ains within, a grove in the conservatory, clear lakelets for a
refreshing bath, and an outlook through the doorway on a raging river,
with cliffs and mountains beyond.

Our way after dinner is through a gorge, grand beyond description. The
walls are nearly vertical, the river broad and swift, but free from
rocks and falls. From the edge of the water to the brink of the cliffs
it is 1,600 to 1,800 feet. At this great depth the river rolls in solemn
majesty. The cliffs are reflected from the more quiet river, and we seem
to be in the depths of the earth, and yet we can look down into waters
that reflect a bottomless abyss. Early in the afternoon we arrive
at the head of more rapids and falls, but, wearied with past work, we
determine to rest, so go into camp, and the afternoon and evening are
spent by the men in discussing the probabilities of successfully
navigating the river below. The barometric records are examined to see
what descent we have made since we left the mouth of the Grand, and what
descent since we left the Pacific Railroad, and what fall there yet
must be to the river ere we reach the end of the great canyons. The
conclusion at which the men arrive seems to be about this: that there
are great descents yet to be made, but if they are distributed in rapids
and short falls, as they have been heretofore, we shall be able to
overcome them; but may be we shall come to a fall in these canyons which
we cannot pass, where the walls rise from the water's edge, so that we
cannot land, and where the water is so swift that we cannot return. Such
places have been found, except that the falls were not so great but that
we could run them with safety. How will it be in the future t So they
speculate over the serious probabilities in jesting mood.

_July 24.--_We examine the rapids below. Large rocks have fallen from
the walls--great, angular blocks, which have rolled down the talus and
are strewn along the channel. We are compelled to make three portages in
succession, the distance being less than three fourths of a mile, with a
fall of 75 feet. Among these rocks, in chutes, whirlpools, and great
waves, with rushing breakers and foam, the water finds its way, still
tumbling down. We stop for the night only three fourths of a mile below
the last camp. A very hard day's work has been done, and at evening I
sit on a rock by the edge of the river and look at the water and listen
to its roar. Hours ago deep shadows settled int