sperity was
enjoyed at the missions. Buildings were erected that still delight the
traveler. They were for the most part of Moorish architecture, built of
adobe, painted white, with red-tile roofs, long corridors and ever the
secluded plaza where the friar might tell his beads in peace. Around the
missions, some twenty in number, lying a day's journey apart between the
southern and the central bay, Indian workers cultivated immense fields
of grain, choice vineyards, olive orchards and orange groves; great
herds of horses, cattle, and sheep were cared for, and the women became
adept at weaving and spinning. Nor were the Spanish Governors idle. They
encouraged the immigration of settlers both from the mother country and
Mexico by a most liberal policy, assisting the newcomer to build a home,
acquire stock, and establish himself in a country where there was an
abundance of game, and where the earth yielded her bounty with the
minimum of labor. Thus in the half century between 1770 and 1820,
these Pius Padres laid the foundations of California, as they believed
securely, after Catholic and Spanish tradition.

Not securely so it proved, for in 1822 Mexico won her independence
from Spain, both political and religious. The California Padres being
Spaniards naturally suffered persecution at the hands of successive
Mexican Governors, who were envious of the lands, orchards and herds
of domestic animals belonging to the various missions. Ruthlessly the
Friars were plundered of their well tilled fields, their fine vineyards,
their flocks and herds, and their Indian converts were enticed or
driven into the service of the new Masters of the country. Some of these
officials were of Spanish blood and some of Mexican but now they proudly
called themselves, Californians. And proudly they lived, these Spanish
and Mexican Dons. Owning immense tracts of land, riding upon fleet
horses, relieved of all necessity of honest work, they soon became in
their manner of living, veritable hidalgoes.

Vain, ridiculously boastful, pleasure chasers, they loved above all else
the frolic, the dance, and a good horse. All the way from San Diego
to Shasta were located the immense ranchoes, more than six hundred in
number, ever since celebrated in song and story. This was the period so
often called by poetic writers the Romantic Age of California. Although
much of the glamor of the dear old days of plenty and pleasure has been
dispelled by the careful rese