gine. All pure
steam is invisible. At the same time the note of the trumpet
distinctly changed. The heavy rain at the east as suddenly stopped.
The air could absorb the present amount of moisture. One could see
farther down the terrible throat that seemed about to be rent asunder.
The awful grandeur was becoming too much for human endurance. The
contorted forms of rocks on the summit began to take the forms and
heads of dragons, such as the Chinese carve on their monuments. The
awful column began to change its effect from terror to fascination, and
I knew how Empedocles felt when he flung himself into the burning
Aetna. It was time to get down and stand further off.

[Illustration: Bee-Hive Geyser.]

The long waiting had been rewarded. "To patient faith the prize is
sure." The grand tumult began to subside. It was beyond all my
expectations. Nature never disappoints, for she is of God and in her
he yet immanently abides. The next day the sky and all the air were
full of falling rain. How could it be otherwise? It was the geyser
returning to earth. I sought the place. The awful trumpet was silent,
and the steam exhaled as gently as a sleeping baby's breath.

Only one more lesson will be recited at present. I had just arrived in
camp when they told me that the Splendid geyser, after two days of
quiet, was showing signs of uneasiness. I immediately went out to
study my lesson. There was a little hill of very gentle slopes, a
little pool at the top, three holes at the west side of it, with a
dozen sputtering hot springs scattered about, while in a direct line at
the east, within one hundred and forty feet, were the Comet, the Daisy,
and another geyser. The Daisy was a beauty, playing forty feet high
every two or four hours. All the slopes were constantly flowing with
hot water. This general survey was no sooner taken than our glorious
Splendid began to play. The roaring column, tinted with the sunset
glories, gradually climbed to a height of two hundred feet, leaned a
little to the southeast, and bent like a glorious arch of triumph to
the earth, almost as solid on its descending as on its ascending side.
No wonder it is named "Splendid."

Whoever has studied waterfalls of great height--I have seen nearly
forty justly famous falls--has noticed that when a column or mass of
water makes the fearful plunge smaller masses of water are constantly
feathered off at the sides and delayed by the resistanc