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Once inside the Valley, enclosed by its mighty, temple-walls, when its heaven-reaching cliffs have thrown their mile long shadows over us, when the marvelous combination of beauty and grandeur, of noble cliff and waving flower, of leaping waterfall and tinkling brook, of magnificent tree and soft green grass, of light and shade and color, has made its first vivid impression we feel as though we were entering the joint abode of all the titans and fairies. And as the silvery thread of the river glistens down the long vistas that open before us, as the grand panorama ever-changing keeps us in an ecstasy of wonder and delight; as at every step some new beauty presents itself, as crystal streams, whose mossy banks are fringed with flowers that are always blooming, and grasses that are ever green, gurgle and ripple across our path, as one looks up between the towering pines and spreading oaks to the unyielding cliffs that rise in such noble outline against the blue vault of heaven, or watches the ever-changing lights and shadows that follow in such rapid succession across the sun-bathed face of El Capitan, or the gusty torrent of Yosemite Fall as it leaps the cloud-draped

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summit of the cliff to be dashed into dazzling spray on the immovable granite below, we are prone to acknowledge the truth of the statement, "Yosemite has not a rival on this earth."

And, when the gaze has roamed around the rim of the Valley, when Cathedral Rocks, Cathedral Spires, Sentinel Rock, Glacier Point, Half Dome, Clouds Rest, Mount Watkins, Basket Dome, North Dome, Washington Column, Royal Arches, The Three Brothers, and a score of other impressive points, have brought to us their age old message, and the myriad of beauties of a myriad of nooks and corners have insinuated themselves into our consciousness, this impression is vivified.

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