pies East and West 
itself directly without the intermediation of 
words, which are but a veil. In a transcen- 
dent degree and with overpowering persuasion 
it appeals to the eye with colour and with form 
—cyclopean form painted in ethereal colour. 
Here have come many, notebook in hand, 
and as if so many reporters had essayed to 
interview the Sphinx, one and all have been 
baffled and in that mighty silence have sought 
to cover their defeat in superlatives. A 
glowing description of that gorge of the Colo- 
rado is like a handful of firecrackers thrown 
into the abyss. Let it suffice, then, that here 
is colour such as is not found elsewhere on 
this little earth; and here, if you please, you 
may match yourself against the titan forms 
of the Cafion, primordial and august, wrapped 
in infinite repose, in eternal silence. And if 
you would paint it, you must have a ‘‘ten- 
league canvas” and ‘brushes of comet’s 
hair.” 
Along the southern rim of this pit of colour, 
on the elevated plateau, is the Coconino forest, 
where the juniper and pifion belt which skirts 
the desert, mingles with the yellow pine of a 
higher latitude. But so great is the spell of 
the pit—all lilac and purple! and rose—that 
none stop to see the pines. Yet here come a 
