The hotel is crowded. People are coming and going. They jostle each other and rush about frantically, looking for baggage and worried about many things. Those who have “done” the Park are anxious to get away, and those who are about to “do it” are as anxious to be on their way. All sorts and conditions of people are here, the aged and the young, the rich and the poor, women always predominating in numbers and in activity. The postal card fad is at its height here. The postage that is paid on these trifles ought to pay the government a dividend on the money it has invested in the Park. II. Yellowstone National Park, Old Faithful Inn, August 15: It has been raining in the Park. The weather has been lowering before a blustering wind, with snow and sleet. People sat shivering in the stage coaches today, but they tell us we are more fortunate than those who have been compelled to make the journey in the dust. Mr. Jones and Mr. Pope came in dusters, but they have donned their overcoats, instead. Every one who has made the tour of the Park thinks he can tell you all about it, but the truth is that no one knows anything about the weather here, it is so variable and there is so much of it. It is clearing now and every one is buoyant. It is sunshine after a storm that makes people happy, especially the women. They like sunshine. This inn is an interesting point in the journey. It is built entirely out of logs, seven stories high, at the peak. It has great fire places and a rustic dining room, where the food begins to taste “shippy.” In these places one’s appetite always craves the things that are not placed before you. Resort hotels are the most contrary places in the world. The name of the inn is taken from that of the geyser, the largest now in action in the Park basin, Old Faithful, so named because it gives an exhibition every hour. The water is thrown a hundred feet in the air and the spray that accompanies it, and the vapor, are beautiful to see. The basin, in front of the hotel, is filled with miniature geysers and in whichever direction one looks he can see vapor rising from crevices. In many places the crust is thin and treacherous. Some of the pools have the most delicate formations and the most exquisite colorings, comparable with nothing except the colors in precious stones. Some are green and some are blue and some are like morning glories. The smell of sulphur is in the air. There are also the ugly things, mud geysers, unwholesome holes bubbling with and spouting out mud, like toads. Some people insist on seeing every crevice. They tramp about until they are all tired out. That is what they call “doing” the Park. The poor Park, and the poorer mortals! But to me it seems easier and better to sit down quietly and absorb the spirit of things. The mountains clad with the green timber, the rich blue sky, fleeced with delicate clouds, over all. It is a great joy to be in the midst of these natural wonders.