About two miles from the city, and upon the side of the Wasatch Mountains, is Camp Douglas, an army post, which the new department commander came to inspect. The inspection was in the morning, and we all went to see it, and were driven in the post with the booming of cannon—the salute always given a brigadier general when he enters a post officially. It was pretty to see the general's wife partly cover her ears, and pretend that she did not like the noise, when all the time her eyes were sparkling, and we knew that every roar of the big guns added to her pride. If all those guns had been for Faye I could never have stayed in the ambulance.
It is charming up there—in the post—and the view is magnificent. We sat out on a vine-covered porch during the inspection, and watched the troops and the review. It made me so happy, and yet so homesick, too, to see Faye once more in his uniform. The inspection was all too short, and after it was over, many officers and their wives came to call upon us, when wine and delicious cake was served. We were at the quarters of the colonel and post commander. That was the second post we had taken Mrs. Ord to, and she is suddenly enthusiastic over army people, forgetting that Omaha has a post of its own. But with us she has been in the tail of the comet—which made things more interesting. Army people are nice, though, particularly in their own little garrison homes.
There is only one mormon store here, and that is very large and cooperative. Every mormon who has anything whatever to sell is compelled to take it to that store to be appraised, and a percentage taken from it. There are a few nice gentile shops, but mormons cannot enter them; they can purchase only at the mormon store, where the gentiles are ever cordially welcomed also. Splendid fruit and vegetables are grown in this valley—especially the fruit, which is superior to any we ever saw. The grapes are of many varieties, each one large and rich with flavor, and the peaches and big yellow pears are most luscious. Upon our table down in the dining room there is always an immense glass bowl of selected fruit—peaches, pears, and grapes, and each time we go down it seems to look more attractive.
We have been to see the tabernacle, with its marvelous acoustic properties, and the temple, which is not yet finished. The immense pipe organ in the tabernacle was built where it now stands, and entirely by mormons. From Brigham Young's old home a grand boulevard runs, through the city, across the valley, and over the hill far away, and how much beyond I do not know. This road, so broad and white, Brigham Young said would lead to Jerusalem. They have a river Jordan here, too, a little stream that runs just outside the city.
There are grand trees in every street, and every old yard, and one cannot help feeling great indignation to see where in some places the incoming gentiles have cut trees down to make space for modern showy buildings, that are so wholly out of harmony with the low, artistic white houses and vine-covered walls. It is such a pity that these high, red buildings could not have been kept outside, and the old mormon city left in its original quaint beauty.
We will return to Omaha soon now, and I shall at once become busy with preparations for the winter East. I have decided to go home in October, so I can have a long, comfortable visit before going to Washington. Faye wishes me to join him there the last of December. I am not very enthusiastic over the prospect of crowded rooms, daily receptions and "teas," and other affairs of more formality. But since I cannot return to the plains, I might as well go to the city, where we will meet people of culture, see the fascinating Diplomatic Corps, and be presented to the President's beautiful young wife. Later on there will be the inauguration—for we expect to pass the winter in Washington.
THE END