Hyacinths, lupins and hollyhocks were freely interspersed with the glistening foliage of the shrubbery.  The tiger and yellow mountain lilies were not yet in flower, although we frequently saw their tall stems bearing undeveloped blossoms.  The columbine and white and yellow clematis were much in evidence, and presented a charming picture as they wound in and out, and over and around the green leaves of the shrubs, displaying their creamy blossoms with a dainty air and self-conscious superiority.  In open places beneath the forest trees, where no large underbrush grew, a fern-like, low shrub, locally known as bear clover, completely hid the earth.  It bore a white blossom with yellow center, for all the world like that of a strawberry.  To my surprise, the Spanish bayonets in full bloom reared their heads above the lower growing evergreens.  We saw them no further north than the Tule River canyon.  What a picture the sunlight made on the mountain tops and the sloping sides of the lateral valleys of the canyon!  Ah, that river, how beautiful it was!  There it ran below us, in the very bottom of the canyon, ever moving, ever turbulent, ever flashing in the sunlight, ever tossing its foamy spray far up into the air, a thing of life, of joy and ecstatic force.  It sang and laughed and gurgled aloud in the happiness of its life and freedom.  Above was the sky, pure and radiantly blue.  Its exquisite coloring was intensified by the wild riot of color beneath it.  We still ascended.  Each breath of air we drew was rich with the odor of pine and fir, mint and balsam.  The line of survey on the opposite side of the canyon from us, marking the course of the tunnel now being constructed by the San Joaquin Light & Power Company, which terminates at a point on the mountain side at the junction of a side canyon sixteen hundred feet above the stream, was now on a level with us.  We could see ahead of us where it, like the flume earlier in the day, reached the river level.  At this point we knew our journey ended.  We were pulling slowly up a stiff, nasty grade, when all at once a loud crash announced the demolition of some of the internal machinery of our car.  We stopped from necessity.

“Auto” Breaks Down.

Our “auto” was a helpless thing.  When the clutch was thrown in, it could only respond with a loud, discordant whirring.  It made no forward movement.  We all thought our differential had gone to smash.  One of our party went on ahead, and at a nearby camp we telephoned Mr. Hill, superintendent of the power company, of our predicament.  He directed a man who was working a pair of heavy horses on a road near by, to hitch onto us and haul us up to his place, a mile or so distant.  All of us, except Mrs. Graves, and our chauffeur, who had to steer the car and work the brakes, walked.  It was slow going, but the journey finally ended.  We found a good, clean camp, clean beds and a good supper awaiting us.  That night we reaped the sweet repose which comes from exertion in the open air.