The San Francisco call., 1896-04-17

this stage representation, and bis FAINT
side whiskers go further than ever apart on
his broad good face. A load of hay, the
next looks like, but it is covered with
roses, and it bears floral canopy under
which young woman stands all glorious
in pink satin and rose-fgured organdle
and with six little girls about her. A two
horse buggy is coming as rose basket,
another is basket of daisies.
Here are the caballeros, the gorgeous
men on horseback. One has coat and sad
die of flowers that resemble vlolets, and
here comes a genuine load of hay. There
are six Maud Mullers on it, each holding
a wooden rake. Nowonder that the Judge,
in Whittier poem, rode sadly down the
lane as he thought of his might have
been" Even the Bishop seems in love
with these, but the Bishop isn't sad about
it. These girls on the horses ride as girls
should ride in this Spanish region. And
what an orchestra, for four Spaniards of
the oIden type; they have only three
horses, but three are plenty for four such
iIuSISt anu ihC nv lI1hNS t'iA w
away at an old Castilian melody.
Three white horses in tandem with
harness of broad yellow ribbon are guided
by mounted horsemen attired in colors to
match. The fashionable drag is covered
with white ribbon and the soft yellow
mustard blossoms. Two men and two
women in white and yellow throw white
and yellow roses into the crowds.
white and yellow for me-" says the
Bishop, as plainly as his good full face
can speak. A Roman chariot is in the
line and a windmill OF green and roses,
1.-The Santa Ynez mlIl," in floral letter
ing, and boy and girl, wee Spanish chill
dren disguised as a humming bird and
buttercup and drawn by an Angora goat.
What an idea that is. A troop of boys
from some school, riding like cavalrymen,
is next. Then olive-pickers come with
their ladders on wheels and all decorated.
Then Spanish family in genuine old
Mexican OK wagon. 1t does the Bishops
heart good to see the oxen representing as
they do the old pastoral days. The parade
has passed and countermarched. People
are pelting each other with roses, though
the battle has not commenced. There are
strict orders of managers, but this prelim-
mary skirmishing cannot be prevented. A
bunch of lilies strikes the Bishop squarely
in the face, and the good man laughs.
They toll not" he seems to say, "but
they certainly do spin"
That is the Philharmonic band that has
just begun to play on the music-stand.
| The paraders are returning. The bands
stop. The soldiers of the flagship go
marching by, and however the roses hit
them they give not even glance to the
side. A frightened torse has thrown its
rider, and with leg that bangles uselessly
the man is borne away through an OPEN
ing in the grand stand. Floats and the
other vehicles are getting mixed up. The
Bishop adjusts his spectacles and rises to
locate the cause of this confusion.
a marshal bolts the column. Now sounds
bugle-call, and the battle of flowers
begins in earnest. Dashing girls in the
decorated buggies seem to risk their lives
in throwing the missiles of color. Touch
stone is in glory now. Everybody throws
at him. Rapidly the pavement is becom-
ing strewn with the gore OF red roses and
the carnations. A Spanish girl almost
leaped from her saddle to catch the bou-
quet hurled by a dark-eyed youth. She
takes the missile from the air and throws
it back with suddenness and precision
The Bishop smiles, but his lace sobers
and he turns away as the mischievous
wind tosses the olIve-green skirt of the au-
dacions maiden and reveals a ballet-like
vision of yellow. The senorita gallops
away.
The marines break and face the unceas-
ing fire of the roses. They are without
ammunition except as they can pick it up
on the pavement, but the Maud MulIers
came to re- enforce them with the ir big load
full of flowers, and now the fight is
fercest, the bands playing an inspiration
for the fray.
Through a break in the column the
windmill float comes at a gallop like an
artillery piece. The double line of parade
is surging about. Bouquets are flying
like the snow in Truckee blizzard. The
horses are prancing, the men on foot are
lodging, the floats are futtering and sway
ing, that Spanish guitar mans horse is
like an untamed bronco, but the dark face
of the rider is absorbed in the melody