Walking about Salt Lake City on the morning before the lecture, I met
Elder Kimball. Well, I most imprudently gave him a family ticket.
That ticket filled the house, and left about a dozen of the young
Kimballs howling in the cold. After that I limited my family tickets
to "Admit Elder Jones, ten wives, and thirty children."

You may perhaps be astonished that I, a rather fascinating bachelor,
escaped from Salt Lake City without the loss of my innocence. Well I
will confess, confidentially, that was only by the skin of my teeth,
and thanks to the virtuous lecturing of my friend Hingston, whose
British prejudices amainst Bigamy, Trigamy, and Brighamy, saying
nothing of Ninnygavigamy, could not be overcome.

My narrowest escape was this:

About six hours before I arrived an elder died. I think his name
was Smith. You may have heard that name before; but it isn't the
Smith you know--it is quite another Smith. Well, this defunct elder
left a small assortment of wives behind him--I think there were
seventeen--of all ages, from seventeen to seventy. This miscellaneous
gathering included three grandmothers, a fact which lent a venerable
sanctity to the affair. I received an invitation--I went--and was
introduced to the whole seventeen widows at once. Sam Weller or Dr.
Shelton Mackenzie--I forget which--says, "One widow is dangerous;"
but, perhaps, there is safety in a multitude of them. All I know is,
that they made the tenderest appeals to me, as a man and a brother;
but I threw myself upon their mercy--I told them I was far away from
my parents and my Sainted Maria, and that I was a good young man;
and finally, I begged to know if their intentions were honourable?