As he was to return for a couple of other friends,
waiting on the bridge, Mr. Hutchings sent us three
pilgrims (we know who) on through the wicket-
gate, and directly into his fine strawberry patch.
We justified his trust, and partook generously of
the delicious fruit, feeling that he should be en-
couraged in the culture of such delicacies in this
wild spot. We would a little rather have had them
gathered for us, though, for the sun was " exception-
ally " hot. On a flowery bank, under a noble oak,
we soon sought rest and shade. Here, where a
delicious breeze reached us, we revelled in the un-
speakable loveliness of the scene. Above, below,
on every side, was the fullness of beauty and life,
— light, color, fragrance, graceful motion, grand re-
pose. Here, while watching the Fall of Falls, the
steady plunge of the great central column, the
ever-varying swing and sway of the silvery mist
that encircled it hke a garment, the peculiar shoots
of tiny side-streams and jets coming down like
arrows or rockets, — passing beautiful; here, while
listening to the many-voiced shout of the leaping
waters, the shout that speaks alternately of joy, of
dread, of defiance, and despair, we heard also, from
the grave lips of the poet himself, Joaquin Miller's
" Yosemite Song, "— a poem which almost expresses
the inexpressible. Perhaps the fine frenzy was
catching ; perhaps we are never too old to catch
it : certain it is, that one of the other three pil-
grims, glowing with a mild poetic fervor, here took
the word and said, "Ah, fellow -pilgrims, here,
where every sense is enthralled with beauty and
sublimity, where
• The wild cataract leaps in glory ' ;
here, with the tremble of its melodious thunder in
the air ; here, in this summer, enchanted among
eternal snows, this smiling valley, lapped in frown-
ing sublimities ; here, amid the shine and shimmer
and shade and fruitage and fragrance, — is Para-
dise ! "
New life in new lands by Grace Greenwood
![File:Thomas Hill - Bridal Veil Falls, Yosemite Valley.jpg]()
waiting on the bridge, Mr. Hutchings sent us three
pilgrims (we know who) on through the wicket-
gate, and directly into his fine strawberry patch.
We justified his trust, and partook generously of
the delicious fruit, feeling that he should be en-
couraged in the culture of such delicacies in this
wild spot. We would a little rather have had them
gathered for us, though, for the sun was " exception-
ally " hot. On a flowery bank, under a noble oak,
we soon sought rest and shade. Here, where a
delicious breeze reached us, we revelled in the un-
speakable loveliness of the scene. Above, below,
on every side, was the fullness of beauty and life,
— light, color, fragrance, graceful motion, grand re-
pose. Here, while watching the Fall of Falls, the
steady plunge of the great central column, the
ever-varying swing and sway of the silvery mist
that encircled it hke a garment, the peculiar shoots
of tiny side-streams and jets coming down like
arrows or rockets, — passing beautiful; here, while
listening to the many-voiced shout of the leaping
waters, the shout that speaks alternately of joy, of
dread, of defiance, and despair, we heard also, from
the grave lips of the poet himself, Joaquin Miller's
" Yosemite Song, "— a poem which almost expresses
the inexpressible. Perhaps the fine frenzy was
catching ; perhaps we are never too old to catch
it : certain it is, that one of the other three pil-
grims, glowing with a mild poetic fervor, here took
the word and said, "Ah, fellow -pilgrims, here,
where every sense is enthralled with beauty and
sublimity, where
• The wild cataract leaps in glory ' ;
here, with the tremble of its melodious thunder in
the air ; here, in this summer, enchanted among
eternal snows, this smiling valley, lapped in frown-
ing sublimities ; here, amid the shine and shimmer
and shade and fruitage and fragrance, — is Para-
dise ! "
New life in new lands by Grace Greenwood
