"The world is strange.
But this canyon--why, we can see it all! I can't make out why people fuss so over it.

I only feel peace.

It's only bold and beautiful, serene and silent." With the words of this quiet old plainsman, my sentimental passion shrank to the true appreciation of the scene.

Self passed out to the recurring, soft strains of cliff song.

I had been reveling in a species of indulgence, imagining I was a great lover of nature, building poetical illusions over storm-beaten peaks.