outh and turn westward onto a great promontory, from the summit of
which the Grand Canyon is in view. Its deep gorge can be seen to the
westward for 50 or 60 miles, and to the southeastward we look off into
the stupendous chasm, with its marvelous forms and colors.

Twenty-one years later I read over the notes of that day's experience
and the picture of the Grand Canyon from this point is once more before
me. I did not know when writing the notes that this was the grandest
view that can be obtained of the region from Fremont's Peak to the Gulf
of California, but I did realize that the scene before me was awful,
sublime, and glorious--awful in profound depths, sublime in massive and
strange forms, and glorious in colors. Years later I visited the same
spot with my friend Thomas Moran. From this world of wonder he selected
a section which was the most interesting to him and painted it. That
painting, known as "The Chasm of the Colorado," is in a hall in the
Senate wing of the Capitol of the United States. If any one will look
upon that picture, and then realize that it was but a small part of the
landscape before us on this memorable 26th day of September, he will
understand why I suppress my notes descriptive of the scene. The
landscape is too vast, too complex, too grand for verbal description.

We sleep another night by the spring on the summit of the Kaibab, and
next day we go around to Point Sublime and then push on to the very
verge of the Kaibab, where we can overlook the canyon at the mouth of
the Little Colorado. The day is a repetition of the glorious day before,
and at night we sleep again at the same spring. In the morning we turn
to the northeast and descend from Kaibab to the back of Marble Canyon
and cross it at the foot of the Vermilion Cliffs, and find our packers
camped at Jacob's Pool, where a spring bursts from the cliff at the
summit of a great hill of talus. In the camp we find a score or more of
Indians, who have joined us here by previous appointment, as we need
their services in crossing the river.

On the last day of September we follow the Vermilion Cliffs around to
the mouth of the Paria. Here the cliffs present a wall of about 2,000
feet in height,--above, orange and vermilion, but below, chocolate,
purple, and gray in alternating bands of rainbow brightness. The cliffs
are cut with deep side canyons, and the rainbow hills below are
destitute of vegetation. At night we camp on the bank of the