others broken straight across, where some weakness caused by fire had determined the spot.  The gestures of the various trees made a delightful study.  Young Sugar Pines, light and feathery as squirrel-tails, were bowing almost to the ground; while the grand old patriarchs, whose massive boles had been tried in a hundred storms, waved solemnly above them, their long, arching branches streaming fluently on the gale, and every needle thrilling and ringing and shedding off keen lances of light like a diamond.  The Douglas Spruces, with long sprays drawn out in level tresses, and needles massed in a gray, shimmering glow, presented a most striking appearance as they stood in bold relief along the hilltops.  The madronos in the dells, with their red bark and large glossy leaves tilted every way, reflected the sunshine in throbbing spangles like those one so often sees on the rippled surface of a glacier lake.  But the Silver Pines were now the most impressively beautiful of all.  Colossal spires 200 feet in height waved like supple golden-rods chanting and bowing low as if in worship, while the whole mass of their long, tremulous foliage was kindled into one continuous blaze of white sun-fire.  The force of the gale was such that the most steadfast monarch of them all rocked down to its roots with a motion plainly perceptible when one leaned against it.  Nature was holding high festival, and every fiber of the most rigid giants thrilled with glad excitement.

I drifted on through the midst of this passionate music and motion, across many a glen, from ridge to ridge; often halting in the lee of a rock for shelter, or to gaze and listen.  Even when the grand anthem had swelled to its highest pitch, I could distinctly hear the varying tones of individual trees,—­Spruce, and Fir, and Pine, and leafless Oak,—­and even the infinitely gentle rustle of the withered grasses at my feet.  Each was expressing itself in its own way,—­singing its own song, and making its own peculiar gestures,—­manifesting a richness of variety to be found in no other forest I have yet seen.  The coniferous woods of Canada, and the Carolinas, and Florida, are made up of trees that resemble one another about as nearly as blades of grass, and grow close together in much the same way.  Coniferous trees, in general, seldom possess individual character, such as is manifest among Oaks and Elms.  But the California forests are made up of a greater number of distinct species than any other in the world.  And in them we find, not only a marked differentiation into special groups, but also a marked individuality in almost every tree, giving rise to storm effects indescribably glorious.