mes carrying boats and
cargoes around bad places. We camp at night, just after a hard portage,
under an overhanging wall, glad to find shelter from the rain. We have
to search for some time to find a few sticks of driftwood, just
sufficient to boil a cup of coffee.

The water sweeps rapidly in this elbow of river, and has cut its way
under the rock, excavating a vast half-circular chamber, which, if
utilized for a theater, would give sitting to 50,000 people. Objection
might be raised against it, however, for at high water the floor is
covered with a raging flood.

_August 9.--_And now the scenery is on a grand scale. The walls of the
canyon, 2,500 feet high, are of marble, of many beautiful colors, often
polished below by the waves, and sometimes far up the sides, where
showers have washed the sands over the cliffs. At one place I have a
walk for more than a mile on a marble pavement, all polished and fretted
with strange devices and embossed in a thousand fantastic patterns.
Through a cleft in the wall the sun shines on this pavement and it
gleams in iridescent beauty.

I pass up into the cleft. It is very narrow, with a succession of pools
standing at higher levels as I go back. The water in these pools is
clear and cool, coming down from springs. Then I return to the pavement,
which is but a terrace or bench, over which the river runs at its flood,
but left bare at present. Along the pavement in many places are basins
of clear water, in strange contrast to the red mud of the river. At
length I come to the end of this marble terrace and take again to the
boat.

Riding down a short distance, a beautiful view is presented. The river
turns sharply to the east and seems inclosed by a wall set with a
million brilliant gems. What can it mean? Every eye is engaged, every
one wonders. On coming nearer we find fountains bursting from the rock
high overhead, and the spray in the sunshine forms the gems which bedeck
the wall. The rocks below the fountain are covered with mosses and ferns
and many beautiful flowering plants. We name it Vasey's Paradise, in
honor of the botanist who traveled with us last year.

We pass many side canyons to-day that are dark, gloomy passages back
into the heart of the rocks that form the plateau through which this
canyon is cut. It rains again this afternoon. Scarcely do the first
drops fall when little rills run down the walls. As the storm comes on,
the little rills increase in size, until