Each day discloses an added natural endowment of the camp. One of the large tumbling mountain rivers commences its journey to the coast through the ravine below us. It possesses all the stage properties of Alph, the sacred river of Kubla Khan, the ancient logs, profound pools, veils of bubbles, and many pulpits of veteran rocks in which curiously-speaking frogs address their mossy audiences. Itsroar is diminished to a whirr at the distance of the camp, but it remains in easy climbing down distance, and a pilgrimage to it for some of its clean bubbles and much of its philosophy is a cherished item in the day's routine. The clouds on the mountains are in themselves eter- nally engaging. Some rise up slowly from the dank ra- vines to join the more lofty ones and become twisted into all manner of patterns and veils. When it is stormy these smaller ones are eaten up in the fierce black manes of the long distance fellows, and the entire chaotic package flies on like lightening northward to the sea. There are idle moments of the day when all the tussle of the winds and elements are in armistice. It is then that the caw of the native crow expands its international illusion. With the rareness of the sky and air one would believe, were he an American and were he but to look downward towards the sea and close his eyes, he was near the Hud- son, and the crow and he were dreaming through a day of early autumn. All this,when it is possible to look down at sunset