The Arizona sentinel., 1895-12-14
Life in g Miners Cabin and
 Thoughts Tberein.

ana one WnO l&S seen the SHOWS |
 but few wiutors, occupy tonight
 cabin near the GIa They smo%t
 spcoulate and weave fairy webs i.
 fancy, while the fire burns brightly
 each and all are in quest of gold
 while spending their lives awe.
 from friends, social ties, and al-
 most civilization.
 Is not this mad qaost for wealtI
 but a dream, miasma that float! o'er and obscures almost the ligh of reason?" What will man takt in exchange fer hIs soul?' call bt answered in any mining camp ou this continent in two words; Gold Silver Is this life, and if so is t worth the living?
 Let us laol1 down the pages O ho past, and we find the names of men whose graves bear no monu. mental shaft, aud many are even unknown. and from that long list of dead and living few are found who grew Iich, or lived, or died content. Life it is said is bat a l lottery. and this axiom IS amply exemplifyod Iy every one who goes down in the mines
 The wheel is turned, the number drawn and blanks appear until it almost seems that fife is a bland and stupid unrealjty. Prizes come but 10 whom? Not the pro>pector, the miner CT his patient bur c, who found or developed the mine CT claim. but the capitalist. the man of word clothes and ducates from the east, who invests few dollars in grub stakes, and buys the claim for song, then puts 1t on the market in the shape of stock, and sells to Whomsoever may or will buy and as a matter of fact the miner and pFospector get less than ten per cent of the yaIue or wealth of the mines they work or discover.
 Gambling game of chance or uncertainty is fully emphasized in the life of every miner or prospec- tor and a spirit of avarice clad in yellow tinselry, lures more men from happy homes and respecta- bility, than c:uld the sweetest songs or bIandest smiles of count less Circeo' sang Tn Ionian Isles, under tropic skies what are the environments in most mining camps.
 No childish prattle falls upon the fathers ear. No cradle so4g is heard from loving wife. No even- ing prayer bells ring on the am bient air to remind Us that we have @ God to whom love, praise, prayer and veneration are due, and even the Sabbath unknown to some as a day of rest or to be ''kept holy"
 X cabin in the hills. The moon shines down upon Q scene of soli- Jude. Sleeping in the lap of in fnitudo The mountain peaks stand gloomy, bleak and grand, like aentinels on the battlements Of eternity to proclaim the end of time.
 The winds of winter chant dirge as the year passes away, and | look up into the cloudless sky, studded with stars, and wonder if over there 1 have friends or up there shall 1 ever have a home. Home, hat Q word to the miner, fraught with recollections Of hap pier times, of mother, father, brother and sister. They perhaps are gone, and hereI sit lonely and musing and wonder how many more suns will rise and set before | will leave my cabin for the last tune.
 The fire is now dying out, the night like life is passing, and each will soon have ended. We seek onr bun<s, "perchanca to dream" An! there's the rut, for in that sleep what dreams of gold may come. The morning dawns, we wake and spend the day, where sunlight never falls in quest of gold. We hope, we trust, we delve, ayel and sometimes pray, for ore. Dives plead for bu, one drop of water, with but little more desire than some do for gold. And so the years glide away; the history is written, the work done and death