still!"

We find it vain to depict by our feeble word-painting the many-hued,
many-voiced phases nature assumes in this almost boundless domain, and the
yet untold, undeveloped depths of our territorial resources. Mountains
looming up in imperial grandeur, their snow-crowned summits melting into
cloud and sky; weird cañons, in which the whispered words of worship from
a myriad devotees seem to echo and re-echo through their dark depths;
giant trees:

"The murmuring pines and hemlock,
Bearded with moss and in garments of green,
Indistinct in the twilight,
Stand like Druids of Eld,
With voices sad and prophetic."

Among the many military posts Fort Bridger, named for the famous trapper
and guide of oft-written and oft-told fame, is also renowned as one of the
posts of our gallant frontier officer, Albert Sydney Johnston, who won his
first laurels amid the first Mormon troubles, and gallantly fell at Shiloh
early in the Civil War.

Many of the most romantic places have been named for some fair maiden of
the pioneer families, as Maggie's Creek, Susan's Valley, etc., while one
of the most noted and poetic spots is known as "The Maiden's Grave," the
once rude resting place of a gentle girl, whose remains were left there by
her mourning friends on their way to their home on the Pacific Slope. It
was afterwards found by a party of graders on the railway, and these rough
but sympathetic men erected a fitting mausoleum of solid masonry,
surmounted by a pure white cross of stone, whose symmetrical proportions