Salt Lake Evening Democrat

PENROSE AND ANGUS.

A Puff of Smoke From an Underground Engine.

Some time back the Democrat stated upon good authority that Charles W. Penrose, editor of the Evening News, who is generally supposed to be in England, was at that time in this city doing the heavy work on the Mormon sheet. The fact that Penrose did go to England for a time has strengthened the belief that he still remains there, and only those who are particularly well informed, seem to be prepared for his presence in our midst.

It is a well-known fact that as soon as the prosecutions of the Saints began, Penrose blew a few blasts at his brethren commanding them to face the worst and then took to his heels and had soon placed the Atlantic ocean between himself and the United States laws. However, when it was found that Elder Nicholson was doomed for the Pen., Penrose crept silently back, and within the secret confines of the News office he ground out his daily grist. Being scared up by the mention of his name in this paper, Mr. P. again took himself away, this time going North. A few days ago a Salt Laker who happened to drop into a Bear Lake meetinghouse was surprised to find himself face to face with the flitting editor, and was treated to a regular old time harangue from the lips of the infrequent Charles. Where the man is at present it would be hard to say, but the extracts from his pen are still seen daily in the News, and it is more than safe to say that he is not far off.

Speaking of undergrounds, "Anguish" Cannon is one of the most remarkable instances on record. In a careless moment he allowed himself to be dragged into the bastile, where he served six months. When he came out he went around to all the meeting-houses and told the Saints that he would rather serve a life-time in the Pen than eat pie; and then, without giving the Federal officials time to think of him, much less to find an indictment against him, he got scared at his shadow and slunk away on a U. G. train. With the exception of an occasional bobbing up in unexpected places, he has not been seen since.

A short time ago Angus popped into the Twentieth ward meeting house, told the saints that they were to have a new Bishop, called the vote and popped out again. He next appeared as manipulator of the lanyard in the detachment which fired Bishop Cannon, and his latest break was made at Farmer's ward last Sunday night.

After the meeting had been opened as usual, a sudden turning of heads and a peculiar hum was noticed in the congregation, and it was thus that Saint Angus was ushered to the stand. His head shot up into the pulpit like the released cork of a soda-water bottle, and behind it came the usual puff and fizz, which soon simmered down to nothing. In a few words he told the congregation his mission, and in less than a quarter of an hour the Bishop of that suburban ward was deposed, and a new man had fastened on the vacated shoes.

When one realizes how much care this man Angus exercises in keeping out of the way, and is then assured by the best possible authority that there is no warrant or indictment against the man and that the authorities would not have him if he were to ask to be arrested, the ridiculousness of the situation can be clearly seen.

Angus is fearfully afraid of his shadow. May it never grow less.