The Albany register. [volume] (Albany, Or.) 1868-18??, 1874-12-04
HE MOSS-GATHERER OF MON.
TEREY.

0luGISnC
from the Monterey of to-day. The wars
of the outside world, the king -makings,
and revolutions, and discoveries, and
inventions, had no power to send a
single thrill of interest or excitement
through the veins of her somnolent
Spanish population. So long as the
roses bloomed, and the winter rains
made the hills green for the immense
herds of cattle which then tenanted the
Salinas plains-so long did the people
of Monterey, proud of their long
stretch Of sea-beach, their roses, and
the dark beauty of their daughters,
take the pleasant afternoon S5eStd, and
dance 10 the music OF the guitar at car
nival time. Twenty years ago, as to-
day, the cattle roamed through the
quiet streets, and the same loving hands
with less of the dimpIed molding of
yore. Gull with the same delicate ease
the buds from the mature trees.
On 8 glorious May dawn in 1856, as
the sun crept over the pines that senti-
mel the hills IN the rear of the town.
girl stood on the beach Watching the
receding tide. AS the sunlight silyered
the long reach of sands and glistened
on the wet rocks, it touched with loving
splendor face OF singular beauty, with
features as clear cut as q cameo. Ju-
anilla was the daughter of an old whaler
who for many years had followed levia-
than in the lagoons af Southern Califor-
MA, but an accident caused by the STAY
ing-in of a boat made him a cripple, and,
except his little adobe homestead and
the labor OF Juanilla, he had nothing in
his old age to depend on. She was a
moss -gatherer, who made pretty pic
ture frames of shells and sea-weed, and
sold them to the crews of naval and
merchant vessels. An early riser was
Juanilla. The dawn saw her on the
beach when the tide suited her occupa-
tion, and the porch of the adobe
cottage was q wilderness of Grim
son, white and yellow roses. Her
beauty was not of the sleepy, indolent
sort, so characteristic of the Spanish
woman. It had more of the animated
grace and 1.-the, supple vigor of
the fsherman's daughters of the British
islands.
'Mcdre de Dios !'' said she, softly,
as she sprang from the top OF treach-
erous granite rock to the sands, how
those strangers are carrying off my
shells This beach is being ruined by
those people. I shall soon be without
material for a single picture frame.
Now, Juanilla's 1abors, though Mon
terey was still slumbering, were not un-
observed. A young man stood on the
bluff above the beach, looking down in
the intensest admiration on the bare
footed beauty below. He wore the
loose gray clothes of Il tourist, and,
from the sea-glasses that hung by his
side, was evidently out early to observe
the sunrise. Clambering down the
rocks with a sIlre-footed ease that indi-
Gated the experienced mountaineer, the
stranger drew near her, and watched,
with an amused expression his hand
some Saxon features, Juanillas contest
with an envious wavelet for the posses
sion of a rare bit of moss. tt Bravo p
he cried, as, returning from a success
full rush into the spray, she carried off
her prize.
The moss-gatherer turned quickly
and blushed in the most charming man
ner imaginable as she hastily arranged
the short petticoat which clung limp
and lovingly to her pretty ankles. The
stranger took off his hat and apologized
foI his presence.
"Ah, senor," said the -gatherer,
t'are you, too, looking for shells on my
beach? Well, you shall have some, as
you are out so early. Come and will
show You where the tide has thrown
her first embarrassment, she beckoned
him to follow her over the rocks. John
Thorpe, fresh from the London draw
ing-rooms, and in search of health
broken down by the designations of a
London life, mentally decided that this
was the most delightful adventure he
had met with since he shook the dust Of
Bond street from his feet. He followed
her, and when, after an hours scramble
with this daughter of the coast, he re-
turned, wet and weary, to the hotel, he
made an entry In his diary that his
mornings lesson in conchology was
more interesting than any he had evel
heard from the lips of his Oxford pro
fessor. And Juanilla averred to her
self it was a pity that this young
Englishman, who said such odd things
in such a nice way, should have sucI
pale cheeks, and get SO tired from the
exercise that only refreshed her for the
labors of the day. That afternoon, a;
her deft fingers wove the MOSES into
tasteful patterns, her fathers voice sum
moned her to the veranda.
"sThere is a stranger here, Juanilla
who would like to see our picture
! show the gentleman what we have fo
sale,
entire stock, and then asked permission
to visit the garden.
ssThis is my pet, " said Juanil1a, gen
fly lifting up the blossom of tiny moss
rose bush, s' but it is very sickly, senior
and fear this Will Oe Its last winter
Come. you shall have bud, as yo1
bought my picture-frames. Poor thing
the northerIy winds will kill it. y
The sands had after this morning,
grand attraction for Thorpe. He hat
never met nature so fresh and brim
ming with vitality as this poor whaler'
daughter. The sea, and the woods, an
the flowers had been her instructors
and from them she had caught an un
tutored poetry which found vent in od
ideas and sympathies. A shell was t
her q beauty fragment of moss,
messenger from the deep sea forests
where unknown sea-fowers bloom an
die forever remote from human eyes
He was astonished at himself. Womel
bored him, had always bored him /; bu
here was this water-nymph, who ha'
never read book in her hfe-for tn
alphabet was to her an unexplored mys
tery-who could not discourse of poll
tics, the poets, or the magazines, work
ing her way into his indolent nature
and quickening him to exchange ethough
e. Thought. until he felt the poverty O