understand it, perhaps we
should distinguish, after all, but one word,--_God_.

[Illustration: YELLOWSTONE RIVER ABOVE THE FALLS.]

[Illustration: THE GREAT FALLS OF THE YELLOWSTONE.]

[Illustration: UPPER FALLS OF THE YELLOWSTONE.]

[Illustration: THE CANON FROM BRINK OF FALLS.]

As for the gorge through which this river flows, imagine if you can
a yawning chasm ten miles long and fifteen hundred feet in depth.
Peer into it, and see if you can find the river. Yes, there it lies,
one thousand five hundred feet below, a winding path of emerald and
alabaster dividing the huge canon walls. Seen from the summit, it
hardly seems to move; but, in reality, it rages like a captive lion
springing at its bars. Scarcely a sound of its fierce fury reaches
us; yet, could we stand beside it, a quarter of a mile below, its
voice would drown our loudest shouts to one another.

[Illustration: THE CANON FROM GRAND POINT.]

Attracted to this river innumerable little streams are trickling down
the colored cliffs. They are cascades of boiling water, emerging from
the awful reservoir of heat which underlies this laboratory of the
Infinite. One of them is a geyser, the liquid shaft of which is
scarcely visible, yet in reality is one hundred and fifty feet in
height. From all these hot additions to its waves the temperature of
the river, even a mile or two beyond the canon, is twenty degrees
higher than at its entrance.

"Are there not other canons in the world as large as this?" it may be
asked.

[Illustration: DOWN THE CANON FROM INSPIRATION POINT.]

Yes, but none like this. For, see, instead of sullen granite walls,
these sides are radiant with color. Age after age, and aeon after
aeon, hot water has been spreading over these miles of masonry its
variegated sediment, like pigments on an artist's palette. Here, for
example, is an expanse of yellow one thousand feet in height. Mingled
with this are areas of red, resembling jasper. Beside these is a
field of lavender, five hundred feet in length, and soft in hue as
the down upon a pigeon's breast. No shade is wanting here except the
blue, and God replaces that. It is supplied by the o'erspreading
canopy of heaven.

Yet there is no monotony in these hues. Nature, apparently, has
passed along this canon, touching the rocks capriciously; now
staining an entire cliff as red as blood, now tingeing a light
pinnacle with green, now spreading over the whole face of a mountain
a vast Per