STEEP TRAILS 



into their houses, though perchance they might 

 be sauntering by with little else to do than chat 

 with them. Possibly there may be Salt Lake 

 families sufficiently pure for angel society, but 

 I was not pleased with the reception they gave 

 the small snow angels that God sent among 

 them the other night. Only the children hailed 

 them with delight. The old Latter-Days seemed 

 to shun them. I should Like to see how Mr. 

 Young, the Lake Prophet, would meet such 

 messengers. 



But to return to the storm. Toward the even- 

 ing of the 18th it began to wither. The snowy 

 skirts of the Wahsatch Mountains appeared 

 beneath the lifting fringes of the clouds, and 

 the sun shone out through colored windows, 

 producing one of the most glorious after-storm 

 effects I ever witnessed. Looking across the 

 Jordan, the gray sagey slopes from the base of 

 the Oquirrh Mountains were covered with a 

 thick, plushy cloth of gold, soft and ethereal 

 as a cloud, not merely tinted and gilded like a 

 rock with autumn sunshine, but deeply muffled 

 beyond recognition. Surely nothing in heaven, 

 nor any mansion of the Lord in all his worlds, 

 could be more gloriously carpeted. Other por- 

 tions of the plain were flushed with red and 

 purple, and all the mountains and the clouds 

 above them were painted in corresponding 

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