Grand Canyon of the Colorado and River Stolid indeed is he who can front the awful scene and view its unearthly splendor of color and form without quaking knee or tremulous breath. An inferno, swathed in soft clestial fires; a whole chaotic under-world, just emptied of primeval floods and waiting for a new creative world; eluding all sense of perspective or dimension, defeating the faculty of measurement, putting ina maze all apprehension of limit; a terrible thing, unflinchingly real, yet spectral as a dream. The beholder is at first unimpressed by any detail; he is overwhelmed by the whole of the stupendous panorama, a thousand square miles in extent, that lies wholly beneath the eye, as if he stood upon a mountain peak instead of upon the level brink of a fearful chasm in the plateau, whose opposite shore is thirteen miles away. The Grand Canon is a labyrinth of huge architectural forms, endlessly varied in design, fretted with ornamental devices, festooned with lace-like webs formed of crumblings from the cliffs above and painted with every color known in pure, transparent tomes of marvelous delicacy.
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