The Yale expositor., 1917-10-11

"N HE pilgrims to Canterbury
walk upon a way polished by
the feet of history and rich
in an atmosphere Of majes-
tic antiquity. Association with Roman,
Briton, Plct, Scot, Dane, Celt and Nor
man has clothed it with personality,
clarifying what would otherwise be
mere geographical locality, and the
spirits Of humans of all later times are
drawn to 1t as the dividing point be-
tween paganism and Christianity to
the English-speaking world.
But If we of today were to walk
upon the historic highway in the far
West, called I'll Canine Real, we could
not dream ourselves back into the day
when the brOwn-rObed Franciscans
went forth and back upon it, treadng
the tender grass Of winter or raising
the golden dust-clouds Of summer, be-
cause that way is hard-paved today
and the pilgrims dream would be sad
ly broken by the lodging of the auto
mobiles which have claimed the way
as a personal possession, writes Meta
Marquis In the Los Angeles Times.
But to the autOmObilist who has a
mind for the past as well as an eye for
the present, there is a wealth of charm
TO be found on the road marked by
the mile-post bells, particularly in
travelling from Los Angeles to San
Diego, at the roads very beginning.
1t was cool and dellclously foggy
when we left Los Angeles, soon after
eight o'clock, and one of the first sur
prises, when we reached the real coun-
try, was to find the air sweet with
the fragrance Of orange blossoms and
roses. had fancied the orange trees
not yet in flower, and the roses very
largely gone for q while, but acres of
both were there to confound me. Dahl
las almost as big as cabbages
nodded their gorgeous crimson and
magenta heads from country door
yards, and In a bowerlike river bed
we saw company of tourists out of
their machines gathering green castor
beans, perhaps under the impression
that they were horse chestnuts.
In the open stretches, the blue dis
lance of fog were artistically set off
sunfowers. At intervals all along the
road the rose racks set up by an en-
terprising public spirit were often full
of bloom, mostly with the warm-scent-
ed Ragged Robins" of velvety GRIM
son. We even met q country girl driv-
ing, who, having the prettiest of pink
faces and being dressed in pink, look
/ ed like Duchesse rose herself.
To San Juan Capistrano.
We crossed the great San Joaquin
ranch through miles of small, golden
bean stalks, which shaded Into dis
tances of amber against the blue-veiled
hills. 1t looked as If it had taken as
many Mexicans as are enlisted with
Villa to rake those stacks into such
geOmetrleally spaced order.
In the hill country beyond, the rich
brown of tnrweed, whose sweet pun
gency filed the air with healing, whole
some balm, covered all the landscape,
and exquisltely subtle colOrs were
brought out under the cloud-mottled
sky. Ever and again the blacz-green
of eucalyptus clumps made picture
like effects against the tawny fields.
Faith, this was long road, and less
varied, when the padres trod it In the
olden timel
1t was down a canyon dotted with
great sycamores that we finally came
upon the artist-haunted ruins of Mis-
sion San Juan Capistrano.
This spot Is crassly modern COM
pared with really ancient things, yet
IL has It's own atmosphere of relative
antiquity. / never have gazed on the
pyramids or the Sphinx. st. Peters
at Rome, Notre Dame and st. Mar
tins at Canterbury are, so far, only
names and pictures TO me. Even Ply
mouth Rock is very remote in personal
association as well as distance. But
my latent reverence for the finger
marks of time and the monuments to
human ideals came up at sight Of these
singularly quaint and beautiful re-
mains of a period rich In romance
| and devout dreams on this golden
western slope.
Beauties Of the Ruins.
Pomegranate trees and dusty red
geraniums grew In front of the ruined
walls rising AGAINST the pale blue Of
n MONDAY sky Where the whitewash
was gone, the rains were a rich golden