Grand River valley is followed by the railroad from a point about forty miles north of Leadville for a distance of nearly two hundred miles, and until State Line is reached, when the road cuts across the plains of Utah, which are relieved by little diversity of landscape until Mount Nebo, of the Wasatch range, breaks into view. The scenery along Grand River is, however, extremely beautiful, being very rugged and at times mountainous. The road leads through several caÑons that have very high vertical walls, around ledges, over bridges, and takes an occasional plunge into the midnight of tunnels bored through solid granite. The landscape which meets the traveler’s vision when he reaches Utah is very different from that which characterizes Colorado, the difference being apparent almost when the border is reached. After passing the plateau the route is by Provo Lake, where the region becomes broken, and near-by are lofty ledges, over one of which rushes a pellucid stream that is formed by melting snows from the adjacent mountains. Provo Falls is a beautiful sheet of water, dashing down a height of forty feet and then spreading away until lost in Provo Lake.

The Wasatch range is now plainly visible, coasting the eastern shore of Great Salt Lake, and winding around to the southwest until they enclose a valley that by Mormon industry has been converted into a veritable paradise, ramified as it is by canals that render it prolific with nearly everything that fertile soil can produce.

The Wasatch range forms one of the most important topographical features of the Cordilleran system; in fact, it marks the central line of elevation of this great mountain region, and is the dividing ridge between the arid interior basins of Nevada and the high and relatively well-watered plateau country that drains into the Gulf of California. All the mountain formations here are on a scale of universal magnitude, while in their structure are to be seen the effects of dynamic forces, which have folded and twisted thousands of feet of solid rock as if they were as pliable as so many sheets of paper. To the westward the range presents a bold, abrupt escarpment, rising suddenly out of the plains of the Utah basin, and attains its greatest elevation within a couple of miles of its western base. To the eastward it slopes off very gradually, forming a succession of broad ridges and mountain valleys whose waters drain into the Great Salt Lake through caÑons and gorges cut through its main western ridge. The altitude is from 10,000 to 12,000 feet above sea level, so that snow is continuous on the summits, while a condensation of the eastward moving atmospheric currents, produced by the chill on the mountain peaks, furnishes a constant supply of water to the mountain streams, and from which the valleys derive their exceptional fertility. A view of the range, as observed from one of the islands in Salt Lake, presents a mountain wall more than 100 miles in length, of delicately varied outline, the upper portion wrapped in a mantle of snow, but dotted with patches of pine revealing all the intricacies of its rocky structure, and cut through at short intervals by deep caÑon gashes of rare grandeur and beauty. A striking feature is presented in the old lake terraces which mark the former beach-line of ancient Lake Bonneville, of which the uppermost is 940 feet above the level of the present lake, and can be traced with few interruptions from one end of the range to the other. Lake Bonneville was formerly the great inland sea of which Great Salt Lake is now a part. It covered nearly one-sixth of what is now Utah territory, and there is evidence that it was connected with the sea by an arm extending to the Gulf of California. The upheaval of mountains through volcanic action reduced its bed and gradually confined its waters to the lower basin of what afterwards came to be known, because of its saline waters, as the Great Salt Lake.

As early as 1689 mention was made of this remarkable lake, which was somewhat indefinitely located and described by Baron La Houtan, “lord-lieutenant of the French colony at Placentia, in New Foundland,” in a work which was first published in the English language in 1735. But though known at such an early day, it was not until 1849 that a survey of the lake was made by Howard Stansbury, captain of topographical engineers, U. S. A., though General John C. Fremont circumnavigated it in 1844, giving names to its several islands and prominent points. The settlement of Mormons in the Salt Lake Valley, near the shores of the lake, served to bring the Dead Sea of America into prominence, and to this fact was largely due the action of the Government in ordering a survey of the great basin to be made. The lake was found to be nearly eighty miles long by fifty broad, and to contain such a quantity of salt, sulphates of silver, chlorides of magnesium, potash and alum, that its solid contents were about four times greater than that of ocean water, while its specific gravity almost equalled that of the Dead Sea. Having no outlet the lake has a fluctuating level, dependent upon the amount of inflowing water and solar evaporation, which varies each season, but though theoretically the lake ought to be diminishing, the fact remains that it is rather increasing, showing marked encroachment on the eastern shores, while on the west there is an apparent recession of its waters, a peculiarity not easily explained.

There are a number of islands in Salt Lake, the two largest being Antelope and Stansbury, which rise abruptly to a height of 3,000 feet, terminating in rocky ridges that range north and south, and from which a marvelously beautiful view is had of the surrounding scenery, varied by towering peaks, boundless plains, fields of grain, irrigating ditches, prosperous farm houses, and away to the southeast a delightful vision of Salt Lake City. Other islands in the lake are those known as Gunnison, Fremont, Carrington, Dolphin, Black Rock, Mud, Egg, Hat, and several others that are so insignificant as to appear to be unworthy of any name. The total area covered by the lake is about 2,500 square miles, or nearly 400 square miles more than the State of Delaware, and its elevation above the sea is 4,000 feet.

But if Great Salt Lake is one of the prime curiosities of America, its municipal namesake may well claim the distinction of being one of the artificial wonders of our land. Salt Lake City is the sublime result of Mormon persecution, having been founded by that alien sect in 1847. The history of their expulsion from Nauvoo, Illinois, and Gallatin, Missouri, is familiar to every school-boy, yet there will ever linger about the story of their flight, across the winter-swept plains of Iowa and the icy prairies of Nebraska, to the desert lands of Utah, a glamour of romance, second in interest to that of the exile of the Acadians, as told by Longfellow in Evangeline.

In this valley of desolation, as it then appeared, Brigham Young, the Moses of his people, founded a city and re-established a hierarchy which has persisted and prospered to a degree that invites the world’s amazement. By industry as remarkable as it was well directed, the desert was converted into an oasis, and the bare earth, with its poverty of sand and sage-brush, was made to cover its nakedness with the green vestures of almost unexampled fecundity.

The town thus established under harsh conditions grew into the stature of a city, whose very isolation seemed to contribute to its prosperity. For the first score of years the place was in nearly all respects one of refuge, where the church was dominant and where priestcraft and polygamy were the two institutions upon which the life of the sect depended. We are not surprised, therefore, to find that the first great building erected in Salt Lake City was a tabernacle, with a seating capacity for 12,000 persons, the largest hall without pillar supports in the world, and that next to this a tithing house was built, for it was a principle with the Mormons that the church should be supported by levies upon the communicants of one-tenth of their annual profits, whether such earnings came from the soil, merchandise or the trades. Then followed the building of an endowment house, where the rites of the church were celebrated; and besides a residence for the president or chief priest, there was erected a structure known as the Bee-Hive, for the accommodation of Brigham Young’s harem, also an assembly hall, and lastly a Grand Temple, costing nearly $3,000,000, which, after twenty years, is just now approaching completion.

The City of Salt Lake, with a population of 44,000, is about seven miles from the southeastern shore of the lake, is beautifully laid out with streets 132 feet wide, the gutters of which are kept clean by the constant running of pure water through them, brought down from the Wasatch range and conducted thence through a myriad of ditches to irrigate the soil.

Salt Lake City is one of the chief military posts of the United States, and Fort Douglas, situated about five miles from the city, on a gently sloping hillside at the termination of Red Butte CaÑon, is a delightful place and commands an unobstructed view of the entire valley. A mile toward the south is Emigrant CaÑon, from which point it is said the Mormon pioneers first caught sight of the verdureless plain which they were destined to convert into a very Eden of productiveness. One of the greatest attractions in the neighborhood of the city (about eighteen miles distant) is a noted bathing resort called Garfield Beach which, during the summer season, is visited by thousands of persons who there indulge the incomparable luxury of a bath in the marvelous Dead Sea of America. The water is so buoyant that those who have not mastered the art of swimming find equal sport with those who are most expert, for they can lie on the delicious waves and be rocked like a child in its cradle, without putting forth any effort whatever. Just back of Garfield’s Beach is a great cavern in the Oquirrah Mountain side known as the Giant’s Cave, the entrance to which is some 300 feet above the lake level, though it is plainly evident that in former years the opening was submerged. When the cave was discovered, in 1860, it was found to contain several complete human skeletons, recklessly disposed, as though they were the victims of slaughter or starvation. It was a custom among the Utes to place their dead in caves and in hollows among the rocks, but the irregularity of the positions of the skeletons found in Giant’s Cave lends plausibility to the belief that the remains are those of a band of Indians who, having taken refuge there, were exterminated by their more powerful enemies.

About forty miles north of Salt Lake City, and on the main line of the Union Pacific Railroad, are two remarkable chasms known as Echo and Weber CaÑons, which are not only sublimely grand by reason of their lofty and often vertical walls, but are also marvelously curious on account of the weird formations which distinguish them. The first one reached on our trip from Salt Lake was Weber CaÑon, which invites attention and admiration not so much by beetling cliffs as by its great variety of scenery and the kaleidoscopic changes which appear at every hundred yards of advance into it. The caÑon is not always narrow, nor are the walls invariably high, for there is a succession of all kinds of mountain scenery, including stretches of beautiful meadow land and fertile fields wrapped about the feet of giant peaks; colossal gate-ways leading into dark defiles; mighty summits breaking way through cloudland; slopes covered with pine and aspen; and ridges that appear to have been fashioned by gods of war into towers, bastions and crenelated battlements. Weber River has forged its way through this chasm, and along its sinuous and rocky bed the railroad runs, sometimes cutting under an overhanging ledge, again almost scraping the sides of the walls that swing so near together, then leaping out of night-infested chasms into broadening valleys that are green and russet with prolific fruitage. While admiring the peaceful landscape and contemplating the happy environments that render the valley a place of delightful habitation, our dreamy reflections are suddenly disturbed by a sight of what seems to have been most appropriately named The Devil’s Slide, a formation whose singularity entitles it to consideration as one of nature’s marvels. The hill upon the side of which this unique wonder occurs is about 800 feet high, composed of a dark red sandstone, whose face has been scarred by some internal disturbance that has caused to be cast up from the base two gray parallel walls of white sandstone, which rise to a varying height of twenty to forty feet above the general surface of the hill, and are not more than twenty feet apart. This remarkable slide begins at the summit and continues to the base, where it is reflected in the clear waters of Weber River, opposite Lost Creek, producing a vision that is weirdly grotesque and sublimely curious.

“Echo CaÑon,” says an English traveler, “is a superb defile. It moves along like some majestic poem in a series of incomparable stanzas. There is nothing like it in the Himalayas that I know of, nor in the Suliman range. In the Bolan Pass, on the Afghan frontier, there are intervals of equal sublimity; and even as a whole it may compare with it. But taken for all in all—its length (some thirty miles), its astonishing diversity of contour, its beauty as well as its grandeur—I confess that Echo CaÑon is one of the masterpieces of Nature.”

One of the first objects which claims particular attention near the entrance to the caÑon from the west is Pulpit Rock, which is near the village of Echo. This projection receives its name from its suggestive appearance as well as from the popular tradition that Brigham Young occupied it to preach his first sermon in Utah. The rocks and precipices which line the way are variegated with subdued tints, heightened by the pronounced coloring of the mountain vegetation that covers the slopes and spreads out in occasional level tracts at the base. Remarkable and often fantastic formations diversify the caÑon, which for their fancied resemblance to artificial things have received such appellations as Steamboat Rock, Gibraltar, Monument Rock, etc. Our further advance brings into view towering cliffs that seem to be suspended from the sky, and again the walls reach over the way like mighty claws, and exhibit their serrated peaks in a series of ruins that in the distance conjure the imagination and present a vision of monoliths, temples, galleries and castles, such as bestrew the old world. Hanging Rock and Castle Rock are two specially bold promontories that give suggestion of Nilotic and Rhenish ruins, a verisimilitude that is intensified by the knowledge that when Johnston invaded Utah in 1857 the Mormons fortified many of the cliffs of both Weber and Echo CaÑons, the fading wrecks of these structures being still visible.

Church Buttes and The Witches present a strange conglomeration in uniting religion with superstition, for they appeal to the two strongest attributes of human nature. From the west the “Witches” first come into view, a group of fantastically-wrought images that appear like chaotic creations, the rock-carved dreams of distempered boyhood, the feverish personations of old Granny Bunch’s tales. There they stand, like an assemblage of weazened and wrinkled wizards plotting some scheme of diabolism, though everlastingly anchored to the eternal hillsides, where, like Giant Grim, they can do nothing more than make faces at passers-by.

Church Buttes are more harmonious in their outlines, as well as massive in their proportions, simulating as they do cathedrals and meeting houses, some with towers and spires, and others of less ostentatious architecture, but all bearing some intimation of a worshipful purpose. But these curious efforts of nature are not confined to the caÑons named, nor a limited district, for directly north of Green River, and reached by a Government trail leading to Yellowstone Park, are what are known as the Bridges and Washakie Basins of Bad Lands, a region that is remarkable for its capricious formations, the results of upheavals, glacial scouring, and erosions by wind and water. This district of marvelous forms is a part of Fremont county, covering an area of twenty by twenty-five miles. The country is a mixture of limestones, shales and calcareous sandstones, with occasional green clays, marls, and whitish sand, the latter often drifting into long dunes. Towards the south end of this dry valley there is a chain of bluff escarpments, extending about fourteen miles, and it is in these escarpments that the most remarkable examples of Bad Land erosions are to be found. The ridges rise 300 feet above the valley and present a series of abrupt, nearly vertical faces, worn into innumerable architectural forms, with detached pillars standing like monoliths some distance from the walls. Along the dry ravines the same curiously picturesque forms occur, so that a view of the whole front of the escarpment, with its salient angles, bears a striking resemblance to the ruins of a fortified city. Enormous masses project from the main wall, the stratifications of cream, gray and green sands are traced across their nearly vertical fronts like courses of immense masonry, and every face is scoured by innumerable narrow, sharp cuts, which are worn into the soft material from top to bottom of the cliff, offering narrow galleries which give access for a considerable distance into this labyrinth of natural fortresses. At a little distance, these sharp incisions seem like the spaces between series of pillars, and the whole aspect of the region is that of a line of Egyptian structures. Among the most interesting bodies are those of the detached outliers, points of spurs, or isolated hills, which are mere relics of the beds that formerly covered the whole valley. These monoliths, often reaching 100 feet in height, rise out of the smooth surface of a level plain of clay, and are sculptured into the most surprising forms, surmounted by domes and ornamented by many buttresses and jutting pinnacles.

Clarence King, U. S. Geologist, in a monograph on the Bad Lands, says: “It is not altogether easy to account for the peculiar character of this erosion, resulting as it does in such singular vertical faces and spire-like forms. A glance at the front of these Bad Lands shows at once that very much of the resultant forms must be the effect of rain and wind-storms. The small streams which cut down across the escarpment from the interior of the plateau, do the work of severing the front into detached blocks; but the final forms of these blocks themselves are probably in great measure given by the effect of rain and wind erosion. The material is so exceedingly fine, that under the influence of trickling waters it cuts down most easily in vertical lines. A semi-detached block, separated by two lateral ravines, becomes quickly carved into spires and domes, which soon crumble down to the level of the plain. It seems probable that some of the most interesting forms are brought out by a slightly harder stratum near the top of the cliffs (like the strange, and often uncouth, examples in Monument Park, Colorado), which acts in a measure as a protector of the softer materials, and prevents them from taking the mound-forms that occur when the beds are of equal hardness.”

As we follow down Green River, the same effects are observable in the vertical bluffs which extend along the shores, images to which fancy has given such names as the Devil’s Tea-pot, the Giant’s Club, Vermilion Cliffs, and many others, for the geologic structure is the same through nearly the whole of southeast Wyoming. But the so-called Bad Lands are not wholly confined to Wyoming, for they are met with in both North and South Dakota, west of the Missouri River; though for beauty and magnitude, those of Wyoming are incomparable.

From Green River Station we doubled our track and returned to Ogden, where we took some very beautiful views of Ogden CaÑon, the Narrows, Adam’s Falls, and the mountains that soar very far skyward at the city’s rear. But our stay here was limited to two days, when we took the Oregon branch of the Union Pacific for a visit to Shoshone Falls, on Snake River, which for size as well as magnificence takes a position second only to our world-wonderful Niagara.

Directly after leaving Ogden the road enters the valley of Bear River, which it follows as far north as Weston Falls, a distance of about seventy-five miles. The scenery along this part of the route is almost as rugged as that of Weber CaÑon, being a succession of caÑons and lovely stretches of level lands brought into the highest state of cultivation by Mormon industry. At Pocatello the road branches, one of its iron arms extending northward to Helena, while the main line turns westwardly to Oregon. The district which it penetrates after leaving Pocatello is desert-like and devoid of interest almost to the western limits of Idaho, if we except the point where the road crosses Snake River. Here the American Falls go brawling and boiling over immense basaltic rocks that are struggling with the impetuous stream, and whose tops are flecked with tufts of foam thrown up by mad-dashing waves. But the waters have not yet worn a chasm through the desert, which spreads away on either side a level plain, until forty-four miles distant the dreary monotony is broken by three buttes that rise into view out of the uninviting landscape. We now enter a region that is somber beyond all power to describe; a wretched desolation that is relieved by no vegetation save of sage-brush, which straggles through little rifts in the earth and barely lifts its head above the surface. These are the lava beds that extend from Beaver CaÑon all along the north side of Snake River, until they lose themselves in the stream where it turns due north and draws a boundary line between Idaho and Oregon. The land appears to have been cursed with such a fire as destroyed Gomorrah, for the eye wanders over nothing but the fiery sputa of volcanoes, that, having wrought the fullest destruction, were in turn destroyed. Everywhere we look there greets our vision waves of lava that lashed the earth until, tired of their devastating work, they became congealed, or were arrested by the hand of omnipotence. But between the knolls of scoria are occasional depressions, which are cross-seamed and cracked until in many places the fissures are hundreds of feet deep, apparently extending in depth to the very vitals of the earth. Some of the crevices are only a few inches in width, while there are others several feet broad, into which creeks have lost themselves, and lead into bottomless pits.

It is a little more than one hundred miles from Pocatello to Shoshone Station, at which point we left the train, and by private conveyance struck across the lava fields, a distance of twenty-five miles due south, over the dustiest wagon-road that mortal ever traveled. The way is like a switch-back, up and down over sharp waves of lava, with desolation and discomfort obtrusive companions, and nothing rising above the dull undulations except a purplish tint in the horizon, marking with faint intimation a range of mountains one hundred miles away in Utah. For more than four hours we traversed this wearying stretch of parched and begrimed desert, without a sign of the river, until at length turning the base of a higher ridge we came suddenly upon the brink of a tremendous chasm, and there, 1,200 feet below our feet, was the river which we had journeyed so far to view. Long before reaching this objective point, we had heard a deep, rumbling noise that seemed to emanate from the earth’s internals, but now, with astounded sense of the awful, we beheld the cause. There before us was the vexed waters of a large river pouring over two precipices, the first 82 feet and the second 210 feet high, producing by the final plunge a colossal caldron, from which the mists rose up in boiling clouds that ever and anon hid the falls from sight.

A glance at this tremendous waterfall more than compensated for all the annoyances and discomforts that we had endured. It was a scene of positively bewildering majesty; a vision of the incomparably grand; an object lesson teaching the mightiness and mysterious ways of God. In the deep diapason of its voice we recognized nature’s hallelujah, and the thunderous boom of its plungings was like a chorus of invocation welling from a million throats. Its lovely grandeur, bursting out of the heart of desolation, is the personification of powerful, awe-inspiring sublimity, an exaltation of deity, an inspiration to the soul, a very glorification and apotheosis of nature.

Pausing on the bank to contemplate and measure the colossal wonder of the falls, we saw the emerald stream gliding along as placidly as though its mission was one of peace; nor was there any appearance of danger to the ferryman, who operated his boat by an over-head wire cable stretched from bank to bank, only 200 yards above. The quiet flow, however, was better understood when we learned that the river here is 200 feet deep; a very ocean filling a mighty chasm; an inundated caÑon whose volume of water equals that of a dozen Niagaras, for this tremendous gorge extends a distance of eighteen miles, and its bottom lies under the river 1,400 feet below the brink.

Shoshone Falls proper are 950 feet wide at the point of precipitation, but only a few yards to the rear of it are Bridal Veil Falls, whose width is 125 feet, and which constitute the first plunge or precipice, which in turn is broken into a series of minor cascades, known as Bridal Train and Natural Mill Race Falls, the divisions being produced by the interposition of Eagle Rock and Bell’s Island. One mile and a half below the cataract are Cascade Falls, while three miles above are Twin Falls, which leap down a height of 180 feet, thus showing that there is a space of nearly five miles in which the tremendous chasm has been torn by convulsions which most probably occurred after the river was turned into its bed. An exquisite word-painting by the journalistic pen of Hon. C. C. Goodwin is here reproduced: