Descending the mountain, I followed the windings of the main central glen on the north, gathering specimens of the cones and sprays of the evergreens, and most of the other new plants I had met; but the lilies formed the crowning glory of my bouquet—­the grandest I had carried in many a day.  I reached the hotel on the lake about dusk with all my fresh riches, and my first mountain ramble in Utah was accomplished.  On my way back to the city, the next day, I met a grave old Mormon with whom I had previously held some Latter-Day discussions.  I shook my big handful of lilies in his face and shouted, “Here are the true saints, ancient and Latter-Day, enduring forever!” After he had recovered from his astonishment he said, “They are nice.”

The other liliaceous plants I have met in Utah are two species of zigadenas, Fritillaria atropurpurea, Calochortus Nuttallii, and three or four handsome alliums.  One of these lilies, the calochortus, several species of which are well known in California as the “Mariposa tulips,” has received great consideration at the hands of the Mormons, for to it hundreds of them owe their lives.  During the famine years between 1853 and 1858, great destitution prevailed, especially in the southern settlements, on account of drouth and grasshoppers, and throughout one hungry winter in particular, thousands of the people subsisted chiefly on the bulbs of the tulips, called “sego” by the Indians, who taught them its use.

Liliaceous women and girls are rare among the Mormons.  They have seen too much hard, repressive toil to admit of the development of lily beauty either in form or color.  In general they are thickset, with large feet and hands, and with sun-browned faces, often curiously freckled like the petals of Fritillaria atropurpurea.  They are fruit rather than flower—­good brown bread.  But down in the San Pitch Valley at Gunnison, I discovered a genuine lily, happily named Lily Young.  She is a granddaughter of Brigham Young, slender and graceful, with lily-white cheeks tinted with clear rose, She was brought up in the old Salt Lake Zion House, but by some strange chance has been transplanted to this wilderness, where she blooms alone, the “Lily of San Pitch.”  Pitch is an old Indian, who, I suppose, pitched into the settlers and thus acquired fame enough to give name to the valley.  Here I feel uneasy about the name of this lily, for the compositors have a perverse trick of making me say all kinds of absurd things wholly unwarranted by plain copy, and I fear that the “Lily of San Pitch” will appear in print as the widow of Sam Patch.  But, however this may be, among my memories of this strange land, that Oquirrh mountain, with its golden lilies, will ever rise in clear relief, and associated with them will always be the Mormon lily of San Pitch.

X

The San Gabriel Valley[12]