The evening telegraph. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1864-1918, 1871-04-20

than q casual notice. It was two parallel YER
tical walls of rock, projecting from the side
Of q mountain to the height Of 125 feet, ira
versing the mountain from base to summit
q distance of 1900 feet These walls we're not
to exceed thirty feet in width and their tops
for the whole length were crowned with
growth of pines. The sides were as even as
If they had been worked by line and plumb
the whole space between, and on either side
of them, having been completely eroded aud
washed away. We had seen MANY of the
capricious works wrought by erosion upon the
friable rocks of Montana, but never before
upon SO majestic a scale. Here an en-
tire mountain-side, by wind aud water,
had iSo been. been removed, leaving ,s as
toll these vertical projections, which, but for
their immensity, might as readily be mis-
taken for works of art as of nature. Their
smooth sides, uniform width and height, and
great length, considered in connection with
the causes which had wrought their insula-
ton, excited our wonder and admiration.
They were all the more curious because Of
their dissimilarity to any other striking OBJ
jects in natural scenery that we had ever seen
or heard of. In future years, when the won
ders of the Yellowstone are incorporated into
the family of fashionable resorts, there will
be few of its attractions surprising in inte-
rest this marvellous freak of the elements.
For some reason, best understood by himself,
one of our companions gave to these rocks
the name of the "Devii's Slide"
The Great Falls are at the head of one of
the most remarkable canons in the world
a gorge through volcanic rocks fifty miles
long, and varying from one thousand to
nearly five thousand feet in depth In its
descent through this wonderful chasm the
river falls almost three thousand feet At
one point, where the passage has been worn
through q mountain range, our hunters
assured us it was more than vertical mile
in depth, and the river, broken into rapids
and cascades, appeared no wider than a
ribbon. The brain reels as we gaze into
this profound and solemn solitude. We
shrink from the dizzy verge appalled,,
glad to feel the solid earth under our feet,
and venture no more, except with forms
extended, and faces barely protruding
over the edge of the precipice. The stiffness
is horrible. Down, down, down, we see the
river attenuated to thread, tossing its minia-
ture waves, and dashing, with puny strength,
the massive walls which imprison it, All
access to its margin is denied, and the dark
gray rocks hold it in dismal shadow. Even
the voice of its waters in their convulsive
agony cannot be heard. Uncheered by plant
or shrub, obstructed with massive boulders
and by jutting points, it rushes madly on Its
solitary course, deeper and deeper into the
bowels of the rocky armament. The solemn
grandeur of the scene surpasses descrip-
ton. 1t must be seen to be felt The
sense of danger with which it impresses you
is narrowing in the extreme. You feel
the absence of sound, the oppression of
absolute silence. If you could only hear
that gurgling river, if you could see living
tree in the depth beneath you, if bird would
fly past, if the wind would move any object in
the awful chasm, to break for a moment
the solemn glance that reigns there, it would
relieve that tension of the nerves which the
scene has excited, and you would rise from
your PROSTATE condition and thank God that
He had permitted you to gaze unharmed upon
this majestic display of natural architecture.
AS it is, sympathizing in spirit with the deep
gloom of the scene, you crawl from the dread
full verge, scared lest the firm rock give way
beneath and precipitate you into the horrid
Gulf