A few days before my arrival in Utah--Brigham was married again--to a young and really pretty girl--but he says he shall stop now.  He told me confidentially that he shouldn't get married any more.  He says that all he wants now is to live in peace for the remainder of his days--and have his dying pillow soothed by the loving hands of his family.  Well--that's all right--that's all right--I suppose--but if all his family soothe his dying pillow--he'll have to go out-doors to die. By the way--Shakespeare indorses polygamy.--He speaks of the Merry Wives of Windsor.  How many wives did Mr. Windsor have?--but we will let this pass. Some of these Mormons have terrific families.  I lectured one night by invitation in the Mormon village of Provost, but during the day I rashly gave a leading Mormon an order admitting himself and family--It was before I knew that he was much married--and they filled the room to overflowing.  It was a great success--but I didn't get any money. Heber C. Kimball's Harem.--Mr. C. Kimball is the first vice-president of the Mormon church--and would-- consequently--succeed to the full presidency on Brigham Young's death. Brother Kimball is a gay and festive cuss of some seventy summers--or some'ers thereabout.  He has one thousand head of cattle and a hundred head of wives.  He says they are awful eaters. Mr. Kimball had a son--a lovely young man--who was married to ten interesting wives.  But one day--while he was absent from home--these ten wives went out walking with a handsome young man--which so enraged Mr. Kimball's son--which made Mr. Kimball's son so jealous--that he shot himself with a horse pistuel. The doctor who attended him--a very scientific man--informed me that the bullet entered the inner parallelogram of his diaphragmatic thorax, superinducing membranous hemorrhage in the outer cuticle of his asiliconthamaturgist.  It killed him.  I should have thought it would. *(Soft music.) *(Here Artemus Ward's pianist [following instructions] sometimes played the dead march from "Saul."  At other times, the Welsh air of "Poor Mary Anne;" or anything else replete with sadness which might chance to strike his fancy.  The effect was irresistibly comic.) I hope his sad end will be a warning to all young wives who go out walking with handsome young men.  Mr. Kimball's son is now no more.  He sleeps beneath the cypress--the myrtle--and the willow.  This music is a dirge by the eminent pianist for Mr. Kimball's son.  He died by request. I regret to say that efforts were made to make a Mormon of me while I was in Utah. It was leap-year when I was there--and seventeen young widows--the wives of a deceased Mormon--offered me their hearts and hands.  I called on them one day--and taking their soft white hands in mine--which made eighteen hands altogether--I found them in tears. And I said--"Why is this thus?  What is the reason of this thusness?" They hove a sigh--seventeen sighs of different size--They said--