Bougainvillea in flower, were the ingredients necessary to the
production of what I trust will be a book with a mission.

When we call again at the Moreno _hacienda_ on the Rio San Luis Rey,
Carolina will not be there to metamorphose her home into a restaurant
and serve us _galina con arroz_, _tortillas_ and _frijoles refritos_.
But if she should be, she will not answer, when asked the amount of the
score: "What you will, _señor_." Ah, no, Mul. Scoundrels devoid of
romance will have discovered her, and she will have opened an inn with
a Jap cook and the tariff will be _dos pesos y media_; there will be a
strange waiter and he will scowl at us and expect a large tip. And
Stephen Crane's brother, the genial judge, will have made his fortune
in the mine on the hill, and there will be no more California wine as a
first aid to digestion.

I had intended to paint the picture that will remain longest in your
memory--the dim candle-light in the white-washed chapel at the Indian
Reservation at Pala, during Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament--the
young Indian Madonna, with her naked baby lying in her lap, while she
sang:

"Come, Holy Ghost, creator blest,
And in my heart take up thy rest."

But the picture was crowded out in the make-up. There was too much to
write about, and I was always over-set! I saw and felt, with you, and
regarded it as more poignantly pathetic, the tragedy of that little
handful of San Luisanos, herded away in the heart of those barren hills
to make way for the white man. And now the white man is almost gone
and Father Dominic's Angelus, ringing from Mission San Luis Rey, falls