The Beautiful Eyes of Ysidria | Page 2

was, and is a beautiful one, low and long, with all the rooms
opening on the broad veranda; it is part of adobe and part of wood, the
sides being covered with a network of fuchsia, heliotrope and jasmine
reaching to the eaves of the brown tile roof; a broad, branching fig tree
is in the little court before it, and a clump of yuccas and fan palms to
the right, while down to the road and along the front stretches a broken
hedge of Castilian roses, which we Californians love as the gift of old
Spain, our first good nurse, we must always have a nurse it seems,
England, Spain, Mexico and our present, very dry one--but let us be
content, our majority will come. There is a pretty stream from the
mountains, brought through hollow logs, and two good wells to water
the place, which is green in the hottest summer when all the hills and
meadows are yellow and brown from drought; before it rise slopes of
manzanita, and higher hills covered with redwoods, and then the
sharply cut peak of Tamalpais, from which on clear days we not only
may see the good St. Helena, but alas, as in all the world, Diablo,
himself, is in view, black and barren, though we do sometimes call him
San Diablo, as the old Greeks did the Eumenides, in propitiatory
compliment.
Madre Moreno was indeed a strange woman, and feared by the country
people, before whom she lost no opportunity of playing her role of
witch, and she was known by all for her remarkable skill in extracting
the virtues of herbs, and brewing such efficacious drinks that even
Pedirpozzo, the famous physician of the Alameda side, had been

willing to consult with her.
I was about twenty years old at this time and had but recently returned
from the City of Mexico, where I had been graduated in the law, having
also made a thorough study of botany, and was happily and lucratively
employed in collecting specimens of the Californian flora for the old
college, as well as for one in the States, and two in Europe. This
pleasurable employment gave me an income, more than supplying the
few wants of the primitive life at the little rancho, the herds of which
were alone a good source of revenue.
Just beyond my home, to the west, over the first hill, was a ruined
adobe, surrounded by a great number of fig and olive trees; there had
never been any windows in the house, but the arches for the doors were
still standing, where ivy, poison oak and wild honey-suckle hung in
profusion; the cellar, which was quite filled with stones, was
overgrown with Solomon's seal, eschscholtzia and yerba santa, while a
white rose and a shapeless clump of half wild artichokes grew where
the garden had once been, also many flowers, hardly distinguishable
from the weeds, having lost all they had ever gained by cultivation; a
winding bed of ranunculus, or little frog, as Linnaeus wittily calls these
water lovers, marked the course of a narrow stream which had long ago
broken away from its former wooden trough. Among the stones and
decaying beams were enormous bushes of nightshade, which seemed to
poison the plants about them, all of which had a sickly green wherever
they grew under its shadow.
This place, with its surrounding acres, was my property, and had been
before the fire which had destroyed the adobe house, one of the
prettiest spots in the country.
There had long been a spirited contest between my grandfather and the
father of Madre Moreno over this bit of property, a strife which had
caused much bad feeling in both families, and when it was at last
settled in favour of our side, old Juan Moreno lost all control of his
feelings, and in a fit of anger dropped dead at the very door of the court.
Though the anger and chagrin at the loss of his case hastened his death,
he had always been subject to a trouble of the heart which was liable to

prove fatal at any moment under undue excitement. Ambrosia Moreno,
who was called Madre, when she grew older, held our family to blame
for this affliction, and made a vow that every generation of the Sotos
should suffer through this plot of ground as long as she lived.
This curse was first felt in the time of Ignacio de Soto, my grandfather,
when the fig trees failed to put forth fruit and the olives were all
blighted. By this, Ambrosia Moreno established her reputation in the
country as a witch, and was never omitted from a christening or
wedding or from any auspicious event where her ill will might, in any
possible way, cause