ably more officers throw up the service from distress for leave than in the English army. It was clear that we must travel without the dignities, so we inspected an ambulance and a four-mule team, for which the Hungarian refugee, its owner, asked $1000 but little beyond its worth. After an exceedingly satisfactory day in a private sense, I passed the evening at Captain Gove's, and watched with astonishment the game of Boston. Invented by the French prisoners in the islands of the American Liverpool, and abounding in "grand misery," "little misery," and other appropriate terms, it combines all the difficulties of whist, écarté, piquet, brag, and cribbage, and seems to possess the same attractions which beam upon the mind of the advanced algebraic scholar. Fortunately there was an abundance of good commissariat whisky and excellent tobacco, whose attractions were greater than that of Boston. On the morrow, a gloomy morning, with cold blasts and spatters of rain from the southwest, and the tameness of the snowbirds which here represent
"Cock Robin and Jenny Wren,
God Almighty's cock and hen"—
warned us that the fine season was breaking up, and that we had no time to lose. So, inspanning Julia and Sally, we set out, and after six hours reached once more the City of the Saints.
CHAPTER VIII.
Excursions continued.
I had long been anxious to visit the little chain of lakes in the Wasach Mountains, southeast of the city, and the spot where the Saints celebrate their "Great Twenty-fourth of July." At dinner the subject had been often on the carpet, and anti-Mormons had informed me, hinting at the presence of gold, that no Gentile was allowed to enter Cotton-wood Kanyon without a written permit from the President Prophet. Through my friend the elder I easily obtained the sign manual; it was explained to me that the danger of fires in a place which will supply the city with lumber for a generation, and the mischievousness of enemies, were at the bottom of the precaution. Before starting, however, two Saints were chosen to accompany me, Mr. S———, and Mr., or rather Colonel, Feramorz, popularly called Ferry, Little. This gentleman, a partner, relative, and connection of Mr. Brigham Young, is one of the "Seventies;" of small and spare person, he is remarkable for pluck and hardihood, and in conjunction with Ephe Hanks, the Danite, he has seen curious things on the Prairies.
A skittish, unbroken, stunted, weedy three-year-old for myself, and a tall mule for my companion, were readily lent by Mr. Ken-
