LIBRARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA. 
 
 GIFT 0V 
 
 Received 
 
 Accession 
 
 - Class No. 
 

 NAHDA 
 
 A Story of 
 Spanish= 
 American 
 Life * * * 
 
T*HE paper-cutter on the cover of this little pastoral is 
 a fragment of one of the old beams (11x13 inches and 
 nearly 30 feet in length), from the San Luis Rey 
 Mission, founded June 13, 1798. Tradition tells us 
 this beam was hewn from the forest of Palomar 
 Mountain, where it was sprinkled with holy water, 
 placed on the shoulders of faithful Indians, and not 
 allowed to touch the ground until the sacred mission 
 site, twenty-five miles distant, was reached, relays of 
 burden-bearers being stationed along the route to 
 relieve their weary brethren. Some time ago, the 
 Author, wishing to preserve one of these old beams, 
 purchased it from Padre O Keefe for the hall-way of 
 Warland Tower, and this souvenir is a fragment of the 
 same. The book-mark is a piece of the mission ceiling 
 which was cast aside at the restoration some time ago. 
 
 .\, 
 
 C 
 
 ERRAT 
 
 Page 20, the fourth line should read, 
 
 "Kingly fruit for wayside beggar". 
 Page 21, the fourth line should read, 
 
 "Cradle of the Spring-time flowers". 
 Page 32, the eleventh line should read, 
 
 "In the one who soon brought ruin". 
 Page 32, the twentieth line should read, 
 
 "We would roam the fields together". 
 
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II 
 
NAHDA 
 
 A Story of 
 Spanish/ American Life 
 
 BY 
 
 ISAAC JENKINSONMFRAZEE 
 
 With Illustrations by the Author 
 
 OCEANSIDE, CAL.: 
 THE BLADE PRINTING CO. 
 
 1898 
 
This little volume is affectionately 
 dedicated to the good wife who shared 
 with me the deprivations as well as 
 pleasures of ranching 
 
 " Mong the hills of Casa Loma" 
 
 -THE AUTHOR 
 
S*\\ 8 R A 
 
 OF THB 
 
 I UNIVERSITY 
 
 NAHDA 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Mongf the hills of Casa Loina, 
 Where the wild bee sips the honey 
 From the dewy lips of sages, 
 Dwelt a maiden, with her father 
 Pedro Gomez, the sheep-herder. 
 When her eyes first ope d to sunlight, 
 Life and Death met at her cradle: 
 Death smoothed out a mother s pillow 
 Life found there a little orphan; 
 One so little, that they called her, 
 Half in pity, half derision 
 Little "Nahda",* which translated 
 From the Spanish, means but "nothing- . 
 Like a shepherd, whose long- seeking, 
 Finds a lost lamb in the thicket, 
 Finds a ewe-lamb without mother; 
 So old Pedro hid his lambkin 
 With his sorrow, in hie bosom. 
 
 * The Author has taken the liberty to change the 
 spelling of the Spanish word "Nada",pronounced Natha, 
 to "Nahda", the local pronunciation. 
 
 7 
 
And a milk-goat, white as lilies, 
 Was half mother to the orphan; 
 Learned to love the little foundling, 
 Bleat and cry for little Nahda 
 As she would for her own offspring. 
 Unused hearts like locks, grow rusty; 
 All in vain we seek an entrance 
 Till we find the key of Sorrow. 
 Thus it was with Pedro Gomez, 
 And the love he bore his helpmate. 
 True, that love could ne er be doubted; 
 Yet twas love s procrastination, 
 Kind words left until the morrow 
 At her death, the morrow came. 
 She had gained her stoic patience 
 From her brave old Indian mother, 
 While a trusting faith was given 
 As her own paternal blessing, 
 
 For Don of Pala Mission 
 
 Was indeed her very father; 
 And twas in the holy shadow 
 Of that Mission s quaint old belfry, 
 She found rest from all her burdens. 
 Pedro took his little burden 
 In his strong arms to his bosom, 
 Wept o er it, his tears of penance, 
 Tears o er Love s lost golden moments; 
 And tis well for tears of sorrow 
 Prove our hearts are homes of angels, 
 Who, though transient guests, will linger 
 8 
 
Seeking shelter in the portals. 
 Opened by the key of sorrow, 
 Angel feet may find an entrance 
 To a spacious, garnished chamber. 
 Fit home for that Man of Sorrows, 
 He who wept at tomb of Lazarua. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 Sadly to his home returning 1 , 
 To the little thatched adobe, 
 Pedro found no kiss of welcome, 
 No dear word of happy greeting; 
 And the blossoms in her garden 
 Flowers she had watched and cared for, 
 Watered through the long- dry summer; 
 Hollyhocks and bright geraniums, 
 Violets and morning-glories, 
 Four-o clocks and gay nasturtiums, 
 Golden pansies, golden poppies, 
 And the white rose on the trellis 
 All with dew-drops seemed to glisten, 
 Twas the tears upon his eyelids. 
 In the room all hope had vanished; 
 Through the little western window 
 Faded out the day in darkness, 
 And the crucifix in the corner 
 Caught the only gleam of sunlight. 
 Twas the sign of Hope in darkness; 
 And the first time, since in childhood 
 He had knelt at knee of Mother, 
 Pedro Gomez found in prayer 
 Consolation for his sorrow. 
 10 
 
As in death the aloe bloometh, 
 Prom that hour a new life opened; 
 And his last days were his best days. 
 Pedro s love grew warm and tender 
 For the babe within his bosom, 
 And in after years grew dearer, 
 As care leads to love s fruition. 
 Nahda thrived in his protection 
 As a wild flower neath an oak tree, 
 And her first days were all sunshine, 
 As bright morn precedes dark nightfall. 
 Slipped away the flying moments 
 Shod wish tinkling golden sandals. 
 And the music of tame wild-birds 
 Taught her how to sing of Nature, 
 Trill of mocking-bird and linnet, 
 Pipe of tufted quail in thicket, 
 Liquid notes of lark in upland; 
 Drowsy hum of brown bees hunting 
 For the flower s hidden treasure; 
 Tinkle, tankle of the goat-belle, 
 And the bleating of the lambkins 
 Gamboling on the grassy hill-slope, 
 In the eve as they came homeward; 
 And the stories Pedro told her 
 As he swung her little hammock 
 When the toil of day was ended. 
 Told her of his dear Italia, 
 Of the grand, old picture galleries 
 Where the masters speak, tho silent; 
 
 11 
 
Of the palace halls and ruins 
 Near his mother s humble cottage? 
 Of hie father s deeds of valor 
 On the Spanish field of battle, 
 How his lost cause drove in exile 
 Him and his small band of followers; 
 How he sought a home in Italy, 
 Married there a peasant maiden, 
 One who knew but Want and Beauty, 
 Nothing but a straggling- minstrel 
 Singing songs and making sunshine; 
 How he was their only offspring, 
 Spoiled and spanked as was convenient: 
 How he loved to hear her singing 
 As she worked within her garden, 
 And oft tried to imitate her 
 With his feeble childish lispings ; 
 How his father painted frescoes 
 In the little village chapel, 
 Haloed saints and flying cherubs 
 In bewildering confusion. 
 Then the plague swept o er the country 
 Striking down its helpless victims; 
 Claimed his parents as a ransom 
 For the freedom of their offspring. 
 And he taught her all the old songs 
 Written in his book of mem ry, 
 Peasant songs of dear Italia, 
 War songs sung by his old father; 
 And the weird hymns and chantings 
 
 12 
 
Of his own neglected helpmate. 
 Taught her how to play the mandolin; 
 And before she knew her letters, 
 She could sing his songs and play them; 
 Learned to sketch the scenes around her, 
 As one born to Art by Nature. 
 
 13 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 Once there came a straggling artist 
 To the hilla of Casa Loma, 
 Seeking for the subtile mys try 
 Of their ever changing colors; 
 Of their half-tones and their shadows 
 Weaving veils of hazy distance 
 O er the drowsy, dreamy landscape. 
 All in vain, he found his painting 
 Feeble grasps of helpless fingers 
 Reaching, as a child, for rainbows; 
 Yet he loved the scenes as fondly 
 As we love forbidden pleasures. 
 Loved to watch the sunset s splendor 
 Steal along the yellow hillsides, 
 Filling all the vale with crimson, 
 As tho Nature s golden chalice 
 Brimmed with rosy wine of day dreams, 
 Vintage of bright hours fruition. 
 Loved the errand, old, kingly mountains 
 Clad, as mete, in royal purple. 
 With their capes of snowy ermine, 
 And their golden crowns of sunset. 
 Loved to watch the sea-fog stealing, 
 As white spirits of the ocean, 
 
 14 
 
Thro the marsh lands in the moonlight; 
 Or to find, before the sunrise, 
 Inland sea o er hidden valley; 
 Hilltops rising from the white mists, 
 Isles of gold in seas of silver, 
 Soon to vanish with day s coming, 
 Shrinking from the sunlight sceptres 
 As though Moses rod passed o er them. 
 But the hills to him were dearest, 
 Warm breasts of his first love, Nature, 
 Throbbing with her hidden secrets 
 Only told to favored lovers, 
 Those who rest upon her bosom 
 List ning to each quick ning heart beat, 
 Spellbound, captive to its music. 
 Where the corredor del camino * 
 Moans its plaintive, dove-like love song; 
 And the huitacoche f answers 
 From the distant sumac thicket, 
 His wee, sombre-coated bosom, 
 Throbbing with wierd echo-music, 
 Like the answering strains of harp strings; 
 Where wheat sparrows tell their secrets 
 In the sweetest trilling love songs; 
 Where the titmouse swings her hammock, 
 Formed like urn of woven silver, 
 Hanging from the pending branches 
 
 * During the mating season the corredor del 
 camino, or road runner, sings a love song much 
 resembling the moaning of a dove. 
 
 t Huitacoche. Indian name for song thrush. 
 
 15 
 
 OF THE 
 
To and fro like swinging- censer, 
 Wafting lullabies to heaven; 
 Where lithe lizards, clad in armor 
 Of bright, iridescent colors, 
 Shimmer in the mellow sunlight, 
 Half asleep on lichen cushions. 
 E en the whole land seems to slumber, 
 Wrapped in hazy folds of dream lace; 
 And the brown bees mong the poppies 
 Half forget their busy errands, 
 And, like idle, tippling minstrels, 
 Hum their drowsy, reeling measures. 
 Dreamy hills! fit place for dreaming 
 Hills of sleep, this dreamer called them, 
 For here sleeps the Sphinx of Slumber, * 
 Hewn from out the solid syenite 
 By the mighty hand of Nature; 
 Lulled to sleep by foamy billows 
 Breaking on the stony seashore; 
 Dreaming of Creation s morning 
 When he first was bound in slumber. 
 Here this artist found contentment 
 Safe within the Sphinx s shadow; 
 And no wonder that long after, 
 When his lot was cast in turmoil 
 Of a city s ceaseless striving, 
 He should long for peace and quiet 
 Here within the arms of Nature, 
 
 * El Moro from the south resembles a sleeping 
 giant, and is known as the Sphinx of Slumber. 
 
 16 
 
She who always bade him welcome 
 
 With her tawny arms wide open 
 
 To receive her heartsick lover, 
 
 Like a prodigal returning 
 
 Prom Art s husks or drunken banquet. 
 
 Many days was he aweary 
 
 Serving Art s capricious bidding 1 , 
 
 Prodded by the goad of hunger, 
 
 Hours of days for night s short pittance, 
 
 Pittance of Art s smiles and kisses, 
 
 Sipping dream-draughts from her chalice, 
 
 Rosy wine of subtile poison. 
 
 After ceaseless toil and hunger, 
 
 After death s fires brightly kindled, 
 
 Hectic flames on cheeks long- careworn, 
 
 Came she then as tho in pity 
 
 Sippings of success to offer; 
 
 But the tired hand dropped helpless 
 
 As the long sought cup she proffered. 
 
 Then Love found him by the wayside, 
 
 Pointed out a hopeful future, 
 
 Led him into paths of sunshine 
 
 Where a little, blue-eyed maiden 
 
 Through her golden curls peeped shyly; 
 
 Half in jest and half in earnest, 
 
 Gave our dreamer Hope s bright blossoms 
 
 Plucked from Youth s enchanting by-way. 
 
 But the frosts of Doubt oft blighted 
 
 Leaf and bloom of Hope s bright blossom, 
 
 Joy and pain by Fate compounded 
 
 17 
 
Into life s one sweetest potion; 
 Honeyed nectar steeped in wormwood, 
 Fit draught for the lips of angels, 
 Cursed dregs for the tongues of demons. 
 Dreamer s heart, in disappointment. 
 Hastened to the arms of Nature; 
 Tossed upon her tawny bosom. 
 Hypocrite! love for her feigning, 
 When his heart was all another s 
 One who heard of his sad illness, 
 Left her city home of comfort, 
 Cast aside Pride s flaunting mantle, 
 Donned habiliments of Mercy, 
 And o er thousand miles of myet ry 
 Sped she on, by Love s hand guided, 
 To his bedside and her bridal. 
 Heart and hand are tender nurses; 
 Hands and hearts, when joined together, 
 Turn life s shadows into sunshine. 
 Stood they there before the curate 
 On a rug by her hands fashioned, 
 Woven with her tears and prayers 
 For this, their one happiest moment. 
 She clad in soft, creamy satin, 
 And the flowers on her bosom 
 Were the fragrant elder-blossoms. 
 Thus it was that ever after 
 He loved them the best of flowers. 
 From the creamy eider-blossom 
 Fruit of liquid nectar ripens, 
 
 18 
 
JVMong the hills of Casa Loma. 
 
Dainty flavor of sweetwaters 
 Blended with the tart of currants; 
 White pearls crystalized in honey, 
 
 Kindly fruit for wayside beggar. 
 *=r 
 
 And as from the sterile soil 
 Elder-bloom to sweet fruit ripens, 
 So the fragrance of these flowers 
 Cast a spell of peaceful blessing 
 O er their cozy little cottage, 
 In the "City of the Angels", 
 Which indeed to them was Heaven, 
 Heaven of Love mong those who loved them. 
 
 Then again Death s flames grew brighter 
 On the wan cheek, burning slowly 
 As though suffering stirred the embers; 
 So they left the little studio, 
 And among the pine-clad mountains 
 Sought the higher air, balm laden. 
 From the mountains to the foothills, 
 Thus like one, who, lost and wand ring, 
 Finds his footsteps circling backward, 
 Guided by a hand mysterious. 
 E en it seems a law of Heaven, 
 Written in the book of Nature, 
 Circles hold the power of progress. 
 Every morn the earth returneth 
 To the try sting place of sunshine; 
 Planets move in God drawn circles, 
 Man returns to his Creator; 
 
 20 
 
And the end finds the beginning. 
 
 Spirit seeking after spirit, 
 
 Dust to dust always returning; 
 
 Cradle tdfthe Spring-time flowers 
 
 Coffin Autumn s scattered petals. 
 
 In these seeming aimless wand rings 
 
 Fortune often guides our footsteps; 
 
 And twas thus these circling pilgrims 
 
 Came at last to Casa Loina; 
 
 Pitched their tent in hope and sunshine. 
 
 Soon a little redwood cabin 
 
 Peeped from out the vines and shrubbery. 
 
 *****#*#* * * 
 
 And when next the elders blossomed 
 Came a rarer, fairer flower, 
 By the hand of Heaven given 
 As a blessing to their hearth-stone, 
 Came a man-child, full of promise, 
 Good of form and fair of feature; 
 Eyes, as blue as Eden pansies 
 Ringlets as the gold of Ophir. 
 Seemed as tho two lovers hunting, 
 Found a tiny Cupid sleeping; 
 And in love made wee Love captive, 
 Who in turn bound fast his captors 
 With the golden links or child-love. 
 Bright his curl-crown shone upon him, 
 Bright his future beamed with promise, 
 And twas thus they called him Clarance, 
 Clarence, meaning the illustrious, 
 
 21 
 
Name born of their great hopes for him, 
 Of their heart hope for his future. 
 Happy are the hearts which linger 
 In the path where child-love bloometh. 
 Sped too soon the toddling footsteps, 
 Through the flow ry maze of childhood, 
 To the bright fields of Youth s morning 
 Where our little Spanish maiden 
 Led her lambkins mong the poppies; 
 And he loved the little Nahda. 
 Chased they butterflies together, 
 Hunted bird s nests in the heather, 
 Wove wreaths of the golden poppies 
 For the dear, old, white goat mother, 
 Nahda s faithful foster-mother. 
 Nahda sketched the little lambkins 
 With the cunning hand of genius 
 Genius taught by good Dame Nature 
 And twas she who first awakened 
 In the sleeping heart of Clarence 
 All the art-love lying dormant, 
 Waiting for the kiss of Springtime; 
 And twas Clarence who led Nahda, 
 Proud, in triumph for her genius, 
 To his father s open atelier, 
 There to gain his admiration 
 And the blessing of his teaching. 
 From that hour her life expanded 
 
 22 
 
OF TH 
 
 VERSITY 
 
 In the new surrounding s offered, 
 
 And she shared alike with Clarence 
 
 All the father s proud affection; 
 
 Came and went as impulse led her, 
 
 To the old or to the new home. 
 
 How her art bloomed forth in promise! 
 
 How her heart with home-love blossomed! 
 
 Lightly danced the happy hours 
 
 To the rippling strains of laughter. 
 
 O er the hills with Pedro herding, 
 
 O er the hills with Clarence sketching, 
 
 To the trysting place of twilight 
 
 On the summit of El Moro; 
 
 To where, guarding shady fastness, 
 Stands the grim, grey tower of Warland; 
 To Guajome s Spanish courtyard 
 With its wealth of orange blossoms; 
 To the quaint, old, royal Mission 
 Wrapt in half forgotten mem ries; 
 To the ocean with its my s try, 
 And its sullen stretch of sadness; 
 Or to heights of Palomar, 
 Where the pines sing Nature s anthems; 
 Hither, thither, where Fate beckoned, 
 Heedless of the coming morrow. 
 Nahda s genius bloomed in Clarence, 
 As his love within her blossomed. 
 Tis the same old rule in love-lore, 
 Woman counts it gain in losing 
 Art and self for Love s rewarding. 
 
And tis best so Love that s drossless, 
 Standing* flames of fiery passions, 
 Tarnished not by sordid fingers; 
 Bearing, through its daily usage, 
 Still the "kingly superscription" 
 Is mete payment for Life s losses. 
 
 Late one eve on old El Moro, 
 Aa the sun sank down in splendor 
 To his couch of golden turquoise, 
 Clarence told her of the sorrow 
 Breaking in his boyish bosom ; 
 How the morrow brought their parting- 
 He to sail for Art and Future, 
 She to cheer his widowed mother 
 With a daughter s true devotion, 
 Till time called the foster brother 
 Back to home and love and loving. 
 
 24 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Nahda knew naught of church dogmas, 
 Worshipped but the God of Nature; 
 Found Hie footprints mong the blossoms, 
 Heard His voice among the rushes, 
 Saw the tracings of His fingers 
 On the fern fronds in the canyon. 
 She had also heard the story 
 Of the "Babe within the manger", 
 And her young heart yearned in pity 
 O er the cruel crucifixion. 
 From the two she drew this lesson, 
 "That to gain the Life Eternal 
 She must walk close to the Savior, 
 Thus would find the God of Nature"; 
 Yet this love for God and Nature 
 Brought her little consolation 
 For the sorrow in her bosom. 
 God and Nature seemed to slumber 
 Through the long, dry days of summer; 
 Neither brought her word of comfort 
 For the hidden grief within her. 
 Turned she to her household duties, 
 Buried self in thought of others, 
 Smoothed the way for good old Pedro, 
 
 25 
 
Gave a daughter s love and service 
 
 To the dear, kind foster-mother. 
 
 E en the tawny hills she pitied, 
 
 Her helpless, thirsty, panting hills, 
 
 Athrob with palpitating heat, 
 
 Like brown deer weary from the chase. 
 

 
 - --. 
 
 
 "To Guajome s Spanish courtyard 
 With its wealth of orange blossoms. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 Twae the time when booms were booming 
 That Joe Gifford grew ambitious, 
 And the Rancho del Camino 
 Although many leagues containing 
 Was too small for this young hopeful. 
 Had he not gained one and twenty, 
 And was he not his own master? 
 So he hied him to the ci<y 
 Real estate to sell to "suckers"; 
 Fitted up a nobby office, 
 Bright with tea-store green and scarlet, 
 And the paint was not through drying 
 Ere the "suckers" came by dozens, 
 Nibbling at the choice bait offered. 
 "Corner lots in charming Boomville, 
 Only eight miles from the courthouse, 
 Reached by proposed line of railway, 
 Where the proposed Southern College 
 And the proposed Hotel Eclat 
 Will propose to take in tourists, 
 (Take in "suckers", take in money); 
 In return will give em climate, 
 Give em health-restoring climate, 
 Give em stationary climate" 
 
That is, climate that won t climb it, 
 Nor won t lower till you want it; 
 Balmy climate of the tropics, 
 Climate for worn-out consumptives, 
 Climate which will cure the asthma, 
 Cure the mumps and rheumatism, 
 Cure, in fact, all ills and ailings; 
 Climate which will make you pious, 
 Climate which will make you wealthy, 
 Climate which is good for lying. 
 Give em views of sea and mountain, 
 Give em visions of the future, 
 Give em choice lots on the main street, 
 Lots which promise soon to double; 
 Lots of promises he gives em, 
 (True in one sense not in grammar); 
 But the promise of more "suckers" 
 Sometimes makes the trade a bargain; 
 For the festive agent pcmders 
 O er the maxim and reads this wise, 
 "Do to others as you re done by." 
 Yet for invalids (so thoughtful) 
 Sub-divides up wildcat ranches 
 Into "to be" climate cities; 
 Land which truly is so worthless 
 Naught twill raise but suckers shekels; 
 Lots so steep you have to stake em, 
 Or they d slip into the canyon, 
 Where if you could plow a furrow 
 It at noon would cast a shadow. 
 
 29 
 
Other lots out in tide water. 
 As if they d got tired of waiting 
 For the Flume, and, being thirsty, 
 Slipped down hill and had to stay there; 
 For although their boast was climate 
 Yet they could not dim it from there. 
 Gifford picked up eighty acres 
 On the railroad at the seaside; 
 Bought it for one thousand dollars 
 Partly cash, but mostly promise 
 From the shepherd, Pedro Gomez. 
 Pedro knew scant ways of trick ry, 
 Held a promise as though sacred; 
 Gifford, wise in ways of cunning, 
 Weak in all true mental merit, 
 Paid each tardy, unpaid promise 
 With another brighter promise, 
 Till the glamour of great promise 
 Crowned his every act with promise, 
 Till this promising young fellow 
 Filled the air with glorious promise. 
 In his smile a rainbow fluttered, 
 At whose base the dupes dug often 
 For the pot of hidden treasure. 
 "Mira Mar" he called his purchase, 
 "Eye of the Sea", to blind their seeing; 
 Not the first time good old Spanish 
 Has by Greed been used for blinding, 
 As enticing bait to tourists 
 Seeking after things romantic, 
 
 30 
 

 For a promise full of promise. 
 
 Gilford s acres soon bore harvest 
 
 In a maze of whitened lot stakes; 
 
 At the corners in bright letters 
 
 Shone the name of street and alley 
 
 "Victoria Place", "Boulevarde Royal", 
 
 "Elm Street", Tine Street", "Windsor Terrace", 
 
 "Maple," "Market" "City Plaza" 
 
 All so full of thrifty promise 
 
 That it spread in epidemic, 
 
 Till every seeker after promise 
 
 Had been stricken with the fever. 
 
 What cared they for perfect title 
 
 When half pay gave perfect pleasure, 
 
 Or an advance from some other 
 
 Kept the title full of promise? 
 
 Gifford shrewdly took advantage 
 
 Of each hastily made transaction 
 
 To salt down his ill got earnings 
 
 Into other hidden channels. 
 
 In the small spring at the roadside 
 
 Poured he sulphur, put in horse shoes, 
 
 Doctored it till taste and odor 
 
 Made it famous as a tonic. 
 
 And the band played in the Plaza, 
 
 Calling crowds to free lunch tables, 
 
 While in line the buyers waited 
 
 For their chance at speculation. 
 
 Pedro, in anticipation 
 
 Of the fruiting days of promise, 
 
 31 
 
Mortgaged all the rich home acres 
 To secure Joe Gifford s venture, 
 And thus save himself and Nahda 
 Till Joe Gifford s promise ripened. 
 Generous Pedro, never doubting 1 , 
 Did not feel the strands grow tighter, 
 As this human spider wove them 
 Back and forth across his doorway. 
 And twas thus he died, still trusting 
 In the one he had befriended, 
 In the one who k*k- brought ruin 
 To the home of Pedro Gomez. 
 In his illness called he Nahda, 
 "Nahda, Nahda, little lambkin, 
 Come thou here within my bosom 
 Where so often I have held thee. 
 Now I go to distant pastures, 
 Pastures full of Heavenly promise. 
 Oh! that thou might st journey thither; 
 We would wa-tk-the fields together, 
 Find the long lost mother waiting 
 For her tardy love and lambkin." 
 Then delirious, called he to her, 
 Drew from out its secret hiding 
 A stiletto keen as malice, 
 Gave it to his weeping daughter 
 Saying, "Take it, keep it, Nahda; 
 In the life of every woman 
 Comes a time when the stiletto 
 May take place of sire or brother 
 
To avenge insulted honor. 
 
 Wolves grow daring at the lamb-fold, 
 
 When the tired shepherd sleepeth. 
 
 Let Clarence be thy foster-brother, 
 
 And be thou hia mother s hand-maid; 
 
 And if in an hour of trouble, 
 
 Thou need one to shield, protect thee, 
 
 Seek thou, my good friend, Joe Gifford. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 News of Clarence coming homeward 
 Brought again the tardy roses 
 To the cheek of Nahda Gomez. 
 On El Moro kept she vigil, 
 Watching for the passing steamer 
 That would bring again her lover 
 From Gate of Gold to Gate of Silver. 
 * * ******** 
 Just a grey speck on the ocean 
 With its trailing smoky streamer, 
 Creeping slowly, scarcely moving 
 How her heart beat wild, impatient, 
 Fluttering with love-born pinions. 
 Brave is rustic love, impulsive, 
 Heedless of the World s approval, 
 Caring naught for laws of loving, 
 Guided, by Love s intuition. 
 
 Once again they roamed together 
 O er the flow ry hills of promise, 
 Hearts attuned to happy lark-song. 
 Clarence, though a man in stature, 
 Yet still kept within his bosom 
 All the boyish love for Nature, 
 
 34 
 
All the tender love for Nahda. 
 Oft they journeyed to the mountains, 
 To the little Indian village 
 Where the Agua Caliente * 
 Pours its healing, thermal waters. 
 There they found an aged Indian 
 Pablo, once a mighty chieftain 
 Who, a seer among his people, 
 Told the Past, the Present, Future, 
 As it were a scroll before him; 
 Told of how past generations 
 Held these springs against invaders; 
 How the padres blessed these waters 
 As a gift unto their children; 
 How the cunning white man halted 
 At their brink, with compromises 
 For the rich leagues they had stolen; 
 How today the white man, spying. 
 Comes to seek these thermal waters, 
 And. ere many moons have vanished, 
 Will deprive them of their birthright. 
 Then a plaintive wail of anguish 
 Rose upon the desert stillness, 
 As a lost soul, in the darkness 
 Calling to the God of Mercy, 
 "Save us! Save us! Father, save us! 
 Save thy homeless, helpless children." 
 Nahda conned their folk-lore secrets 
 
 * The Indians living at these springs are known 
 as the Agua Caliente and at the present moment 
 white men are trying to drive them from their homes 
 
 35 
 
For the willing- ear of Clarence; 
 
 How the Agua Calientea 
 
 Have an old and weird legend 
 
 Woven in a woof of fancy 
 
 By the weaver, Superstition 
 
 How a chieftain s daughter, Deros, 
 
 Was forsaken by her lover, 
 
 Thrown aside as tattered garment, 
 
 As a garment worn and faded. 
 
 In the heart of every woman 
 
 Nests the cooing dove and eagle: 
 
 When the dove spreads forth her pinions 
 
 Naught remains but "bird of hatred," 
 
 Screaming loud, demanding vengeance; 
 
 And tis thus that Deros follows 
 
 Every step of recreant lover, 
 
 Watching with an eye of vengeance, 
 
 Meting out just retribution: 
 
 Many other folk-lore lessons 
 
 Learned they from the lips of Pablo; 
 
 And the grand old Indian s spirit 
 
 Found an echo in the bosom 
 
 Of brave Nahda a savage nature. 
 
 How she longed to free this people 
 
 From the merc less white man s thraldom. 
 
 Through her sympathy and birthright, 
 
 That half taint of Indian nature, 
 
 She became as Pablo s daughter, 
 
 As a priestess for his people; 
 
 And twas thus his hidden secrets 
 
 36 
 
\ 
 
 m 
 
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 "To where, guarding shady fastness, 
 Stands the grim, grey Tower of Warland. 1 
 (Home of the Author.) 
 
Found safe hiding in her bosom. 
 As of old the Egyptian priestess 
 Scattered myrrh on glowing embere, 
 And from out the rising vapors 
 Fashioned forms, of weird myst ry; 
 So o er hills, by sunset kindled, 
 Nature casts wild herbs, sweet-scented, 
 And from out the hazy heat-mist 
 Rise ethereal, subtile dream-forms; 
 Dream-forms, wherein Nature s children 
 Hear an answer from their mother. 
 The earth beneath and sky above them 
 Sharing each its hidden secret, 
 Spirit forms of rising vapor, 
 Whisperings of fragrant flowers, 
 Meanings of the winds about them, 
 And the silence of the stars 
 All in praise to that Great Spirit 
 Who hath made them for his children. 
 ********* * * 
 Clarence found the long vacation 
 Short enough for love and loving; 
 And it was with greatest effort 
 Tore he from the arms of Nahda; 
 But full soon, fond Art s caresses 
 Wooed him to the heights of promise; 
 And yet oit from Paris salons 
 Looked he back, with heartsick longing, 
 For the hills of Casa Loma, 
 And his little Spanish sweetheart. 
 
 38 
 
From the twilight of his pictures 
 Beamed the tender eyes of Nahda. 
 Every fibre of his canvas 
 Seemed to breathe her very presence. 
 Wove he art and heart together, 
 Warp and woof so closely blended, 
 None could tell the one s beginning, 
 None could tell the other s ending. 
 Came her letters, bearing comfort, 
 Pull of faith in his great future, 
 Full of love and love s true brav ry; 
 Scantily hiding her heart-longing. 
 After while they came less frequent, 
 Soon no message came to cheer him 
 From his love across the water. 
 Still he wrote, but heard no tidings, 
 Still his heart called out in anguish; 
 Called in vain, for silence answered. 
 Paltry seemed the hard won medals, 
 Lonely grew the life about him; 
 For loneliest of all earth s places 
 Are loveless hearts where crowds assemble. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Tho Joe Gifford brought sad ruin 
 To dead Pedro s little holdings 
 Driving Nahda from her childhome 
 Yet so sly this cunning villain, 
 Smooth of tongue and hypocritic, 
 Still he posed as her protector; 
 Blinded still the eyes of Nahda, 
 Wept with her o er her misfortune, 
 In confidence told all his troubles, 
 Till her poor heart warmed with pity 
 For the sorrow in his bosom. 
 Little Nahda s trust grew greater, 
 As his meshes bound her tighter : 
 Told she him, her love for Clarence; 
 And he, smiling, gave false blessing, 
 While within his heart in secret 
 Hissed he curses on his rival, 
 Curses from his heart of passion; 
 Yet poor Nahda never doubted. 
 Was he not the soul of honor? 
 Came he not from the Vale of Virtue? 
 Where temptations prove abortive, 
 And the trusty maid and matron 
 
 40 
 
Wade through blood to save their honor? 
 Was he not the people s chosen, 
 Chosen by his voting kinsmen 
 For a place of trust and honor? 
 Little knew she how he d trampled 
 Every trust beneath his footsteps, 
 Every promise violated; 
 And how their own tax grown coffers 
 Had been squandered on his kinsmen, 
 Or been bartered for a foll wing. 
 Trusting still imagined honor, 
 Shared she all her secrets with him; 
 And he gave her golden trinkets, 
 Each as link in passion s fetters. 
 Followed he as though her shadow, 
 Fawning o er her as a spaniel, 
 Came and went at beck or bidding, 
 Ever ready for her errands; 
 Posted he each tender missive, 
 Brought he every precious message; 
 Till her love for Clarence blossomed 
 Into warm respect for Gifford. 
 Soon the letters were not posted, 
 Soon the prying eyes looked inward 
 Seeking for each hidden secret; 
 Building up, with stones of malice, 
 A foundation for his lying. 
 To the name of fair Belle Creighton 
 Borrowed from a stolen message 
 Wherein Clarence wrote to Nahda 
 
 41 
 
Of his cousin s coming nuptials 
 
 Added he a startling story 
 
 Of the faithlessness of Clarence; 
 
 Carried it in ghoulish triumph 
 
 To the ears of little Nahda. 
 
 Pressed her hand upon the dagger, 
 
 Flashed her eye with burning anger, 
 
 At this insult to her lover. 
 
 Gifford, trembling, begged her mercy; 
 
 Wept, that he should bring such sorrow 
 
 To the heart he loved so dearly; 
 
 Offered her his consolation. 
 
 But she sprang, a tigress, from him 
 
 To her wanderings in the mountains; 
 
 Safe within El Moro s cavern 
 
 Hid she with her searing sorrow. 
 
 42 
 
JtiitSiXX 1 
 
 77^,* 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Clarence cast aside his brushes, 
 
 Cast aside the dross of glory 
 
 For the lost gold of his loving, 
 
 For the treasure he had hidden 
 
 Mong the hills of Casa Loma, 
 
 Wondering if aught had stolen 
 
 That, which seemed to him so precious. 
 
 Little knew he of the robber 
 
 Who had sought to steal and tarnish; 
 
 Little knew the lonely Nahda 
 
 How the cowardice of Gifford 
 
 Shrank from touching that rich treasure 
 
 That pure, drossless gold of nature 
 
 Through his fear of Nahda a dagger, 
 
 Hastened he across the water) 
 
 Storm-tossed in his soul and body, 
 
 Buffeted with doubts, misgivings; 
 
 Yearning for a hopeful message, 
 
 Dreading lest it bring him sorrow. 
 
 ********* * * 
 
 At the spring in Shadow Canyon 
 
 Found they Clarence Cooper dying, 
 
 Dying from its poisoned waters; 
 
 And Joe Giffords name was whispered, 
 
 43 
 
Lip to ear by soft-voiced scandal. 
 On the summit of El Moro, 
 As twas mete for him who loved it, 
 He was buried at the twilight 
 Mongst his scenes of inspiration. 
 
 44 
 
CONCLUSION. 
 
 Deros, in El Moro s cavern, 
 
 With her grey head bowed in sorrow, 
 
 Sways her body, moaning, chanting: 
 
 "Down in a cold, dark grave 
 
 Where the slimy worm doth crawl, 
 
 Winding its length through the musty damp, 
 
 Where the drops of water fall, 
 
 Dripping, dripping in monotone, 
 
 Alone I Alone! Alone! Alone! 
 
 Hidden beneath the cold grey stone, 
 
 Forgotten! Alone! Alone! Alone! " 
 
 Clarence, waking from his stupor, 
 
 In the bowels of the mountain, 
 
 Hears and sees the aged Deroa. 
 
 Deros points her trembling finger, 
 
 And, with voice of scorn, she hisses, 
 
 "Mortal from the land of living, 
 
 I am Deros, the Avenger. 
 
 He, who on a girl s heart tramples, 
 
 He, who blights a girl s affection, 
 
 From my hand receives no pity; 
 
 In my vengeance finds no mercy. 
 
 I have seen a poor girl wand ring 
 
 O er the hills of thorny cactus, 
 
 45 
 
Mong the briars in the canyon, 
 Wandering as if demented. 
 On her face was anguish written; 
 And her locks, which once were raven, 
 Now are white with snows of sorrow; 
 While within her throbbing bosom 
 Burns the impress of your footstep 
 Nahda Gomez heart is broken. 
 
 CLARENCE : 
 
 Be ye saint or be ye demon, 
 Tho no mercy will be granted. 
 By the powers of light and darkness, 
 By my love for Nahda Gomez, 
 Tho my life should be the forfeit, 
 Demon Deros, thou art lying! 
 
 DEROS: 
 
 Tho my heart be barred to mercy, 
 Yet it opens wide to reaeon. 
 Swear ye by your love for Nahda, 
 When your heart is all another s? 
 When your marriage with Belle Creighton 
 Was but stopped by Death s intrusion? 
 
 CLARENCE: 
 
 Demon, is your eye so evil 
 
 It can see but sin, in mortal? 
 
 Else you might have read the sorrow 
 
 In my heart, with tear-drops written; 
 
 How I sought for Nahda Gomez, 
 
 But in vain was all my seeking. 
 
 When you read the hearts of mortals, 
 
 46 
 
You should strive to read more careful; 
 
 Not mistake the love of kindred 
 
 For the marriage vows of true love 
 
 This Belle Creighton is my cousin, 
 
 And her heart is all another s 
 
 One she loves with my approval. 
 
 As a miser loves his money, 
 
 As a pagan loves his idol, 
 
 As a mother loves her first-born, 
 
 So my heart loves Nahda Gomez; 
 
 Yet I would not seek thy mercy 
 
 For, since lost is Nahda Gomez, 
 
 I defy the plagues of Hades." 
 
 Nahda s heart, half dead with sorrow, 
 Found in tears a long sought blessing, 
 As a thirsty land in summer 
 Finds new life in falling raindrops. 
 Fell the veil, her face disclosing, 
 Fell her grey head on his bosom; 
 Sobbing like a child forsaken, 
 Sobbed and moaned like distant water; 
 Pleading for his love and mercy, 
 Cringing, craving for his pardon. 
 Told him of her days of waiting, 
 Weeks and months for his returning; 
 How Joe Gifford, through his lying, 
 Caused her trusting heart to doubt him; 
 How she wandered to the mountains, 
 Sought a home among the Indians; 
 
 47 
 
There she found the herb of slumber, 
 
 Made a draught to quench her mem ry, 
 
 Seeking thus the Past to bury. 
 
 After hours of dreamless slumber, 
 
 To the living Past awakened, 
 
 Found she could not live without him, 
 
 Would return and seek his pity; 
 
 If not granted, would seek slumber, 
 
 Drink enough of the solution 
 
 To cause death and thus forget him; 
 
 How she found him in the garden 
 
 Talking with the fair Belle Creighton, 
 
 Speaking of the coming nuptials; 
 
 And her hair turned white in anguish, 
 
 And the fires died in her bosom. 
 
 Then Hate whispered, "Love s departed; 
 
 Drive him from his golden castle, 
 
 From the heart of this Belle Creighton"; 
 
 How she sought to make him slumber, 
 
 Thus forget his new allegiance; 
 
 Wake to love her as of olden. 
 
 So the little spring was poisoned, 
 
 And his mother found him lying, 
 
 Seeming dead, within the canyon; 
 
 How they did as he d requested, 
 
 Buried him at hour of twilight 
 
 On the summit of El Moro; 
 
 How she hid and watched them leaving, 
 
 Then worked fast to gain his body, 
 
 Seeking thus to steal affection, 
 
 48 
 
Knowing, after hours of sleeping-, 
 He would surely soon awaken. 
 All of this and more she told him, 
 Sobbing, told and asked for mercy. 
 Thro her enowy hair of sorrow 
 Ran the tears oi his forgiveness; 
 Kissing, promised none should ever 
 Share the secret of his dying. 
 Then she led him out the cavern, 
 And adown the winding pathway 
 Where the little funeral cortege 
 Passed, not many hours before them. 
 Closer to his heart he drew her, 
 Fearing she might vanish from him; 
 Whispered words of love and comfort 
 Still she sobbed and prayed in silence, 
 Thanking God for all His goodness, 
 Worshiping thro her own idol. 
 Down the narrow, winding pathway, 
 Through the silv ry morning moonlight, 
 On and on toward Casa Loma, 
 Through the maze of sage and buckwheat, 
 Pressed their eager, hopeful footsteps. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 49 
 
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