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the east beholds the snowy, solitary pillar from afar out on the arid sage-brush plains, and lifts his hands in silence as in answer to a sign.

Column upon column of storm-stained tamarack, strong-tossing pines, and warlike-looking firs have rallied here. They stand with their backs against this mountain, frowning down dark-browed, and con fronting the face of the Saxon. They defy the ad vance of civilization into their ranks. What if these dark and splendid columns, a hundred miles in depth, should be the last to go down in America ! What if this should be the old guard gathered here, mar shalled around their emperor in plumes and armour, that may die but not surrender !

Ascend this mountain, stand against the snow above the upper belt of pines, and take a glance be low. Toward the sea nothing but the black and unbroken forest. Mountains, it is true, dip and divide and break the monotony as the waves break up the sea ; yet it is still the sea, still the unbroken forest, black and magnificent. To the south the landscape sinks and declines gradually, but still main tains its column of dark-plumed grenadiers, till the Sacramento Valley is reached, nearly a hundred miles away. Silver rivers run here, the sweetest in the world. They wind and wind among the rocks and mossy roots, with California lilies, and the yew with scarlet berries dipping in the water, and trout idling in the eddies and cool places by the basket ful. On the east, the forest still keeps up unbroken