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a scatter of white houses, built of earth and plank, mostly one story high; these people living in a constant fear of earthquakes happening in the night.
Here juts a gable-end, there turns a water-fan.
Beyond them runs a length of front, all wash and paint, the residence of a don; then come a forge, a whisky shop, a Chinese laundry, and an open pit.
A pretty house stands here and there among the cypresses and limes, with balconies, giving on an inner court, and jalousies from which a dame, herself unseen, may note who passes in the street below.
This lady's game of hide and peep, which in Monterey takes the place of work and thought, is highly popular.
One public pile adorns the plaza; that Calaboose (prison, court, and whipping post) in which the caide used to sit, and sentence mixed blood rascals to a tale of stripes.
New times bring in new men. M. Simoneau, a merry French cook, now keeps his chickens in the prisoners' yard, and serves up soup and fish in the justice-room.
A group of bearded fellows smoke within the shadow of a wall.
A priest creeps timidly across the square.
Girls in black veils and scarlet skirts are hurrying home from noontide mass.
A child is playing with
1875.
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