The Grand Barranca of the Urique is one of the most massive pieces of nature's architecture that the world affords. It is quite similar in some respects to the Grand Cañon of the Colorado, and this is the nearest to which I can compare it in the United States. The latter, grand as the scenery undoubtedly is, soon tires by its monotonous aspect of perpendicular walls in traveling any distance, while the Grand Barranca could be followed as far as it deserves the name of "grand" and every view and every vista would have some startling and attractive change to please the eye. It is a "cross" between the Grand Cañon of the Colorado and the Yosemite Valley--if we can imagine such scenery after seeing both. Were the Urique River navigable, fortunes could easily be made by transportation lines carrying tourists to and fro, provided even only one terminus connected with some well-established line of travel. But unfortunately it is not navigable, no amount of money could make it so, and all tourists or travelers who are afraid of a little work or roughing it will miss one of the most magnificent panoramas. It is simply impossible to crowd into a pen-and-ink sketch or a photograph any adequate views of this stupendous mountain scenery. It is rather a field for an artist, who will put the product of his palette and brush on heroic-sized canvas, and make one of the masterpieces of the world. The heart of the Andes or the crests of the Himalayas contain no more sublime scenery than the wild, almost unknown fastnesses of the Sierra Madres of Mexico. [Illustration: A VIEW THROUGH ROCK OPENING ACROSS THE GRAND BARRANCA OF THE URIQUE.] From the cliffs we were on, among the pines and cedars, we could look far down into the valley of the Urique with our field glasses and see the great pitahaya cactus, a product of the tropical climes. In between were the oaks and other products of temperate climates, showing us in a huge panorama nearly all the plant life from the equator to the poles. We sat on the bold, beetling cliffs, and could drink ice water from the clear mountain springs that threw themselves in silvery cascades below, and view the river far down in the valley, a perpendicular mile below us, the waters of which were so warm that we knew we could bathe in them with comfort. Away off across the great cañon were lights, as evening fell, beaming from the caves of the cliff dwellers on the perpendicular side of the mountain. Truly it was a strange, wild sight.