The lower falls is the beginning of the greater glory of the Yellowstone river. At the bottom of the gorge the tumultuous waters continue on their way, so far down that what is a river looks like a yellow ribbon. From the river bed the gorge widens and makes the magnificent spectacle of the Canyon of the Yellowstone river. If such a gorge had been cut in the dullest stone, it would be an awe-inspiring thing, but cut through rocks of the brightest hues the scene is bewildering, amazing and enthralling. And the longer you look at it, the more the wonder grows. What at first appears to be a wild riot of colors, yellow predominating, becomes a fabric of the most delicate colorings, blended as nature blends colors and softened as time softens them. There is no color and no shade that is missing. There is as much there as the eye has time or capacity to develop. No one has seen it all, no one will ever see it all. Each man sees but a fraction and a fragment of it. All the eyes of the world cast into one with all time at its command could not exhaust the possibilities of the combinations in forms and colors. Here, I thought, is the one place where no traveler can be disappointed, no dreamer disillusioned. Here the things that are, are more than the things imagined. This is the transformation scene of all the earth. This is the one great masterpiece in nature, perfect in all its details, endless in all its combinations of colors and forms, imposing in its grandeur. As I looked at it, I felt that nature had nothing more to say to me and that in the way of scenery my heart had nothing more to long for. Here is the throne of majesty in the temple of the beautiful. With unuttered thoughts in his mind and unfinished sentences on his lips, one must turn away from the Canyon of the Yellowstone. Monday morning, when we rode away from the scene, a dense fog hung over the river. Others were coming where we were leaving. Our day’s journey was back to the Mammoth Springs Hotel. For us the Park was a finished book, however many the pages which we had skipped, and however imperfectly we may have read the few passages that fell under our eyes. Streams and meadows, cliffs and mountain peaks covered with snow, lined the way outward bound, but it seemed to me that, somehow, the falling of the waters and the glimmering of the colors of the Canyon, dimmed all other things. V