achieve in the Course of Time. Mr. P. gets up and kindles a fire,
and a snowy nightcap and a pair of very bright black eyes beam upon
us from the bed. That is Mrs. Robert Pollock. The log cabin is a
comfortable one. I make coffee in my French coffee-pot, and let
loose some of the roast chickens in my basket. (Tired of fried
bacon saleratus bread--the principle bill of fare at the stations
--we had supplied ourselves with chicken, boiled ham, onions,
sausages, sea bread, canned butter, cheese, honey, &c. &c., an
example all Overland traders would do well to follow.) Mrs.
Pollock tells me where I can find cream for the coffee, and cups
and saucers for the same, and appears so kind, that I regret our
stay is so limited that we can't see more of her.

On to Yellow Creek Station. Then Needle Rock--a desolate hut on
the Desert, house and barn in one building. The station-keeper is
a miserable, toothless wretch, with shaggy yellow hair, but says
he's going to get married. I think I see him.

To Bear River. A pleasant Mormon named Myers this station, and he
gives us a first-rate breakfast, Robert Curtis takes the reins from
Mr. Smart here, and we get on to wheels again. Begin to see groups
of trees- a new sight to us.

Pass Quaking Asp Springs and Muddy to Fort Bridger. Here are a
group of white buildings, built round a plaza, across the middle of
which runs a creek. There are a few hundred troops here under the
command of Major Gallergher, a gallant officer and a gentleman,
well worth knowing. We stay here two days.

We are on the road again, Sunday the 14th, with a driver of the