ficent sight to be witnessed between Botzen and Verona when the railway passes near to the gigantic piles of rock which have been fitly entitled The Gateways of the Alps. Beneath our feet the Weber river rushes along in turbulent might. At one moment the line skirts the margin of deep, dark pools. At another a bend removes the river into the distance, and then the attention is fixed on some huge chasm in the rugged mountain side. Where the pass narrows stands a solitary pine bearing the name of the 1,000 mile tree. It was so named because it was the first tree of any size which the constructors of the railway met with while they were carrying the line westward from Omaha. High up on the distant mountain slopes are beautiful tufts of a red shrub, and in the clefts of the rocks are a few stunted trees, but with these exceptions the whole scene is wild and barren. Not far from the tree just mentioned is the Devil's Slide. This resembles the wooden structures, down which the trees cut on mountain heights are shot to the river below, only this slide is fashioned by Nature's hand out of solid rock. Swiftly does the train speed along the Canyon, until emerging from the narrow space between the sundered rocks which is called the Devil's Gate, the Great Salt Lake is discerned in the distance, and the view of

a luxuriant valley is in pleasing contrast to the frowning rock and foaming river. The train stops at Uintah. Here Mormon lads sells peaches and Mormon women tempt the ladies in the train to purchase gloves which they have tastefully em

broidered.

H

VII.

VISIT TO THE MORMONS: THE CITY OF THE SAINTS.

THE Pacific Railway runs through Utah Territory and skirts the northern end of the Great Salt Lake. From the nearest railway station to the City of the Saints the distance is about forty miles. A branch line, called the Utah Central Railroad, has now brought Salt Lake City into communication by rail with the principal American cities of the East and West. When I made the journey, the visitor to the capital of Mormondom had to leave the Union Pacific at Uintah station, and to take a seat in one of the stage coaches of Wells, Fargo, & Co. The coach which meets the train is what is styled a Concord Coach.' It has seats for nine persons inside and for at least five on the roof. The inside seat for three is placed crosswise between the two doors. Those who occupy it are not only cramped, but are exposed to disagreeable pressure from the knees of the passengers behind, as well as to inconvenience from the feet and legs of those facing them. To suffer this during five

hours, the time occupied by the journey, is bad enough, yet this is not the worst.

The road itself

it would be diffi

is unique of its kind. To rival cult; to surpass it impossible. In badness it is pre-eminent. Execrable is the strongest epithet in the language for a road having no redeeming points. This word, however, serves but feebly and inadequately to describe and stigmatise the road between Uintah station and Salt Lake City. There are innumerable ruts and depressions in it. Huge stones interpose obstacles to the smooth passage of a vehicle. If the occurrence of the ruts were more uniform, and the arrangement of the stones more regular, less complaint might with justice be made. But the perverse combination of the two is utterly unbearable. On one side, at short distances apart, is a rut a foot deep, on the opposite side is a row of stones a foot high. As the four horses harnessed to the coach draw it rapidly over those rough places, the effect is that of a sudden lurch and stunning blow produced simultaneously. The swing to the one side, which follows the sinking of the wheels, bumps the passengers against the sides and against each other, while the jar of the other wheels against the stones, throws their heads against the roof or their backs against the front or rear of the coach. Thus they

learn, in a way alike practical and unpleasant, the import of the threat to beat a man into a jelly or to break every bone in his body. On reaching their destination the passengers have good grounds for charging the company with a species of assault and battery. That no steps have yet been taken with a view to obtain redress for physical injuries sustained during the drive is probably due to the fact that every one who has survived the ordeal must be so thankful that he has escaped with his life as to have no disposition to foster vindictive feelings against his fellows. It is a standing miracle that the driver sticks to his post. Judging from the one who drove the coach when I was among the passengers, I should say that the risks run and the jolting undergone had a souring effect on the temper, and a saddening influence on the mind. A more surly, ill-conditioned, and taciturn driver I never met before. The chief point in his favour was his determination to keep his cattle going at full speed. When we halted to change horses, and were detained a few minutes beyond the allotted time, he told the outside passengers to hold on firmly, as he meant to go ahead like greased lightning.' As the road before us looked even worse than that behind, this intimation seemed equivalent to a threat of extra sufferings about to