fatherly instinct and all the foundlings are foisted on me.
Every time a woman wants to do well by her darling, she puzzles her brain
to cipher out some scheme for getting it into my hands. Why, sir, a
woman came here once with a child of a curious lifeless sort of
complexion (and so had the woman), and swore that the child was mine and
she my wife–that I had married her at such-and-such a time in such-and-
such a place, but she had forgotten her number, and of course I could not
remember her name. Well, sir, she called my attention to the fact that
the child looked like me, and really it did seem to resemble me–a common
thing in the Territory–and, to cut the story short, I put it in my
nursery, and she left. And by the ghost of Orson Hyde, when they came to
wash the paint off that child it was an Injun! Bless my soul, you don’t
know anything about married life. It is a perfect dog’s life, sir–a
perfect dog’s life. You can’t economize. It isn’t possible. I have
tried keeping one set of bridal attire for all occasions. But it is of
no use. First you’ll marry a combination of calico and consumption
that’s as thin as a rail, and next you’ll get a creature that’s nothing
more than the dropsy in disguise, and then you’ve got to eke out that
bridal dress with an old balloon. That is the way it goes. And think of
the wash-bill–(excuse these tears)–nine hundred and eighty-four pieces
a week! No, sir, there is no such a thing as economy in a family like
mine. Why, just the one item of cradles–think of it! And vermifuge!
Soothing syrup! Teething rings! And ‘papa’s watches’ for the babies to
play with! And things to scratch the furniture with! And lucifer
matches for them to eat, and pieces of glass to cut themselves with!
The item of glass alone would support your family, I venture to say, sir.
Let me scrimp and squeeze all I can, I still can’t get ahead as fast as I
feel I ought to, with my opportunities. Bless you, sir, at a time when I
had seventy-two wives in this house, I groaned under the pressure of
keeping thousands of dollars tied up in seventy-two bedsteads when the
money ought to have been out at interest; and I just sold out the whole
stock, sir, at a sacrifice, and built a bedstead seven feet long and
ninety-six feet wide. But it was a failure, sir. I could not sleep.
It appeared to me that the whole seventy-two women snored at once.
The roar was deafening. And then the danger of it! That was what I was
looking at. They would all draw in their breath at once, and you could
actually see the walls of the house suck in–and then they would all
exhale their breath at once, and you could see the walls swell out, and
strain, and hear the rafters crack, and the shingles grind together.
My friend, take an old man’s advice, and don’t encumber yourself with a
large family–mind, I tell you, don’t do it. In a small family, and in a
small family only, you will find that comfort and that peace of mind
which are the best at last of the blessings this world is able to afford
us, and for the lack of which no accumulation of wealth, and no
acquisition of fame, power, and greatness can ever compensate us.
Take my word for it, ten or eleven wives is all you need–never go over
it.”
Some instinct or other made me set this Johnson down as being unreliable.
And yet he was a very entertaining person, and I doubt if some of the
information he gave us could have been acquired from any other source.
He was a pleasant contrast to those reticent Mormons.
CHAPTER XVI.
All men have heard of the Mormon Bible, but few except the “elect” have
seen it, or, at least, taken the trouble to read it. I brought away a
copy from Salt Lake. The book is a curiosity to me, it is such a