d ridges between the two oceans, drains thousands of snowy
mountains through narrow or spacious valleys, and thence through
canyons of every color, sheer-walled and deep, all of which seem to be
represented in this one grand canyon of canyons.

It is very hard to give anything like an adequate conception of its
size; much more of its color, its vast wall-sculpture, the wealth
of ornate architectural buildings that fill it, or, most of all, the
tremendous impression it makes. According to Major Powell, it is about
two hundred and seventeen miles long, from five to fifteen miles wide
from rim to rim, and from about five thousand to six thousand feet deep.
So tremendous a chasm would be one of the world's greatest wonders even
if, like ordinary canyons cut in sedimentary rocks, it were empty and
its walls were simple. But instead of being plain, the walls are so
deeply and elaborately carved into all sorts of recesses--alcoves,
cirques, amphitheaters, and side canyons--that, were you to trace
the rim closely around on both sides, your journey would be nearly a
thousand miles long. Into all these recesses the level, continuous beds
of rock in ledges and benches, with their various colors, run like broad
ribbons, marvelously beautiful and effective even at a distance of
ten or twelve miles. And the vast space these glorious walls enclose,
instead of being empty, is crowded with gigantic architectural rock
forms gorgeously colored and adorned with towers and spires like works
of art.

Looking down from this level plateau, we are more impressed with a
feeling of being on the top of everything than when looking from the
summit of a mountain. From side to side of the vast gulf, temples,
palaces, towers, and spires come soaring up in thick array half a mile
or nearly a mile above their sunken, hidden bases, some to a level with
our standpoint, but none higher. And in the inspiring morning light all
are so fresh and rosy-looking that they seem new-born; as if, like the
quick-growing crimson snowplants of the California woods, they had just
sprung up, hatched by the warm, brooding, motherly weather.

In trying to describe the great pines and sequoias of the Sierra, I have
often thought that if one of these trees could be set by itself in some
city park, its grandeur might there be impressively realized; while in
its home forests, where all magnitudes are great, the weary, satiated
traveler sees none of them truly. It is so with t