e senses and make
them accustomed to the new order of things. But even a cursory view
will always remain in the memory as the event of a lifetime in the
experience of the average mortal.

Distance in the canon cannot be measured by the usual standards. There
are sheer walls of rocks that are thousands of feet high and as many
more feet deep, but where the bottom seems to be is only the beginning
of other chasms which lie in the dark shadows and descend into yet
deeper depths below. The canon is not a single empty chasm, which is
the universal conception of a canon, but consists of a complex system
of sub and side canons that is bewildering. Out of its depths rise an
infinite number and variety of castellated cliffs and sculptured buttes
that represent every conceivable variety of architecture. They have
the appearance of a resurrected city of great size and beauty which
might have been built by an army of Titans then buried and forgotten.

A trip into the canon down one of the trails makes its magnitude even
more impressive than a rim view. The distance across the chasm is also
much greater than what it seems to be, which is demonstrated by the
blue haze that fills the canon. The nearby buttes are perfectly
distinct, but as the distance increases across the great gorge the haze
gradually thickens until the opposite wall is almost obscured by the
mist.

The myriads of horizontal lines which mark the different strata of
rocks have the appearance of a maze of telegraph wires strung through
the canon.

A ride leisurely on horseback along the rim trail from Thurber's old
camp to Bissell's Point, seven miles up the canon, and back is easily
made in a day. It presents a panorama of magnificent views all along
the rim, but Bissell's is conceded to be the best view point on the
canon. From this point about thirty miles of river can be seen as it
winds in and out deep down among the rocks. The Colorado river is a
large stream, but as seen here a mile below and several miles out, it
dwindles into insignificance and appears no larger than a meadow brook.
The river looks placid in the distance, but is a raging, turbulent
torrent in which an ordinary boat cannot live and the roar of its wild
waters can be distinctly heard as of the rushing of a distant train of
cars.

A second day spent in riding down the canon to Grand View Point and
back is equally delightful. Looking across a bend in the canon from
Grand View Poi