sked: "And is the health of His Excellency, General
Santa Ana, whom God protect, still continued to him?"

With great amazement, Lanky replied: "Santa Ana! why, the last heard of
him was that he was keeping a cockpit in Havana; some of the newspapers
published an obituary of him about six months ago, but I believe he is
alive yet somewhere."

A little flush of indignation mantled the old man's cheek, and with a
tinge of severity in his voice he said: "I have heard that shameful
scandal about our noble President once before, but you must excuse me
if I ask you not to repeat it. It is true he took away our Pious Fund
some years since, but he is still our revered President, and I would
not hear him ill-spoken of any more than our puissant and mighty
Ferdinand, of whom you just spoke--may he rest in glory!" and here the
good priest crossed himself devoutly.

"What is the old priest jabbering about?" asked Captain Booden,
impatiently; for he was in haste to "get his bearings" and be off. When
Lanky replied, he burst out: "Tell him that Santa Ana is not President
of Mexico any more than I am, and that he hasn't amounted to a row of
pins since California was part of the United States."

Lanky faithfully interpreted this fling at the ex-President, whereupon
the padre, motioning to the Ancient to put up his rapier, which had
leaped out of its rusty scabbard, said: "Nay, Senor, you would insult
an old man. We have never been told yet by our government that the
Province of California was alienated from the great Republic of Mexico,
and we owe allegiance to none save the nation whose flag we love so
well;" and the old man turned his tear-dimmed eyes toward the ragged
standard of Mexico that drooped from the staff in the plaza.
Continuing, he said: "Our noble country has strangely forgotten us, and
though we watch the harbor-entrance year after year, no tidings ever
comes. The galleon that was to bring us stores has never been seen on
the horizon yet, and we seem lost in the fog."

The schoolmaster of Jaybird Canon managed to tell us what the priest
had said, and then asked when he had last heard of the outside world.
"It was in 1837," said he, sadly, "when we sent a courier to the
Mission del Carmelo, at Monterey, for tidings from New Spain. He never
came back, and the great earthquake which shook the country hereabout
opened a huge chasm across the country just back of the Sierra yonder,
and none dared to cross over to the ma