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.