Tensas gazette. [volume] (St. Joseph, La.) 1886-current, 1917-10-19

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 ut sight of these
singuarly quaint and beautiful re-
mains of period rich in romance
and devout dreams Oh 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
MONDAY sky. Where the whtewash
was gone. the ruins were rich golden
brown in tone. The front of the build
ing was disappointing ut first glimpse.
The yard was bare and bleak looking.
the monument raised to Junipero
Sierra, and a luXuriant green pepper
tree being the only outstanding re-
liefs. But ii was when we wandered
unguided through the long arcades on
the inner court. penetrating into muSty
rooms within the three-fOOt walls and
swinging the massive wooden doors to
behind MS. treading upon the worn old
tagging curved to fit the feet Of priest
and neophyte of long ago. that the
real atmosphere Of the place comes
over u.s.
l tried to forget the half-dozen au-
tomobiles standing outside on the
road. and the groups of tOurist-fOlk.
who. curious-eyed. were making per-
functOry pilgrimage there at that same
hour. and instead Of taking cursOry
glance and motoring on again. | asked
permission for our small party to eat
our lunch In the long shady arcade
overlooking the inner court. where the
kindly green of Ivy was clinging to
the barred bricks of the arches.
1t was not hard to rebuild in men,
DRY those broken arches encircling the
patio. even across there where small
laundry was dangling In pathetic in
cOngruity, and imagine the place
rich with green growing things-lus-
ciOus figs and grapes and oranges, and
other tranSplantings from Catalonia,
CASTLE and Old Mexico. Then. upon
just such a quiet. peaceful MONDAY
as this. Padre Anselmo and Padre
Miguel might have been sitting on this
selfsame old bench. looking across the
luxuriant greenness to where the
brown arches merged into the summer
brown Of that selfsame hill beyond.
against the same soft blue sky. The
hill and the sky remain unchanged
now. but the arches are crumbling and
the padres are dust.
We babe farewell to San Juan Capt.
StrnnO and took the curving road
again. A great brown hill S;Oped down
to meet an unbelievable blue ocean,
and from here on the sea was scarce
ly once Ovt Of sight.
Truly" l said. drinklng deep of
that beauty of color ard contour, "thls
is picture country. II there ever was
onew
Those stretches along the water,
down close to the sand where the ice
plant grew, were n delight. After long
miles marked or by the picturesque
bells, we passed San Onofre canyon
and San Onofre creek opening into the
sea, the canyon widening to hold rs
magnificent a grove of sycamores as
there is in southern California.
We climbed the SCARED and pictur.
eSque heights where the Torrey pines
crouch In the wind like giant bodies
with craven spirits. From this com.
handing vantage point we looked
across the valley away from the sea
where colors of vegetation and colOrs
of soil mingled In singularly rich va
riety.
And at last we saw the city of our
destination shining ahead In the after
noon light, a white city. like Cadiz
overlooking the sea.