While delighted to find the people all apparently so well circumstanced, we were also amused at their many curious peculiarities. There is one block in the city called “Temple Block.” This is surrounded by a high and powerful stone wall. Inside of this wall stands the mighty granite temple (yet unfinished), and also the tabernacle. The tabernacle is built of _adobes_ made from the blue clay from the mountain-foot. It is round, about eighty feet in diameter, with walls about thirty feet high. It is splendidly seated, and has a large gallery. There are large double doors all around, leaving columns of wall about ten feet between the doors. In warm weather these doors are all thrown open, and the building is a cool, delightful place. At one end stands the next to the largest pipe-organ in the world; next is a beautiful platform, which the band and choir of about seventy-five persons occupy; then comes the large, decorated, and comfortable chair in which the president sits; then the long sofa for the twelve apostles; then the pulpit for the ministers; and then comes the congregation, who usually throng the house. The choir is composed of cultured and beautiful singers; and sweeter music than I heard in that old tabernacle never met my ears. After the preaching is done and the songs are sung, the president arises and prophesies, and the apostles cry out, “Amen.” The fictitious Mormon Bible that they claim was found by Joe Smith in Mormon Hill has been changed and modified from time to time, and to-day they preach from nearly the same Bible as ours. They have services every Sabbath; and all finding it possible, from the tottering infant to the aged and gray, gather in to hear the word and listen to the prophecies. They take sacrament every Sabbath; but water is used instead of wine. I was in one of their thronged congregations when the cup went around, and when it reached me my delight at the thought of getting a good big swallow of old Mormon wine was blighted by a cup of something that I had been drinking ever since I was a drinker. Nevertheless, it went pretty well in warm weather. We happened to be there when the body of Rev. Joseph Stanley--a Mormon missionary who was killed in Georgia--arrived for interment, and we had the pleasure of hearing the services. The sixth chapter of the Revelation of St. John was read, and the text was taken from the thirty-fourth verse of the twenty-third chapter of St. Matthew. The remarks were all tinged with vindication; and the prophet indulged freely in threatening wrath upon their opposers. There were about fourteen thousand people present, and the strong language of the dignitaries excited them to such a degree that I tried to look just as much like a Mormon as possible.