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the church. The Bishop, who is a native of New Hampshire, came here with the first settlers. A plain speaking, plainly-dressed man, hearty and bluff in manner, with only five or six wives. The functions of his office are more civil then religious. A Bishop is appointed over each ward, who settles all quarrels and disputes among his people, keeps them out of lawsuits and sadly interferes with the business of lawyers. He took me first to the City Hall, a fine brick building, and from the cupola pointed out the interesting localities in the city and surrounding country. “Now,” he says, “come down to my house, and let me show you my carriage factory.” Walking along we were overtaken by a mounted Indian, whom he introduced to me as “Soldier,” a Utah chief. Soldier was short and fat, wore a red blanket, his face daubed with red paint, hands not very clean, and he carried across the saddle in front a fine rifle. He gave an Indian grunt as I shook his hand, and turning to the Bishop said, “Squaw run away; you catch him; gimme paper.” “Where has she gone?” Soldier pointed to the South. The Bishop told him where to apply for the proper document, and wad turning to leave when the chief extended his dirty hand and jerked out, “two bits.” There was ho mistaking the pantomime, and my Mormon friend handed him a quarter. Soldier looked as if he would like to make “two bits” of me, but relented and without a word of thanks, rode off. “That’s the way with these red skins, always begging,” said the Bishop, “but we must keep on the right side of them.” I am told that every Indian within two hundred miles of Salt Lake will stand by the Mormons in event of any collision with the United States Government.
Approaching the Bishop’s residence I felt quite sure that I should now see something of the inside of Mormon life. But I was doomed to disappointment. He showed me into his office, took me through his large workshops, introduced me to Brothers Smith, Jones and Brown, his partners, blacksmiths and wagon-makers, and, returning to his office, said he was sorry that his family were “house cleaning,” so that he could not ask me into his house. Although overrun with business, he devoted half an hour to the history of the Church, told me about Mormon, Maroni and Nephi, quoted fluently from the Old and New Testaments, defended polygamy and pitched
