beautiful grounds of the Hotel del
Monte with their ancient live oaks. We walked and mused along the
streets of Monterey, where Robert Louis Stevenson once walked and mused.
We rejoiced in the sight of a lovely old Spanish house at the head of
Polk Street, carefully kept up by its present owner. We saw the Sherman
Rose cottage, the old home of Sherman's Spanish love, and the
Sherman-Halleck quarters, and the old Hall of Records. We stopped to
gaze at old adobe dwelling houses, some with thick walls roofed with
tile around their yards; some with second floor galleries, supported by
plain, slender wooden posts, roses clambering over them.

We visited the San Carlos Mission on the edge of the town. Unlike the
deserted little church at Carmel, San Carlos is in excellent repair,
perfectly kept and in constant use. There they show you some of the old
vestments said to be Father Serra's own. There you may see his silver
mass cards, with their Latin inscriptions engraved upon the upright
silver plate, reading: "In the beginning was the Word," etc. The same
beaten silver water bucket which Father Serra used for holy water is
to-day used by the incumbent priest. On the walls are the adoring angels
which Father Serra taught the Indians to paint. One of the special
treasures of the Mission is Father Serra's beautiful beaten gold
chalice, a consecrated vessel touched only by the priests. Back of the
church is kept as a precious possession the stump of the old oak tree
under which Father Serra celebrated his first mass and took possession
of California in the name of Spain. The spot where the oak tree stood,
on the highway between Monterey and Pacific Grove, is marked by a modest
stone just below Presidio Hill.

We browsed about the curio and gift shops of Monterey, and the
"Lame Duck's Exchange" of Pacific Grove. We saw Asilomar
(Retreat-by-the-Sea), the fine conference grounds of the Young Women's
Christian Associations of the Pacific Coast, whose commodious assembly
and living halls are the gift of Mrs. Phoebe Hearst. We learned the
delicious flavor, on many picnics, of the California ripe olive. One
might be dubious about the satisfying quality of Omar Khayam's bottle of
wine and loaf of bread "underneath the bough." But with the loaf of
bread and plenty of California olives one could be perfectly content. I
could have a feast of Lucullus any day in California on abalone soup,
with its delicate sea flavor, bread, and olives.