Juniata sentinel and Republican. [volume] (Mifflintown, Juniata County, Pa.) 1873-1955, 1884-01-30

A Desolate Region.

Desolate Region.
Soda Springs, Monroe County, CAL,
has been called the dead sea Of the
Sierra, and writer from that section
says:
''The southern end of Monroe Valley
is chain of obsidian hills and noun.
talns of scoria, which coffin volcanoes,
extinct for hundreds, maybe thousands
of years. These rise to an elevation of
a thousand feet above the floor of the
valley, and add a picturesqueness which
aids the enhancing panorama furnished
by the valley itself. They are three
miles long, and although surrounded by
an almost barren waste, SO desolate are
they that they seem deserted here and
left in isolation, rising like the parent
limb from which all other desolation
had strayed and become lost in its wan
derings. Their base is skirted by a
belt of pines, and anon along their sides
trees are perched and withered shrubs,
but these do not diminish, but rather
add another dreary feature to their
loneliness. No song birds notes, it
/ Stcino, udNC SNCl dNdhCltCu oil CCuO
here, and silence and desert solitude
hold eternal court. When the snow
storm rests her tired wings about their
forms ard when the midnight wraps
them in its sable shrOud, no deeper
hush invades that stiffness Well paci-
/ fed at best, no death could calm, no
grave subdue it more. have seen,
deep in the East, when the gathered
clans of the elements stalked threaten
ing upon the darkness, the lightning
bent on some terrible mission of ven-
geance, burn path through the NUT
tering storm and pass like vision of
death, to destruction; l have seen the
last rays of the retreating sun creep
into the clouds, lighting them in their
raised station into radient splendor;
have viewed those rays retreat, leaving
the clouds hung like banner of Grape
across the barren sky, and L have seen
the moon stalk from the midnight like
ghot TO the grave, but nothing so
suggestive of glory departed as this, a
submerged cabin.
But probably the most romantic and
interesting object the lake contains be-
meath its surface is the walls of cabin
which lies against the base of one of
the islands under fifteen feet of water.
Who built the cabin here is mystery.
Indians born and raised in the vicinity,
who count their years in gray hairs, say
the surface of the lake has never been
but few feet below its present level,
and that less than sixty years ago it
was higher by 100 feet. They know
nothing of the cabins origin. Some
accredit the edifice with being the job
of pIimeval white race-some stone
masoh of the time of the man of ancient
Carson footprint fame; others find an
author for the work in the nomadIc
priests, who century since were in that
section. Whoever built it, nobody oc-
occupies It now. The roof Is gone, the
door has fallen down, and there is
general air of sad neglect about it. The
owner has passed away and the agent
for the property is out of town. But
one day some enterprising Snowman will
nail legend on the front garden wall
and make a fortune exhibiting it to the
tourist, who will then journey to view
the live sea Of the Sierra. The two
islands on Mono lake, like most Of its
local surroundings, are of volcanic orr
gin, and upon one of them internal fires
are still apparent
Hot and cold mineral springs are nu-
merous about the lake, and everywhere
signs exist of the terrible tumult of ma
ture which long ago convulsed 1t, but
now SO silent it seems even signing
wind must be lost to wonder here.
Awed, We approached the solemn
scene, and silently we gathered around
the sad and neglected grave and barred
our brows. We were standing by the
tomb OF a buried monarch which had
given birth to mountains-grand, aw-
ful, lasting. We had never stood in
such presence before, we might never
again. Our feelings could be imagined
but by those who would unearth the
remains of mammoth animal OF ex-
tinct species among those of her sons,
for such was this. No marble stone
was reared above the lonesome spot, no
dated page. Its work alone stood to
sentinel its slumbers. And this is the
grandest monument that beautifies the
earth. Well may the man who leaves
such living trace of his existence sleep
upon the oceans bed, OF melt alone
among the deserts solitude, for a me-
mortal of magnificence rises over him,
wherever he be. No other monument
is fit to mark the sleep of such great
ness, and no other sleep is fit to be
marked, We had no fear now. 1t
seemed so subdued that we stood reck-
lessly upon its brink, much as the timid
citizen stands beside the corpse of the
murdered desperate, and gazed fear
less1y down at It's Impenetrable dark
ness.
we talked in subdued tones, standing
by it, of it affecting solitude and of its
desolate surroundings. Far down in
the mountain subdued voices repeated
what we had said. We tried again and
again and learned that here was one of
the most wonderful of echoes. 1t will
repeat any conversation, however
lengthy, it may hear. BY standing
here an orator may become an audience
to his own speech and hear it repeated
as he recites It In refractiOn of his
own Voice. have weird melody re-
garding the late John Bi own which L
delight to sing to echoes, and l tried 1t
here. l sang the first verse and chorus
and we sat down and waited. Pres
emily, from deep in the crater, a distant
but singularly distinct voice begun, in
solemn, unearthly~ basso, to sing
"Johh Brown" There was sadness in
the tone and it seemed to burden the
air without with melancholy that was
affecting. 1t gradually receded as if
being sung by body retreating, and
finally died away and all was silent.
Earthly songs sweeten as they grow
fainter in the distance. This sad,
weird, TAR away voice from the dead
grew sadder as it passed and ceased,
leaving sorrow in the oppressive silence
succeeding it. The sound is no longer
heard in the crater of Mono, bat it
baunts my ear and my memory, and 1
shall hear it again through every silence
in my life. Unconsciously our eyes
moistened, and it was minutes before
either of us spoke.
twas amusing to hear its grim rem