Big Creek is a straggling, wild, little village; and the house in which I had the honor of speaking a piece had no other floor than the bare earth.  The roof was of sagebrush.  At one end of the building a huge wood fire blazed, which, with half-a-dozen tallow-candles, afforded all the illumination desired.  The lecturer spoke from behind the drinking bar.  Behind him long rows of decanters glistened; above him hung pictures of race-horses and prize-fighters; and beside him, in his shirt-sleeves and wearing a cheerful smile, stood the bar-keeper.  My speeches at the Bar before this had been of an elegant character, perhaps, but quite brief.  They never extended beyond "I don't care if I do," "No sugar in mine," and short gems of a like character. I had a good audience at Big Creek, who seemed to be pleased, the bar-keeper especially; for at the close of any "point" that I sought to make he would deal the counter a vigorous blow with his fist, and exclaim, "Good boy from the New England States! listen to William W. Shakespeare!" Back to Austin.  We lose our way, and hitching our horses to a tree, go in search of some human beings.  The night is very dark.  We soon stumble upon a camp-fire, and an unpleasantly modulated voice asks us to say our prayers, adding that we are on the point of going to Glory with our boots on.  I think perhaps there may be some truth in this, as the mouth of a horse-pistol almost grazes my forehead, while immediately behind the butt of that death-dealing weapon I perceive a large man with black whiskers.  Other large men begin to assemble, also with horse-pistols.  Dr. Hingston hastily explains, while I go back to the carriage to say my prayers, where there is more room.  The men were miners on a prospecting tour, and as we advanced upon them without sending them word they took us for highway robbers. I must not forget to say that my brave and kind-hearted friend Ryder of the mail coach, who had so often alluded to "Ward" in our ride from Virginia to Austin, was among my hearers at Big Creek.  He had discovered who I was, and informed me that he had debated whether to wollop me or give me some rich silver claims. _______________ IX. GREAT SALT LAKE CITY. How was I to be greeted by the Mormons?  That was rather an exciting question with me.  I had been told on the plains that a certain humorous sketch of mine (written some years before) had greatly incensed the Saints, and a copy of the Sacramento "Union" newspaper had a few days before fallen into my hands in which a Salt Lake correspondent quite clearly intimated that my reception at the new Zion might be unpleasantly warm.  I ate my dinner moodily and sent out for some cigars.  The venerable clerk brought me six.  They cost only two dollars.  They were procured at a store near by.  The Salt Lake House sells neither cigars nor liquors. I smoke in my room, having no heart to mingle with the people in the office.