San Francisco is a really beautiful city．China Town，peopled by Chinese labourers，is the most artistic town I have ever come across．The people--strange，melancholy Orientals，whom many people wouldcall common，and they are certainly very poor--have determined thatthey will have nothing about them that is not beautiful．In the Chineserestaurant，where these navies meet to have supper in the evening，I foundtern drinking tea out of china cups as delicate as the petals of a roseleaf,whereas at the gaudy hotels 1 was supplied with a delf cup an inch and ahalf thick．When the Chinese bill was presented it was made out on ricepaper，the account being done in Indian ink as fantastically as if an artisthad been etching little birds on a fan． Salt Lake City contains only two buildings of note，the chief beingthe Tabernacle，which iS in the shape of a soup—kettle．It is decorated bythe only native artist，and he has treated religious subjects in the naivespirit of the early Florentine painters，representing people of our own dayin the dress of the period side by side with people of Biblical history whoare clothed in some romantic costume． The building next in importance is called the Amelia Palace，inhonour of one of Brigham Young’S wives．When he died the presentpresident of the Mormons stood up in the Tabernacle and said that it hadbeen revealed to him that he was to have the Amelia Palace，and that onthis subject there were to be no more revelations of any kind! From Salt Lake City one travels over the Great Plains of Coloradoand up the Rocky Mountains，on the top of which is Leadville，the richestcity in the world．It has also got the reputation of being the roughest，andevery man carries a revolver．1 was told that if 1 went there they wouldbe sure to shoot me or my traveling manager．1 wrote and told them thatnothing that they could do to my traveling manager would intimidate me．They are miners—men working in metals，SO I lectured on the Ethics of Art．I read them passages from the autobiography of Benvenuto Cellini and they seemed much delighted．1 was reproved by my hearers for not having brought him with me．I explained that he had been dead for some little time which elicited the enquiry“Who shot him?”They afterwards took me to a dancing saloon where I saw the only rational method of art criticism I have ever come across．Over the piano was printed a notice：