The weekly Arizona miner., 1881-01-07

Far from home as Ma would let me,
 Sometimes further than she knew of,
 Like wild, untutored papoose,
 Such as those that fill the picture
 Round the Camp of old Nokoinis.
 On the shores of Gitche Ounce, l By the shining Big-Sea-Water,
 In the song of Hiawatha. should answer 1 should tell you 1 That my Christian name Is Arthur Arthur Robinson my name IS,
 And my age, though not important To the patrons of the MINER.
 Is just thirteen years last Summer
 When seven of these years wore numbered, Took my course and travelled Westward
 In obedience to the precepts Of the Great Sage Horace Greedy; Left my native town, Chicago, By the shining Big-Sea- Water, Didn't bring the city with me- Brought along with me my father, Also brought along my mother,
 Brought my father and my mother Company for one another. ''Cros5ed the Mighty Mississippi, Passed the Mountains of the Prairie,
 Passed the land of Crows and Foxes,
 Passed the dwellings of the Blackfeet,
 To the Rockies and SieTTas
 Where upon the gusty summits
 Sits the Ruler of the West wind,
 And of all the winds of heaven
 Next passed through miles of now sheds, Round Cape Horn and down the mountain, To the green and shining Valley Of the river Sacramento, And then on to San Francisco.
 To the doorway of the West wind,
 To the portal of the Sunset.
 Thence jou'neyed further Southward
 To the Kingdom of Pomona,
 To the vinelands and the orchards
 Of the City of the Angels.
 Three years then, and over, In the City of the Angels, Near the great Pacific Ocean. ! Meath the shadows and the foliage Of the orange trees and lemons, Meath the lime trees and pomegranates, There 1 played with other urchins, Played at mumblepeg and marbles, 1 Flying kites and blowing bubbles, Going to school and studying mischief, Through the ncver-ending Summer
 Of that Semi-Tropic region.
 Tired at length, as you no doubt are, | Of monotony and sameness,
 1 resolved again to travel And to seek and find adventure ! In this land of ancient Toltecs,
 In this land of ancient Aztecs, | In the land of Monteznna- | Promised land of Arizona. l Here l am as now you see me; And by way of variation,
 I will change this Runic measure; Il. ! Of the weird and wild traditions And legends of the Indians, have written for your pleasure.
 And instead of repetition, | Without rythm in its diction, 1 Will attempt an imitation Of Poe's much murdered Raven, Of the gaunt and ghastly raven,
 From the nights plutonian shore-
 Often in a snow-storm dreary, 1 have plodded wet and weary, Plodded through the streets and alleys car rying papers to your door. While you nodded nearly mapping, suddenly there came tapping
 As of some one gently rapp:ng, rapping at your big front door. 1 '"Tis some visitor" you muttered, "tapping at my big front door," Only thls and nothing more. s Yes distinctly remember, during the past month, December, AS well as part of last November, how the wind was won't to roar; Eagerly wished the morrow, could from August weather borrow
 More of sunshine, less of sorrow, sorrow for
 the sick and poor,
 For the widow and the orphan, whom mig fortune renders poor, Cold and hungry, sick and sore. Then stood there quito uncertain, peepins through your silken curtain
 Thrilled me, filled me full of fancies ''har1ly ever felt before; As saw you warm and cozy, with your wife and children rosy, William. Sarah, John and Josey playing on the pa:lor floor. Playing scotch and hunt the posey," in the iirelight on the floor; What could mortal wish for more2
 Though the sight was still enchanting, with delight my heart still panting, Yet stern duty bade me travel through the snow and mud and gravel;
 Deep into the darkness peering, long stood there, shiyering, fearing Lest I'd miss some paying patron or offend some worthy matron,
 Or, pcrchance, some prim old maid, or grim old ''bach" SD grave and staid, Whose bills are good, but never paid. But leti pass; my business now is not to req son why or how, ] But just to make my New Years bow And wish you all good cheer, Here at length my theme Is ended And my song likewise suspended To be resumed another year. Meantime to you i-Inust confess, And you'll agree with me I'm sure, That this IS but poor address;
 Only this and nothing more.
 KILLED. MT. Antonio Baca, prom inent ! citizen of Socoro, New Mexico, was, a few | days since, killed by rioters who seem to be | determined to kill innocent men interested |