s of the great mountains near the city. We took such an excursion
by electric car line, fourteen miles up into Immigration Canyon. This
is the old trail along which the Mormons came in 1847. At the end of the
line is a delightful hotel, the Pinecrest Inn. Had there been time we
could have taken many more canyon trips.

"The Utah" is a beautiful hotel with every modern equipment. A great bee
hive, the Mormon emblem, glows with light at night on top of the
building. Of course we saw the Mormon tabernacle and walked about its
splendid grounds. I was particularly interested in the "sea gull
monument," designed by Brigham Young's grandson, and erected in memory
of the sea gulls that saved the crops the first year of Mormon
settlement by coming in flocks and eating the locusts that threatened to
destroy everything green. We enjoyed the fine view from the State
University buildings on the "bench" high above the town.

In Salt Lake City I purchased some "canyon shoes" of a famous
manufacture, and later I found them admirable for heavy walking trips.

We left Salt Lake City by driving through Parley's Canyon, a deep gash
in the mountains parallel to Immigration Canyon. It is a favorite local
drive to go out through Parley's Canyon and return to Salt Lake City
through Immigration Canyon. The roadway is very narrow, as it shares the
canyon floor with a railroad track and with a rushing stream, so one
must drive carefully and keep a sharp lookout for trains. We met an
itinerant Baptist missionary driving in his big caravan wagon into the
country for a preaching trip. After leaving Parley's Canyon we came into
open rolling country, and passed the substantial stone buildings of
Stevens Ranch and Kimball Ranch. Then came Silver Creek Canyon, more
open than Parley's Canyon and with a fair road. We had luncheon at the
Coalville Hotel. I was attracted to the little town of Coalville because
there were so many yards where old fashioned yellow rosebushes were
laden with bloom. We drove on through Echo Canyon, whose red sandstone
rocks, chiseled in many forms by wind and weather, have very fine
coloring. At Castle Rock the whole formation is like that of a massive
fortification. Six miles before we reached the town of Evanston, we
crossed the State line and were in Wyoming. It is a pity that these
State boundaries are indicated in many places by such shabby,
indifferent wooden signs, looking as if they had been put up over night.
Doubtles