Knightly blood, customs, and manners linger yet in the "dolce far niente" of this unwaked paradise of the Occident. Sweetly sound the notes of the famous sacred mission bell. It was cast and blessed at far Mendoza in Spain, in 1192. Generations and tens of generations have faded into shadowy myths of the past since it waked first the Spanish echoes. Kings and crowns, even countries, have passed into history's shadowy night since it first rang out. The cunning artificer, D. Monterei, piously inscribed it with the name of "San Franisco." Mingled gold and silver alone were melted for its making. Its sacred use saved the precious treasure many times from robbers. Six hundred and fifty years that mellow voice has warned the faithful to prayer. Pride and treasure of the Franciscans, it followed the "conquistadores" to Mexico. It rang its peal solemnly at San Diego, when, on July 1, 1769, the cross of the blessed Redeemer was raised. The shores of California were claimed for God by the apostolic representative, sainted Friar Junipero Serra. In that year two babes were born far over the wild Atlantic, one destined to wrap the world in flame, and the other to break down the mightiest modern empire of the sword. It was the natal year of Napoleon Bonaparte, the child imperially crowned by nature, and that iron chief, Arthur Wellesley, the Duke of Wellington. The old bell sounded its first call to the faithful on San Francisco Bay, in 1776. It was but a few months after the American colonists gave to wondering humanity their impassioned plea for a world's liberty--the immortal Declaration of the Fourth of July. No merrier peal ever sounded from its vibrant throat than the rich notes following Miguel Peralta and his lovely Rose of Alameda. Revelry reigns at the Presidio; Commandante Peralta's quarters are open. Music and brightest eyes mark the closing of this day. In late watches the sentinels remember the feast as they pace their rounds, for none are forgotten in largesse. Fair Juanita learns to love the dainty title of Senora. Light is her heart as she leaves for the Hills. Don Miguel's barges already are on the San Joaquin. The cattle have reached their potreros on the Mariposa. Artificer and "peon" are preparing a shelter for the lord of the grant. Donna Juanita waves her hand in fond adieu as the schooner glides across to Alameda. Here Commandante Miguel has a report of the arrival of his trains. From the Castros' home, Juanita rides out toward the San Joaquin. Great commotion enlivens the hacienda. Pack-trains are laden with every requisite--tents, hammocks, attendants, waiting-women and retainers are provided. Winding out of the meadows of the Alameda, eastwardly over the Coast Range defiles, the train advances. Even here "los ladrones" (thieves of animals) are the forerunners of foreign robbers. Guards watch the bride's slumbers.