A Napa Christchild; and Benicias Letters | Page 9

But
we married lovers will never tell, for we are content to know that our
Christchild has sunken deep into our hearts where his song inaudible to
others is heard by us forever and ever."
[Illustration: Scroll]

[Illustration: Scroll]

Benicia's Letters.
After my aunt Benicia's death I found in her little desk a bundle of
letters, which threw light upon the romance of her life, and on the
reason perhaps of her refusing many offers which were known to have
been made her by honoured Californians of the last generation. The
letters are curious and interesting to me, and were written to my uncle
by his chum, and enclosed many sketches.
The letters are in Spanish, but for your better understanding I have
translated them with all their strange expressions as best I can.
At first I thought that I would destroy them, but as most of my friends
who read them now, have long known my aunt Benicia, I feel sure that
they will be, even in these practical days, interested and touched by the
revelation they so suggest of a life-long love which filled the heart of
the good, little woman, who is at last at rest.
GRÜNEN MARKT.
WÜRZBURG, 20th October, 18--.
DEAR JOSÉ:
How dull life here is, I cannot bear to look forward to the time so far
ahead when I shall have done with the University, not that I shall be at
all unhappy to leave and return to my dear California, but the twelve or
sixteen months between now and then, make me shudder to think of.
My time is quite free now and I make many pleasure walks to Zell and
the Hochberg, while almost every day finds me at some time on the
Nicholaus Berg enjoying its ever lovely views of the green Maine
valley, which however is now taking on its first autumnal tints.
Today I come from the stone quarry, which lies on the road to the

Hochberg, where I have been chatting with the workmen and making a
few sketches to send home to Benicia; the day has been one of the
pleasantest I have known, just one of those mild autumn days we love
so much in Santa Clara when her hills are clothed in their warmest
colours and the big leaves are first falling from the fig trees. Ah, I did
wish to be back again to walk with you along the dry Francisquito and
gather the first golden poppies for Benicia's black hair. Yes, of course, I
should be contented with these world-known beauties which I have
about me, nevertheless, it is a pleasure to recall those happy days now
that I am here alone on the continent of Europe. The warmth of our
Californian sun must have entered our very hearts, for nowhere in all
the world but there are found no strangers.
The grapes are not all picked as yet, and the vineyards are lively indeed
with gaily dressed peasant girls, cutting and tying up the vines for the
winter. There is a great difference between Catholic and Lutheran
Germany in this one regard of dress; in all the Protestant districts the
prevailing colour is a dull blue, while in Catholic parts the dress seems
to have no end of colour and brilliant adornment; for an artist the latter
is more pleasing, but for such a thoughtful moralist as yourself, I know
the peasant girls in blue frocks would be preferable.
There are very few students in the city now and scarcely a traveller is to
be seen, except now and then a stray one may be noticed wandering
about the old cathedral or counting the restored statues on the river
bridge. I always feel a longing to speak to these late birds of passage
for they look so forlorn without their mates, that they make me think of
my own sad plight so far away from you all; when the lectures begin I
hope that I will be more satisfied than I am now.
Every day I go to Vespers at one of the churches, and I enjoy this bit of
the day more than you could believe. It is beautiful just at dusk to enter
the church in the Market Place, which is near my hotel, and there in the
gloom, lighted only by the tapers at the shrines and where some of the
worshipers are kneeling, each with a small wax light to illumine the
Prayer Books, to bow with them and receive the blessing from the
priest and to be touched by the Holy Water; then the Ave Maria, how I

love to hear it chanted with such heartfelt praise by the old and
trembling men and women, who throw their whole spirit into the
melody. The melody, I know, could