depositing our oiled or rubber suits, and experiencing an immediate sense of relief and lightness, we retrace the trail up which we came, bear away to the right, that is, going nearly northwest, proceed nearly or quite a mile round the base of a lofty buttress, and open the

Tenaya Canyon,

stretching away northeast nearly in a continuous line with the main valley itself.

About one mile up this canyon towers Yosemite's sheerest and loftiest isolated cliff, the

Half-Dome

itself. It is a bare crest of naked granite, four thousand seven hundred and forty feet high, cleft straight down in one vast vertical front on the Tenaya, or northwest side, while on the back, that is, toward the southeast, it swells off and rounds away with a dome-like sweep that utterly dwarfs the grandeur of a thousand St. Peters in one.

Following still on up the Tenaya Canyon, nearly two miles beyond the dome, and a thousand feet higher, rises the

Clouds' Rest,

a granite ridge, long, bare and steep, having its axis parallel with that of the valley, and falling away along its southeastern slope into the rocky mountain wilderness of the High Sierras. This is one of the few points about the valley which the Geological Survey has not yet measured. They estimated its height one thousand feet above that of the Half Dome, which would make its summit ten thousand feet, or nearly two miles above the sea level.

Beyond this, little of note invites the traveler's delay, so we make our way northwesterly straight across this canyon from the base of its southeasterly wall toward that of the opposite cliff. On the way, however,

Mirror Lake

arrests and enchants us. Surely water reflections were never more perfect. The Indian name Ke-ko-too-yem, Sleeping Water, was never more happily bestowed. Imagine a perfect water mirror nearly eight acres in extent, and of a temperament so calm and deep and philosophic that it devotes its whole life to the profoundest reflection. A mile of solid cliff above, a mile of seeming solid cliff beneath; for though the mind knows the lower to be only an image, the eye cannot, by simple sight alone, determine which is the solid original and which the shadowy reflection.

Twin mountains, base to base, here meet the astonished eye;
One towers toward heaven in substance vast,
One looms below in shadow cast,
As grand, as perfect as its peer on high.

In early morning, when no breeze ripples the lake, its reflections are, indeed, marvelously life-like. So exactly is every line and point repeated that the photographic view has puzzled hundreds to tell which mountain is in the air and which is in the water. The spectator who takes the photogram in his hand for the first time often hesitates for several minutes before he can determine which side up the picture should be held. The depth of the lake is from eight to twenty feet.

One sufficiently vigorous and persevering may push on up the Tenaya creek till he finds the

Tenaya Lake,

over a mile long, snugly nestled in among the mountains. This lies beyond the usual limit of tourists' excursions, but well repays a visit.

Nearly a mile northwest of the lake, and about a third of a mile back from the edge of the cliff, the

North Dome

lifts its rounded granite bulk three thousand five hundred and seventy feet above the valley. It looks as if built of huge, concentric, overlapping, hemispherical domes, piled one upon another, and having their overlapping edges irregularly broken away. On the valley side, that is, toward the south and southeast, it is so steep that no human foot has ever climbed it. In the rear, however, that is, toward the north and west, it falls away in a vast ridge or spine, along which one can easily gain the very summit of the dome itself. The Indian name was To-coy-ah, meaning the shade of an Indian baby basket.

Passing three quarters of a mile still down, we reach the angle or turn between the Tenaya canyon and the valley proper. In this turn, in fact forming the angle, stands the

Washington Column,

a rounded, columnar rock tower, partially standing forth from the abutting cliff behind. This reaches the height of two thousand five hundred feet.

Immediately beyond this, large masses of the huge concentric, overlapping plates, have cracked off, slipped away and fallen, leaving rough bas-relief arches several hundred yards long, and projecting some scores of feet, like rudely-drawn gigantic eyebrows. These are commonly called the

Royal Arches,

or the Arched Rocks, but the Indian name, Hun-to, "The Watching Eye," will better satisfy the poetical visitor, unless, indeed, his Masonic proclivities quite overpower his poetic appreciation, in which case he will undoubtedly prefer the former title.

For the next mile and a half northwest nothing of special wonder for Yosemite detains us.

The relief is fitting and needful, not only that we may recover in some degree from the continued effect of the marvels already past, but, more especially, that we may rally in preparation for the most stupendous wonder of them all, the great

Yosemite Fall

itself. Here language ceases and art quite fails. No words nor paintings, not even the photogram itself, can reproduce one tithe of the grandeur here enthroned. A cataract from heaven to earth, plunging from the clouds of the sky to bury itself among the trees of the forest. The loftiest waterfall yet known upon the face of the globe.

Don't mention figures yet, please. When a man is overwhelmed with the sublime, don't plunge him into statistics. By and by, when we have cooled down to a safe pitch, we may condescend to hear the calm calculator project his inexorable mathematics into the very face of nature's sublimity and triumphantly tell us just _how_ great this surpassing wonder is. But after all his exactest calculations, his absolute measurements and his positive assurances, one _feels_ how small the fraction of real greatness which figures can express or the intellect apprehend. A cataract half a mile high, setting its forehead against the stars and planting its feet at the base of the eternal hills. Gracefully swaying from side to side in rhythmical vibration, swelling into grandeur in earlier spring, and shrinking into beauty under the ardency of summer heat; towering far above all other cataracts, it calmly abides, the undisputed monarch of them all.

A half mile is no exaggeration, for the official measurement of the State Survey makes the height two thousand six hundred and forty-one (2,641) feet--a _full_ half mile, and _one foot more_.

The fall is not in one unbroken, perpendicular sheet, but in three successive leaps. In the upper fall, the stream slides over a huge rounded lip or edge of polished granite, and falls one thousand five hundred and eighty-seven feet in one tremendous plunge. Here its whole volume thunders upon a broad shelf or recess, whence it rushes in a series of roughly-broken cascades down a broken slope of over seven hundred feet in linear measurement, but whose base is six hundred and twenty-six feet perpendicularly below its top. From the bottom of this broken slope it makes a final plunge of four hundred and twenty-eight feet in one clear fall, and then slides off contentedly into the restful shadows of the welcoming forests below.

Its width, like that of all snow-fed streams, varies greatly with the season. In March or April, when the tributary snows are melting most rapidly, and myriads of streamlets swell its volume, the stream is from seventy-five to a hundred feet wide, where it suddenly slips over the smoothly-rounded granite at its upper brink. During the same season it scatters or spreads to a width of from three to four hundred feet, when it breaks upon the rocky masses below.

In later spring, or earlier summer, it dwindles to less than a third of its greatest bulk; and its most intimate friend, the veteran Yosemite pioneer, Hutchings, tells us that he has seen it when it hardly seemed more than a silver thread winding down the face of the cliff. Under a full moon, the element of weirdness mingles with its graceful grandeur, shrouds it with mystery, and transports one into a soft and dreamy wonder-land, from which he cares not to return.

A mile further on our way back toward the western end, brings us under, or in front of, the triple rocky group, or three-peaked stone-mountain, whose name, the

Three Brothers,

readily suggests itself to one standing in the proper place below. They are three huge, bluntly conical, rocky peaks, fronting nearly south, slightly inclined toward the valley and descending in height as they approach it. To the rude Indian fancy they might well suggest the name _Porn-porn-pa-sue_--"Mountains playing leap-frog,"--with which they christened them.

The highest, which is the northernmost, the one furthest back from the valley, is three thousand eight hundred and thirty feet high. The summit of this rock is readily reached by a trail from the rear, and affords a superb view of the valley and its surroundings. Nearly all who have enjoyed it consider it the very best to be had.

Another mile-and-a-half and the rocky wonders of Yosemite fitly culminate and terminate in

Tu-toch-ah-nu-lah,

"The Great Chief of the Valley" more commonly, though very weakly, called "El Capitan," an ordinary Spanish word, meaning simply, "the Captain;" good enough for a ferry-boat or river steamer, but entirely beneath the dignity of this most magnificent rock on the face of the earth.

Tu-toch-ah-nulah is an immense granite cliff, projecting angularly into the valley, toward the southwest. It has two fronts, one facing nearly west, the other southeasterly, meeting in a sub-acute angle. These two fronts are over a mile long, and three thousand three hundred feet high, smooth, bare and vertical, and bounded above by a sharp edge, standing pressed against the sky, which its Atlas-like shoulder seems made to uphold.

The State Survey, with all its scientific coolness, could not help saying, "_El Capitan_ imposes upon us by its stupendous bulk, which seems as if hewed from the mountains on purpose to stand as the type of eternal massiveness. It is doubtful, if anywhere in the world, there is presented so squarely cut, so lofty and so imposing a face of rock." Starr King declared, "A more majestic object than this rock, I never expect to see on this planet." Horace Greeley, who enjoyed the rare experience of entering the valley by night, and in moonlight too, thus pays tribute to the Great Chief:

"That first, full, deliberate gaze, up the opposite height! Can I ever forget it? The valley here, is scarcely half a mile wide, while its northern wall of mainly naked, perpendicular granite, is at least four thousand feet high, probably more. But the modicum of moonlight that fell into this awful gorge, gave to that precipice a vagueness of outline, an indefinite vastness, a ghostly and weird spirituality. Had the mountain spoken to me in an audible voice, or begun to lean over with the purpose of burying me, I should hardly have been surprised."

After Tutochahnulah, nothing on earth can seem very grand or overpowering, and with this the wonders of the valley fitly close.

We have, by no means, seen all the falls, nor even mentioned all the peaks, but the others are of little note in Yosemite, though, elsewhere, tourists might go a thousand miles to see the least of them. This valley is, beyond comparison, the most wonderful and beautiful of all earthly sights. No matter how incredulous one may be before entering, the Great Chief and his tremendous allies, soon crush him into the most humble and complete subjection. Do not expect, however, that your first view will stagger your skepticism. On the contrary, it may even confirm it. Upon our first view of Tutochahnulah, as we were walking into the valley, one bright July forenoon, we stopped a mile and a half from its foot, collected ourselves for a calm, cool, mathematical judgment and said with all confidence, "That rock isn't over fifteen hundred feet high. It _can't_ be. Why, just look at that tree near its base. That tree, certainly, can't be more than a hundred and twenty-five feet high, and certainly, the cliff doesn't rise more than ten times its height above it." But, unfortunately, we had forgotten that never before had we seen the works of nature on as grand a scale. One's judgment has to change its base. He has to reconstruct it; to adopt a new unit. Comparison serves him little, for he has no adequate standard by which to measure, or with which to compare the rock-mountains before him. They are like nothing else. They are a law unto themselves, and one must learn the law, the _new_ law, before he can begin to enter the secret of their greatness. Look at that tree. Elsewhere you would call it lofty. It measures a hundred and fifty feet, and yet, that wall of solid rock behind rises straight up to twenty times its height above it. Look again; now, turn away; shut eyes and think. Forget all former standards and adopt the new. Slowly you begin to "even" yourself to the stupendous scale of the gigantic shapes around.

Even Niagara requires two or three days before one begins to fully realize or truly appreciate its greatness. How much more, then, Yosemite, compared with which Niagara is but a very little thing! Then, on the other hand, one must remember that after he has adjusted himself to the new and grander scale of Yosemite, upon coming out into the midst of ordinary hills and mountains, for several days they seem low and flat and small.

A single visit to Yosemite dwarfs all other natural wonders and spoils one for all places else. He who has seen it listens quietly to the most enthusiastic rhapsodies of the most widely traveled tourists, and simply answers, with a calm, superior smile, "Ah, that's all very well, but you should see _Yosemite_."

The Traveler's University--should such an institution ever exist--can never righteously graduate the most widely traveled tourist, until he can truthfully add to his name, "Y. S. T."--Yosemite Tourist.

THE BIG TREES.

The California Big Trees are a kind of Redwood; or, if the strictest and most scientific judgment does not rank them in the same family, it must, at least, allow a very close relationship.

Nine groves are already certainly known, and, every year or two, as the exploration of the State becomes more exact, or approaches completion, other smaller groves, straggling groups or solitary clumps, are added to the number. Of all those thus far discovered the Calaveras Grove and the Mariposa Grove are the most celebrated, both from the extent of the groves and the size and height of the trees composing them.

The Calaveras Grove

receives its name from that of the county in which it stands. It is near the source of the south fork of the Calaveras river, while the upper tributaries of the Mokelumne and the Stanislaus rivers flow near it: the former on the north, the latter on the southeast. It is about sixteen miles from Murphy's Camp, and on or near the road crossing the Sierras by the Silver Mountain Pass. This grove has received more visitors and attained greater celebrity than any other, for four reasons:

1st. It was the first discovered.

2d. It was nearer the principal routes of travel, hence more easily accessible.

3d. One can visit it on wheels.

4th. Last, and best for the tired tourist, an excellent hotel at the very margin of the grove; Sperry & Perry, proprietors.

The grove extends northeast and southwest about five eighths of a mile. Its width is only about one fifth as great. It stands in a shallow valley between two gentle slopes. Its height above the sea is four thousand seven hundred and fifty-nine feet. In late spring or early winter a small brook winds and bubbles through the grove; but under the glare of summer suns and the gaze of thronging visitors, it modestly "dries up."

The grove contains about ninety trees which can be called really "big," besides a considerable number of smaller ones deferentially grouped around the outskirts. Several of the larger ones have fallen since the grove was discovered, in the spring of 1852; one has had the bark stripped off to the height of one hundred and sixteen feet, and one has been cut down, or, rather, bored and sawed down. The bark thus removed was exhibited in different cities in this country, and finally deposited in the Sydenham Crystal Palace, England, only to be burned in the fire which destroyed a part of that building some years since. The two trees thus destroyed were among the finest, if not the very finest in the grove. Among those now standing, the tallest is the "Keystone State;" the largest and finest, the "Empire State."

The following table gives the height of all the trees measured by the State Survey, and their girth six feet from the ground:

Names of Trees. Girth. Height.

Keystone State 45 325
General Jackson 40 319
Mother of the Forest (without bark) 61 315
Daniel Webster 47 307
Richard Cobden 41 284
Starr King 52 283
Pride of the Forest 48 282
Henry Clay 47 280
Bay State 46 275
Jas. King of William 51 274
Sentinel 49 272
Dr. Kane 50 271
Arbor Vitae Queen 30 269
Abraham Lincoln 44 268
Maid of Honor 27 266
Old Vermont 40 265
Uncle Sam 43 265
Mother (and Son) 51 261
Three Graces (highest) 30 262
Wm. Cullen Bryant 48 262
U. S. Grant 34 261
Gen. Scott 43 258
Geo. Washington 51 256
Henry Ward Beecher 34 252
California 33 250
Uncle Tom's Cabin 50 250
Beauty of the Forest 39 249
J. B. McPherson 31 246
Florence Nightingale 37 246
James Wadsworth 27 239
Elihu Burritt 31 231

The exact measurement of the diameter and the ascertaining of the age of one of the largest trees in this grove, was accomplished by cutting it down. This was done soon after the discovery of the grove. It occupied five men during twenty-two days. They did it by boring into the tree with pump augers. The tree stood so perfectly vertical that, even after they had bored it completely off, it would not fall. It took three days' labor driving huge wedges in upon one side until the monumental monster leaned, toppled and fell.

They hewed and smoothed off the stump six feet above the ground, and then made careful measurements as follows:

Across its longest diameter, north of centre, 10 feet 4 inches.
Across its longest diameter, south of centre, 13 " 9-1/2 "
-------------------
Total largest diameter, 24 feet 1-1/2 inc's.

The shorter diameter, from east to west, was twenty-three feet, divided exactly even, eleven and one half feet from the centre each way.

The thickness of the bark averaged eighteen inches. This would add three feet to the diameter, making the total diameter as the tree originally stood, a little over twenty-seven feet one way, and twenty-six feet the other. That is _eighty-five feet in circumference, six feet from the ground_.

The age was ascertained thus: After it had been felled, it was again cut through about thirty feet from the first cut. At the upper end of this section, which was, of course, nearly forty feet above the ground, as the tree originally stood, they carefully counted the rings of annual growth, at the same time exactly measuring the width of each set of one hundred rings, counting from the outside inwards.

These were the figures:

First hundred rings 3.0 inches.
Second " " 3.7 "
Third " " 4.1 "
Fourth " " 3.9 "
Fifth " " 4.1 "
Sixth " " 4.1 "
Seventh " " 4.6 "
Eighth " " 5.6 "
Ninth " " 7.3 "
Tenth " " 7.9 "
Eleventh " " 10.1 "
Twelfth " " 13.0 "
Fifty-five years 9.4 "
------------------ ------------
1,255 years. 80.8 inches.

A small hole in the middle of the tree prevented the exact determining of the number of rings which had rotted away, or were missing from the centre; but allowing for that, as well as for the time which the tree must have taken to grow to the height at which they made the count, it is probably speaking within bounds, to say that this tree was, in round numbers, thirteen hundred years old!

As the table shows, this grove contains four trees over three hundred feet high. The heights of these big trees, in both the great groves, are usually overstated. The above measurements were carefully and scientifically made--in several cases repeated and verified--and may be relied on as correct.

The "Keystone State" enjoys the proud honor of lifting its head higher than any other tree now known to be standing on the western continent. Australia has trees a hundred and fifty feet higher. The stories occasionally told of trees over four hundred feet high having once stood in this grove, have no reasonable foundation and are not entitled to belief. Neither is it true, as some have marvelously asserted, that it takes two men and a boy, working half a day each, to look to the top of the highest tree in this grove.

The Calaveras trees, as a rule, are taller and slimmer than those of Mariposa. This has probably resulted from their growing in a spot more sheltered from the high winds which sweep across the Sierra, to which other groves have been more exposed.

The Mariposa Grove,

likewise named from the county in which it stands, is about sixteen miles directly south of the lower hotel in Yosemite valley, and about four miles southeast of Clark's Ranch. Like the Calaveras Grove, it occupies a shallow valley or depression in the back of a ridge which runs easterly between Big Creek and the South Merced. One branch of the creek rises in the grove.

The grant made by Congress is two miles square and embraces two distinct groves; that is, two collections of big trees, separated by a considerable space having none. The upper grove contains three hundred and sixty-five trees of the true _Sequoia Gigantea_ species, having a diameter of one foot or over. Besides these, are a great number of younger and smaller ones.

The lower grove is not as large, and its trees are more scattered. It lies southwesterly from the upper. Some of its trees grow quite high up the gulches on the south side of the ridge which separates the two groves.

On Wednesday, July 7th, 1869, the largest trees of this grove were carefully measured, under the guidance and with the assistance of Mr. Clarke himself, one of the State Commissioners charged with the care of these groves and of the Yosemite valley. To prevent misunderstanding and insure uniformity, each tree was measured three feet from the ground, except where the outside of the base was burned away, when the tree was girted seven and a half feet above ground.

The following figures are taken from that day's phonographic journal, written on the spot:

The "Grizzly Giant," seven and one half feet up, measures seventy-eight and one half feet in circumference. Three feet above ground this tree measured over a hundred feet round; but several feet of this measurement came from projecting roots, where they swell out from the trunk into the mammoth diagonal braces or shores, necessary to support and stiffen such a gigantic structure in its hold upon the earth.

One hundred feet up, an immense branch, over six feet through, grows out horizontally some twenty feet, then turns like an elbow and goes up forty feet. It naturally suggests some huge gladiator, uncovering his biceps and drawing up his arm to "show his muscle." This is the largest tree now standing in the grove, and is the one of which Starr King wrote:

"I confess that my own feeling, as I first scanned it, and let the eye roam up its tawny pillar, was of intense disappointment. But then, I said to myself, this is, doubtless, one of the striplings of this Anak brood--only a small affair of some forty feet in girth. I took out the measuring line, fastened it on the trunk with a knife, and walked around, unwinding as I went. The line was seventy-five feet long. I came to the end before completing the circuit. Nine feet more were needed. I had dismounted before a structure _eighty-four feet_ in circumference, and nearly three hundred feet high, and I should not have guessed that it would measure more than fifteen feet through."

Here, as in Yosemite and at Niagara, tourists are usually disappointed in the first view. The lifelong familiarity with lesser magnitudes makes it almost impossible for the mind to free itself from the trammels of habit, and leap at a single bound, into any adequate perception of the incredible magnitudes which confront him. One needs spend at least a week among these Brobdignagian bulks, come twice a day and stay twelve hours each time, before he grows to any worthy appreciation of their unbelievable bigness.

Of the other trees, the largest ten, measured three feet above ground, gave the following circumferences:

La Fayette 83 feet.
The Governor 75 "
Chas. Crocker 75 "
The Chief Commissioner 74 "
Governor Stanford 74 "
Washington 72 "
Pluto's Chimney 71 "
The Big Diamond (Koh-i-noor) 65 "
The Governor's Wife 62 "
The Forest Queen 58 "

Others of equal size, possibly greater than some above, were not measured.

"The Governor" is a generic name, applied in honor of him who may happen to be the actual incumbent at any time. At present, of course, it means Gov. Haight. It is an actual botanical fact, that the tree has actually _gained_ in _height_ under the present gubernatorial administration. It certainly is not as _low_(e) by several inches as during the reign, or lack of rain, of the preceding incumbent.

The same general complimentary intention christened the "Governor's Wife," which has as graceful a form and as dignified a bearing among trees as such a lady should have among the women of the State. Then, too, the tree stands with a gentle inclination toward "The Governor," which may not be without its suggestions to those fond of tracing analogies.

The "Chief Commissioner" is the largest of a clump of eight, which stand grouped, as if in consultation, at a respectful distance from the Governor.

"Pluto's Chimney" is a huge old stump, burned and blackened all over, inside and out. Hibernian visitors sometimes call it "The Devil's Dhudeen." It is between forty and fifty feet high. On one side of the base is a huge opening, much like a Puritan fireplace or a Scotch inglenook; while within, the whole tree is burned away so that one can look up and out clear to the very sky through its huge circular chimney. Outside, the bark and the roots have been burned wholly away. Before the burning, this tree must have equaled the largest.

Nearly in front of the cabin in the upper grove, and not far from the delicious spring before alluded to, stands a solitary tree having its roots burned away on one side, leaning south, and presenting a general appearance of trying to "swing round the circle." In view of all these facts, some imaginative genius once christened it "Andy Johnson." The only inappropriate thing in the application of that name was the fact that the tree stood so near a spring of cold water. The "Big Diamond" or "Koh-i-noor" is the largest of a group of four very straight and symmetrical trees occupying the corners of a regular rhombus or lozenge, so exactly drawn as to readily suggest the name "Diamond Group," by which they have been called.

As already remarked, the Mariposa Grove really consists of two groves--the upper and the lower, which approach within a half mile of each other. The upper grove contains three hundred and sixty-five trees; one for every day in the year, with large ones for Sundays. By an unfortunate omission, however, it makes no provision for leap year. This is the principal objection which unmarried spinster tourists have thus far been able to urge against it.

The lower grove has two hundred and forty-one trees, generally smaller than those of the upper grove. The total number in both groves, according to the latest official count, is six hundred and six.

Within ten years several trees have fallen, and others follow them from time to time, so that the most accurate count of them made in any one year might not tally with another equally careful count a year earlier or later.

Among the prostrate trees lies the "Fallen Giant," measuring eighty-five feet around, three feet from the present base. The bark, the sapwood, the roots, and probably the original base, are all burned away. When standing, this monster must have been by far the largest in both groves, and, indeed, larger than any now known in the world. It should have been called "Lucifer," a name hereby respectfully submitted for the consideration of future tourists.

The living trees of this species exude a dark-colored substance, looking like gum, but readily dissolving in water. This has a very acrid, bitter taste, which probably aids in preserving the tree from injurious insects, and preventing the decay of the woody fibre.

The fruit or seed is hardly conical, but rather ellipsoidal or rudely oval in form, an inch and a half long by one inch through, and looking far too insignificant to contain the actual germ of the most gigantic structure known to botanical science.

Their age, indicated by the concentric rings of annual growth, carefully counted and registered by the gentlemen of the State Survey, varies from five to thirteen, possibly fifteen, centuries.

The word "_Sequoia_," is the Latin form of the Indian _Sequoyah_, the name of a Cherokee Indian of mixed blood, who is supposed to have been born about 1770, and who lived in Will's Valley, in the extreme northeastern corner of Alabama, among the Cherokees. His English name was George Guess. He became famous by his invention of an alphabet, and written letters for his tribe. This alphabet was constructed with wonderful ingenuity. It consisted of eighty-six characters, each representing a syllable, and it had already come into considerable use before the whites heard anything of it. After a while, the missionaries took up Sequoyah's idea, had types cast, supplied a printing press to the Cherokee nation, and in 1828 started a newspaper printed partly with these types. Driven, with the rest of his tribe, beyond the Mississippi, he died in New Mexico, in 1843. His alphabet is still in use, though destined to pass away with his doomed race, but not into complete oblivion, for his name, attached to one of the grandest productions of the vegetable kingdom will keep his memory forever green.

For the foregoing bit of aboriginal biography, we gratefully acknowledge our obligation to Prof. Brewer and the gentlemen of the State Survey, to whom he originally furnished it.

Had Sequoyah's name been Cadmus--had the Cherokees been Phenicians--and had this modern heathen of the eighteenth century invented his alphabet away back before the Christian era, his name would have stood in every school history among those of inventors, philosophers, discoverers and benefactors; as it is he's "only an Indian." No one can deny, however, that he was one of the best re(a)d men in the history of the world.

Both the Calaveras and the Mariposa groves contain hollow trunks of fallen trees, through which, or into which, two and even three horsemen can ride abreast for sixty or seventy feet. Each grove, also, has trees which have been burned out at the base, but have not fallen. Still standing, they contain or enclose huge charcoal-lined rooms, into which one can ride. The writer has been one of four mounted men who rode their horses into such a cavity in the Mariposa grove, and reined their horses up side by side without crowding each other or pressing the outside one against the wall.

One who has seen only the ordinary big trees of "down east," or "out west," forests, finds it hard to believe that any such vegetable monsters can really exist. Even the multiplied and repeated assurances of friends who have actually "_seen_ them, sir," and "measured them _myself_, I tell you," hardly arrest the outward expression of incredulity, and seldom win the inward faith of the skeptical hearer. Fancy yourself sitting down to an after-dinner chat in the fifteen-foot sitting room, adjoining the dining room of equal size. You fall to talking of the "Big Trees." You say, "Why, my dear sir, I have actually rode into, and sat upon my horse in, a tree whose hollow was so big that you could put both these rooms into it, side by side, and still have seven or eight feet of solid wood standing on each side of me. No, sir, not romancing at _all_. It's an actual, scientific, measured _fact_, sir." Your friend looks quizzically and incredulously into both your eyes, as he says, "Why, now see here, my dear fellow, do you suppose I'm going to believe that? Tell a _moderate_ whopper, and back it up with such repeated assertion and scientific authority, and you might possibly make me believe it, or at least, allow it until you were fairly out of hearing; but to sit here at a man's own fireside and tell him such a _monstrous_ story as that, and expect him to swallow it for truth--ah, no, my dear fellow, that's _too_ much, altogether too much."

So you have to give it over and drop the argument for the present, in the hope that some one of the numerous excursion parties, now so rapidly multiplying every year, will soon include him, carry him into the actual presence of these veritable monsters of the vegetable kingdom, confront him with their colossal columns, and compel his belief.

And yet the general incredulity is hardly to be wondered at, after all. In nearly every one of us, our faith in what _may_ be, largely depends upon our personal knowledge of the _facts_ which _have_ been. In matters pertaining to the outward, the material, the physical world, our actual experience of the past governs our belief as to the future. And even when the objects of our disbelief are set bodily before our vision, and we have actually seen them and handled them, it is often difficult to believe our own eyes. So far is "seeing from believing" when the sight so far surpasses all former experience.

There is another grove of big trees in Fresno county, about fourteen miles southeast of Clark's. It is not far from a conspicuous point called Wammelo Rock. The State Survey did not include it, neither have tourists usually visited it. According to the description of Mr. Clark, who has partially explored it, it extends for more than two miles and a half in length, by from one to two in width. He has counted five hundred trees in it, and believes it to contain not far from six hundred in all. The largest which he measured had a circumference of eighty-one feet at three feet from the ground.

Following along the slope of the Sierras, to the southeast about fifty miles, between King's and Kaweah rivers, we find the largest grove of these trees yet discovered in the State.

The State Survey partially explored this locality, and have given us the following particulars: The trees form a belt rather than a grove. This belt is found about thirty miles north-northeast of Visalia, near the tributaries of the King's and Kaweah rivers, and along the divide between. They are scattered up and down the slopes and along the valleys, but reach their greatest size in the shallow basins where the soil is more moist.

Along the trail from Visalia to Big Meadows the belt is four or five miles wide and extends through a vertical range of twenty-five hundred feet; that is, the trees along the lower edge of the belt stand nearly half a mile in perpendicular height below those along its upper boundary. The length of this belt is as much as eight or ten miles and may be more.

These trees are not collected in groves, but straggle along through the forests in company with the other species usually found at this height in the Sierras. They are most abundant between six and seven thousand feet above the sea. Their number is very great; probably thousands might be counted. In size, however, they are not remarkable; that is, in comparison with those of Calaveras and Mariposa. But few exceed twenty feet in diameter--the average is from ten to twelve feet, while the great majority are smaller.

One tree which had been felled, had a diameter of eight feet, not including the bark, and was three hundred and seventy-seven years old. The largest one seen was near Thomas' Mill. This had a circumference of one hundred and six feet near the ground, though quite a portion of the base had been burned away.

Another tree, which had fallen and been burned hollow, was so large that three horsemen could ride abreast into the cavity for thirty feet, its inside height and width being nearly twelve feet. Seventy feet in, the diameter of the cavity was still as much as eight feet.

The base of this tree could not be easily measured; but the trunk was burned off at one hundred and twenty feet from the base, and at that point had a diameter, not including the bark, of thirteen feet and two inches. At one hundred and sixty-nine feet from its base, this tree was still nine feet through. The Indians speak of a still larger tree to the north of King's river. It was not in the power of the State Survey to look it up and measure it at that time.

All through these forests young Big Trees of all sizes, from the seedling upwards, were very numerous. At Thomas' Mill they cut them up into lumber, as if they were the most common tree in the forest.

Fallen trunks of old trees are also numerous. Many of these must have lain for ages, as they had almost wholly rotted away, though the wood is very durable.

Judging from the number of these trees found between King's and Kaweah rivers, it would seem that the Big Trees best like that locality and its vicinity, so that it is not improbable that a further exploration would show a continuous belt of some fifty or sixty miles in extent.

From the researches thus far made, it appears that the Big Tree is not as strange and exceptional as most suppose. It occurs in such abundance, of all ages and sizes, that there is no reason to conclude that it is dying out, or that it belongs exclusively to some past geological or botanical epoch. The age of the big trees is not as great as that assigned by some of the highest authorities to some of the English yews. And in height they hardly begin to equal that of the Australian _Eucalyptus amygdalina_, many of which, on the authority of Dr. Muller, the eminent Government botanist, have exceeded four hundred feet. One, indeed, reached the enormous height of _four hundred and eighty feet_, thus overtopping the tallest _Sequoia_ by one hundred and fifty-five feet. And in diameter, also, there are trees which exceed the Big Tree, as, for example, the _Baobab_; but these are always comparatively low, rarely reaching the height of more than sixty or seventy feet, while their excessive diameter comes from a peculiarly swollen and distorted base. On the whole, we may safely claim that no known tree in the world equals the California Big Trees in the combined elements of size and height, and in consequent grandeur, unless, indeed, it may be the _Eucalyptus_. The largest Australian tree yet reported, is said to be eighty-one feet in circumference, four feet from the ground. This is a highly respectable vegetable, but not quite equal to the certified measurements of some of the largest of the California Big Trees.

So the American tourist through the wonders of California, may yet claim that his country still possesses the loftiest waterfalls, the most overpowering cliffs, and the grandest trees yet known upon the face of the globe.

BOWER CAVE.

The traveler who desires good roads, romantic scenery, comfortable conveyances, and excellent hotel accommodations, will be sure to go in or come out by way of Coulterville. This town lies on Maxwell creek, a branch of the Merced, about eighteen hundred feet above the sea, and not far from the border-land between the "foot-hills" and the mountains proper. The road runs from Coulterville nearly northeast, about eight miles, when it strikes the North Fork of the Merced. Along the side of this stream it descends for a short distance, then crosses and passes near the

Bower Cave.

This is a picturesque and unique locality, and is well worth a visit.

The cave is an immense crack or sink, or both combined, in the solid limestone of the mountaintop. At the surface it presents a somewhat crescent-shaped opening, one hundred and thirty-three feet long, eighty-six feet wide near the centre, and one hundred and nine feet deep in the deepest place. Trees grow from the bottom and lift their branches out through the opening at the top, while a beautifully tranquil and wonderfully clear lake occupies the greater portion of the floor.

We enter at the north end and go down by a rough but strong and safe staircase. The walls of the cleft are perpendicular, or nearly so, throughout the greater portion of their extent, but near the south end the upper part of the wall projects or overhangs several feet.

The bottom has the form of an irregular square, measuring over a hundred feet one way and somewhat less than a hundred the other. From the bottom and near the centre grow three large maples, the largest of which is more than two feet through, and about a hundred and twenty-five feet high. Around these trees are benches, capable of seating a score or two of persons. On one side of the wall, some twenty feet above the bottom, is a singular niche or alcove which has been christened the "Pulpit." It is occasionally used for the legitimate purpose of similar constructions, though more frequently occupied by the fiddler of some festive party. Upon special occasions, such as a Fourth of July celebration, they erect tables here and use all the available floor as a dining hall. Over a hundred have thus dined here at one time.

In one corner, and nearly under the pulpit, is a small but singularly beautiful lake, rendered somewhat ghostly and mysterious by the overhanging rocky wall, and the intercepted light falling through the overshadowing trees. Upon this lake is a small boat, in which the imaginative visitor may easily fancy himself crossing the Styx, with himself as his own Charon. Not far from the corner of this lake, nearly under the pulpit, the water is claimed to have an immense depth. In all parts it is so clear that one can plainly see the cracks and crevices in the sloping limestone sides at the depth of forty feet. The vision would, doubtless, penetrate much deeper did not the overhanging walls obstruct the light.

Having rowed across the lake, as you are returning to the shore, the guide may possibly ask you to keep very quiet while he calls and feeds his fish. He gives a few soft whistles, places his hand in the water, waits a moment, repeats his whistle, and softly whispers, "Here they come." Up swim several large trout, rub their noses against his hand, and circle slowly around it, evidently waiting for the customary food. And that hand seldom disappoints them. It is a pleasant and restful sight. After enjoying it, seeing them finish feeding, and returning to the landing, you ask the guide how they became so tame. He tells you, that for several weeks after putting them into the lake, which he did some years ago, he came every day, about the same time, softly whistling and gently dropping crumbs and worms into the water. After a few days he began to hold on to one end of a worm while the trout would swim up, take hold of the other end and tug away until he pulled it apart, or the hand let go. After a few months they seemed to have learned to associate the whistling and the feeding, so that whenever they hear the first they swim up in evident expectation of the second.

At various heights upon one wall several large cavities or small caves are worn into the rock, some of which admit the tourist for a considerable distance. These make that side of the wall a collection of cells, some of which are high enough to permit the visitor to walk erect; others so low that they compel one who would enter to crawl upon his hands and knees. When first discovered, the walls of these chambers were covered with beautiful stalactites of various sizes and fanciful forms, but the ruthless hands of vandal visitors have gradually broken them off and carried them away, until hardly a trace of their original beauty and variety remains.

During the heat of the summer, the time when nearly all visitors enter this cave, its cool and refreshing temperature makes it a comfortable and welcome retreat, especially during the hotter midday hours. The place seems as if nature and art had combined to make it as attractive as possible for hot weather picnics, or midsummer lunch parties. It is difficult to imagine, and almost impossible to discover a more fascinating combination of dell and grotto, grove and lake, cave and bower, than nature has kindly provided for the tourist in the romantic Bower Cave.

ALABASTER CAVE.

The following account of one of the most beautiful of all nature's marvels, is taken, with few alterations, from Yosemite Hutchings' book, entitled "Scenes of Wonder and Curiosity in California."

The Alabaster Cave is in El Dorado County, twelve and a half miles from Folsom by the "Whisky Bar" road, and ten miles by the El Dorado Valley turnpike. Its more exact location is upon Kidd's Ravine, about three quarters of a mile from its opening upon the north fork of the American River. From Sacramento it is thirty-three miles; by rail to Folsom: from Auburn, about three miles, by stage.

It was discovered in April, 1860, in the following way: A ledge of limestone, resembling marble in appearance, cropped out by the side of El Dorado Valley turnpike road. Upon testing it was found to be capable of producing excellent lime.