their enemies fondly hoped they would? No; God was with them, and under Him they have founded not only a greater city, but a commonwealth also, and are moving rapidly forward to fill their high destiny, which is to become the preservers of their country and of the liberties and rights of man. B. H. Roberts. FIVE DAYS ON THE LAKE. THE true size of the Great Salt Lake is not appreciated until, at the expiration of a week's cruising over its surface, you return to port, having failed to explore many of its arms and bays, or devote more than a passing glance to its several islands. At Centerville, the fifteen miles of water lying between the east shore and Antelope Island-a width by the way, as great as the widest part of Long Island Sound make a respectable stretch of water, but there is another stretch of equal width, approximately, between Antelope and Carrington Islands, and still another one of the same width between Carrington Island and the west shore. It is when you get behind Antelope and Stansbury's Islands, or way up on the west side of the distant Promontory, that you sense the magnificent proportions of the Lake. When at the mouth of the desert on the farther shore, you behold yourself confronted with a golden stream of sand, stretching back at almost a dead level, farther than the eye can reach, and by black hills, upon which a scrubby growth of cast-iron brush endeavors to lend its aid to a desolate scene; when you realize that there is not a drop of fresh water along that parched shore, except in the keg in your boat; where the prevailing silence and unbroken stillness of the scene remind you that there is not a village nearer than the slopes of the Wasatch, whose hazy peaks fringe the eastern horizon, you are pretty apt to appreciate the magnitude of the great inland sea. The waters over which the harmonious sounds of the Garfield orchestra, or on whose bouyant bosom the hilarious bathers float, are exceptional in their experiences, for it is the rule, and particularly so on the distant shores of the western desert, that the waves hear no sound save their own ripple on the beach or their ominous roar on the breakers. A party of four, consisting of Captain D. L. Davis, Messrs. Fred. Lambourne, Douglas Swan and the writer, boarded a Garfield train on a very pleasant morning in June. We were soon at our railroad destination and hard at work at the preparatory labors of the voyage. The boat was high on the beach, its mast and rudder unstepped, and its holds full of water. New stays were attached in place of worn out ones, the tackle was arranged, the sails bent, the water pumped out, and at an expenditure of considerable energy, the boat was forced along her way into the water. Then came the shipping of the cargo, a heterogeneous collection of bedding, overcoats, bread boxes, mess chests, field glasses, water kegs, and, it should not be forgotten, a faded cotton umbrella, the companion of other voyagers and the much abused property of the artist, which, by the way, having been hidden on one occasion, was the source of much lamentation on the part of its owner, who supposed it lost overboard. It was not until five in the afternoon that everything was ataunto, and we pointed our prow for Stansbury's, or Kimball's Island. The boat, the Cambria, is the property of Captain Davis, whose guests we were. She is a catamaran or double-keeled vessel, and it appears from certain newspaper statements in the possession of the captain, the first of her class ever built in America. Take a boat of ordinary shape and divide it lengthwise, make the two halves water-tight, place them four or five feet apart, build a deck from side to side and steer astern, step the mast in the ordinary way, and rig up two rudders, worked by a single tiller, attach a bowsprit, and use mainsail, topsail, and foresail--and you will have a boat of the Cambria class. She is a very safe boat, and has demonstrated herself to be very fast. She is also comfortable, since instead of the sloping sides and narrow bottom of the ordinary craft, we find a deck of convenient size for making beds for a half dozen people. It is true there is no cabin, this could be had only with a larger boat. An ordinary iron kettle, with holes cut into the sides, near the bottom, and wired to a zinc stoveboard, the invention of our genial skipper, was the ship's stove. A few kindlings thrown into the kettle would boil water or fry meat or potatoes in a few seconds. The offices of the boat were distributed naturally. The command fell to the owner of the boat, who has no doubt cruised around the Lake more than any living man. Mr. Swan, an experienced navigator, was mate. But inasmuch as there was no one on board who could cook as well as the skipper, to him and to the mate, the most proficient, fell the responsible and important duties of cooking. Mr. Lambourne's attention was chiefly absorbed by the umbrella, but in general, he was classed as a passenger, and was invaluable in pointing out the finer scenes and cloud effects, which might otherwise have escaped our notice. To the writer fell the onerous duties of crew, whose chief function when not observing the captain at the tiller, or the mate preparing dinner, was to pump bilge water from the hold, through the lee scupper, or listen to the welcome rhapsodies of the artist over the combinations of colors with which nature is so lavish on the lake. Garfield faded from sight, darkness settled on the scene, and the boat sailed steadily onward, plunging slightly under the influence of a swell, left by the previous day's storm. The roll was decidedly unpleasant to the novices and produced a spirit of unrest in the region of the gastric juices. The artist in particular, sought communion with himself, and could with difficulty be aroused from his condition of brooding silence. The moon rose, the annoying swell was left behind, and after a beautiful sail of a few hours, we heard the sound of waters breaking against a rocky point of Stansbury's, under the influence of the breeze. The sound, though gentle, compared with the roaring of the storm waves, was yet an unpleasant sound to the amateur mariner approaching an unknown shore, whose rugged outlines were just revealed by the dim light of the mist-covered moon. We sailed cautiously in toward the shore, until finding ourselves sheltered behind the point whence came the sound of breaking waters, we cast anchor, and at midnight retired to rest, our sleep undisturbed, save by the swinging cordage, or the necessity of pumping out the holds once or twice during the night. With a clear sky as a canopy, the moon as a watch, and a gently rocking boat as a cradle, our lodgings were superb. The next morning the bold, rugged outlines of the island, and the details of its uninviting slopes were before us. Scrub brush, a few scrub bushes, affording what Stansbury, in his report refers to as "umbrageous" shade, volcanic rocks and silence! The Island is, however, more bold in outline than any of its sister islands; and as we drifted up its eastern shore under the impetus of a lazy breeze, the changing panorama now and then presented headlands of such scenic excellence as to entice the pencil of the artist, and command the attention of the party. It is when drifting along the deeper lake, away from the annoying gnats, removed from the hampering conventionalities of bath houses and bathing suits, and the mud of alleged beaches, that the bather can enjoy the delights of lake bathing in their fulness. Swimming around the boat or away from it, if it go slowly, or spurting to keep up with it, or clinging to the rudder braces if it go faster, are the incidents of a deep water boat bath. There is, I believe, no fresh water on Stansbury's Island, save that flowing from a driven well on the west side, near its only house. When the lake is low, you may cross dry shod from the mainland west of Grantsville, to the island, while, even at high water, there is no trouble in fording. The only sign of life we saw on the eastern slope, were a few stunted horses, threading their way with a disconsolate air through the brush and boulders that beset their path. West of the northern point of Stansbury, are the Sand Islands, invisible at a few miles distance, on account of their low elevation. They are the home of the gulls. As we rounded the point, the breeze freshened, and we stood up the lake in a north, north-easterly direction for the west side of Carrington's Island, ten miles distant. This island is of a nature quite different from Stansbury's. It is smooth, free from rugged precipices and brush, and is approximately round. Its highest point is not more than two hundred and fifty feet in elevation, is near the centre, from which the ground slopes off evenly in all directions to the shore. Running out from the southern shore is a narrow neck of sand, connecting a larger sand area with the mainland. Here are the nests of numerous gulls, who set up an angry outcry in chorus, at our invasion, for, attracted by the novel sight we beached the boat and walked up among the nests of the colony. We did not delay long here; we could not, since our destination for the night was Strong's knob, on the west shore, twenty-five miles distant, northwest from Carrington's. The wind was beginning to blow quite fresh, and so, setting all sail, we rounded the point of the island and steered through for what is supposed to be the Knob, almost lost below the western horizon. Darkness was creeping on, and we were obliged to forego a visit to Hat Island, a small piece of land a few miles north of Carrington's. The strong breeze on the quarter caps on the waves, and blew white the north, the lake stretched away to Monument Point on the Central Pacific; to the south, it ran far down into Skull Valley. Although the breeze was stiff enough to make a landsman cry, "Hold, enough!" yet the prospect of reaching the end of our proposed voyage for the day, at some hour of the night, and of not being compelled to set a watch and drift idly along during the entire night, was not without its comfort. As it was, two of us "turned," while the others kept the staunch little vessel on her course. It was then that our vocalist, who sings always sweetly, unlike his feathered namesake, who sings sweetly but once in his life, turned loose on a repertoire of nautical, Scotch, classical and popular songs, that made the evening extremely pleasant. Why, one could almost imagine himself a sailor, out on that great expanse of water, scudding through the waves, and lending his tuneless voice to help along the Larboard Watch, Nancy Lee and the Midshipmate. The writer fell asleep later in the evening, with the objective shore far in advance; but was awakened by the earnest conversation of the men at the "wheel," and looking up, was surprised to see that we were flying with railroad speed along a shore to the south. We soon hove to, between Strong's knob and the mainland; and having cast over both anchors, at one o'clock a.m. went to bed, interested in what the morrow would develop as to our surroundings. The morrow came. South of us was the precipitous and mountainous shore of the lake; to the west the "mouth of the desert;" north, the lake, and at a distance of two miles from us, at the shore, Strong's knob; connected with the mainland in the days of the Stansbury expedition, in 1849. After breakfast, we put out to the Knob, secured the boat, waded ashore and ascended to the sum caused the speedy craft to fairly fly mit, at an elevation of seven hundred through the water. We were now in a part of the lake invisible to dwellers on the east shore; a part enclosed by the islands and the promontory on one side, and by the mountains of the west shore on the other. To feet. The summit was surmounted by a "crows nest," or pile of rocks upon which there had once been erected a tripod of timber, forming a station used in the survey of the lake by Stansbury. The timbers have now fallen, but still contain some rough wrought iron nails, said to have been made in Salt Lake City, in 1849. The view from here was comprehensive; being chiefly interesting in the direction of the desert. The west shore, unlike I had always pictured it, is skirted with mountains of respectable height, except at the "mouth of the desert," where a river of shining sand, at first enclosed between the hills, stretches back from the shallow and irregular shores of the lake. Further back it widens, and finally, at the horizon, reaches a width of scores of miles. It is well called the "mouth of the desert, "for the great Yellow River of China could not more naturally flow into the lake, than does that stream of sand. A curious feature of the desert, is a mountain chain of approximately fifteen miles in length, that springs up like an island in its midst. It is not difficult to conceive that this chain was once an island, since, it is said, the lake recedes upon the desert a mile for each four inches that it rises. To the north about ten miles, is Gunnison Island, the scenic gem of the lake, to which, in the afternoon we sailed. Gunnison Island is an irregular, four pronged star, with several fine bays around its shores. It is small, very small, indeed, not more than three quarters of a mile at its greatest length. The north point, rising gently from the south, but being a precipice on the north, it reaches an elevation of three or four hundred feetand is surmounted as usual with a "crows nest;"and in this instance, a perfect tripod. The east bay, is semicircular in shape, quite large, extremely regular, and has a lovely beach. The island is interesting, not only because of its topography, but largely because of the gulls and penguins that at all seasons of the year make their home here, and which, at the time of our visit, were nesting. Clouds of screeching gulls circled around our heads at every foot-step, flocks of penguins rushed together in fear, and upon approach, rose and settled upon the waters of the little bay; the newly hatched gulls, fearful of trouble, hid their heads ostrich like, in the shrubs and rocks, and even endeavored to crawl under our feet to seek safety from the intruders. The little gulls were beautiful with their cream coats, speckled black; but the infant penguins were extremely revolting, some of them being as large as a shanghai rooster and as bare as a piece of raw beef. The nests of both birds are built upon the ground, and consist of a little sand and a few sticks, forming a basin deep enough only to protect the two or three eggs they contain, from falling out. That night the wind blew a gale from the north, and in the morning had not materially abated. The waves were running very high, much higher than we anticipated, but the Captain had unlimited confidence in the boat, and we had unlimited confidence in the captain, so we put out for the Promontory, twenty-five miles away. The waves were the height of a man, and the stress of weather was such, necessitating the furling of the foresail, and a double reef in the mainsail, that I believe no boat in the lake, except the Cambria, no style of small boat, except a catamaran, would have successfully withstood it. We shipped a little water now and then, but comparatively the Cambria is wonderfully dry in gusty weather. The Promontory was touched, and a slow run made down to the lower end of Fremont's or Miller's Island. Here Judge U. .J Wenner, once a Liberal nominee for the Salt Lake County Probate judgeship is located. He has sought the seclusion and invigoration of a rustic island life with the hope of regaining his lost health, and it seems that his hopes are to be realized. With him is his noble little wife and their two children, who have cheerfully banished themselves from the world, that their husband and father may live. Mrs Wenner, at the date of our visit, had not been off the island for six months. She has furnished her humble little dwelling without luxury, but with that good judgment in the selection of every particle of furniture, every book or picture, which comes of refinement and correct taste. The judge has a number of sheep and has been able to make some headway at agriculture, because of a number of flowing wells. This island was visited by Fremont, accompanied by Kit Carson in 1842. The former mentions having lost the cap off the case of one of his instruments, on the highest point of the island—and many people have sought to recover a memento of such value; the inhabitants having been particularly energetic in this search. In the evening we sailed down to Church or Antelope Island, and were skirting down its eastern shore in search of shelter, when darkness and a dead calm set in, and we cast anchor in the open lake about midnight and slept The next peacefully until morning. day we cruised on down the Island, past the old Island House, where a half dozen boys were putting up hay; past a number of excellent beaches, around the southern point, and across to Garfield, in time to get the boat stowed away and to catch the evening bathing train for Salt Lake. Boating will some day be popular upon the lake; it is large enough to attract the genuine lover of the sea, and to permit of yacht races of respectable length. The opportunity not only of boating, but cruising on our inland sea will yet be classed among the attractions of this inter-mountain region. R. W. Young. SEEK A 'Tis early morning as I sit here at my window watching the golden sun slowly rise above the mountain tops, and listening to the sweet songsters of the forest just beginning their day's work, and warbling such sweet notes; and the cocks just calling up the traveler and the toiler. I seem to be filled with a spirit of love for all mankind, but more especially for my Creator. Oh, how merciful and how good is God! How beautiful is this earth! How wicked are many of the people! We have trials to endure but we have a reward to gain; and how few of us care for the reward if only we can escape the trials; but how trifling are these trials compared with the great reward, What a word is that, oh, how salvation. great, how comforting! What boots it if the path of life is rugged and its steeps are hard to climb? The earth also is rugged and its steeps are hard to climb, but as God has given us power to mount these great heights of nature so will He give us power to mount the rugged steps of life; and grateful ought we to be to Him that He has given us trials, by which to gain a reward, for rewards given, not earned, are little appreciated. I had a dream one day, not in my sleep, but a waking dream, and if 12 REWARD. you like I will tell you of it. 'Twas a lovely afternoon and the sky was as blue as ever, and the air was fragrant with the scent of flowers; and the melodious song of the meadow-lark, the thrush and the humming bird, rang sweetly in my ear; the earth was so beautiful with its waving grass, its flowers, its lakes and streams, its mountains and dells. All nature seemed to join in praise to the Creator and my soul joined harmoniously with nature. As I strolled along, I stopped near a cool and silvery stream and there pillowed my head on the turf and sank into a sweet reverie. There in a lovely valley, where all was happiness and joy, were collected from all parts beautiful little children. Surely, thought I, this must be the vale of my childhood's dream, this must be fairyland, for they are all so happy and so beautiful, and so perfect and so good. As I watched I saw a portal where the little ones had entered, and I beheld a weary young traveler, standing as though waiting for admission; presently a dear, kind old man walked to the portal and opened it. "May I come in," the child asked, “I am so tired, for I have carried this lame back all my life and my legs are so weak |