But these mountains--whose summits are snow-covered and icy all the year round--are too grand to make fun of.  I crossed them in the winter of '64--in a rough sleigh drawn by four mules. This sparkling waterfall is the Laughing-Water alluded to by Mr. Longfellow in his Indian poem--"Higher-Water."  The water is higher up there. The plains of Colorado. These are the dreary plains over which we rode for so many weary days.  An affecting incident occurred on these plains some time since, which I am sure you will pardon me for introducing here. On a beautiful June morning--some sixteen years ago-- (Music, very loud till the scene is off.) * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * --and she fainted on Reginald's breast!* *"On Reginald's breast."  (At this part of the lecture Artemus pretended to tell a story--the piano playing loudly all the time.  He continued his narration in excited dumb-show--his lips moving as though he were speaking.  For some minutes the audience indulged in unrestrained laughter.) A prairie on fire is one of the wildest and grandest sights that can be possibly imagined. These fires occur--of course--in the summer--when the grass is dry as tinder--and the flames rush and roar over the prairie in a manner frightful to behold.  They usually burn better than mine is burning to-night.  I try to make my prairie burn regularly--and not disappoint the public--but it is not as high-principled as I am.*  *(The scene was a transparent one--the light from behind so managed as to give the effect of the prairie on fire. Artemus enjoyed the joke of letting the fire go out occasionally, and then allowing it to relight itself.) The last picture I have to show you represents Mr. Brigham Young in the bosom of his family.  His family is large--and the olive branches around his table are in a very tangled condition.  He is more a father than any man I know.  When at home--as you here see him--he ought to be very happy with sixty wives to minister to his comforts--and twice sixty children to soothe his distracted mind.  Ah! my friends--what is home without a family? What will become of Mormonism?  We all know and admit it to be a hideous wrong--a great immoral strain upon the 'scutcheon of the United States.  My belief is that its existence is dependent upon the life of Brigham Young.  His administrative ability holds the system together--his power of will maintains it as the faith of a community.  When he dies--Mormonism will die too.  The men who are around him have neither his talent nor his energy.  By means of his strength it is held together.  When he falls--Mormonism will also fall to pieces. That lion--you perceive--has a tail.  It is a long one already.  Like mine--it is to be continued in our next. THE END