Chapter 10 AT THE SHRINE OF A SPHINX OF AZTLAN

Not a drop of rain had fallen on us since we left the Rio Grande, the days were as summer in a northern climate, but the nights were quite chill, the effect of an altitude of five thousand feet above sea level. The country had lost its appearance of loneliness, for we passed several parties of miners and heard the heavy booming of giant powder at intervals, and from various directions all through the day.

We were joined by a jolly party of miners who were eager for news and camped with us over night. There were three men in this outfit. Keen-looking, hearty old chaps with ruddy faces and gray beards, they looked like men who are continually prospecting for the "main chance." I passed a delightful evening in their company. They said they owned rich silver mines farther up on Lynx Creek, and had come out from town to perform the annual assessment work on their claims, as prescribed by the laws of the United States, in order to hold possession and perfect legal title to the ground. As I was not versed in matters pertaining to the mines, I asked why they did not work their mines continually for the silver. They explained that they could not work to good advantage for lack of transportation facilities which made it very difficult and costly to bring in machinery for developing their prospects into mines. Therefore, until the advent of railroads they chose to perform their annual assessment work only.

Two of these gentlemen were substantial business men and the other was their confidential secretary or affidavit man. It was his duty to make an affidavit before a magistrate that his employers had performed the labor required by law, which is not less than one hundred dollars per claim and incidentally he cooked for the outfit and attended to the horses. Of course, they might have hired mine laborers to do this work, but they said they enjoyed the outing and exercise, especially as this was the time of house cleaning and they were glad to get away from home. "Yes," affirmed the affidavit man, "and so are your wives."

These gentlemen rode horses and carried a supply of provisions on a pack mule. The most conspicuous object of their pack was a keg labelled "dynamite." When the clerk placed this dangerous thing near the fire and sat on it, I became fidgety, but was reassured when subsequently I saw him draw the stopper and fill a bottle labelled "Old Crow" from it. They advised me to go prospecting and gave me much valuable information and kindly offered to sell me a prospecting outfit, "for cash," at their stores.

As we were chatting, I became aware of a delicious, pungent odor, like the perfume of orange blossoms. "Is it possible," said I, astonished, "that there are orange groves in bloom in this vicinity?" The old gentlemen said they did not smell anything wrong, but the clerk jumped to his feet and sniffed the air in the direction of Prescott. "Why, gentlemen," said he, "of course, you cannot smell any further than the blossoms on the tips of your noses, but the young man has a sharp proboscis, he scents the girls. Here comes Dan bound for the Silver Bell Mine with his blooming show." We heard the clatter of hoofs and wheels and saw a large coach pass by, crowded with passengers, mostly ladies. The clerk said that the genial owner of the Silver Bell Mine, who was also the proprietor of a popular resort in town, was going out to pay his miners their monthly wage. "That is it," said one of the merchants, "and to keep the boys from leaving the mine in order to spend their money at his resort in town, he takes his variety show out there. He cannot afford to have his mine shut down just now, as they have struck horn silver, and that is the kind of tin he needs in his business."

These kind old gentlemen cautioned me to keep away from a dark-looking, broken mountain, looming to the north. "That country is no good," they said; "there is nothing but copper there, even the water is poisoned with it." Those were the black hills where there is now the prosperous town of Jerome and one of the great mines of the earth, the famous United Verde Mine, the property of Senator William Clark.

The following day, about noon, we rounded a sharp bend of the road and Fort Whipple and the town of Prescott came into view. A pretty and gratifying sight truly, but imagine my astonishment! Here to the right was the identical mysterious hill which I had seen in that memorable night from the height of the Mogollon mesa and behind it was the black range, the Sierra Prieta, which had formed a part of the encircling horseshoe.

Never in my lifetime have I come to a town where the people were as hospitable and kindly disposed toward strangers as here. It is no wonder that I got no farther, for here the people vied with each other to welcome the wayfarer to the gates of their city. The town was then young and isolated. The inhabitants had come by teams or horseback from as far away as the State of Kansas, where the nearest railway connection was eastward, or from California, via Yuma and Ehrenberg on the Colorado River. Stages and freight teams made regular trips across the arid desert to Ehrenberg. The first settlers of this region came from California in search of gold. They first found it in the sands of the Hassayampa, which is born of mighty Mount Union, the mother of four living streams. From its deathbed in the hot sands of the desert, they traced the precious waters to its source. Gold they found in plenty with hardship and privation. They encountered a band of hostile Indians, and hardest to bear, a loneliness made sufferable only by the illusive phantasies of the golden fever. Their expectations realized, the majority of these pioneers returned to the Golden State and civilization with the burden of their treasure, saying they had not come to Arizona for their health. Now in these present days there comes a throng of people in quest of health solely, and many are they who find its blessing in the sunny and bracing air of this climate, in hot springs and the balmy breath of the fir and juniper of our mountains. I found employment in a mercantile establishment of this little mining town and grew up with the country, as the saying is. I formed new acquaintances and made new friends. Among others, I met William Owen O'Neill. I cannot now remember the exact time or year. Attracted by the light-hearted, cheerful, and dare-devil spirit of this ambitious and cultured young man, I joined a military organization, of which he was then a lieutenant and later the captain, this was Company F of Prescott Grays, National Guard of Arizona. Poor, noble-hearted, generous Buckie-he knew it not, but this was his first step on the path of glory leading to the altar of patriotism whereon he laid his life. It was he who, with a poet's inspiration, first divined the mystery of the mountain which I have before alluded to. He likened this beautiful mound to a sleeping lion who guarded the destinies of the mountain city. Poor friend, his glorious song stirred the dormant life in the metallic veins of the Butte and, wonder of wonders, the sleeping lion awoke, the poet's lay had brought the Sphinx to life-the die of fate was cast and he had sealed his doom! When I read his beautiful poem, I gasped in wonder, for only I on earth fathomed the significance of this revelation. This dream of a poet's fanciful soul, soaring on the wings of Pegasus, was stern reality to me and anxiously I awaited developments. Nor waited I in vain.

The grateful Sphinx showered honor and wealth upon my friend. The generous sportive boy, who cared naught for gold, actually grew rich, for the Sphinx had granted him the most lucrative office in the county, the people made him their sheriff. He rose step by step to the highest place of honor in the community until he became the mayor of Prescott. Not satisfied with this token of its favor, the Sphinx rewarded him in a most extraordinary and convincing manner. By the help of nature, its help-meet, it transformed a great deposit of siliceous limestone into beautiful onyx and painted it in all the colors and after the pattern of the rainbow. This magnificent gift made Captain O'Neill independently rich, but it is a fact that as soon as it passed from his hands, the stone lost in value and no one has since profited from it. I believe that our hero would have risen to the highest position of dignity on earth, the Presidency of the United States, if he had not unwittingly aroused the jealousy of the terrible heathen god. When he chose a wife from the lovely maidens of Prescott, then the vengeful Sphinx laid its sinister plans for his undoing, for it is in the nature of cats, small or great, to be exceedingly jealous. The furious idol remembered the people of a long forgotten race, its loyal subjects, who had reared and worshiped it, inconceivably long ago, when the Grand Canyon of Arizona was but a tiny ravine and before icy avalanches had ground the rocks at the Dells into boulders. It remembered the descendants of its subjects, the Aztec Indians. It remembered how the Spaniards had cruelly broken the Aztec nation. Through the subtle influence of psychic forces, it stirred up a passion of hate for Spain in the hearts of the people of the United States, and it fostered the awful spirit of strife, and at the right moment it let loose the dogs of war. One convulsive touch of its rocky claws on the hidden currents coursing in earth's veins and an evil spark fired the fatal mine under the battleship Maine, in the harbor of Havana.

"Is this possible; can this be true?" If not, why is it that at the call to arms, even before the nation rallied from the shock of the cowardly deed which sacrificed the lives of inoffensive sailors-why is it, I say, that from under the very paws of the Sphinx, so far away in Arizona-and at the call of Captain O'Neill, the noble mayor of Prescott, there arose the first contingent of fighting volunteers in our war with Spain? The inexorable Sphinx had resolved to grant to our beloved and honored friend its last and most exalted gift, a hero's death on the field of battle. It has graven the name of Prescott, the city of the Sphinx, on scrolls of everlasting fame, as the town which rallied first to the call of the President and as the only town which gave the life of its mayor, its first, its most honored citizen, to the nation.

On the isle of Cuba, in the battle of San Juan Hill, fell the gallant Captain William Owen O'Neill of the regiment of Rough Riders. Peace to his ashes!

I have been told the circumstances surrounding his death by friends, who were soldiers of his company. They were lying under cover behind every available shelter to dodge a hailstorm of Mauser bullets, awaiting the order to advance. Captain O'Neill exposed himself and was instantly killed. How could he avoid it? How could it have been otherwise? What can keep an Irishman down in the ditch when bullets are flying in air, "murmuring dirges" and "shells are shrieking requiems?" You may readily imagine an Irishman on the firing line, poking his head above the ground, exclaiming: "Did yez see that? And where did that Dago pill come from now? Shure it spoke Spanish, but it did not hit me at all, at all, Begorra!"

The activity of the Sphinx ended not with the battle of San Juan Hill, for it cast the luster of its glorious power on the gallant Lieutenant Colonel of the famous regiment of Rough Riders, Theodore Roosevelt, and on him it conferred in time the greatest honor to be achieved on earth, it made him President of the United States of America. Not knowing it, perhaps, he still is at the time of this writing in the sphere of influence and in the power of the Sphinx and is doing its bidding. Else why should he, as is well known, favor the jointure of New Mexico and Arizona into one State? Surely the loyal subjects of the Sphinx, the Pueblo Indians of Aztec blood, live mostly in New Mexico, and the cunning idol plans to deliver them out of the hands of the Spanish Mexicans, and place them under the protection and care of the Americans of Arizona, knowing full well that the Anglo-Saxon blood will rule.

Every miner and prospector of Arizona knows that there have been, and are found to this day nuggets of pure gold and silver on the summit of barren hills, in localities and under geological conditions which are not to be reckoned as possible natural phenomena. Whence came the golden nuggets on the summit of Rich Hill at Weaver, where a party of men gathered two hundred thousand dollars worth in a week's time? Whence came the isolated great chunk of silver at Turkey Creek, valued at many thousands? The wisest professor of geology and expert of mines cannot explain it. This, I say, is the gold and silver from ornaments employed in temples of the idols of ancient races, who lived unthinkable thousands of years ago. The very stones of their temples have crumbled and been decomposed, but the precious metal has been formed into nuggets, according to the natural laws of molecular attraction, and under the impulse of gravity and in obedience to the laws of affinity of matter.

People from Prescott in their rambles in the vicinity of Thumb Butte have probably noticed a slag pile as comes from a furnace. I have heard them theorize and argue on the question of its origin or use, as there is not a sign of ore in existence thereabouts to indicate a smelting furnace. I say this was an altar erected I by the ancient worshipers to their idol, the Sphinx. Before it stood the awful sacrificial stone, whereon quivered the bodies of victims while priests tore open their breasts and offered their throbbing hearts in the sacred fire on the altar, a sacrifice to their cruel god. Many prospectors have undoubtedly traced a blood red vein of rock coursing from this place toward Willow Creek-a valuable lode of cinnabar, they must have thought. If they had tested the ore for quicksilver, they would have received discouraging results. Porphyry stained with an unknown petrified substance and without a trace of metal invariably read the analytical assays.

This is the innocent, petrified blood of victims which stained a ledge of porphyry when it ran down the mountain side in torrents, an awful sacrifice to the ancient idols of lust and ignorance. A kindly warning to you, fellow-prospectors and miners, who delve in the vitals of Mother Earth! Beware Thumb Butte, beware the district of the Sphinx! Have a care, for you know not what you may encounter in this mystic neighborhood! Shun strange gods and set up no idols in your hearts, as you value the salvation of your souls. But if your mine lies in this district, be fearful not to excite the anger of the gnomes of the mountain. Charge lightly, lest you blast the bottom out of your mine. Disturb not the slumber of the spirits of the hills lest they throw a horse into the shaft and push your pay-ore down a thousand feet.

Now, I who am what I am, a servant of the Sphinx, have erected the shrine of my household gods in the beautiful town, which lies in its shadow and is held in its paw. Even now is the Sphinx weaving on the web of my destiny. I hope I may be spared the cumbersome burden of the wealth of a Rockefeller, who is said to possess a billion dollars for every hair on his head. One thousandth part of his wealth would suffice to reward me amply.

I received a message in a dream, in a vision of the night, a promise from the Sphinx. I fancied that I was on Lynx Creek, sitting on the windlass at the shaft of my silver mine. This mine is within a mile of the place where we had camped and met the party of miners. I had worked the mine with profit until I met, through no fault of mine, with a fault in the mine and encountered a horse in the formation which faulted the ground in such a manner as to interrupt the pay chute and to make further work unprofitable.

While I sat there, lighting my pipe and blessing my luck, I saw a black tomcat come along and jump my claim. As I have always detested claim jumpers, I threw a rock at him and with an uncanny mee-ow and bristling tail he disappeared down the mine. When I went to the spot where he had scratched, after the fashion of cats, probably preparing to build his location monument and place his notice, I was thunderstruck to see that the rock I had thrown at him had been transformed into a chunk of pure gold. Surely where that cat jumped into the mine, there lies a bonanza, there shall I sink to the water level.

From the time of my youth have I always possessed great bodily strength and physical endurance, combined with good health, and now, I am, if anything, stronger in body than ever and I am blessed with the identical passions and thoughts I harbored in the days of my youth. To me this signifies that my life's real task is now beginning, the Sphinx is fitting me for glorious work. What and where, I care not; but ambitious hope leads me on, past wealth and power to visions of a temple of divine, pictorial art. Fain would I guide my light, frivolous thoughts long enough into the calm channels of serious reflection to bid you, my kind readers, a dignified farewell and express the sincere hope that, when we have prospected life's mortal vein to the end of time and our souls soar on the last blast of Gabriel's trumpet to shining sands on shores of bliss eternal.

AN UNCANNY STONE.

(A sequel to the last chapter of "Wooed by a Sphinx of Astlan."')

"Gigantic shadows, dancing in the twilight

Fade with the sun's last golden ray.

On quivering bat-wings, sad and silent,

Flits darkness-night pursuing day.

Hark! as the twelfth hour sounds its knell

At midnight, tolls a whimpering bell

When yawning graves profane their secrecy.

Ghosts stalk in dreamland haunting memory

And spectral visions of departed friends arise

Who freed of sin, that fetter of mortality,

With Angels in their kingdom of Eternal Life

Grace Heaven's choir of harmony."

The third day of July A. D. 1907 was a gala-day for the citizens of Prescott, a historic date for Arizona, as then our governor, in behalf of the territory, formally accepted an equestrian statue from its sculptor.

This monument which commemorates our war with Spain had been erected on the public plaza of Prescott in honor of "Roosevelt's Rough Riders," the first regiment of United States Volunteer cavalry.

A master-piece of modern art the statue breathes life and action in the perfection of its every detail, representing a Rough Rider who is about to draw his weapon while reining his terrified horse as it rears in a last lunge. This is indicated by the steed's gaping mouth, distended nostrils, the bent knees, knotted chords and veins of its neck and body.

The expression of a noble beast's agony is rendered in so life-like a manner that its protruding eyes seem to glaze into the awful stare of death, and instinctively the spectator listens for the stifled whimper and whinnying screams of a wounded creature.

Borglum's splendid statuary, this heroic cast of bronze which so faithfully portrays the destiny of a dumb animal, man's most useful and willing slave, always ready to share its master's fate, even unto death-to my mind is a most eloquent, if silent, argument against all warfare.

But the glory of the monument is its pedestal.

A solid stone, a bed-rock from the cradle of the idol-mountain it was contributed by nature to the memory of one of its noblemen, "Captain William Owen O'Neill," who crowned his life with immortality, suffering a soldier's death.

During the storming of San Juan Hill to anxious friends imploring him not recklessly to expose himself, with smiling lips he gave this message of death's Angel, that mysterious oracle of a Sphinx which from the gaze of mortals veils their ordained doom: "Comrades, sergeant! I thank you for your kindly warning-fear not for me, the Spanish bullet that could kill me is not molded!"-when instantly he fell struck dead-not by a "Spanish" bullet-"no!" but by the bullet fired from a Mauser rifle, "not made in Spain." Not an ordinary stone this Arizona granite rock is entitled to highest honors among the stones of the earth.

By none outclassed in witchery it ranks equally in fame with the Blarneystone of Ireland; old Plymouth Rock does not compare with it, for that derives its prestige only from "Mayflower pilgrims" who accidentally landing at its base merely stepped over it.

Proudly our Arizona stone bears a most precious burden-the tribute of a people who in exalting patriotism honor themselves.

Originally an archaean sea-bottom rock this stone lay submerged in the ocean until during the Jurassic Period, under the lateral pressure of a cooling earthcrust the table-lands and mountain-chains of Arizona rose from the seas.

Then it slumbered through several epochs of geology, representing many millions of years in the bosom of earth, the mother, until at the beginning of the psychozoic era, through erosion or the action of atmospheric influences and nature's chemistry it came to the surface; uncovered and freed from all superimposed stratified rock.

It saw the light of day long before the advent of primitive man; but the giant-flora and fauna of pre-historic time had developed, flourished and vanished while it rested under ground.

Contrary to the habit of rolling stones which gather no moss, this Arizona stone accumulated much, for when it had reached its assigned site on the plaza of Prescott it had become a very valuable, expensive rock.

When first I saw it, this fearful Aztec juggernaut was within a half mile of its destination. Slowly it crawled along, threatening destruction to everything in its path, and in the course of a week had arrived at the Granite-creek bridge.

It moved by main strength and brute force employing men and horses after the custom of the ancients when more than thirty-seven hundred years ago King Menes, son of Cham reigned in Egypt, who albeit surnamed Mizrain the Laggard, yet was the first king of the first dynasty of the children of the sun.

When I saw the direction from whence the stone had come I feared that disaster would overwhelm our town and unfortunately was I not mistaken.

At the bridge the stone gave the first manifestation of its unholy heathen power when it balked, defying modern civilization and through sorcery or in other unhallowed ways contrived to interfere with the public electric traction service, paralyzing the traffic so effectively that every street car in the town was stopped; not merely a few hours, but for days.

Like that colossus of strength and wisdom, the elephant which refuses to pass over a bridge until satisfied that this will uphold its weight, the cunning stone did not budge another inch until the bridge had been braced with many timbers.

As foreseen by me this uncanny rock was sent by the Idol of the mountain, the "Sphinx of Aztlan," to cast a hoodoo, an evil spell over the monument.

It caused dissension among the people and confused their minds into rendering abnormal criticisms, making them indulge in eccentric vagaries and speculations on the artistic and intrinsic value of the monument. Some persons guessed at the value of the metal contained in the statue, while others reckoned the cost of the horse or that of the rider's accoutrements.

However, of thousands of admiring and delighted spectators none shared an exactly like opinion except in this, that the statue bore no individual resemblance; but that also was contradicted by a young lady whom I heard exclaim: "Girls, surely that looks like Buckie O'Neill, but in love and war men are not themselves!" "How do I know? Oh, mamma said so!"

During the ceremony of unveiling the monument a dark, ragged storm cloud hung over the Aztec mountain, fast overcasting the sky. Thousands of people strained their eyes and held their breath in the glad anticipation of seeing the features of their lamented friend, Prescott's honored mayor, immortalized in bronze. When after moments of anxious suspense the veil which draped the statue parted and fell to earth, the sun's rays pierced the clouds, while deafening cheers rent the air. I thought I heard a weird, faint cry, an echo from the past-but cannons boomed, drums crashed as a military band rendered its patriotic airs.

And we saw-not the familiar, fine features of our soldier hero, so strikingly portrayed by a famed artist and molded into exact, lifelike resemblance, but instead we beheld an unknown visage-a type, merely the semblance of a "Rough Rider," its rigid gaze riveted on the Idol-mountain, forever enthralled by the Sphinx.

In nineteen hundred seven, on the third day of July

With shining mien and naming sword earthward St. Michael came

To save-ever auspicious be the blessed day-

From blighting heathen guile a Christian hero's fame

The while, breathless with awe, solemn the people gazed

And rhetoric's inspired flame on Aztlan's altar blazed.

Adore the Saints, behold a miracle Divine!

Hallowed, our Saviour, be Thy Name

And Heaven's glory thine!

Of idol-worship now has vanished every trace

In deepest crevice and highest place

On mesa, butte and mountain-face;

From the Grand Canyon's somber shade

The sun-scorched desert, the dripping glade

And sunken crater of Stoneman's Lake.

The "Casa Grande," a home of ancient race-

A ruin now-is haunted by Montezuma's wraith.

In Montezuma's castle, crumbling from roof to base

The winds and rain of heaven ghosts of the past now chase.

Where erstwhile the Great Spirit's children dwelt

Forever hushed is the papoose's wail, and stilled the squaw's low-crooning lilt.

No longer shimmers starlight from eyes of savage maids

Worshippers of the fire and sun, poor dwellers of the caves-

The sisters of the deer and lo, shy startled fawns of Aztec race

Or coy ancestral dams of moon-eyed Toltec doe.

Now Verde witches bathe in Montezuma's well

And over its crystal waters the tourists cast their spell.

Rejoice! To Arizona has the Saviour vouchsafed His Grace

For our Salvation Army lass teaches true Gospel faith:

"Be saved this night, poor sinner, repent, the hour is late!

Salvation is in store for thee, brother do not delay

As fleeting time and sudden death for no man ever wait!"

"Praise God!" the lassie's war-cry is, the keynote of her song.

To the tune of "Annie Roonie" and kindred fervid lay

With mandolin and banjo, marching in bold array

The devil's strongholds storming, battling to victory-

With banners flying, the tambourine and drum

Forever has she silenced the shamans vile tom-tom.

All Fetish Spirit-medicine she has tabooed, banished away

Except bourbon and rye, sour-mash, hand-made

And copper-distilled, licensed, taxed and gauged,

Then stored in bond to ripen, mellow, age.

God bless the Army, rank and file who fight our souls to save!

Modern disciples of the Son of Man, true followers of Christ,

They work by day, then preach and pray and pound their drum at night.

L'ENVOY.

Farewell, this ends my rhyming, submitted at its worth.

Lest I forget-pride goes before the fall, on earth

And exceeding fine if slowly, grind the mills of angry gods-

The muses' steed, a versifying bronco had I caught

And recklessly I rode; but fast as thought

Fate overtook me when Pegasus bucked me off.

Sorely distressed I hear a satyr's mocking laugh

As on my laurels resting, on my seat of honor cast

And thanking you for kind attention now your indulgent censure ask.

THE BIRTH OF ARIZONA. (AN ALLEGORICAL TALE.)

On the summit of a mountain I staked my claim; in the shade of a balsam-spruce I built my hut.

When the south wind that rises on the desert climbs to the mountain's ridge and rustling among silvery needles, rattles the cones on boughs and twigs-the tree-giant whispers with resinous breath, bemoaning the fate of a prehistoric civilization, and lisps of the mystery and romance of a humanity long extinct, mourning for races forgotten and vanished.

Alone-unrivaled in her weird, wild grandeur stands Arizona where spiry rock-ribbed giants stab an emerald, opal-tinted sky, and terraced mesas of wondrous amber hue form natural stairways, that grandly wrought were carved step after step, through successive epochs of erosion, affording thus an easy ascent to the rugged profile of this land of the Western Hemisphere. All this is of historic record in stony cypher of geology indelibly engraved by time on the rocky walls of deepest canyons, as traceable from the primordial archaean to our present era, the age of man.

In tremor-spasms of terrestrial creation, 'midst chaotic fiery turmoil of volcanos, out of the depth of globe-encircling waters, from the womb of Universe-Eternity-came the Almighty Word, and then was born fair Arizona.

Fraught with golden prophecy was her horoscope, cast by fate's oracle for her birthday fell under the sign of the scorpion when in the path of planets Venus contended with the Earth for first place of ascendency to the second house of the heavens.

High above the tidal wave rose Arizona, as fleecy clouds float in the rays of Apollo's sun-torch when at eventide his flaming chariot plunges into unfathomed depths of the Pacific Ocean.

With her first breath this daughter of Columbia, born of gods, clamored for aid. Neptune was first among the planets to heed the plaintive cry and held her to his breast, with fond caresses.

The grandest canyon on the face of earth with flowing streams and limpid crystals he gave her as a birthday present.

These crystals rare are famed as Arizona diamonds now.

Bright, lovely Venus, the sister of Earth, a shining planet, gave the ruby-red garnet, her pledge of love and Arizona hid it in her bosom. There shall you find it, if worthy so you be, in the hearts of happy maidens.

Saturn gave her his ring of amethysts and Uranus the greenish malachite, of buoyant hope the emblem. This, in time, was changed to copper, the king of all commercial metals.

Mars gave the bloodstone. From it came soldiers bold, heroes who fought Apaches and the Spaniard.

The winged Mercury on passing tossed her two stones, most precious; the lodestone and a Blackstone. The lodestone was a stone of grit. When Arizona placed it in her crib thence came the lucky prospector who sinks his shafts through earth and rock in search of mineral treasure.

Then opened she the Blackstone and lo, from it arose the men of eloquence who aided by retainers fight keenly in continued terms for order, law and justice with weapons that are mightier than the sword which giveth glory, eternal rest and immortality to heroes only whom it smiteth.

Behold, a shadow now fell on the Earth and as a serpent coils and creeping stretches forth its slimy length, it came apace.

Foreboding evil it announced the knight-errant of never-ending space, a wicked comet. To Arizona gave he playthings many: the rattlesnake, hairy tarantelas and stinging scorpions, horned toads and centipedes, a scented hydrophobia-cat, the Gila monster, a Mexican and the Apache; also a thorny cactus plant.

Anon the tricky Hassayampa rose from his source. On mischief bent he overflowed his bed, teasing the infant Arizona. He worried her, poor dearie-dear till she shed tears and nature adding to the gush of waters there flowed a brackish stream away; now named Saltriver and on its banks nested the Phoenix.

From Elysium in his chariot descended then the sungod to nurse his infant daughter. He dried the Hassayampa's bed in the hot desert sand and where man-like, incautiously he scorched the hem of Arizona's dress-where now lies Yuma-there the temperature rose ten degrees hotter than hades; but luckily since then it has cooled off as much.

The happy maiden smiled with joy as Apollo kissed her long and often. He took the turquoise from the skies, an emblem of unfaltering faith. It and a lock of shining hair he gave her. That hid she in her rocky bed where it became gold of the mint; the filthy lucre of unworthiness and avarice, a blessing when in charity bestowed; a boon as the reward of honest labor!

With lengthening shadows Luna, night's gentle goddess came, a full mile nearer to Arizona than to other lands beaming her softest rays over the sleeping child. Under the lunar kisses woke Arizona and stored the moonshine in her gown. That nature has transformed to silver; serving the poor man as his needed coin.

In sadness waned the moon, for caught between the horns of a dilemma she had no wealth left to endow the infant with. Intemperate habits had the goddess always, was often full and now reduced to her last quarter, but that was waning fast and her man's shadow also growing less. Her semi-transparent stone, alas! had given she long since to California, but this proudest of all daughters of the seas did not appreciate the kindly gift. She cast it on the white sands of her beaches where it is gathered by the thankful tourist who shouts exultantly, delighted with his find:

The moonstone, climate, atmosphere,

The only things free-gratis here-

Eureka!

I have found!

A ROYAL FIASCO.

(HISTORICAL ANECDOTES.)

A village on the coast of northern Germany, where the Elbe flows into the North Sea, was my birthplace, its parsonage, my childhood's home.

Two great earth-dikes which sheltered our village from fierce southwesterly gales were the only barrier standing between untold thousands of lives and watery graves, for the coasts of Holland and northern Germany are below the level of high tides.

It is known that through inundations caused by breaks in these levees, occurring as late as the tenth and eleventh centuries of our era more than three hundred thousand persons with all their domestic cattle were drowned over night.

These dikes which extend for many miles along the banks of the river were erected by the systematic herculean toil of generations of our ancestors.

According to a popular tradition it was Rolof, the dwarf, a thrall of Vulcan, who taught my forefathers the art of forging tools from iron ore, enabling them to battle successfully against the might of Neptune.

They blunted the angry sea-god's trident with their plows and shovels and repulsed him at the very threshold of his element, stemming the inroads of hungry seas with their stupendous handiwork which still stands intact, an imposing monument to the memory of my forebears, being their children's children's most precious inheritance.

On the soil which my ancestors reclaimed from the sea they founded their homes and sowed grasses and cereals.

But ere long a dire calamity came over the land, for at the command of the revengeful Neptune his mermaids spewed sea-foam into the river's fresh water addling it with their fish-tails into a nasty brine.

Luckily the good dwarf who in his youth had served his term of apprenticeship at the court of King Gambrinus and was therefore master of the noble craft of brewing kindly taught my forefathers to brew a foaming draught from the malt of barleycorn, which thereafter they drank instead of water.

And now all seafaring men who navigate the river Elbe between Cuxhaven and Hamburg are still troubled with a tremendous thirst which nothing but foaming lager beer may quench.

The founding of the village's church dates from the conversion of Saxon tribes who inhabited that country. The chapel's original walls were built of rock, but its newer part was constructed of brick-work during the fourteenth century.

Our domicile, the parsonage, although not quite as ancient, was a very picturesque ruin with its moss-covered roof of thatched straw, under which a flock of sparrows made their homes; but a modern building, how prosaic-looking it might be, or deficient in uniqueness and the charm of its surroundings, would undeniably have made a better, more sanitary and comfortable residence.

Mother, at least, thought this when father landed her, his blushing bride at the ancient parsonage in a rain storm which compelled them to retire for the night under the shelter of an umbrella; and thus the honeymoon of their married life waxed with uncommon hardship.

Later the old leaky house received a tile roof, part of it was removed and with it the room where first I saw the light of day.

That was a cold day for father indeed, as there was another mouth to be fed then, a very serious problem for a poor parson to solve.

When my aunt remarked that I looked like a "monk" father eyed me thoughtfully, saying: "Perhaps there is something to Darwin's theory after all," but mother took me to her arms, withering her sister with scornful glances of her flashing eyes. "Certainly does he look like a monk, the poor little tiddledee-diddy darling," she said; "what else would you expect of him, being the son of a preacher and a descendant of priests?"

On a certain fateful summer day when assembled at dinner we heard the rumble of wheels as an imperial post-chaise hove into view, lumbering lazily past the parsonage.

The postillion's horn sounded a letter-call and my sisters rushed out, racing over our lawn to the gate, in order to take the message. They returned with a large envelope bearing great official seals, both girls struggling for its possession and fighting like cats for the privilege of carrying the precious document. Mother's face was wreathed in smiles of ecstacy.

"Your salary, papa," she whispered, but father was very solemn. "No, dear, it is not due," he answered. He took the missive from my sister's hands and turned it over and over, guessing at its contents until mother who was favored with more of that quality which is commonly called "presence of mind" urged him to open it, and see.

An ashen pallor spread over father's countenance, the letter dropped from his hand and he would have fallen if mother had not caught him in her arms. She grabbed the evil message, slipping it into the bosom of her gown, where it could do no further harm.

Then she guided father's faltering steps to the sanctity of his studio, where he wrote his sermons and closed the door.

My sisters availed themselves of the opportunity to make a raid on mother's pantry, but I, poor little innocent, waited in the corridor for mother's return, dreading to hear the worst. I heard my dear father groan aloud and bemoan his fate and listened to mother's soothing sympathetic words as she begged father to be calm and bear it like a man and a Christian.

When at last mother came out I flew to her. She took me to her arms, kissing my tear-stained face.

"Poor little boy," she said, "cheer up and you shall have a big cookie, don't you cry!"

"Oh, mamma," I faltered, "will papa die?"

"No, sonny, that he won't," said she with a determined glint of her eyes and a twitching of the corners of her mouth, "for I won't let him; but he does suffer anguish!"

"Oh, tell me, mamma, what misfortune has befallen us," I cried.

"It is very sad," said mother. "Your father, who is the finest speaker in the country, has been commanded by a worshipful senate and most honorable civic corporation of the Free City of Hamburg to appear before the visiting king in full dress, and officiate as orator of the day at a reception to be tendered his majesty by our city"-here mother broke down completely, overwhelmed by grief and wept copiously into her handkerchief.

"Oh, oh," I wailed, "do say it, mamma!"

"And-and your father has no coat!" she sobbed. "Poor man, he fears disgrace and dreads the loss of preferment and of a royal decoration, perhaps. He will have to feign sickness as an excuse for his absence; but I hope he realizes now how degraded and unhappy I must feel with my last year's gowns and made-over millinery-and your poor sister's ancient bonnets, I dare not look at them any longer!"

"But papa has a coat," I said, "a royal Prince Albert!"

"True," answered mother, "but it has no swallow's tails!"

"A Prince Albert has no swallow-tails?" I gasped wonderingly; "but it has great, long tails, surely!"

"Oh, now I see," an idea flashing through my mind; "it has cock-tails, has it, mamma, and it can't swallow them, can it, mamma?"

"Oh my, oh my!" screamed mother, "you are the funniest little chap to ask me questions. Go, ask pussy!"

Then I went into the back yard to interview my favorite playmate, our big, black tomcat, and aroused him from his cat nap. But he blinked sleepily only, saying nothing.

However, speech was not to be denied me in that manner, for I held the combination which unlocks the portals of silence. I gave the handle a double twist and he spat and spluttered: "Sh-sh-sht-t-t!"

As may be imagined, my father passed a sleepless night in the solitude of his studio. He wrestled with a host of demons and made a good fight of it; for finally in the small hours of morning he overcame the evil spirit of worldly ambition and with true Christian humility, his soul purified by vanquished temptation, resigned himself unreservedly, good man that he was, to the mandate of a cruel fate. He began to write his sermon for the Sabbath, and being spiritually chastened and battle-sore, naturally his thoughts dwelt on melancholy topics. Therefore, he took the text of his sermon from the Lamentations of Jeremiah, chapter 3, v. I:

"I am the man that hath seen affliction by the rod of His wrath."

It may be stated here that on the next Sabbath, from "firstly" to "seventhly" for two long hours father pondered over the uncertainties of earthly life, and that on this occasion he delivered the most effective sermon of his pastoral career.

When father had written his sermon he resumed work on an unfinished volume of historical sketches which he prepared for future publication.

Meantime mother, who was busy with a pleasanter task was correspondingly cheerful. She altered father's "Prince Albert" into a stately full-dress coat, ripping up its waist-seams, and pinned back the skirts of the coat into the proper claw-hammer shape.

Then she took that other garment which goes with the long waistcoat and the full-dress coat of a courtier's suit, in hand.

This article had not been mentioned before by anyone, as there was a goodly supply of it known to be in mother's wardrobe. Deftly cutting the lace away, a few inches above the knees she placed some mother-of-pearl buttons and bows of ribbons and with few stitches fashioned a beautiful pair of courtier's small clothes, or knickerbockers, for father's use.

Father had begun a description of the battle of Waterloo, for nothing so touched a responsive chord in his mind as the recording of a most fearful catastrophe, the direst calamity known to history, nor served as well to alleviate by comparison his mind's distress and mortification.

Just as he wrote the sentence, "Alas for Napoleon, here set his lucky star; not only was his misfortune repeated, but also his final downfall accomplished when Blucher's tardy cavalry appeared on the field, turning the tide of battle in favor of the British"-in came mother with happy, triumphant laughter, unfolding and flaunting to the breeze the so anxiously wished-for full-dress suit.

"Julia, darling, you have saved the day, oh you are so clever," shouted father, joyfully embracing her; "but I say!" he exclaimed in startled surprise, "where on earth did you get this-er-trousseau? Do you really think I shall need those?"

"Yes, indeed you shall, dearest, when you are going to court," replied mother. "Here you have everything needed except the silken hose which you must buy."

"But you have a plenty of long-limbed stockings," said father, wrinkling his brow.

"My good man, look here now!" answered mother, bristling, "well enough you know that all my stockings are very old and holey!"

"Oh, darn them!" growled father testily.

"Wilhelm, do you wish the king to see my stockings then?" cried mamma, angrily.

"But, my dear, you know that he can't see, as he is stone-blind," said father.

"So he is, Wilhelm, and for that very reason he could not find the throne of England," snapped mother, "but never was he blind as you to his queenly wife's unfashionable appearance, nor was he ever deaf to her demands for something decent to wear!"

And mother, as always when it came to ultimate extremes, finally gained her point, for father loved her dearly and dared not deny her.

On the following day arrived the king, for whose reception our township had made grand preparations. Festoons of evergreen decorated the roadway from the parsonage to the opposite house, and mother and my sisters were stationed at our gate with an abundance of roses to strew in the king's path.

From the steeple pealed the chimes, heralding his majesty's arrival. He traveled in an open landau, which was drawn by six milk-white Arabian steeds and surrounded by a select escort of young men who were his subjects and served as his guard of honor.

They wore scarfs of the royal colors over breasts and shoulders.

A courtier sat on either side of the king for the purpose of advising him and to direct his movements.

Poor man, he turned his sightless white eyes on us, bowing to the ladies in acknowledgment of their curtesies and roses.

This king was very unlike his royal namesake predecessors, as he was pitied by everyone and not envied or hated. I must confess to having been sorely disappointed with this sight of royalty, for I thought a king must be an extraordinary being, expecting to see a double-header, as kings and queens are pictured on playing cards, the kings holding scepters in their left hands and bearing a ball with their right, but I saluted and shouted as everyone else did, and when my sisters pelted the royal equipage with their roses I shied my cap at his majesty, at which the people who saw this laughed as loudly as they dared in the presence of a king. I expected also to see a military display, but there were no soldiers present, because the king traveled "incognito," which means that it was forbidden to reveal his royal identity. He was supposed to be a plain nobleman merely, "Herr von Beerstein" for instance.

But a king, who is human after all, may wish to enjoy himself as others do and desire to associate occasionally with ordinary people. So "Herr von Beerstein" goes to a beer garden in quest of a pleasing companion who is readily found, for he has money to burn and invests it freely.

An obliging bar-maid introduces him to her lovely cousin and they retire to a lonely seat in the most secluded spot of the garden.

"Herr von Beerstein" now places his heart and purse in the keeping of his gentle companion, who calls directly for "zwei beers."

Now follows a repetition of the old, old legend that yet is always new and ever recurring in the romance of mutual love on sight, two hearts beating as one and in the love that laughs at locksmiths, but as the course of true love seldom runs smooth, now with the maiden's oft repeated calls for "lager" "Herr von Beerstein" grows by stages sentimental, incautious and then so reckless that "presto!" before he is aware of any danger to himself he has stopped Cupid's fatal dart with his royal personal circumference. Maddened with pain he exhibits symptoms of a most violent passion and becomes very aggressive. But the cunning maid appeals to the protecting presence of Fritz, the waiter, with other calls for beer, whispering in the ear of her love-lorn swain: "Nine, mine lieber Herr von Beerstein, ven you has married me once alretty, nicht wahr? Ach vas, den shall you kiss me yet some more, yaw!"

Thus she tantalizes the poor man until he becomes desperate under the strain of an unrequited love and as a last resort he places his hand over his heart, bares the bosom of his shirt and exposes the insignia of royalty, flashing the sovereign's star before her eyes. Humbly, overcome with shame and remorse at the thought of having trifled with her king's affections, and prompted by her pitiful exaggerated notion of loyalty the poor thing kneels before his majesty, craving his pardon.

With royal hands the king uplifts her, graciously kissing her rosebud mouth and when she says: "Your majesty's slightest wish is a command to me, your servant!" and is about to surrender her loveliness to Cupid's forces and temporarily lose her heart, but her soul forever-in the very nick of time comes her guardian-angel to the rescue.

When she, poor little gray dove, lies trembling in the royal falcon's talons a head rises up and peeps over the fence, for the royal star has been seen through a crack between the boards, its knowing, sly grin passing into the lusty shout:

"Heil dem koenig, hoch, hoch!"

An excited crowd rushes from all directions, cheering: "Ein, zwei, drei, hurrah!" while a constable places the damsel under arrest, charging her with lese majeste. When, however, his majesty intercedes most graciously the your lady is promptly released, and restored to freedom.

But the constable's fee that she must pay-in earthly power, not even a king can save her from it, for that is a "trinkgeld" and she pays it from the royal purse.

On the evening of the king's arrival I accompanied my father to the castle where the reception royal took place. There were no ladies present on this occasion. The king was, as has been said, totally blind, but indulged in the curious habit of feigning to have an unimpaired eye sight and pretended to admire scenic objects which had been pointed out to him beforehand as though he really saw them, carrying out this illusion to the extent of ridiculousness. It is said that at a hunt-meet a courtier incurred his royal displeasure through these incautious words: "Sire, you shot this hare from a next to impossible distance, condescend to feel how fat it is!"

As the poor man failed to say "See how fat," he fell promptly into disfavor, which is equivalent to being blacklisted in our country.

The king's general behaviour suggests that he deemed his blindness not merely to be a most regrettable misfortune, but that he regarded it as a deserved culpable affliction.

When a small boy I was told that he lost his eyesight through an act of charity. He drew a purse from his pocket, intending to give a beggar an aim when his horse shied violently, causing the steel-beaded tassels of the purse to injure his eyes.

Later, as I grew older, I heard a different tale:

The king as a student, then being crown-prince of the realm, found pleasure in looking at the wine which was red, and at a pair of eyes that were blue and shone like heavenly stars, oh so gently and tenderly! But he looked, alas, once too often-into eyes that blazed with lurid flames of hate and fury-the terrible eyes of the green-eyed monster. There came a flash as of lightning with a loud report and he saw stars that fell fiercely fast until they vanished under a cloud of awful gloom in the hopeless despair of perpetual night; but the glorious luminous star of day for him shone not again, nevermore, on earth! To this day I know not which version tells the truth.

The castle's grand hall was overflowing with people. I followed in the wake of father, who had fallen into line, advancing gradually toward the august presence of a crowned king. Nervously father awaited his turn to bask for one anxious moment in the sunshine of royal favor and touch a king's hand.

I slipped away unperceived to the kitchen, knowing well the premises of this fine old castle which was kept in good repair by the city of Hamburg, its present owner. It had been won by conquest of arms in 1394 A.D. from the noble family "Von Lappe."

The principal occupation of these knights was the waylaying and robbing of merchants; but the wrecking of ships was their favorite, most profitable pastime.

The kitchen was in the basement of the castle and great in size, its floor paved with slabs of stone, the walls and ceilings were paneled in oak. On one side of the room were stone-hearths with blazing fires, over which hung pots and brazen kettles. Game and meats broiled on spits, there being no cook-stoves in those days. Heavy doors, strapped with great wrought iron hinges and studded with ornamental scroll-work led into pantries and cellars.

The place swarmed with liveried servants and cooks; also the king had brought his "chef de cuisine and own butler. The latter, a lordly Englishman, was a grand, haughty person who superintended the extravagant preparations for the entertainment of royalty.

A maid conducted me to a corner where I was out of harm's way and regaled me with delicacies when the courses were served, oh it was fine! The chef prepared certain dishes for the king and I saw the butler taste of the viands that were placed on crown-marked dishes of porcelain and gold. He also tasted the king's wine.

When at last I grew sleepy, kind maids arranged a couch of snowy linen for me, and I slept until the banquet royal was over when the guests returned to their homes.

But me lord, the butler, eyed me with questioning curiosity.

"Aw me lad, h'and where did your father get 'is blooming costume?" he asked.

"Mother supplied it, good sir," I answered.

"Hi say, me lad," he laughed, "your mother h'is a grand lydie, you tike me word for h'it; h'in h'England they would decorate that suit with the h'order h'of the garter!"

"Honi soit, qui mal y pense!" I lisped.

A MAID OF YAVAPAI.

To S. M. H.

(AN IDYLLIC SKETCH.)

People from every land sojourn in Arizona.

From the Atlantic's sandy coasts, the icy shores of crystal lakes, from turbid miasmatic swamps-east, north and south, they come.

Over mountain, canyon and gulch they roam, prospecting nature's grandest wonders.

But the purest gold on Arizona's literary field, that was found by the genius of a lonesome valley's queen, the song-lark of our "Great Southwest."

From the sheltering tree of her ancestral hall shyly she fluttered forth.

Among stony crags of the sierra, on fearsome dizzy trails, in the somber shadows of virgin forests, in the rustling of wind-blown leaves (the seductive swish of elfin skirts) she heard the voices of Juno's sylvan train. Enchanted she listened to the syren's call, and ere the echo died within her ear she had devoted her talent to literature, a priestess self-ordained in Arizona's temple of the muses.

In the flight of her poetic mind she met his majesty, king of the hills, the mountain-lion at the threshold of his lair and toyed with his cubs, princes and heirs to freedom.

She heard the were-wolf scourge of herds, fierce lobos snarl in silent groves of timber and shivered at the coyote's piercing yelps from grave yards in the valleys.

At nighttime, in her lonely camp the dread tarantela disturbed her rest and in day's early gloam a warning rattle of creepy serpents sounded her reveille:

"Fair maid, awake, arise in haste! When darkness vanishes with dawn, heed our alarm-clock in the morn!"

She spoke not to the sullen bear, in cautious silence passed him by and shunned the fetid breath of monster lizards and venom stings of centipedes and scorpions; but woman-like she feared the hydrophobia-skunk more for its scent than for its deadly poison.

She heeded not the half-tamed Indian on the trail; but the insolent leer of Sonora's scum, the brutalized peon, the low caste chulo of Chihuahua, froze into the panic-stare of abject terror under the straight glance of her eye. The slightest motion of her tender hand to him augured a sudden death, for she was of Arizona's daughters, invulnerable in the armor of their self-reliant strength, a shield of lovely innocence, white as the snow is driven.

On the Mesa del Mogollon, in the darkling Coconino Forest she interviewed the cowboy, that valiant belted knight of modern western chivalry, and in the chaparral she cheered the lonesome herder.

In the treasure-vaults of earth, a thousand feet below the surface, invading the domain of Pluto's treacherous gnomes she met the hardiest man in Arizona, the miner, who always happy is and full of hope.

Poor fellows, they hobnob with death and do not mind it!

Floods of rivers, cloudbursts in narrow gorges, the lightning of the hills, blinding and smothering sandstorms on the desert detained her not, for in her chosen path not on delay she thought.

By fragrant orange groves in the valley of Saltriver, past "lowing kine on pastures green," under the luring shade of palms, among the vines she passed.

Winging her virgin-flight to snowclad pinnacles of Parnassus she pours her jubilant songs of hope, faith, love into men's souls and women's hearts.

"May constant happiness attend thee, fair lady, our precious pearl in Arizona's diadem!"

Though time shall wreath thy raven tresses with silvery laurel, and with his palsied hand forever stay, in the fulfilment of thy mortal destiny, the throbbing of thy faithful heart-"Yet shall the genius of thy lyre with angel-hands reverberate the shining chords through untold future ages in heavenly strains of resonance and glory, until the solace of their faintest echoes dies within the last true heart in Arizona."