That evening as the daylight waned, while sky and stream, trees, mountains and jagged peaks were still gloriously tinted with the sun’s last rays, Mr. Chris. Jorgenson, the artist, brought out a “Claude Lorraine glass.”  We stood upon the bridge of the Merced river and caught upon the glass the Half Dome, bathed in mellow light; the Yosemite Falls with its great mass of falling waters exquisitely illuminated; Sentinel Peak, the swiftly moving river fringed with green trees, the grassy meadows and the fleecy clouds.  The picture of reflected beauty so produced, such tints and colors, such glints of stream and forest, such a glorified reproduction of the beauties of the Valley can only be imagined, they can not be described.

There were enough Los Angeles people in the Yosemite at the time to have voted a bond issue.  They were all out for a good time, and were having it.

Our Return to Wawona.

Not wishing to undergo the torture of the noon-day ride back to Wawona, a party of us chartered a stage to leave the Valley at six o’clock a. m.  We got off next morning at six-forty and had a delightful drive, making Wawona before noon.  Thus a few hours’ difference in the time of starting made a pleasure of what otherwise would have been a torment.  While we were in the Valley some Los Angeles friends had arrived at Wawona and were in camp near the hotel.

Signal Peak.

We rested at Wawona several days.  During one of these I went with the boys on horseback to Signal Peak, whose elevation is seven thousand and ninety-three feet.  The San Joaquin valley was enveloped in haze, but the mountain ranges east of us were in plain sight.  We could see all the peaks from Tallac at Lake Tahoe to Mt.  Whitney.  Mt.  Ritter, Mt.  Dana, Mt.  Hamilton, Galen Clarke, Star King, Lyell, the Gale Group, and others whose names I do not now recall, stood out in bold relief, encased in snowy mantles.  The view from Signal Peak is well worth the trip.  We enjoyed it so much that we persuaded Mrs. Graves and some ladies to take it next day by carriage, which is easily done.

On June twenty-third the boys went to Empire Meadows, some eleven miles distant, with a fishing party.  They had fair luck, the entire party taking nearly two hundred eastern brook trout.

Homeward Bound.

On the morning of June twenty-fourth, at six o’clock, we started on our homeward journey.  We had carburetor trouble coming up—­we still had it going out, until at last our driver discovered that one of the insulating wires had worn through its covering and, coming in contact with metal, had resulted in a short circuit.  When this was remedied our troubles were over, and our machine performed handsomely.  The first forty-four miles to Raymond were all downhill, over a very rough road, with sharp turns and depressions every one hundred feet or so, to allow the rainwater to run off of the road, which rendered the going very slow.  We were three hours and a half reaching Raymond.  Passing this point we sped into Madera, then to Firebaugh.  During the morning we saw a stately pair of wild pigeons winging their swift flight in and out of some tall pine trees.