Virginia City--in the bright new State of Nevada.
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.
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 Company.
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.
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.