sureness with which he holds our interest, and the dominant poetic insight into the nature of things, which are spread before the reader in lavish abundance, in Muir’s two books, “The Mountains of California” and “Our National Parks.”  No other books, in this province, by living author offer to the reader so rich a feast.  Recognizing the fine endowments of Thoreau, and how greatly all are his debtors, still we of this generation are lucky in having one greater than he among us, if wisdom of life and joyousness be the criterion of a sound and of a sane philosophy.  The time will come when this will be generally recognized.  The verdict of posterity is the right one, and the love of mankind is given throughout the centuries to the men of insight, who possess the rare mental endowment of sustained pleasure.  Call it perpetual youth, or joyousness, or what you like, the fact remains that the power of sustained enthusiasm, lightness of heart and gaiety, with the faculty of communicating to others that state of mind, is not one of the commonest endowments of the human brain.  It is one that confers great happiness to others, and one to whose possessor we are under great obligation.  Compare the career of Thoreau, lonely, sad, and wedded to death—­on the one hand, with that of Muir, on the other—­a lover of his kind, healthful, inspiring to gaiety, superabounding in vitality.  Naturalists of this type of mind, and so faithful in perfecting the talents entrusted to them, do not often appear in any age.

In the designations of refuges for deer, various questions are to be considered, such as abundance of food, proximity to water, suitable shelter, an exposure to their liking, for they may be permitted to have whims in a matter of this sort, just as fully as Indians or the residents of the city, when they deign to honor the country by their presence.  The deer feel that they are entitled to a certain remote absence from molestation; moderate hunting will not entirely discourage them—­a dash of excitement might prove rather entertaining to a young buck with a little recklessness in his temperament—­but unless a deer be clad in bullet-proof boiler iron, there are ranges in the reserves of southern California where he would never dare to show his face during the open season—­regular rifle ranges.  Where very severely hunted, like the road agent, they “take to the brush,” that is, hide in the chaparral.  This is almost impenetrable.  It is very largely composed of scrub oak, buckthorn, chamisal or greasewood, with a scattered growth of wild lilac, wild cherry, etc.  So far as the deer make this their permanent home, there is no fear of their extermination.  They may be hunted effectively only with the most extreme caution.  Not one person in a thousand ever attains to the level of a still-hunter whose accomplishment guarantees him success under such conditions.  There are men of this sort, but these are artists in their pursuit, whose attainments, like those of