The Complete Works of Artemus Ward, Part 6
Charles Farrar Browne

Artemus Ward (Charles Farrar Browne) Part 6



With a biographical sketch by Melville D. Landon,
"Eli Perkins"



Artemus Ward's Panorama.

6.1. Prefatory Note by Melville D. Landon.

6.2. The Egyptian Hall Lecture.

6.3. "The Times" Notice.

6.4. Programme of the Egyptian Hall Lecture.

6.5. Announcement and Programme of the Dodworth Hall Lecture.




The fame of Artemus Ward culminated in his last lectures at
Egyptian Hall, Piccadilly, the final one breaking off
abruptly on the evening of the 23d of January, 1867. That
night the great humorist bade farewell to the public, and
retired from the stage to die! His Mormon lectures were
immensely successful in England. His fame became the talk
of journalists, savants, and statesmen. Every one seemed to
be affected differently, but every one felt and acknowledged
his power. "The Honorable Robert Lowe," says Mr. E.P.
HINGSTON, Artemus Ward's bosom friend, "attended the Mormon
lecture one evening, and laughed as hilariously as any one
in the room. The next evening Mr. John Bright happened to
be present. With the exception of one or two occasional
smiles, he listened with GRAVE attention."

The "London Standard," in describing his first lecture in
London, aptly said, "Artemus dropped his jokes faster than
the meteors of last night succeeded each other in the sky.
And there was this resemblance between the flashes of his
humor and the flights of the meteors, that in each case one
looked for jokes or meteors, but they always came just in
the place that one least expected to find them. Half the
enjoyment of the evening lay, to some of those present, in
listening to the hearty cachinnation of the people, who only
found out the jokes some two or three minutes after they
were made, and who laughed apparently at some grave
statements of fact. Reduced to paper, the showman's jokes
are certainly not brilliant; almost their whole effect lies
in their seeming impromptu character. They are carefully
led up to, of course; but they are uttered as if they are
mere afterthoughts of which the speaker is hardly sure."

His humor was so entirely fresh and unconventional, that it
took his hearers by surprise, and charmed them. His failing
health compelled him to abandon the lecture after about
eight or ten weeks. Indeed, during that brief period he was
once or twice compelled to dismiss his audience. Frequently
he sank into a chair and nearly fainted from the exertion of
dressing. He exhibited the greatest anxiety to be at his
post at the appointed time, and scrupulously exerted himself
to the utmost to entertain his auditors. It was not because
he was sick that the public was to be disappointed, or that
their enjoyment was to be diminished. During the last few
weeks of his lecture-giving, he steadily abstained from
accepting any of the numerous invitations he received. Had
he lived through the following London fashionable season,
there is little doubt that the room at the Egyptian Hall
would have been thronged nightly. The English aristocracy
have a fine, delicate sense of humor, and the success,
artistic and pecuniary, of "Artemus Ward" would have
rivalled that of the famous "Lord Dundreary." There were
many stupid people who did not understand the "fun" of
Artemus Ward's books. There were many stupid people who did
not understand the fun of Artemus Ward's lecture on the
Mormons. Highly respectable people--the pride of their
parish--when they heard of a lecture "upon the Mormons,"
expected to see a solemn person, full of old saws and new
statistics, who would denounce the sin of polygamy,--and
rave without limit against Mormons. These uncomfortable
Christians do not like humor. They dread it as a certain
personage is said to dread holy water, and for the same
reason that thieves fear policemen--it finds them out. When
these good idiots heard Artemus offer if they did not like
the lecture in Piccadilly, to give them free tickets for the
same lecture in California, when he next visited that
country, they turned to each other indignantly, and said,
"What use are tickets for California to US? WE are not
going to California. No! we are too good, too respectable
to go so far from home. The man is a fool!" One of these
vestrymen complained to the doorkeeper, and denounced the
lecturer as an impostor--"and," said the wealthy
parishioner, "as for the panorama, it is the worst painted
thing I ever saw."

During the lecture Artemus was always as solemn as the
grave. Sometimes he would seem to forget his audience, and
stand for several seconds gazing intently at his panorama.
Then he would start up and remark apologetically, "I am very
fond of looking at my pictures." His dress was always the
same--evening toilet. His manners were polished, and his
voice gentle and hesitating. Many who had read of the man
who spelled joke with a "g," looked for a smart old man with
a shrewd cock eye, dressed in vulgar velvet and gold, and
they were hardly prepared to see the accomplished gentleman
with slim physique and delicate white hands.

The letters of Artemus Ward in "Punch" from the tomb of
Shakspeare and the London Tower, had made him famous in
England, and in his audience were the nobility of the realm.
His first lecture in London was delivered at Egyptian Hall,
on Tuesday, November 13th, 1866. The room used was that
which had been occupied by Mr. Arthur Sketchley, adjoining
the one in which Mr. Arthur Smith formerly made his
appearances. The stage, with the curtain down, had this
appearance while Artemus was delivering his prologue:

(Drawing of stage with curtain closed and eight footlights.)

Punctually at eight o'clock he would step hesitatingly
before the audience, and rubbing his hands bashfully,
commence the lecture.


You are entirely welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to my little

I couldn't give you a very clear idea of the Mormons--and
Utah--and the Plains--and the Rocky Mountains--without
opening a picture-shop--and therefore I open one.

I don't expect to do great things here--but I have thought
that if I could make money enough to by me a passage to New
Zealand I should feel that I had not lived in vain.

I don't want to live in vain.--I'd rather live in Margate--
or here. But I wish when the Egyptians built this hall they
had given it a little more ventilation.

If you should be dissatisfied with anything here to-night--I
will admit you all free in New Zealand--if you will come to
me there for the orders. Any respectable cannibal will tell
you where I live. This shows that I have a forgiving

I really don't care for money. I only travel round to see
the world and to exhibit my clothes. These clothes I have
on were a great success in America.

How often do large fortunes ruin young men! I should like
to be ruined, but I can get on very well as I am.

I am not an Artist. I don't paint myself--though perhaps if
I were a middle-aged single lady I should--yet I have a
passion for pictures--I have had a great many pictures--
photographs taken of myself. Some of them are very pretty--
rather sweet to look at for a short time--and as I said
before, I like them. I've always loved pictures.

I could draw on wood at a very tender age. When a mere
child I once drew a small cart-load of raw turnips over a
wooden bridge.--the people of the village noticed me. I
drew their attention. They said I had a future before me.
Up to that time I had an idea it was behind me.

Time passed on. It always does, by the way. You may
possibly have noticed that Time passes on.--It is a kind of
way Time has.

I became a man. I haven't distinguished myself at all as an
artist--but I have always been more or less mixed up with
Art. I have an uncle who takes photographs--and I have a
servant who--takes anything he can get his hands on.

When I was in Rome--Rome in New York State I mean--a
distinguished sculpist wanted to sculp me. But I said "No."
I saw through the designing man. My model once in his
hands--he would have flooded the market with my busts-- and
I couldn't stand it to see everybody going round with a bust
of me. Everybody would want one of course--and wherever I
should go I should meet the educated classes with my bust,
taking it home to their families. This would be more than
my modesty could stand--and I should have to return to
America--where my creditors are.

I like Art. I admire dramatic Art--although I failed as an

It was in my schoolboy days that I failed as an actor.
(Artemus made many attempts as an amateur actor, but never
to his own satisfaction. He was very fond of the society of
actors and actresses. Their weaknesses amused him as much
as their talents excited his admiration. One of his
favorite sayings was that the world was made up of "men,
women, and the people on the stage.")--The play was 'Ruins
of Pompeii.'--I played the Ruins. It was not a very
successful performance--but it was better than the "Burning
Mountain." He was not good. He was a bad Vesuvius.

The remembrance often makes me ask--"Where are the boys of
my youth?"--I assure you this is not a conundrum.--Some are
amongst you here--some in America--some are in gaol.--

Hence arises a most touching question--"Where are the girls
of my youth?" Some are married--some would like to be.

Oh my Maria! Alas! she married another. They frequently
do. I hope she is happy--because I am. (Spoken with a
sigh. It was a joke which always told. Artemus never
failed to use it in his "Babes in the Wood" lecture, and the
"Sixty Minutes in Africa," as well as in the Mormon story.)
--some people are not happy. I have noticed that.

A gentleman friend of mine came to me one day with tears in
his eyes. I said, "Why these weeps?" He said he had a
mortgage on his farm--and wanted to borrow 200 pounds. I
lent him the money--and he went away. Some time after he
returned with more tears. He said he must leave me for
ever. I ventured to remind him of the 200 pounds he
borrowed. He was much cut up. I thought I would not be hard
upon him--so I told him I would throw off one hundred
pounds. He brightened--shook my hand--and said--"Old
friend--I won't allow you to outdo me in liberality--I'll
throw off the other hundred."

As a manager I was always rather more successful than as an

Some years ago I engaged a celebrated Living American
Skeleton for a tour through Australia. He was the thinnest
man I ever saw. He was a splendid skeleton. He didn't
weigh anything scarcely--and I said to myself--the people of
Australia will flock to see this tremendous curiosity. It
is a long voyage--as you know--from New York to Melbourne--
and to my utter surprise the skeleton had no sooner got out
to sea than he commenced eating in the most horrible manner.
He had never been on the ocean before--and he said it agreed
with him.--I thought so!--I never saw a man eat so much in
my life. Beef--mutton--pork--he swallowed them all like a
shark--and between meals he was often discovered behind
barrels eating hard-boiled eggs. The result was that when
we reached Melbourne this infamous skeleton weighed 64
pounds more than I did!

I thought I was ruined--but I wasn't. I took him on to
California--another very long sea voyage--and when I got him
to San Francisco I exhibited him as a Fat Man. (The reader
need scarcely be informed that this narrative is about as
real as "A. Ward's Snaiks," and about as much matter of fact
as his journey through the States with a wax-work show.)

This story hasn't anything to do with my Entertainment, I
know--but one of the principal features of my Entertainment
is that it contains so many things that don't have anything
to do with it.

My Orchestra is small--but I am sure it is very good--so far
as it goes. I give my pianist ten pounds a night--and his
washing. (That a good pianist could be hired for a small
sum in England was a matter of amusement to Artemus. More
especially when he found a gentleman obliging enough to play
anything he desired, such as break-downs and airs which had
the most absurd relation to the scene they were used to
illustrate. In the United States his pianist was desirous
of playing music of a superior order, much against the
consent of the lecturer.)

I like Music.--I can't sing. As a singist I am not a
success. I am saddest when I sing. So are those who hear
me. They are sadder even than I am.

The other night some silver-voiced young men came under my
window and sang--"Come where my love lies dreaming."--I
didn't go. I didn't think it would be correct.

I found music very soothing when I lay ill with fever in
Utah--and I was very ill--I was fearfully wasted.--My face
was hewn down to nothing--and my nose was so sharp I didn't
dare to stick it into other people's business--for fear it
would stay there--and I should never get it again. And on
those dismal days a Mormon lady--she was married--tho' not
so much so as her husband--he had fifteen other wives--she
used to sing a ballad commencing "Sweet bird--do not fly
away!"--and I told her I wouldn't.--She played the accordion
divinely--accordionly I praised her.

I met a man in Oregon who hadn't any teeth--not a tooth in
his head--yet that man could play on the bass drum better
than any man I ever met.--He kept a hotel. They have queer
hotels in Oregon. I remember one where they gave me a bag
of oats for a pillow--I had nightmares of course. In the
morning the landlord said--How do you feel--old hoss--hay?--
I told him I felt my oats.

(Though the serious part of the lecture was here entered
upon, it was not delivered in a graver tone than that in
which he had spoken the farcicalities of the prologue. Most
of the prefatory matter was given with an air of earnest
thought; the arms sometimes folded, and the chin resting on
one hand. On the occasion of his first exhibiting the
panorama at New York he used a fishing-rod to point out the
picture with; subsequently he availed himself of an old
umbrella. In the Egyptian Hall he used his little

Permit me now to quietly state that altho' I am here with my
cap and bells I am also here with some serious descriptions
of the Mormons--their manners--their customs--and while the
pictures I shall present to your notice are by no means
works of art--they are painted from photographs actually
taken on the spot (They were photographed by Savage &
Ottinger, of Salt Lake City, the photographers to Brigham
Young.)--and I am sure I need not inform any person present
who was ever in the territory of Utah that they are as
faithful as they could possibly be. (Curtain.--The picture
was concealed from view during the first part of the lecture
by a crimson curtain. This was drawn together or opened
many times in the course of the lecture, and at odd points
of the lecture. I am not aware that Artemus himself could
have explained why he caused the curtain to be drawn at one
place and not at another. Probably he thought it to be one
of his good jokes that it should shut in the picture just
when there was no reason for its being used.)

I went to Great Salt Lake City by way of California? (That
is, he went by steamer from New York to Aspinwall, thence
across the Isthmus of Panama by railway, and then from
Panama to California by another steamboat. A journey which
then occupied about three weeks.)

I went to California on the steamer "Ariel."

This is the steamer "Ariel." (Picture.)

Oblige me by calmly gazing on the steamer "Ariel"--and when
you go to California be sure and go on some other steamer--
because the Ariel isn't a very good one.

When I reached the "Ariel"--at pier No. 4--New York--I found
the passengers in a state of great confusion about their
things--which were being thrown around by the ship's porters
in a manner at once damaging and idiotic.--So great was the
excitement--my fragile form was smashed this way--and jammed
that way--till finally I was shoved into a stateroom which
was occupied by two middle-aged females--who said, "Base
man--leave us--O leave us!"--I left them--Oh--I left them!

We reach Acapulco on the coast of Mexico in due time.
Nothing of special interest occurred at Acapulco--only some
of the Mexican ladies are very beautiful. They all have
brilliant black hair--hair "black as starless night"--if I
may quote from the "Family Herald". It don't curl.--A
Mexican lady's hair never curls--it is straight as an
Indian's. Some people's hair won't curl under any
circumstances.--My hair won't curl under two shillings.
(Artemus always wore his hair straight until his severe
illness in Salt Lake City. So much of it dropped off during
his recovery that he became dissatisfied with the long
meagre appearance his countenance presented when he surveyed
it in the looking-glass. After his lecture at the Salt Lake
City Theatre he did not lecture again until we had crossed
the Rocky Mountains and arrived at Denver City, the capital
of Colorado. On the afternoon he was to lecture there I met
him coming out of an ironmonger's store with a small parcel
in his hand. "I want you, old fellow," he said; "I have
been all around the city for them, and I've got them at
last." "Got what?" I asked. "A pair of curling-tongs. I
am going to have my hair curled to lecture in to-night. I
mean to cross the plains in curls. Come home with me and
try to curl it for me. I don't want to go to any idiot of a
barber to be laughed at." I played the part of friseur.
Subsequently he became his own "curlist," as he phrased it.
>From that day forth Artemus was a curly-haired man.)

(Picture of) The great thoroughfare of the imperial city of
the Pacific Coast (with a sign saying "Artemus Ward, Platts
Hall every evening.")

The Chinese form a large element in the population of San
Francisco--and I went to the Chinese Theatre.

A Chinese play often lasts two months. Commencing at the
hero's birth, it is cheerfully conducted from week to week
till he is either killed or married.

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.

(Picture of) Virginia City--in the bright new State of
Nevada. (Virginia City itself is built on a ledge cut out
of the side of Mount Davidson, which rises some 9000 feet
above the sea level--the city being about half way up its
side. To Artemus Ward the wild character of the scenery,
the strange manners of the red-shirted citizens, and the
odd developments of the life met with in that uncouth
mountain-town were all replete with interest. We stayed
there about a week. During the time of our stay he explored
every part of the place, met many old friends from the Eastern
States, and formed many new acquaintances, with some of whom
acquaintance ripened into warm friendship. Among the latter
was Mr. Samuel L. Clemens, now well known as "Mark Twain."
He was then sub-editing one of the three papers published
daily in Virginia--"The Territorial Enterprise." Artemus
detected in the writings of Mark Twain the indications of
great humorous power, and strongly advised the writer to
seek a better field for his talents. Since then he has
become a well-known lecturer and author. With Mark Twain,
Artemus made a descent into the Gould and Curry Silver Mine
at Virginia, the largest mine of the kind, I believe in the
world. The account of the descent formed a long and very
amusing article in the next morning's "Enterprise." To
wander about the town and note its strange developments
occupied Artemus incessantly. I was sitting writing letters
at the hotel when he came in hurriedly, and requested me to
go out with him. "Come and see some joking much better than
mine," said he. He led me to where one of Wells, Fargo &
Co's express wagons was being rapidly filled with silver
bricks. Ingots of the precious metal, each almost as large
as an ordinary brick, were being thrown from one man to
another to load the wagon, just as bricks or cheeses are
transferred from hand to hand by carters in England. "Good
old jokes those, Hingston. Good, solid Babes in the Wood,"
observed Artemus. Yet that evening he lectured in
"Maguire's Opera House," Virginia City, to an audience
composed chiefly of miners, and the receipts were not far
short of eight hundred dollars.)

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.

(Pointing to Panorama)
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

(Picture of) Plains Between Virginia City and Salt Lake,
(showing a carcass attended by various scavengers, with a
building and mountains in the distance.)

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. (This portion of the panorama was
very badly painted. When the idea of having a panorama was
first entertained by Artemus, he wished to have one of great
artistic merit. Finding considerable difficulty in
procuring one, and also discovering that the expense of a
real work of art would be beyond his means, he resolved on
having a very bad one or one so bad in parts that its very
badness would give him scope for jest. In the small towns
of the Western States, it passed very well for a first-class
picture, but what it was really worth in an artistic point
of view its owner was very well aware.)

(Next picture.) 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.

Some seventeen years ago a small band of Mormons--headed by
Brigham Young--commenced in the present thrifty metropolis
of Utah. The population of the territory of Utah is over
100,000--chiefly Mormons--and they are increasing at the
rate of from five to ten thousand annually. The converts to
Mormonism now are almost exclusively confined to English and
Germans--Wales and Cornwall have contributed largely to the
population of Utah during the last few years. The
population of Great Salt Lake City is 20,000.--The streets
are eight rods wide--and are neither flagged nor paved. A
stream of pure mountain spring water courses through each
street--and is conducted into the Gardens of the Mormons.
The houses are mostly of adobe--or sun-dried brick--and
present a neat and comfortable appearance.--They are usually
a story and a half high. Now and then you see a fine modern
house in Salt Lake City--but no house that is dirty, shabby,
and dilapidated--because there are no absolutely poor people
in Utah. Every Mormon has a nice garden--and every Mormon
has a tidy dooryard.--Neatness is a great characteristic of
the Mormons.

The Mormons profess to believe that they are the chosen
people of God--they call themselves Latter-day Saints--and
they call us people of the outer world Gentiles. They say
that Mr. Brigham Young is a prophet--the legitimate
successor of Joseph Smith--who founded the Mormon religion.
They also say they are authorized--by special revelation
from Heaven--to marry as many wives as they can comfortably

This wife-system they call plurality--the world calls it
polygamy. That at its best it is an accursed thing--I need
not of course inform you--but you will bear in mind that I
am here as a rather cheerful reporter of what I saw in Utah
--and I fancy it isn't at all necessary for me to grow
virtuously indignant over something we all know is hideously

You will be surprised to hear--I was amazed to see--that
among the Mormon women there are some few persons of
education--of positive cultivation. As a class the Mormons
are not educated people--but they are by no means the
community of ignoramuses so many writers have told us they

The valley in which they live is splendidly favored. They
raise immense crops. They have mills of all kinds. They
have coal--lead--and silver mines. All they eat--all they
drink--all they wear they can produce themselves--and still
have a great abundance to sell to the gold regions of Idaho
on the one hand--and the silver regions of Nevada on the

The President of this remarkable community--the head of the
Mormon Church--is Brigham Young.--He is called President
Young--and Brother Brigham. He is about 54 years old--
altho' he doesn't look to be over 45. He has sandy hair and
whiskers--is of medium height--and is a little inclined to
corpulency. He was born in the State of Vermont. His power
is more absolute than that of any living sovereign--yet he
uses it with such consummate discretion that his people are
almost madly devoted to him--and that they would cheerfully
die for him if they thought the sacrifice were demanded--I
cannot doubt.

He is a man of enormous wealth.--One-tenth of everything
sold in the territory of Utah goes to the Church--and Mr.
Brigham Young is the Church. It is supposed that he
speculates with these funds--at all events--he is one of the
wealthiest men now living--worth several millions--without
doubt.--He is a bold--bad man--but that he is also a man of
extraordinary administrative ability no one can doubt who
has watched his astounding career for the past ten years.
It is only fair for me to add that he treated me with marked
kindness during my sojourn in Utah.

(Picture of) West Side of Main Street, Salt Lake City. (A
wagon and team stand outside the "City Bathing House" and a
pennant flies over the "temperance hotel.")

The West Side of Main Street--Salt Lake City--including a
view of the Salt Lake Hotel. It is a temperance hotel. (At
the date of our visit, there was only one place in Salt Lake
City where strong drink was allowed to be sold. Brigham
Young himself owned the property, and vended the liquor by
wholesale, not permitting any of it to be drunk on the
premises. It was a coarse, inferior kind of whisky, known
in Salt Lake as "Valley Tan." Throughout the city there was
no drinking-bar nor billiard room, so far as I am aware.
But a drink on the sly could always be had at one of the
hard-goods stores, in the back office behind the pile of
metal saucepans; or at one of the dry-goods stores, in the
little parlor in the rear of the bales of calico. At the
present time I believe that there are two or three open bars
in Salt Lake, Brigham Young having recognized the right of
the "Saints" to "liquor up" occasionally. But whatever
other failings they may have, intemperance cannot be laid to
their charge. Among the Mormons there are no paupers, no
gamblers, and no drunkards.) I prefer temperance hotels--
altho' they sell worse liquor than any other kind of hotels.
But the Salt Lake Hotel sells none--nor is there a bar in
all Salt Lake City--but I found when I was thirsty--and I
generally am--that I could get some very good brandy of one
of the Elders--on the sly--and I never on any account allow
my business to interfere with my drinking.

(Picture of) The Overland Mail Coach.--That is, the den on
wheels in which we have been crammed for the past ten days
and ten nights.--Those of you who have been in Newgate (The
manner in which Artemus uttered this joke was peculiarly
characteristic of his style of lecturing. The commencement
of the sentence was spoken as if unpremeditated; then when
he had got as far as the word "Newgate," he paused, as if
wishing to call back that which he had said. The applause
was unfailingly uproarious.)-------------------------------
----------------------------and stayed there any length of
time--as visitors--can realize how I felt.

The American Overland Mail Route commences at Sacramento--
California--and ends at Atchison--Kansas. The distance is
two thousand two hundred miles--but you go part of the way
by rail. The Pacific Railway is now completed from
Sacramento--California--to Fulsom--California--which only
leaves two thousand two hundred and eleven miles, to go by
coach. This breaks the monotony--it came very near breaking
my back.

(Picture of) The Mormon Theatre.

This edifice is the exclusive property of Brigham Young. It
will comfortably hold 3,000 persons--and I beg you will
believe me when I inform you that its interior is quite as
brilliant as that of any theatre in London. (Herein Artemus
slightly exaggerated. The coloring of the theatre was white
and gold, but it was inefficiently lighted with oil lamps.
When Brigham Young himself showed us round the theatre, he
pointed out, as an instance of his own ingenuity, that the
central chandelier was formed out of the wheel of one of his
old coaches. The house is now, I believe, lighted with gas.
Altogether it is a very wondrous edifice, considering where
it is built and who were the builders.)

The actors are all Mormon amateurs, who charge nothing for
their services.

You must know that very little money is taken at the doors
of this theatre. The Mormons mostly pay in grain--and all
sorts of articles.

The night I gave my little lecture there--among my receipts
were corn--flour--pork--cheese--chickens--on foot and in the

One family went in on a live pig--and a man attempted to
pass a "yaller dog" at the Box Office--but my agent repulsed
him. One offered me a doll for admission--another infants'
clothing.--I refused to take that.--As a general rule I do

In the middle of the parquet--in a rocking chair--with his
hat on--sits Brigham Young. When the play drags--he either
goes out or falls into a tranquil sleep.

A portion of the dress-circle is set apart for the wives of
Brigham Young. From ten to twenty of them are usually
present. His children fill the entire gallery--and more

(Picture of) East Side of Main Street, Salt Lake City.

The East Side of Main Street--Salt Lake City--with a view of
the Council Building--The legislature of Utah meets there.
It is like all legislative bodies. They meet this winter to
repeal the laws which they met and made last winter--and
they will meet next winter to repeal the laws which they met
and made this winter.

I dislike to speak about it--but it was in Utah that I made
the great speech of my life. I wish you could have heard
it. I have a fine education. You may have noticed it. I
speak six different languages--London--Chatham--and Dover--
Margate--Brighton--and Hastings. My parents sold a cow--
and sent me to college when I was quite young. During the
vacation I used to teach a school of whales--and there's
where I learned to spout.--I don't expect applause for a
little thing like that. I wish you could have heard that
speech--however. If Cicero--he's dead now--he has gone
from us--but if old Ciss (Here again no description can
adequately inform the reader of the drollery which
characterized the lecturer. His reference to Cicero was
made in the most lugubrious manner, as if he really deplored
his death and valued him as a schoolfellow loved and lost.)
could have heard that effort it would have given him the
rinderpest. I'll tell you how it was. There are stationed
in Utah two regiments of U.S. troops--the 21st from
California--and the 37th from Nevada. The 20-onesters asked
me to present a stand of colors to the 37-sters--and I did
it in a speech so abounding in eloquence of a bold and
brilliant character--and also some sweet talk--real pretty
shopkeeping talk--that I worked the enthusiasm of those
soldiers up to such a pitch--that they came very near
shooting me on the spot.

(Picture of) Brigham Young's Harem.--These are the houses of
Brigham Young. The first on the right is the Lion House--so
called because a crouching stone lion adorns the central
front window. The adjoining small building is Brigham
Young's office--and where he receives his visitors.--The
large house in the centre of the picture--which displays a
huge bee-hive--is called the Bee House--the bee-hive is
supposed to be symbolical of the industry of the Mormons.--
Mrs. Brigham Young the first--now quite an old lady--lives
here with her children. None of the other wives of the
prophet live here. In the rear are the schoolhouses where
Brigham Young's children are educated.

Brigham Young has two hundred wives. Just think of that!
Oblige me by thinking of that. That is--he has eighty
actual wives, and he is spiritually married to one hundred
and twenty more. These spiritual marriages--as the Mormons
call them--are contracted with aged widows--who think it a
great honor to be sealed--the Mormons call it being sealed--
to the Prophet.

So we may say he has two hundred wives. He loves not
wisely--but two hundred well. He is dreadfully married.
He's the most married man I ever saw in my life.

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.)

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

They hove a sigh--seventeen sighs of different size--They

"Oh--soon thou wilt be gonested away!"

I told them that when I got ready to leave a place I

They said--"Doth not like us?"

I said--"I doth--I doth!"

I also said--"I hope your intentions are honorable--as I am
a lone child--my parents being far--far away."

They then said--"Wilt not marry us?"

I said--"Oh--no--it cannot was."

Again they asked me to marry them--and again I declined.
When they cried--

"Oh--cruel man! This is too much--oh! too much!"

I told them that it was on account of the muchness that I

(Picture.) This is the Mormon Temple.

It is built of adobe--and will hold five thousand persons
quite comfortably. A full brass and string band often
assists the choir of this church--and the choir--I may add--
is a remarkably good one.

Brigham Young seldom preaches now. The younger elders--
unless on some special occasion--conduct the services. I
only heard Mr. Young once. He is not an educated man--but
speaks with considerable force and clearness. The day I was
there there was nothing coarse in his remarks.

(Picture of) The foundations of the Temple.

These are the foundations of the magnificent Temple the
Mormons are building. It is to be built of hewn stone--and
will cover several acres of ground. They say it shall
eclipse in splendor all other temples in the world. They
also say it shall be paved with solid gold.

It is perhaps worthy of remark that the architect of this
contemplated gorgeous affair repudiated Mormonism--and is
now living in London.

(Picture of) The Temple as it is to be.

This pretty little picture is from the architect's design--
and cannot therefore--I suppose--be called a fancy sketch.
(Artemus had the windows of the temple in his panorama cut
out and filled in with transparent colored paper, so that,
when lighted from behind, it had the effect of one of the
little plaster churches, with a piece of lighted candle
inside, which the Italian image-boys display at times for
sale in the streets. Nothing in the course of the evening
pleased Artemus more than to notice the satisfaction with
which this meretricious piece of absurdity was received by
the audience.)

Should the Mormons continue unmolested--I think they will
complete this rather remarkable edifice.

(Picture of the) Great Salt Lake.

Great Salt Lake.--The great salt dead sea of the desert.

I know of no greater curiosity than this inland sea of thick
brine. It is eighty miles wide--and one hundred and thirty
miles long. Solid masses of salt are daily washed ashore in
immense heaps--and the Mormon in want of salt has only to go
to the shore of this lake and fill his cart. Only--the salt
for table use has to be subjected to a boiling process.

These are facts--susceptible of the clearest possible proof.
They tell one story about this lake--however--that I have my
doubts about. They say a Mormon farmer drove forty head of
cattle in there once--and they came out firstrate pickled

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

I sincerely hope you will excuse my absence--I am a man
short--and have to work the moon myself. (Here Artemus
would leave the rostrum for a few moments, and pretend to be
engaged behind. The picture was painted for a night-scene,
and the effect intended to be produced was that of the moon
rising over the lake and rippling on the waters. It was
produced in the usual dioramic way, by making the track of
the moon transparent and throwing the moon on from the
bull's eye of the lantern. When Artemus went behind, the
moon would become nervous and flickering, dancing up and
down in the most inartistic and undecided manner. The
result was that, coupled with the lecturer's oddly expressed
apology, the "moon" became one of the best laughed-at parts
of the entertainment.)

I shall be most happy to pay a good salary to any
respectable boy of good parentage and education who is a
good moonist.

(Picture of) The Endowment House.

In this building the Mormon is initiated into the mysteries
of the faith.

Strange stories are told of the proceedings which are held
in this building--but I have no possible means of knowing
how true they may be.

Salt Lake City is fifty-five miles behind us--and this is
Echo Canyon--in reaching which we are supposed to have
crossed the summit of the Wahsatch Mountains. These
ochre-colored bluffs--formed of conglomerate sandstone--and
full of fossils--signal the entrance to the Canyon. At its
base lies Weber Station.

Echo Canyon is about twenty-five miles long. It is really
the sublimest thing between the Missouri and the Sierra
Nevada. The red wall to the left develops farther up the
Canyon into pyramids--buttresses--and castles--honey-combed
and fretted in nature's own massive magnificence of

In 1856--Echo Canyon was the place selected by Brigham Young
for the Mormon General Wells to fortify and make impregnable
against the advance of the American army--led by General
Albert Sidney Johnson. It was to have been the Thermopylae
of Mormondom--but it wasn't general Wells was to have done
Leonidas--but he didn't.

(Picture of) Echo Canyon.

The wild snowstorms have left us--and we have thrown our
wolf-skin overcoats aside. Certain tribes of far-western
Indians bury their distinguished dead by placing them high
in air and covering them with valuable furs--that is a very
fair representation of these mid-air tombs. Those animals
are horses--I know they are--because my artist says so. I
had the picture two years before I discovered the fact.--The
artist came to me about six months ago--and said--"It is
useless to disguise it from you any longer--they are

(Picture of) A more cheerful view of the Desert.

It was while crossing this desert that I was surrounded by a
band of Ute Indians. They were splendidly mounted--they
were dressed in beaver-skins--and they were armed with
rifles--knives--and pistols.

(Picture of) Our Encounter with the Indians.

What could I do?--What could a poor old orphan do? I'm a
brave man.--The day before the Battle of Bull's Run I stood
in the highway while the bullets--those dreadful messengers
of death--were passing all around me thickly--IN WAGONS--on
their way to the battle-field. (This was the great joke of
Artemus Ward's first lecture, "The Babes in the Wood." He
never omitted it in any of his lectures, nor did it lose its
power to create laughter by repetition. The audiences at
the Egyptian Hall, London, laughed as immoderately at it, as
did those of Irving Hall, New York, or of the Tremont Temple
in Boston.) But there were too many of these Injuns--there
were forty of them--and only one of me--and so I said--

"Great Chief--I surrender." His name was Wocky-bocky.

He dismounted--and approached me. I saw his tomahawk
glisten in the morning sunlight. Fire was in his eye.
Wocky-bocky came very close to me and seized me by the hair
of my head. He mingled his swarthy fingers with my golden
tresses--and he rubbed his dreadful Thomashawk across my
lily-white face. He said--

"Torsha arrah darrah mishky bookshean!"

I told him he was right.

Wocky-bocky again rubbed his tomahawk across my face, and

Says I--"Mr. Wocky-bocky"--says I--"Wocky--I have thought so
for years--and so's all our family."

He told me I must go to the tent of the Strong-Heart and eat
raw dog. (While sojourning for a day in a camp of Sioux
Indians we were informed that the warriors of the tribe were
accustomed to eat raw dog to give them courage previous to
going to battle. Artemus was greatly amused with the
information. When, in after years, he became weak and
languid, and was called upon to go to lecture, it was a
favorite joke with him to inquire, "Hingston, have you got
any raw dog?") It don't agree with me. I prefer simple
food. I prefer pork-pie--because then I know what I'm
eating. But as raw dog was all they proposed to give to me
--I had to eat it or starve. So at the expiration of two days
I seized a tin plate and went to the chief's daughter--and I
said to her in a silvery voice--in a kind of German-silvery
voice--I said--

"Sweet child of the forest, the pale-face wants his dog."

There was nothing but his paws! I had paused too long!
Which reminds me that time passes. A way which time has.

I was told in my youth to seize opportunity. I once tried
to seize one. He was rich. He had diamonds on. As I seized
him--he knocked me down. Since then I have learned that he
who seizes opportunity sees the penitentiary.

(Picture of) The Rocky Mountains.

I take it for granted you have heard of these popular
mountains. In America they are regarded as a great success,
and we all love dearly to talk about them. It is a kind of
weakness with us. I never knew but one American who hadn't
something--some time--to say about the Rocky Mountains--and
he was a deaf and dumb man, who couldn't say anything about

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

This sparkling waterfall is the Laughing-Water alluded to by
Mr. Longfellow in his Indian poem--"Higher-Water." The
water is higher up there.


(Picture of) 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! (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.)

(Picture of) The Prairie on Fire.

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.)

(Picture of) Brigham Young at home.

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.

(Reprise of first picture of curtain and footlights.

The curtain fell for the last time on Wednesday, the 23d of
January 1867. Artemus Ward had to break off the lecture
abruptly. He never lectured again.)


"EGYPTIAN HALL.--Before a large audience, comprising an
extraordinary number of literary celebrities, Mr. Artemus
Ward, the noted American humorist, made his first appearance
as a public lecturer on Tuesday evening, the place selected
for the display of his quaint oratory being the room long
tenanted by Mr. Arthur Sketchley. His first entrance on the
platform was the signal for loud and continuous laughter and
applause, denoting a degree of expectation which a nervous
man might have feared to encounter. However, his first
sentences, and the way in which they were received, amply
sufficed to prove that his success was certain. The dialect
of Artemus bears a less evident mark of the Western World
than that of many American actors, who would fain merge
their own peculiarities in the delineation of English
character; but his jokes are of that true Transatlantic
type, to which no nation beyond the limits of the States can
offer any parallel. These jokes he lets fall with an air of
profound unconsciousness--we may almost say melancholy--
which is irresistibly droll, aided as it is by the effect of
a figure singularly gaunt and lean and a face to match. And
he has found an audience by whom his caustic humor is
thoroughly appreciated. Not one of the odd pleasantries
slipped out with such imperturbable gravity misses its mark,
and scarcely a minute elapses at the end of which the sedate
Artemus is not forced to pause till the roar of mirth has
subsided. There is certainly this foundation for an entente
cordiale between the two countries calling themselves Anglo-
Saxon, that the Englishman, puzzled by Yankee politics,
thoroughly relishes Yankee jokes, though they are not in the
least like his own. When two persons laugh together, they
cannot hate each other much so long as the laugh continues.

"The subject of Artemus Ward's lecture is a visit to the
Mormons, copiously illustrated by a series of moving
pictures, not much to be commended as works of art, but for
the most part well enough executed to give (fidelity
granted) a notion of life as it is among the remarkable
inhabitants of Utah. Nor let the connoisseur, who detects
the shortcomings of some of these pictures, fancy that he
has discovered a flaw in the armor of the doughty Artemus.
That astute gentleman knows their worth as well as anybody
else, and while he ostensibly extols them, as a showman is
bound to do, he every now and then holds them up to ridicule
in a vein of the deepest irony. In one case a palpable
error of perspective, by which a man is made equal in size
to a mountain, has been purposely committed, and the shouts
of laughter that arise as soon as the ridiculous picture
appears is tremendous. But there is no mirth in the face of
Artemus; he seems even deaf to the roar; and when he
proceeds to the explanation of the landscape, he touches on
the ridiculous point in a slurring way that provokes a new

"The particulars of the lecture we need not describe. Many
accounts of the Mormons, more or less credible, and all
authenticated, have been given by serious historians, and
Mr. W.H. Dixon, who has just returned from Utah to London,
is said to have brought with him new stores of solid
information. But to most of us Mormonism is still a
mystery, and under those circumstances a lecturer who has
professedly visited a country for the sake more of picking
up fun than of sifting facts, and whose chief object it must
be to make his narrative amusing, can scarcely be accepted
as an authority. We will, therefore, content ourselves with
stating that the lecture is entertaining to such a degree
that to those who seek amusement its brevity is its only
fault; that it is utterly free from offence, though the
opportunities for offence given by the subject of Mormonism
are obviously numerous; that it is interspersed, not only
with irresistible jokes, but with shrewd remarks, proving
that Artemus Ward is a man of reflection, as well as a
consummate humorist."





Every Night (Except Saturday) at 8.





. . . .

During the Vacation the Hall has been carefully Swept out
and a new Door-Knob has been added to the Door.

. . . .

MR. ARTEMUS WARD will call on the Citizens of London, at
their residences, and explain any jokes in his narrative
which they may not understand.

. . . .

A person of long-established integrity will take excellent
care of Bonnets, Cloaks, etc., during the Entertainment; the
Audience better leave their money, however, with MR. WARD;
he will return it to them in a day or two, or invest it for
them in America as they may think best.

->Nobody must say that he likes the Lecture unless he wishes
to be thought eccentric; and nobody must say that he doesn't
like it unless he really IS eccentric. (This requires
thinking over, but it will amply repay perusal.)

. . . .

The Panorama used to Illustrate Mr. Ward's Narrative is
rather more than Panoramas usually are.

. . . .

MR. WARD will not be responsible for any debts of his own

. . . .

. . . .


Who will be greeted with applause. -> The stall-keeper is
particularly requested to attend to this. <- When quiet has
been restored, the Lecturer will present a rather frisky
prologue, of about ten minutes in length, and of nearly the
same width. It perhaps isn't necessary to speak of the


THE PICTURES COMMENCE HERE, the first one being a view of
the California Steamship. Large crowd of citizens on the
wharf, who appear to be entirely willing that ARTEMUS WARD
shall go. "Bless you, Sir!" they say. "Don't hurry about
coming back. Stay away for years, if you want to!" It was
very touching. Disgraceful treatment of the passengers, who
are obliged to go forward to smoke pipes, while the steamer
herself is allowed 2 Smoke Pipes amidships. At Panama. A
glance at Mexico.


Montgomery Street, San Francisco. The Gold Bricks. Street
Scenes. "The Orphan Cabman, or the Mule Driver's Step-
Father." The Chinese Theatre. Sixteen square yards of a
Chinese Comic Song.


Virginia City, the wild young metropolis of the new Silver
State. Fortunes are made there in a day. There are
instances on record of young men going to this place without
a shilling--poor and friendless--yet by energy,
intelligence, and a careful disregard to business, they have
been enabled to leave there, owing hundreds of pounds.


A dreary waste of Sand. The Sand isn't worth saving,
however. Indians occupy yonder mountains. Little Injuns
seen in the distance trundling their war-hoops.


With some entirely descriptive talk.


The Salt Lake Hotel, which is conducted on Temperance
principles. The landlord sells nothing stronger than salt


The Lady of Lyons was produced here a short time since, but
failed to satisfy a Mormon audience, on account of there
being only one Pauline in it. The play was revised at once.
It was presented the next night, with fifteen Paulines in
the cast, and was a perfect success. -> All these
statements may be regarded as strictly true. Mr. Ward would
not deceive an infant.


This being a view of Main Street, West side, it is naturally
a view of the West side of Main Street.


Mr. Young is an indulgent father, and a numerous husband.
For further particulars call on Mr. WARD, at Egyptian Hall,
any Evening this week. This paragraph is intended to blend
business with amusement.


We have only to repeat here the pleasant remarks above in
regard to Brigham.

. . . .

. . . .






The Mormon is initiated into the mysteries of his faith
here. The Mormon's religion is singular and his wives are



A more cheerful view. The Plains of Colorado. The Colorado
Mountains "might have been seen" in the distance, if the
Artist had painted 'em. But he is prejudiced against
mountains, because his uncle once got lost on one.


The pretty girls of Utah mostly marry Young.




. . . .


TOTNESS, Oct. 20th, 1866.


My dear Sir,--My wife was dangerously unwell for over
sixteen years. She was so weak that she could not lift a
teaspoon to her mouth. But in a fortunate moment she
commenced reading one of your lectures. She got better at
once. She gained strength so rapidly that she lifted the
cottage piano quite a distance from the floor, and then
tipped it over on to her mother-in-law, with whom she had
some little trouble. We like your lectures very much.
Please send me a barrel of them. If you should require any
more recommendations, you can get any number of them in this
place, at two shillings each, the price I charge for this
one, and I trust you may be ever happy.

I am, Sir,
Yours truly, and so is my wife,

. . . .

An American correspondent of a distinguished journal in
Yorkshire thus speaks of Mr. WARD'S power as an Orator:--

"It was a grand scene, Mr. ARTEMUS WARD standing on the
platform, talking; many of the audience sleeping tranquilly
in their seats; others leaving the room and not returning;
others crying like a child at some of the jokes--all, all
formed a most impressive scene, and showed the powers of
this remarkable orator. And when he announced that he
should never lecture in that town again, the applause was
absolutely deafening."

. . . .

Doors open at Half-past Seven, commence at Eight.

Conclude at Half-past Nine.




The Lecture on the Mormons was thus announced to the public of New
York, when Artemus Ward first appeared at Dodworth Hall:

The Festivities at Dodworth Hall will be commenced by the pianist, a
gentleman who used to board in the same street with Gottschalk. The
man who kept the boarding-house remembers it distinctly. The
overture will consist of a medley of airs, including the touching
new ballads "Dear Sister, is there any Pie in the house" "My
Gentle Father, have you any Fine Cut about you?" "Mother, is the
Battle o'er and is it safe for me to come home from Canada?" And
(by request of several families who haven't heard it) "Tramp, tramp,
tramp, the Boys are Marching." While the enraptured ear drinks in
the sweet music (we pay our pianist nine dollars a week, and "find
him") the eye will be enchained by the magnificent green baize
covering of the panorama. This green baize cost 40 cents a yard at
Mr. Stewart's store. It was bought in deference to the present
popularity of "The Wearing of the Green." We shall keep up to the
times if we spend the last dollar our friends have got.



his Programme.



. . . .

1. Introductory.

2. The Steamer Ariel, en route.

3. San Francisco.

4. The Washoe Silver Region.

5. The Plains.

6. The City of Saints.

7. A Mormon Hotel.

8. Brigham Young's Theatre.

9. The Council-House.

10. The Home of Brigham Young.

11. Heber C. Kimball's Seraglio.

12. The Mormon House of Worship.

13. Foundations of the New Temple.

14. Architect's View of the Temple when finished.

15. The Great Dead Sea of the Desert.

16. The House of Mystery.

17. The Canyon.

18. Mid-Air Sepulture.

19. A Nice Family Party at Brigham Young's.

It requires a large number of Artists to produce this
Entertainment. The casual observer can form no idea of the
quantity of unfettered genius that is soaring, like a
healthy Eagle, round this Hall, in connection with this
Entertainment. In fact, the following gifted persons
compose the


Secretary of the Exterior...Mr. E.P. Hingston.

Secretary of the Treasury...Herr Max Field,
(Pupil of Signor Thomaso Jacksoni.)

Mechanical Director and Professor of Carpentry...Signor G. Wilsoni.

Crankist...Mons. Aleck.

Assistant Crankist...Boy (orphan).

Artists...Messrs. Hilliard & Maeder.

Reserved Chairists...Messrs. Persee & Jerome.

Moppist...Signorina O'Flaherty.

Broomist...Mlle. Topsia de St. Moke.

Hired Man...John.

Fighting Editor...Chevalier McArone.

Dutchman...By a Polish Refugee, named McFinnigin.

Doortendist...Mons. Jacques Ridera.

Gas Man...Artemus Ward.


This Entertainment will open with music. The soldiers'
Chorus from "Faust." -> First time in this city. <-

. . . .

Next comes a jocund and discursive preamble, calculated to
show what a good education the Lecturer has.

. . . .

View the first is a sea-view.--Ariel navigation.--Normal
school of whales in the distance.--Isthmus of Panama.--
Interesting interview with Old Panama himself, who makes all
the hats.--Old Pan is a likely sort of man.

. . . .

San Francisco.--City with a vigilant government.--Miners
allowed to vote. Old inhabitants so rich that they have
legs with golden calves to them.

. . . .

Town in the Silver region.--Good quarters to be found
there.--Playful population, fond of high-low-jack and
homicide.--Silver lying around loose.--Thefts of it termed

. . . .

The plains in Winter.--A wild Moor, like Othello.--Mountains
in the distance forty thousand miles above the level of the
highest sea (Musiani's chest C included).--If you don't
believe this you can go there and measure them for yourself.

. . . .

Mormondom, sometimes called the City of the Plain, but
wrongly; the women are quite pretty.--View of Old Poly
Gamy's house, &c.

. . . .

The Salt Lake Hotel.--Stage just come in from its overland
route and retreat from the Indians.--Temperance house.--No
bar nearer than Salt Lake sand-bars.--Miners in shirts like
Artemus Ward his Programme--they are read and will wash.

. . . .

Mormon Theatre, where Artemus Ward lectured.--Mormons like
theatricals, and had rather go to the Playhouse than to the
Workhouse, any time. Private boxes reserved for the ears of
Brother Brigham's wives.

. . . .

Intermission of Five Minutes.

. . . .

Territorial State-House.--Seat of the Legislature.--About as
fair a collection as that at Albany--and "we can't say no
fairer than that."

. . . .

Residence of Brigham Young and his wives.--Two hundred souls
with but a single thought, Two hundred hearts that beat as

. . . .

Seraglio of Heber C. Kimball.--Home of the Queens of Heber.-
-No relatives of the Queen of Sheba.--They are a nice gang
of darlings.

. . . .

Mormon Tabernacle, where the men espouse Mormonism and the
women espouse Brother Brigham and his Elders as spiritual
Physicians, convicted of bad doct'rin.

. . . .

Foundations of the Temple.--Beginning of a healthy little
job.--Temple to enclose all out-doors, and be paved with
gold at a premium.

. . . .

The Temple when finished.--Mormon-idea of a meeting-house.--
N.B. It will be bigger, probably, than Dodworth Hall.--one
of the figures in the foreground is intended for Heber C.
Kimball.--You can see, by the expression of his back, that
he is thinking what a great man Joseph Smith was.

. . . .

The Great Salt Lake.--Water actually thick with salt--too
saline to sail in.--Mariners rocked on the bosom of this
deep with rock salt.--The water isn't very good to drink.

. . . .

House where Mormons are initiated.--Very secret and
mysterious ceremonies.--Anybody can easily find out all
about them though, by going out there and becoming a Mormon.

. . . .

Echo Canyon.--A rough bluff sort of affair.--Great Echo.--
When Artemus Ward went through, he heard the echoes of some
things the Indians said there about four years and a half

. . . .

The Plains again, with some noble savages, both in the live
and dead state.--The dead one on the high shelf was killed
in a Fratricidal Struggle.--They are always having
Fratricidal Struggles out in that line of country.--It would
be a good place for an enterprising Coroner to locate.

. . . .

Brigham Young surrounded by his wives--Those ladies are
simply too numerous to mention.

. . . .

-> Those of the Audience who do not feel offended with
Artemus Ward are cordially invited to call upon him, often,
at his fine new house in Brooklyn. His house is on the
right hand side as you cross the Ferry, and may be easily
distinguished from the other houses by its having a Cupola
and a Mortgage on it.

. . . .

-> Soldiers on the battle-field will be admitted to this
Entertainment gratis.

. . . .

-> The Indians on the Overland Route live on Routes and
Herbs. They are an intemperate people. They drink with
impunity, or anybody who invites them.

. . . .

-> Artemus Ward delivered Lectures before


ever thought of delivering lectures.



Doors open at 7.30 P.M.; Entertainment to commence at 8.

->The Piano used is from the famous factory of Messrs
Chicking & Sons, 653 Broadway.

The Cabinet Organ is from the famous factory of Messrs Mason
& Hamlin, Boston, and is furnished by Mason Brothers, 7
Mercer Street, New York.


Back to Full Books