dining-room for travelers, and a few guests can even find lodging
there; but, until a hotel is built, the principal dormitories must be
the tents, which are provided with wooden floors and furnished with
tables, chairs, and comfortable beds. This kind of accommodation,
however, although excellent for travelers in robust health, is not
sufficiently luxurious to attract many tourists. The evident
necessity of the place is a commodious, well-kept inn, situated a few
hundred feet to the rear of Hance's Camp, on the very edge of the
Cañon. If such a hotel, built on a spot commanding the incomparable
view, were properly advertised and well-managed, I firmly believe
that thousands of people would come here every year, on their way to
or from the Pacific coast--not wishing or expecting it to be a place
of fashion, but seeking it as a point where, close beside a park of
pines, seven thousand feet above the level of the sea, one of the
greatest marvels of the world can be enjoyed, in all the different
phases it presents at morning, noon, and night, in sunshine,
moonlight, and in storm.

[Illustration: OLD HANCE.]

[Illustration: THE FIRST VIEW.]

Early the next morning I eagerly climbed the little knoll at the foot
of which our tents were located, for I well knew that from its summit
I should see the Cañon. Many grand objects in the world are heralded
by sound: the solemn music of Niagara, the roar of active geysers in
the Yellowstone, the intermittent thunder of the sea upon a rocky
coast, are all distinguishable at some distance; but over the Grand
Cañon of the Colorado broods a solemn silence. No warning voice
proclaims its close proximity; no partial view prepares us for its