PARK AND CEMETERY. 
273 
f 
reels 17, passed along the deck of the boat, 
under and over rollers 21 and 22 mounted 
in suitable bearings fixed to a rail or sup- 
port 23 upon the stern, and from the rail 
extend in parallel relation and are secured 
to the anchored cable. The rail or support 
is provided with a suitable bench 24, from 
which the workmen can thread or string 
the blocks upon the wires. In placing the 
blocks upon the wires, the operator grasps 
two wires and draws them together, shown 
in dotted lines in Fig. 2, until the mouths 
of the slots 13 slip over the wires; then 
the wires are released and the blocks settle 
to the tops of the grooves ; and the blocks 
are moved along to the assembled mass 
until a sufficient section is completed, when 
it is allowed to settle into position and the 
boat moved farther along to form another 
section. 
Fig, 1 shows a section of the protector 
in position. Fig. 2 is an enlarged plan view 
of a portion of the protector showing how 
the blocks are placed upon the wire sup- 
ports. Fig. 3 is an edge view of several of 
the blocks showing their position upon the 
wires. Fig. 4 is a perspective view of the 
top of one of the blocks. The device is 
patented as No. 591041 by Richard Toennes, 
of Roonville, Mo. 
GLIMPSES OF OUR NATIONAL PARKS 
VII— THE GRAND CANYON OF THE COLORADO. 
The rain falling in the plowed field forms 
rivulets in the furrows. The rivulets unite 
in a muddy torrent in the roadside gutter. 
With succeeding showers the gutter wears 
an ever-deepening channel in the soft soil. 
With the passing season the gutter becomes 
a gully. Here and there, " in places, its 
banks undermine and fall in. Here and 
there the rivulets from the field wear tiny 
tributary gullies. Between the breaks in 
the banks and the tributaries, irregular 
masses of earth remain standing, some- 
times resembling mimic cliffs, sometimes 
washed and worn into mimic peaks and 
spires. 
Such roadside erosion is familiar to us 
all. hundred times we have idly noted 
the fantastic water-carved walls and mina- 
retted slopes of these ditches. But sel- 
dom, perhaps, have we realized that the 
muddy roadside ditch and the world fa- 
mous Grand Canyon of the Colorado are, 
from Nature’s standpoint, identical; that 
they differ only in soil and size. 
The arid states of our great Southwest 
constitute an enormous plateau or table- 
land from four to eight thousand feet 
above sea level. It is plateau of sun- 
baked conglomerate and loose soils from 
which emerge occasional mountain masses 
of more or less solid rock. Rain seldom 
falls, but in winter the snows lie heavy in 
the mountains. In the spring the snows 
melt and torrents of water wear temporary 
beds in the loose soils. Rivers are few 
and small. Some lose themselves in the 
drying sands. Others gather into a few 
desert water systems. The largest of these 
is that which, in its lower courses, bears 
the name of the Colorado River. 
In ages before history, the Colorado 
River probably flowed upon the surface of 
this lofty tableland. But, like the road- 
side ditch, it gradually wore an ever- 
deepening channel. In time, as with the 
roadside ditch, the hanks caved in and the 
current carried the soil away. Seismic dis- 
turbances may have helped. The ever- 
busy chisels of the untiring winds have 
carved and polished through untold cen- 
turies. 
Today, the Colorado flows through a 
series of self-dug canyons hundreds of 
miles long, a mile deep, and in some places 
a score of miles across the top. The sides 
of these canyons are carved and fretted 
beyond description, almost beyond belief ; 
and the strata of rock and soil exposed by 
the river’s excavations are marvelously col- 
ored. The blues and grays and mauves 
and reds are second in glory only to the 
canyon’s size and sculpture. The colors 
change with every changing hour. The 
morning and the evening shadows play 
magician’s tricks. 
That portion of the canyon which affords 
the finest spectacle has been set aside by 
Congress as a national monument. It is 
situated in northeastern Arizona and is 
called the Grand Canyon of the Colorado. 
It constitutes one of the most astonishing 
YrS.\V.\.\ KOUK.ST. GJtAXD CANYON. 
idienomena in nature and one of the stu- 
pendous sights of the world. 
The Colorado River is formed, in south- 
ern Utah, by the confluence of the Grand 
and the Green rivers. The Grand drains 
the western Rockies in Colorado. The 
Green rises in northern Utah and drains 
also a corner of Wyoming. Together they 
gather the waters of three hundred thou- 
sand Sipiare miles of mountains. “Ten 
million cascade brooks,” writes J. W. Pow- 
ell, “unite to form a hundred rivers beset 
with cataracts ; a hundred roaring rivers 
unite to form the Colorado, a mad, turbid 
stream.” 
Southwest from Utah, the Colorado 
passes through the noble Marble Canyon 
and swings west between the mile-high 
walls of the mighty Grand Canyon. 
4'hence, emerging into more open country, 
it skirts Nevada and California, cuts 
through Mexico and deposits its vast bur- 
den of mud in the Gulf of California. 
Who can describe the Grand Canyon? 
“More mysterious in its depth than the 
Himalayas in their height,” writes John 
C. Van Dyke, “the Grand Canyon remains 
not the eighth but the first wonder of the 
world. There is nothing like it.” 
“Looking down more than half a mile 
into the fifteen-Iiy-two-himdred-and-eigh- 
tceh-mile i)aint pot,” writer Joaquin Mil- 
ler, “I continually ask : Is any fifty miles 
of Mother Earth that I have known as 
fearful, or any part as fearful, as full of 
glory, as full of God?” 
“To the eye educated to any other,” 
writes Charles Dudley Warner, “it may be 
shocking, grotesc|uc, incomprchensil)le ; but 
those who have long and carefully studied 
tile (irand Canyon do not hesitate to pro- 
nounce it by far the most sublime of all 
earthly spectacles.” 
“The Grand Canyon of .Arizona fills me 
with awe,” writes Theodore Rooseielt. “It 
is beyond comparison— beyond description ; 
absolutely uniiaralleled throughout the 
wide world." 
“.A pageant of ghastly desolation and yet 
of frightful vitality, such as neither Dante 
nor Milton in their most sublime conce))- 
tions ever even approached, " writes ^\’ill- 
