through the Wahsatch Mountains on to the elevated table-lands of Wyoming
Territory. Objects of interest follow each other in quick succession
along this part of the journey, and I have ample time to examine them,
for Weber River is flooding the canon, and in many places has washed
away the narrow space along which wagons are wont to make their way, so
that I have to trundle slowly along the railway track. Now the road turns
to the left, and in a few minutes the rugged and picturesque walls of
the canon are towering in imposing heights toward the clouds. The Weber
River comes rushing - a resistless torrent - from under the dusky shadows
of the mountains through which it runs for over fifty miles, and onward
to the pkin below, where it assumes a more moderate pace, as if conscious
that it has at last escaped from the hurrying turmoil of its boisterous
march down the mountain.

Advancing into the yawning jaws of the range, a continuously resounding
roar is heard in advance, which gradually becomes louder as I proceed
eastward; in a short time the source of the noise is discovered, and a
weird scene greets my enraptured vision. At a place where the fall is
tremendous, the waters are opposed in their mad march by a rough-and-tumble
collection of huge, jagged rocks, that have at some time detached
themselves from the walls above, and come crashing down into the bed of
the stream. The rushing waters, coming with haste from above, appear to
pounce with insane fury on the rocks that dare thus to obstruct their
path; and then for the next few moments all is a hissing, seething,
roaring caldron of strife, the mad waters seeming to pounce with ever-
increasing fury from one imperturbable antagonist to another, now leaping
clear over the head of one, only to dash itself into a cloud of spray
against another, or pour like a cataract against its base in a persistent,
endless struggle to undermine it; while over all tower the dark, shadowy
rocks, grim witnesses of the battle. This spot is known by the appropriate