the House. From this time on his health was poor, much of the time being unable to leave his room. The disease with which he was attacked was diabetes from which he suffered severely. However, he recovered in a great measure from that disease, but was much emaciated, and though able to be out and meet with his brethren occasionally, he was still feeble.

On Sunday, September 18th, 1881, he addressed the congregation in the Tabernacle in a clear and forcible manner, speaking about twenty minutes. His remarks were published in the Deseret Evening News of Monday, the 26th. He then expressed a desire to live that he might again lift up his voice as a missionary to the nations of the earth. Next day he was seventy years old and felt well. He afterwards attended some business meetings in relation to the His torian's Office, and the exertion of mind told heavily upon him. He was seized with vomiting and was again prostrated, and gradually sank, with brief and fitful times of reviving, until midnight on Sun

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day, when he visibly rallied. Members of his family in the city were summoned, who gathered around his bed and gazed with mournful sadness upon his venerable countenance before he sank into his last gentle slumber. At the very minute of his decease, Apostle C. C. Rich, who had been sick for a long time, was sending this dispatch to the deceased's son,

Milando Pratt:

"Paris, Idaho, October 3rd, 1881, 8:35 a. m.-How is your father? I am anxious to hear. C. C. Rich."

The news of Apostle Pratt's decease, was mournfully received. Telegrams were forwarded to every part of the Territory with the sad tidings, and expressions of sorrow were heard on every hand. No man in the Church was better known or more widely respected. His refined and intelligent countenance, silvery hair and beard, dignified manner and powerful public address, were familiar to all, and he left an impression upon the Church and the world that will be felt in time and eternity.

Milando Pratt.

THE OLD

I WONDER if a picture of life in this old town-styled usually in Arizona as in my title-would interest the readers of THE CONTRIBUTOR? Thanks to our unequaled missionary system, thousands of our young men are enabled by travel in foreign lands to gain an extensive knowledge of the world, and to become very well informed; but many have not yet had this privilege. To such, a view of life among the Gentiles may be worth looking at. I will take Tucson, as a fair medium between the more refined and cultivated, and those rough mining towns where the greater portion of public resorts are saloons, gambling dens and brothels, and where a man's life is worth only the lead that would knock it out of him.

Tucson is the second oldest town in the United States, having an authentic history as far back as 1540, at which date it

PUEBLO.

was already a small town with a garrison of Spanish soldiers, maintained as an outpost on the north for the Spanish settlements established a few years before, after Cortez had conquered the country in 1523.

Tucson reminds one of a dwarf-old in years but small in stature. Four-fifths of the eight thousand population are Mexicans, many of whom live now as their fathers did generations back, and their part of the town called here El barrio libre-the free zone-we might say-is about two hundred years behind the times. The part inhabited and built by Americans is better, having lovely yards in which bloom the acacia, oleander and other flowers in profusion, and ornamented by palms, figs, pepper, catalpas, besides other trees more common to the north. The Mexican's idea of a house is like this, if he is able: "A house of

adobe one story high, built around an inner court, an entrance large enough to admit a wagon; few windows upon the street, and those protected by a strong grating of iron bars in front, dirt or brick floors and a dirt roof nearly flat, with tin or wooden spouts every eight or ten feet projecting from the walls so as to carry the rain-water clear of them to the sidewalk below." And the sidewalks! One house has none; the next one has a walk hardly ever more than three or four feet wide, and you may have to step up one or two feet to get on top of it, descending from it in the same way at the other end. Often there is an abrupt rise of a foot or more or sheer descent, so that walking on a "sidewalk" in the dark is quite dangerous to neck or limb; hence the people at night walk quite frequently in the middle of the street. And safer, too, because then a man can't spring upon you from a deep doorway or from behind a corner and stab you with a knife-that deadly Spanish weapon. This is the "Barrio Libre"-the Mexican part of town; the American portion is lighted by gas, and is built in American style, with gas and water works.

Let us go about a little. It is nearly six o'clock p.m., and we see many peoplemostly women and girls-hurrying to the Catholic Cathedral to attend service, held every day at five a.m. and six p.m., in addition to the usual Sunday meetings. We enter the church with them—or try to, for it is already filled with kneeling worshippers, who gaze devoutly upon the large image of the Virgin Mary at the other end of the building, before which are burning many tall wax candles which light up the strange ceremonial of the Catholic Church. Unlike our worshipping assemblies, you see no whispering, giggling, or flirting, but everyone is most reverential in demeanor. And herein the Saints might copy to advantage. Outside the door are members who cannot get in; they are all uncovered as they stand near or kneel upon the ground. And these services, morning and evening, continue all the year through, besides many other meetings. How many Latter-day Saints can find

time, hardly, to go to meeting once a week-perhaps not so often as that, and think they do well! Are we as a people so much more devoted than others? Or will we do so much more for our religion than others?

Here comes an Indian woman-a Papago-with an immense load upon her back, confined in a framework of sticks. She is dressed as a white woman, except that she is barefooted. Sometimes, but not often, they wear sandals-a flat piece of rawhide under the foot, tied on with thongs between the toes and over the instep.

Her load consists of large earthen jars for holding water, called ollas (pronounced 6 yez). They are made by the Indians, and each contains from two to five pails of water. From their porous nature they keep water very cool in hot weather, being suspended in the shade where a breeze may blow upon them and evaporate the moisture constantly exud ing, so to speak, from the interior. The whites use these ollas universally, and many are shipped east and west. These Indian women carry easily a load many a man could not manage.

Then comes a Mexican woman, trip. ping lightly along with a large tray upon her head, filled with cakes, pies, and sweetmeats for sale, while in each hand she carries a basket filled with the same articles. Her tray seems as secure as if it were fastened to her head. Some. times they carry other things for sale, and all kinds of loads; huge bundles of dirty linen, jars of water, and purchases at the stores. This way of carrying things upon their heads gives them a very erect, firm, and dignified carriage. You often see a man walking about carrying a table upon his head and a stool in his hand; at a suitable place he stands his table upon the sidewalk, seats himself at his stool and awaits a customer to buy his candy, nuts, pies, cakes, etc. He sells a candy called "cubierto," which is very nice, made of a species of cactus called "bisnaga," or beehive cactus, as Americans call it. The inner part, sliced half an inch thick, is soaked two or three days in water frequently

changed, then boiled in a sugar syrup until saturated with it. There goes a man, tending mason, carrying a heavy load of mortar up the ladder, on his head; another man is carrying up adobes or stone in the same manner. Here we come upon two little Mexican boys, each driving before him a donkey or "burro," with a big load of hard wood, cut up ready for the fire, and lashed to a pack saddle. This he sells at fifty cents, while his father is hauling and cutting up more wood at home for him to peddle about town. This wood is "mesquite"-pronounced mes-ke-ta-for in Spanish every vowel forms a syllable—and is a very hard, heavy wood, exactly like the socalled mountain mahogany of Utah, and is almost equal to coal. Perhaps you want some wood-"Cuanto dinero?" say you; "Quatro reales," says the boyfour reals, or fifty cents.

These donkeys or "burros" are a prominent feature in all Mexican towns. Their feed costs the owner absolutely nothing, for he never feeds them anything, and how they live is a wonder, for you can't see a spear of grass for them to eat; but they somehow do live and do a great deal of work. Mexico without "burros" would be in much the same plight Arabia would be in without camels.

In some countries we judge a man's wealth by the number of dogs he can keep-but here we judge a Mexican's poverty by the same rule; the poorer he is the more dogs he owns, usually those ugly little curs, hairless except a little tuft upon the head and at the end of the tail. And these dogs are not to be despised; they bark in Spanish, and understand "cursory remarks" addressed them in either English or Spanish, and that is more than can be said of many bipeds here, or of the highly respectable dogs of Utah.

But if you want to see the Mexican in his glory, be here on the sixteenth of September, the Mexican Independence day, or when some strolling band of Mexican bull fighters from across the line, spend a few days in exhibiting their courage and skill in this truly Spanish amusement. These bull fights con

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tinue from day to day as long as the people have any money left, and are attended by the whole Mexican people and numbers of Americans. This is a time that calls for a display of all the finery of the Senoras and Senoritas, and the men dress up for the grand occasion, even if they can only afford a nice hat. A Mexican may be barefooted and ragged and care not, but a fine hat he must have to retain any self-respect, and such a hat he will have, elaborately embroidered in silver, (gold if he be wealthy enough,) very often with the Mexican eagle and serpent emblazoned upon the side. These hats cost from three to fifty dollars each, according to amount of silver lace upon them.

These men spend but little for their own adornment-except the hat-and lavish all upon their wives and daughters, who are arrayed like the "lilies of the valley," and often with exquisite taste as regards the beauty and harmony of colors.

But bull-fighting here is falling into disrepute; the municipal authorities prohibit the introduction of horses into the arena, in mercy to the poor brutes, and this, to the Mexican mind, deprives the exhibition of a great attraction-the disemboweling of horses. Strange it is that women, the gentler sex, upon such occasions are the most enthusiastic and delighted.

Tucson has a hospital, a large public free library, a convent, large Indian school and buildings costing fifty thousand dollars; a University nearly completed, a public school which cost sixty thousand dollars, and churches of Baptists, Congregationalists, Episcopalians, Methodists and Catholics, which last comprise threefourths of the entire population and ninety per cent. of all religious zeal.

As among all people who war against polygamy, prostitution abounds all about the town; but one street in particular— Maiden Lane-is devoted entirely to houses of ill fame. Saloons and gambling dens also abound and are open on Sundays as at all other times, as are many of the stores.

At nine p.m. the curfew tolls upon the

would have several of the Saints bringing me their shoes to mend, which I did cheerfully, and was thankful that I could be of service to the camp in this way. The Indians also would bring me their pouches to mend, and often their bridles which I repaired to the best of my ability, and much to their satisfaction. They were very anxious to teach me their language, and it was not long before I knew the meaning of a number of their words. The chief was very anxious that I should go with them on the hunt and so informed Bishop Miller. That evening when speaking to those brethren who volunteered to go with the Indians, Brother Miller said: "Brother Staines, I should like you to go with them if you had not those fearful sores on your legs. The chiefs have taken a liking to you, and I feel as though you would do much good, but I dare not ask you to go with such legs." A peculiar spirit came over me while he was speaking, and I was led to say: "Brother Miller, if you say I can accomplish good by going with these Indians I shall go. I have no fears about my legs or myself; and if anything should occur that I should not return, I have no relations in camp to mourn my loss, and this weak body of mine can be better spared than these able-bodied men " He then and there blessed me in the name of the Lord.

The next morning we left our brethren and started with the Ponca Indiansabout two thousand souls. It was a novel sight to us who had never witnessed the moving of an Indian train before. In advance could be seen the chiefs and their braves mounted on horses used for running down buffalo. Next followed the squaws with their children running beside them if old enough; if not, they were packed upon the top of their tents, which were fastened to poles and put on a horse whose saddle was fitted for the occasion. Some were carried on the backs of squaws. Next to these came the old men and women, young men and maidens with dogs. Many had small tents and poles fastened to their backs with straps, and seemed to pull this along quite easily. The young men and boys

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had bows and arrows and were often seen chasing rabbits and showing their skill in shooting them. The first day we traveled about eight miles, when we camped for the night. It was about two o'clock p. m. The squaws had all the household work to perform-putting up and pulling down the tents, getting wood and water, and cooking. The men took the horses to water, saw that they got good pasturage, hunted the game, smoked their pipes, and slept. I found the first day's travel a hard one for my legs. They pained me some, but otherwise, I felt well. The brethren who came along expecting to see game were disappointed, as we did not see so much as a

crow.

We were all-six of us-invited to eat and sleep in the largest tent of the chief. He had three tents and three wives. About sundown we were called to din

ner.

This consisted of boiled dried buffalo and buffalo soup, put in a large wooden bowl with one horn spoon. The chief took the first spoonful, then passed it on to the next until each one had a taste; then the chief would take another spoonful, and so on until we were satisfied. The meat was as tough as leather and about as palatable. Some of my readers may ask if the bowl and spoon were clean. I thought not, for the dried meat, bowl, spoon, and kettle were all taken from old greasy sacks carried many miles, beside laying about unwashed in a dirty tent, I know not how long. You may think it impossible to eat under such circumstances, and indeed it was not pleasant, but we partook according to our appetites. Brother John Kay was along and had some goods to trade for robes. He had some flour and asked us to breakfast next morning on cakes fried in fat. We accepted and ate with relish. We traveled near the Running Water river for nine days without seeing anything larger than a rabbit. It was quite discouraging to those brethren who were expecting a good time hunting buffalo, deer and elk, and they concluded to return home. We were now about fifty miles from our camp. was asked to accompany the brethren

I