The Arizona sentinel., 1891-08-01
WONDERLAND.
THE LAKE OF INN.
The Future Baden Badcn of the Western World, 6S
 Miles SoutllWest of
u FER

east end of the volcanic area, which they occupy. Several large mounds, once living volcanoes, are
 now quiet. The Molten crust of sulphur, alum, rock, salt and earth long ago cooled off, but still hot, is evidence that heat has wrought the mysterious, grand changes here visible. Between these hills of lava, rock and debris, are large number of living, active volcanoes. From the sides of the hills, 50 to 200 feet above the surrounding waters, come forth most beautiful springs of clear warm water, some so sour, others so sweet, so bitter and so strongly alkaline, that no living being or animal can drink 1t. These waters course down the hill sides, laying a coat of white, pink, purple, blue, or green, made by the mineral salts they contain, upon everything with which they come in contact. In the midst of these hills, is the Lake of Ink. Around its borders, tn ere run into it scores of streams of clear min eral hot water, others that are warm, and two that are cold. The lake, one-fourth of a mile in length by one-eighth wide, lies like gem, set in these hills, or these ancient volcanoes. On the north is long hill crusted with sulphur, perhaps 200 feet in height, which sends forth a deep constant roar, which can be heard for miles away, a sharp hissing noise as of escaping steam, besides the heavy heaving groans of the boiling, bubblipg mud, distinctly heard at times for distance of five miles.
 These three make up a strange medley, which causes ones hair to rise gently on the head, at the same time causing most peculiar sensation, as if it was lifting the skin with it, about an inch high. This hill is alive with volcanoes, even down to the very edge of the lake. At low water in Lake Pas qualitas, it is divided from the Lake of Ink, bya narrow ridge of hard sulphurous clay, thrown up by the volcanoes, whieh have as- sisted in making this bank. No less than 60 volcanoes, mad, spite full, noisy little ones, line this ridge. On the southeast there is an ancient forest of mesquite, which has been dead for centuries if not for ages, and yet every tree is there, as perfect as the day when it last put forth it's blossoms, ex- cept there are no buds, flowers or leaves. All the trees either in- cline, or lie prostrate on the desert sands. All told in the three sec- tions, bordering on the present active volcanic region, there are no less than l5 miles of these ancient groves in length and from 1eG to 800 yards in width. In places, these trees, or portions of them have been turned coal black, others have been partly eaten up, by the mineral acids or pQisons, contained ip the hot waters, the ink of the lake or by the volcanic mud. On the south side are hundreds of hot water springs, and the two cold water ones. On this side of the lake, the hill, which stands a few yards away, and which is dead, on top, on it's sides and everywhere bears the evidence, of how it has been torn out and showed up above the surrounding country. Ragged, rough, and cragged still are the upturned edges of the volcanic crust. Here came the Indians for leagues, and gathered the rich yer million paint, with which they decorated themselves in times of war, in the ancient past, long, long ago. On the west, the vol canoes stand as close together as they can be placed. For a space .ofa quarter ofa mile by nearly one half mile, the tread of the lone footman, rings on the fragile crust, til he stops through fear, balen- cing in his mind, whether to ad- vance or retreat, and while ponder ing as to what to do, the little | "kicker," the liyeliest, most wicked