The night I was there a Chinese comic vocalist sang a Chinese comic song.  It took him six weeks to finish it--but as my time was limited, I went away at the expiration of 215 verses.  There were 11,000 verses to this song--the chorus being "Tural lural dural, ri fol day"--which was repeated twice at the end of each verse--making--as you will at once see--the appalling number of 22,000 "tural lural dural, ri fol days"--and the man still lives. Virginia City--in the bright new State of Nevada. A wonderful little city--right in the heart of the famous Washoe silver regions--the mines of which annually produce over twenty-five millions of solid silver.  This silver is melted into solid bricks--about the size of ordinary house-bricks--and carted off to San Francisco with mules.  The roads often swarm with these silver wagons. One hundred and seventy-five miles to the east of this place are the Reese River Silver Mines--which are supposed to be the richest in the world. The great American Desert in winter time--the desert which is so frightfully gloomy always.  No trees--no houses--no people--save the miserable beings who live in wretched huts and have charge of the horses and mules of the Overland Mail Company. This picture is a great work of art.--It is an oil painting--done in petroleum.  It is by the Old Masters.  It was the last thing they did before dying.  They did this and then they expired. The most celebrated artists of London are so delighted with this picture that they come to the Hall every day to gaze at it.  I wish you were nearer to it--so you could see it better.  I wish I could take it to your residences and let you see it by daylight.  Some of the greatest artists in London come here every morning before daylight with lanterns to look at it. They say they never saw anything like it before--and they hope they never shall again. When I first showed this picture in New York, the audience were so enthusiastic in their admiration of this picture that they called for the Artist--and when he appeared they threw brickbats at him.  A bird's-eye view of Great Salt Lake City--the strange city in the Desert about which so much has been heard--the city of the people who call themselves Saints. I know there is much interest taken in these remarkable people--ladies and gentlemen--and I have thought it better to make the purely descriptive part of my Entertainment entirely serious.--I will not--then--for the next ten minutes--confine myself to my subject.