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Since the first flush of dawn the dismal squeal of wooden-wheeled ox-carts had hushed the bird songs all up and down El Camino Real, and the popping of the drivers' lashes, which punctuated their objurgations to the shambling oxen, told eloquently of haste.
The verses dedicated to Juan de Grial, with their closing reference to the writer's trials: Que yo, de un torbellino traidor acometido, y derrocado del medio del camino al hondo, el plectro amado y del vuelo las alas he quebrado;
When treading El Camino Real and kneeling by the sacred tombs of Junipero Serra and his hero band of soul-conquerors we may well recall that passage of the beautiful Hymn of the Knights of Columbus. "Brothers we are treading Where the saints have trod." Alberto de Cordoba, an excellent engineer, surveyed the Harbor of San Francisco in 1813, at the request of Governor Borica.
Elsewhere, elsewhere, elsewhere, beyond the sky-line, under larger stars, where men ride jesting and women smile. Names alluring to the American he repeated Shenandoah, Santa Ynez, the Little Big Horn, Baton Rouge, the Great Smokies, Rappahannock, Arizona, Cheyenne, Monongahela, Androscoggin; cañon and bayou; sycamore and mesquite; Broadway and El Camino Real.... He hurled along into Plato.
For instance, which of the Mission fathers had the faintest conception that in erecting their structures under the adverse conditions then existing in California, they were practically originating a new style of architecture; or that in making their crude and simple chairs, benches and tables they were starting a revolution in furniture making; or that in caring for and entertaining the few travelers who happened to pass over El Camino Real they were to suggest a name, an architectural style, a method of management for the most unique, and in many respects the most attractive hotel in the world.
We cannot close this chapter after speaking of the bright constellation of the past which appeared in California skies so many years ago, and whose traces we so cherish, without saying a few words about that worthiest of worthy movements to restore the dear old missions of El Camino Real according to their traditional lines, here again Reverend Father Mestres of Monterey deserves the greatest credit in this enterprise, and the Knights of Columbus of the California councils have proved themselves great helpers in the plan.
He folded his coat over his arm, stepped outside, and closed the door. Before him stretched the hot gray level of El Camino Real, the road to the beyond. From it branched a narrower road, reaching up into the southern hills, on, up to the mysterious Moonstone Cañon with its singing stream and its gracious shade.
Here, at the little adobe house on the banks of the Arroyo Seco, they separated. General Flores, their commander, was to ride with his staff through the stormy night, down El Camino Real toward Mexico. General Andres Pico, upon whom devolved the duty of surrender, was to ride with his associates to the old Cahuenga ranch house, the first station on the highway from Los Angeles to Santa Barbara.
"But it hasn't been a week since she confessed!" protested Sinang. "I'm not sick and I don't sin as often as that." "Abá! Don't you know what the curate says: the righteous sin seven times a day? Come, what book shall I bring you, the Ancora, the Ramillete, or the Camino Recto para ir al Cielo?" Maria Clara did not answer. "Well, you mustn't tire yourself," added the good aunt to console her.
It would last three days, Hyde informed his hearers, and 450 lots would be sold. North of the broad street paralleling the Mission Camino lots were sixteen and a half varas wide and fifty varas deep. All were between the limits of low and high water mark. "What's a vara?" shouted a new arrival. "A Spanish yard," explained Hyde, "about thirty-three and a third inches of English measure.
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