The Republican journal. [volume] (Belfast, Me.) 1829-current, 1874-12-03
The Moss-Gatherer of Monterey

The Moss-Gatherer of Monterey.
Twenty years ago, Monterey. that
quaint, dreamy town Of the past. which
has never caught the teyerish inspiration
OF the present. was little different from the
Monterey of to-day. The wars Of the out
side world, the king -makings, and revolu-
tons, ana discoveries, and inventions, had
no power to send thrill of interest or eX-
citement through the veins of her somno-
lent Spanish population. 50 long as the
roses bloomed and the winter rains made
the hills green tor the immense herds of
cattle which then tenanted the Salinas
plains-now a great harvest-lield-so lono
dld the people OF Monterey, proud of their
long stretch OF sea-heach their roses. and
the dark beauty Of their daughters, take
the pleasant afternoon 2ieSt0 and dance TO
the music of the guitar at carnival time.
Wenty years ago, as to-day, the cattle
roamed through the quiet streets. and the
same loving hands that planted feeble rose
cuttings, now. with less of the dimpled
moldlng OF ycr1, Gull with the same deli
cate care the buds from the mature trees.
On glorious May dawn in lS5-, as the
sun crept over the pines that sentinel the
hills in the rear of the town, q Young Girl
stood on the beach watching the recedino.
tide, AS the sunlight silvered the long
reach OF sands and glistened on the Wet
rocks, it touched with loying splendor a
face OF singular beauty, with features as
ciear-cut as cameo. Juanilla was the
daughter Of an old Whaler who for many
years had followed leviathan in the la@oons
OF southern California. but an accident
| caused by the staving-in Of 4 boat made
nm cripple and, except his little abode
homestead and the labor Of Juanilla. he
had nothing in his old age to depend on.
She was moss -gatherer, who made pretty
picture-trames of shells and sea-weed and
| sold them to the crews Of naval and mer-
| chant vessels. An early riser was Juan
| lila. The dawn saw her on the beach when
the tide suited her occupation, and the
| porch OF the abode cottage was II wider
| ness OF crimson, white and yellow roses
| Her beauty was not Of that sleepy, indo-
| lent sort SO characteristic of the Spanish
women. 1t had more of the animated
grace and 1.-the, supple yigor of the fisher
mems daughters Of the British islands
"-Iolre Dr. DloSr ~ said She, softly. a,
she sprung from the top Of treacherous
| granite rock to the sands, chow those
| strangers are carrying off my shells! This
beach is being ruined by those people.
| shall soon be without material for a single
| picture-frame."
| Now Juanilla's labors, though Monterey
was still slumbering, We're not unobserved
| A young man stood Oh the bluff above the
| beach, looking down in intensest admira-
| ton at the barefooted beauty below. He
wore the loose gray clothes OF a tourist
and, from the sea-glasses that hung by his
| side, was evidently ont early to observe
| the sunrise Clambering down the rocks
| with sure-tooted ease that indicated the
| experienced mountaineer, the stranger
| drew near her and watched, with al
amused expression on his handsome Saxon
! features, Juanilla's contest with an envi
Gus wavelet for the possession of a rare
| bit OF moss. Bravo !" he cried, as, re-
| turning from a successful rush into the
! spray. she carried off her prize
The moss-gatherer turned quickly, and
| biushed in the most charming manner i'm
| aginable as she hastily arranged the short
petticoat which clung limp and lovingly
to her pretty ankles The stranger took
off his hat and apologized for his presence
"Ah, senor," said the moss -gatherer.
y
beach, ? Well, you shall have some, as
| you are out so early. Come, and ! will
| show you where the tide has thrown them
| up" And quite recovered from her first
| embarrassment, she beckoned him to fol-
| low her over the rocks John Thorpe,
| fresh from the London drawing-rooms,
and in search OF health broken down bv
| the dissipations 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 rom his feet He
followed her, and When after an hour s
scramble with this daughter of the coast
he returned, 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 ever heard
from the lips of his Oxford professor. And
Juanilla averred to herself it was a pity
that this young Englishman, who said such
odd things III such a nice way, should have
such pale cheeks, and get so tired from
the exercise that only refreshed her for the
labors Of the day. That afternoon, as her
deft fingers woye the moses into tasteful
patterns, her fathers voice summoned her
TO the veranda.
There is a stranger here, Juanilla, w ho
would like to see our picture-frames
Quick, my daughter, and show the gentle
man what we have for sale
MI John Thorpe bought almost the en-
tire stock, and then asked permission to
visit the garden.
This is my pet said Juanilla. gently
lifting the blossoms of a tiny moss-rose
bush, but it is very sickly, senior, and |
fear this will be its last winter. Come,
you shall have a bud. as you bought my
picture-trames. Poor thing the norther-
ly winds will kill it,
The sands had, after this morning, Il
grand attraction for Thorpe He had never
met nature so fresh and brimming with
vitality as this poor whaler's daughter.
The sea and the woods and the flowers had
been her instructors, and from them she
had caught an untutored poetry which
found vent III odd ideas and sympathies
shell was to her beauty fragment
of moss messenger from the deep-sea
forests, where unknown sea-fowers bloom
and die forever remote from human ewes.
He was astonished at himself Women
bored him, had always bored him: but
here was this water-nymph, who had never
read book in her life-for the alphabet
was to her an uneXplored mystery-who
could not discourse of politics, the poets
OF the magazines, working her way into
his indolent nature, and quickening him
to exchange thought for thought, until he
felt the poverty of book-culture as COM
pared with an intelligence framed and pol
ished by Mother Nature herself. Her mind
was white page, free from the very
shadow of worldly grossness.
One evening, as Thorpe sat on the porch,
listening to the whaler's recitals of his ex-
citing lagoon adventures and watching
Juanilla's weaving fingers, spaniard lift
ed the garden-gate latch, and was greeted
warmly by the whaler
owe have heard from Pancho, " said the