I lectured here, and I can only say that I was never listened to more kindly than I was by this audience. _______________ XIII. HURRAH FOR THE ROAD! TIME, Wednesday afternoon, February 10.  The Overland Stage, Mr. William Glover on the box, stands before the veranda of the Salt Lake House.  We go away on wheels, but the deep snow compels us to substitute runners twelve miles out. There are four passengers of us.  We pierce the Wahsatch mountains by Parley's canyon. We reach Weber station, thirty miles from Salt Lake City and wildly situated at the foot of the grand Echo Canyon, at 3 o'clock the following morning.  We remain over a day here with James Bromley, agent of the Overland Stage line, and who is better known on the plains than Shakspeare is; although Shakspeare has done a good deal for the stage.  James Bromley has seen the Overland line grow up from its ponyicy; and as Fitz-Green Halleck happily observes, none know him but to like his style.  He was intended for an agent.  In his infancy he used to lisp the refrain, "I want to be an agent,         And with the agents stand." Forward to Fort Bridger, in an open sleigh.  Night clear, cold, and moonlit.  Driver Mr. Samuel Smart.  Through Echo Canyon to Hanging Rock Station.  The snow is very deep, there is no path, and we literally shovel our way to Robert Pollock's station, which we achieve in the Course of Time.  Mr. P. gets up and kindles a fire, and a snowy nightcap and a pair of very bright black eyes beam upon us from the bed.  That is Mrs. Robert Pollock.  The log cabin is a comfortable one.  I make coffee in my French coffee-pot, and let loose some of the roast chickens in my basket.  Mrs. Pollock tells me where I can find cream for the coffee, and cups and saucers for the same, and appears so kind, that I regret our stay is so limited that we can't see more of her. On to Yellow Creek Station.  Then Needle Rock--a desolate hut on the Desert, house and barn in one building.  The station-keeper is a miserable, toothless wretch, with shaggy yellow hair, but says he's going to get married.  I think I see him. Pass Quaking Asp Springs and Muddy to Fort Bridger.  Here are a group of white buildings, built round a plaza, across the middle of which runs a creek. We are on the road again, Sunday the 14th, with a driver of the highly floral name of Primrose.  At 7 the next morning we reach Green River Station, and enter Idaho Territory.  This is the Bitter Creek division of the Overland route, of which we had heard so many unfavorable stories.  The division is really well managed by Mr. Stewart, though the country through which it stretches is the most wretched I ever saw.  The water is liquid alkali, and the roads are soft sand.  The snow is gone now, and the dust is thick and blinding.  So drearily, wearily we drag onward.