istened San Francisco.

This route De Lara and Calderon have taken, getting into it by a
cross-cut; and along it they continue to ride, still at a gallop, with
faces set for Dolores.

They are not the only equestrians moving along that road. The dust
kicked up by their horses hoofs has just settled down when a second
party appears, going in the same direction, though at a gentler gait;
for it is a cavalcade composed partly of ladies.

It is a quartette, two of each sex; and as the horses are the same
already seen standing saddled in the courtyard of Don Gregorio's house,
it is not necessary to give the names of the riders. These can be
guessed.

Dona Carmen is carrying out the instructions left by her father, who,
Californian fashion, supposed he could give his sailor-guests no greater
treat than a _paseo de caballo_, including an excursion to the old
Dolores Mission, without a visit to which no exploration of the country
around San Francisco can be considered complete. It is not the least of
California's "lions."

Like most Spanish-American ladies, Don Gregorio's daughter takes delight
in the saddle, and spends some part of each day in it. An accomplished
_equestrienne_, she could take a five-barred gate, or a bullfinch, with
any of the hunting Dianas of England; and, if she has not ridden to
hounds, she has chased wild horses, mounted on one but little less wild.
That on which she now sits seems but half-tamed. Fresh from the
stable, he rears and pitches, at times standing erect on his hind legs.
For all, his rider has no fear of being unhorsed. She only smiles,
pricks him with the spur, and regardlessly cuts him with her _cuarto_.

Much after the same fashion acts Inez, for she, too, has learned the
Californian style of equitation.

The two present a picture that, to the eye unaccustomed to Mexican
habits, might seem somewhat _bizarre_. Their mode of mount--as already
said, _a la Duchesse de Berri_--their half-male attire, hats of vicuna
wool, _calzoncillas_ lace-fringed over their feet, buff boots, and large
rowelled spurs--all these give them an air of _bizarrerie_, at the same
time a pleasing picturesqueness; and, if appearing bold, still
beautiful, as the South Sea wind flouts back the limp brims of their
sombreros, and tosses their hair into dishevelment, while the excitement
of the ride brings the colour to their cheeks--with flashes, as of fire,
from their eyes.

The young English officers reg