s wings are separated half-way down, one an elongated pyramid and the
other a true cone, both of magnificent size and bulk but truly
proportioned to the central mass. Phrase does not convey the suggestion
of architectural calculation in both of these stupendous monuments. One
can easily believe that the Mormon prophet in naming them saw them the
designed creations of a personal deity.

A more definite conception of Nature's gigantic processes follows upon
realization that these lofty structures once joined across the canyon,
stratum for stratum, color for color. The rock that joined them,
disintegrated by the frosts and rains, has passed down the muddy current
of the Virgin, down the surging tide of the Colorado, through the Grand
Canyon, and into the Pacific. Some part of these sands doubtless helped
to build the peninsula of Lower California.

Passing the gates the traveller stands in a trench of nearly
perpendicular sides more than half a mile deep, half a mile wide at the
bottom, a mile wide from crest to crest. The proportions and
measurements suggest Yosemite, but there is little else in common. These
walls blaze with color. On the west the Streaked Wall, carved from the
White Cliff, is stained with the drip from the red and drab and
chocolate shales and limestones not yet wholly washed from its top. It
is a vivid thing, wonderfully eroded. Opposite is the Brown Wall, rich
in hue, supporting three stupendous structures of gorgeous color, two of
which are known as the Mountain of the Sun and the Watchman. Together
they are the Sentinels. Passing these across a plaza apparently
broadened for their better presentation rise on the west the Three
Patriarchs, Yosemite-like in form, height, and bulk, but not in
personality or color. The brilliance of this wonder-spot passes
description.

Here the canyon contracts, and we come to the comfortable hotel-camp,
terminal of the automobile journey. It is on the river side in a shady
alcove of the east wall near a spring. Here horses may be had for
exploration.

A mile above the camp stands one of the most remarkable monoliths of the
region. El Gobernador is a colossal truncated dome, red below and white
above. The white crown is heavily marked in two directions, suggesting
the web and woof of drapery. Directly opposite, a lesser monolith,
nevertheless gigantic, is suggestively if sentimentally called Angel's
Landing. A natural bridge which is still in Nature's workshop is o