I saw his mother-in-law while I was there. I can't exactly tell you how many there is of her--but it's a good deal. It strikes me that one mother-in-law is about enough to have in a family--unless you're very fond of excitement. 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. (Picture of) 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. (It is an authenticated fact that, in an address to his congregation in the Tabernacle, Heber C. Kimball once alluded to his wives by the endearing epithet of "my heifers;" and on another occasion politely spoke of them as "his cows." The phraseology may possibly be a slight indication of the refinement of manners prevalent in Salt Lake City.) 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 basiliconthamaturgist. 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.)