The Grand Canyon of Arizona | Page 5

most sublime of all earthly spectacles. If its
sublimity consisted only in its dimensions, it could be set forth in a
single sentence. It is more than two hundred miles long, from five to
twelve miles wide, and from five thousand to six thousand feet deep.
There are in the world valleys which are longer and a few which are
deeper. There are valleys flanked by summits loftier than the palisades
of the Kaibab. Still the Grand Canyon is the sublimest thing on earth. It
is so not alone by virtue of its magnitudes, but by virtue of the whole its
tout ensemble."
What, then, is this Grand Canyon, for which its friends dare to make so
large and bold a claim?
It is a portion--a very small portion--of the waterway of the Colorado
River, and it is so named to differentiate it from the other canyons of
the same river. The canyon system of the Colorado River is as vast in
its extent as is the Grand Canyon in its quality of sublimity. For it
consists of such a maze of canyons--the main canyons through which
the river itself runs; the canyons through which its tributaries run; the
numberless canyons tributary to the tributary canyons; the canyons
within canyons, that, upon the word of no less an authority than Major
Powell, I assert that if these canyons were placed end for end in a
straight line they would reach over twenty thousand miles! Is it

possible for the human mind to conceive a canyon system so vast that,
if it were so placed, it would nearly belt the habitable globe?
Impression on Beholders. And the principal member of this great
system has been named The Grand Canyon, as a conscious and
meaningful tribute to its vastness, its sublimity, its grandeur and its
awesomeness. It is unique; it stands alone. Though only two hundred
and seventeen miles long, it expresses within that distance more than
any one human mind yet has been able to comprehend or interpret to
the world. Famous word-masters have attempted it, great canvas and
colormasters have tried it, but all alike have failed. It is one of the few
things that man is utterly unable to imagine until he comes in actual
contact with it. A strange being, a strange flower, an unknown reptile, a
unique machine, or a strange and unknown anything, almost, within the
ken of man, can be explained to another so that he will reasonably
comprehend it; but not so with the Grand Canyon. I had an illustration
of this but a few days ago. A member of my own household, keenly
intelligent and well-read, who had heard my own descriptions a
thousand and one times, and had seen photographs and paintings,
without number, of the Canyon, came with me on her first visit to the
camp where I am now writing. As the carriage approached the rim at
Hotouta Amphitheatre and gave her the first glimpse of the Canyon,
she drew back terrified, appalled, horror-stricken. Subsequent analysis
of her emotions and the results of that first glimpse revealed a state of
mind so overpowered with the sublimity, vastness, depth and power of
the scene, that her impressions were totally inadequate, altogether
lacking in detail and accuracy, and at complete variance with her
habitual observations.
Whence came so utter a confusion of the senses? The Canyon is its own
answer. It fills the soul of all responsive persons with awe. Explain it as
one will, deny it if one will, sensitive souls are filled with awe at its
superb majesty, its splendor, its incomprehensible sublimity. And in
these factors we find the great source of its attractiveness, for, in spite
of the awe and terror it inspires in the hearts of so many at first sight, it
allures, attracts and holds those who have once gazed into its
mysterious depths. Indeed, is it not to its very vastness, mystery,

solitude and awe-inspiring qualities we owe its power over us? The
human mind is so constituted that such qualities generally appeal to it.
Hence the never-ceasing call the Canyon will make to the soul of man,
so long as a susceptible mortal remains on earth.
Its Physical Features. Seen at any time it is bewildering and appalling
to one's untrained senses; but especially in the very early morning,
during the hours of dawn and the slow ascent of the sun, and equally in
the very late afternoon and at sunset, are its most entrancing effects to
be witnessed. At midday, with the sun glaring through into its depths,
the reds and chocolates of the sandstones (which are the predominating
colors) are so strong, and the relieving shadows so few, that it seems
uninteresting. But let one watch it as I did last night, between the