Lazy? When lifting up two
miles' thickness of strata for the clouds and their children to carve away?
And it lifted and lifted, until it destroyed a vast Eocene lake, which
covered as large an area as perhaps half a dozen Eastern States, and at the
same time carried away about twelve thousand feet of strata. Lazy? When you
consider that from north to south, for a hundred or more miles, the whole
region has been heaving and tossing, curving and buckling, arching and
crumpling its strata, faulting by rising, faulting by sinking, until the
geologist who would study the faults finds, in the area of one half-mile,
near the mouth of Shinumo Creek, his work for a lifetime cut out for him.
No! No! Mr. College President! You must look more fully. You must guess
again! The Canyon is not lazy. It is merely a gigantic natural
representation of yourself. You are the embodiment of energy of body, mind
and soul; yet you are never seen hurried or disturbed. You have the
serenity of genius. So with the Canyon. It has done and is doing great
things. It has been a persistent worker during the millions of years of its
existence, but it has the calm serenity of consciousness of strength. What
you took to be laziness is the restfulness of divine power.
When First Seen. These are some of the effects the Canyon has upon men. I
once walked up to the rim with a lawyer, who to-day is one of the foremost
figures of the San Francisco bar, a man of lion-like courage and almost
reckless bravery. At the first glimpse he fell on his knees, clasped me
around mine, and begged me to take him away, declaring that a gift of all
Arizona would not lead him to take another glimpse into its awesome depths.
I know of one lady who, for weeks afterwards, would wake up almost every
night, and feel herself falling into the fathomless gorge.
Yet the next day the lawyer went with me down to the river, and to this day
declares it was the "most memorable trip of his life;" while the timid
lady, to my own knowledge, has made over five trips to the Canyon.
Those of less susceptible nerves cannot conceive the effect the first sight
of the Canyon produces upon such supersensitive natures as these to which I
have referred. I have seen strong men fall upon their knees. I have seen
women, driven up to the rim unexpectedly, lean away from the Canyon, the
whole countenance an index of the terror felt within, gasp for breath, and
though almost paralyzed by their dread of the indescribable abyss, refuse
either to close their eyes or turn them away from it.
