orest with its traceries of foliage
presented by oak and pine and poplar, by beech and linden and hawthorn,
by tulip and lily and rose, by fern and moss and lichen. Besides the
elements of form, there are elements of color, for here the colors of
the heavens are rivaled by the colors of the rocks. The rainbow is not
more replete with hues. But form and color do not exhaust all the divine
qualities of the Grand Canyon. It is the land of music. The river
thunders in perpetual roar, swelling in floods of music when the storm
gods play upon the rocks and fading away in soft and low murmurs when
the infinite blue of heaven is unveiled. With the melody of the great
tide rising and falling, swelling and vanishing forever, other melodies
are heard in the gorges of the lateral canyons, while the waters plunge
in the rapids among the rocks or leap in great cataracts. Thus the Grand
Canyon, is a land of song. Mountains of music swell in the rivers, hills
of music billow in the creeks, and meadows of music murmur in the rills
that ripple over the rocks. Altogether it is a symphony of multitudinous
melodies. All this is the music of waters. The adamant foundations of
the earth have been wrought into a sublime harp, upon which the clouds
of the heavens play with mighty tempests or with gentle showers.

The glories and the beauties of form, color, and sound unite in the
Grand Canyon--forms unrivaled even by the mountains, colors that vie
with sunsets, and sounds that span the diapason from tempest to tinkling
raindrop, from cataract to bubbling fountain. But more: it is a vast
district of country. Were it a valley plain it would make a state. It
can be seen only in parts from hour to hour and from day to day and from
week to week and from month to month. A year scarcely suffices to see it
all. It has infinite variety, and no part is ever duplicated. Its
colors, though many and complex at any instant, change with the
ascending and declining sun; lights and shadows appear and vanish with
the passing clouds, and the changing seasons mark their passage in
changing colors. You cannot see the Grand Canyon in one view, as if it
were a changeless spectacle from which a curtain might be lifted, but to
see it you have to toil from month to month through its labyrinths. It
is a region more difficult to traverse than the Alps or the Himalayas,
but if strength and courage are sufficient for the task, by a year's
toil a concept of sublimity can be o