I have somewhere stated that Brigham Young is said to have eighty wives.  I hardly think he has so many.  Mr. Hyde, the backslider, says in his book that "Brigham always sleeps by himself, in a little chamber behind his office;" and if he has eighty wives I don't blame him.  He must be bewildered.  I know very well that if I had eighty wives of my bosom I should be confused, and shouldn't sleep anywhere.  I undertook to count the long stockings, on the clothes-line, in his back yard one day, and I used up the multiplication table in less than half an hour.  It made me dizzy--it did! In this book I am writing chiefly of what I saw, and to elaborately denounce, at this late day, a system we all know must be wildly wrong, would be simply to impeach the intelligence of the readers of this book. PART V.  ARTEMUS WARD IN LONDON. THE LONDON PUNCH LETTERS. _______________ I. ARRIVAL IN LONDON. MR. PUNCH: My dear Sir,--You prob'ly didn't meet my uncle Wilyim when he was on these shores.  I jedge so from the fack that his pursoots wasn't litrary.  Commerce, which it has been trooly observed by a statesman, or somebody, is the foundation stone onto which a nation's greatness rests, glorious Commerce was Uncle Wilyim's fort.  He sold soap.  It smelt pretty, and redily commanded two pents a cake.  I'm the only litrary man in our fam'ly.  It is troo, I once had a dear cuzzun who wrote 22 verses onto "A Child who nearly Died of the Measles, O!" but as he injoodiciously introjudiced a chorious at the end of each stansy, the parrents didn't like it at all.  The father in particler wept afresh, assaulted my cuzzun, and said he never felt so ridicklus in his intire life.  The onhappy result was that my cuzzun abandined poetry forever, and went back to shoemakin, a shattered man.