"What?" said I, feebly, to gain a second's more of time. "What word did you say?" "Trardition," he persisted. "What are trardition? Arx-play-in." What I said I do not know. Probably I should not tell if I did. But I am very sure that never in all my life have I found myself, and never in all the rest of my life shall I find myself, in so utterly desperate a dilemma as I was then, with those patient, earnest, oblique eyes fixed on me, and the gentle Chinese voice reiterating, "What are trardition?" MARIPOSA GROVE AND YOSEMITE VALLEY. CHARLES LORING BRACE. [Our sketches of travel in America will not be complete without descriptive narratives relating to its great natural wonders, of which the United States possesses more examples than any other country on the globe. The present selection, therefore, from Brace's "The New West, or California in 1867-68," is devoted to a brief account of the monster trees of that State and the scenic marvels of the Yosemite Valley.] The great pleasure of the American continent will hereafter be the journey to the Yosemite. There is no one object of nature in the world, except Niagara, to equal it in attraction. Whenever the Pacific road brings the two coasts within a fortnight of each other, innumerable parties will be made up to visit it. I have been tolerably familiar, by foot-journeys, with Switzerland, Tyrol, and Norway, and I can truly say that no one scene in those grand regions can compare equally, in all its combinations, with the wonderful Canyon of the Yosemite. It is a matter of congratulation, also, to me, that I saw it before any road, or coach, or rail-car had approached it. It ought not to be visited otherwise than as our party journeyed to it,--on horses winding in picturesque train over velvety trails, beneath the gigantic pines of the Sierras....