“All through the Yosemite there is music.  You hear the forest talking, and think it is the river.  You hear the river, and think it is the wind giving a signal to the trees, that they may begin speaking; for trees and river and wind have lived so long together—­like people married happily since early youth—­that thoughts and words and tones have come to be the same.  But among the redwoods is the noblest music of all, different from that of any other trees.  And only think, yesterday I hardly believed they could be taller and grander than some of the others I had seen, all those great conifers that would have been gods in Greece!  Even this morning, driving through forests that line the way to the Sequoias, I still believed that—­poor me!  The big sugar-pines and the yellow-pines loomed so huge, towering above delicate birches and a hundred other lovely creatures, which they guarded as Eastern men guard the beauties of their harems.  But the moment I saw the two first giants—­the ’Sentinels’—­stand on the threshold of their palace, or cathedral, whichever it is (but it’s both, and more) I knew how mistaken I’d been about the others.  These are super-trees.

“We drove on slowly, along a wide aisle paved with gold and sprinkled with gold-dust.  The pillars holding up the sky-roof are fluted deeply and regularly; and they are rose-red, these tree columns, seeming to glow with inward fire—­the never-dying fire of life which keeps their hearts alive when common trees perish.  Theirs is no ruined cathedral or palace.  All is perfect now, as in its beginning; walls and dome of blue which can never crumble; and the doors are never shut, though jealousy guarded by the Sentinels.

“In some of the trees are shrines.  At first glance they appear to be empty shrines, but they are not empty, really.  What one finds there depends upon one’s self.  I wish I could live in this palace for weeks.  I should make wonderful discoveries.

“In old houses, whose roofs are supported by great beams of oak, I know they call the stoutest and most important the ‘king beam,’ for without him the roof would fall.  Just so, the Grizzly Giant is the king tree of the Mariposa Forest.  There are other trees more beautiful and graceful, yet he is indisputably, undisputedly king, among lesser royalties and royal highnesses.  All are crowned.  These Sequoias aren’t clothed with green, like other trees, but crowned with it, having also, here and there upon their breasts, green decorations and medals.  Their bark folds and drapes them in mantles of royal purple, and their high crowns mingle gold with green.  The Grizzly Giant’s crown is of a strange shape, and very wonderful.  He is alive, and looks at you, but he does not wish you to know that; so, if you are too curious, he often pretends to be a castle, ornamented with quantities of fantastic gargoyles.  The castle has a theatre, into which you can see; and it is fitted up with extraordinary scenery.  There is a museum of strange statues, too; headless torsos, and arms thicker through than a man is long.