and climbing into the ’bus the horses start off on a brisk trot and we soon leave “Lucky Baldwin’s” ranch behind and enter “Sunny Slope” vineyard, owned by L. J. Rose. This immense vineyard contains 1500 acres and is traversed by beautiful avenues which divide this vast acreage of grapevines into great squares.
We are soon across this interesting tract and enter the grounds of the vintage plant of the San Gabriel Wine Company. We were very courteously treated and shown through the large establishment, the capacity of which is 1,500,000 gallons of wine per year. Upon leaving we pass through their vineyard, containing 1000 acres, which is near the vintage plant.
As we approach the old San Gabriel Mission and “Mac” reins up his steeds in front of the low, quaint building, I instinctively glance up at the ancient belfry and find that two of the niches or arches where bells once had swung are vacant. “Lucky Baldwin” has one of the bells; I wonder who has the other. At this moment another tally-ho drives up and stops, and we find it is a coaching party of our own people. We all alight and enter the historic and sacred edifice. Those who are of the faith render their acknowledgment with quiet, humble reverence; we who are not stand silently by in an attitude of mute veneration. San Gabriel stands fourth in the line of the twenty-one missions established in California from July 16th, 1769, to April 25th, 1820, the date of its establishment being September 8th, 1771.
The party we encountered consists of Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell, Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell, Mr. and Mrs. Reilly, Mr. and Mrs. Matthews, Mr. Reagan, Mr. McCarty, Mr. Waddington, Mr. Taylor, Mr. Williams, and Mr. Suter. They occupy one of Hoag’s White Livery tally-ho coaches, followed by Mr. and Mrs. Horner in a buggy. Our party consists of Mr. and Mrs. Wyman, Mr. and Mrs. Kilgore, Mr. and Mrs. Layfield, Mr. and Mrs. McKernan, Mr. and Miss Barrett, Mr. Crispen, Mrs. Shaw and myself.
As we bowl along the level drive toward the city, after leaving the old Mission, our conversation turns upon the pleasures of the day and of the interesting and beautiful things we have seen. We are all well pleased with our day’s outing, especially the Colonel, who is in a high good humor, for had he not obtained what no one else could get, a substantial memento of his visit to the famous Baldwin ranch? “I am going to have this shoe decorated with ribbon and hung up in my parlor,” asserts the Colonel, as he searches in the bottom of the coach for his prize. “I guess not,” exclaims Mrs. Shaw, as she gives him a dig in the ribs with her elbow, “that’s my shoe you’ve got hold of.” “But where’s my horse shoe? Has any one got it? Has any one seen my horse shoe?” excitedly inquires the Colonel, as he makes another dive into the bottom of the coach. “I think it flew away,” quietly remarks Mrs. Wyman, as she draws her feet up and out of the way. “Who ever saw a shoe fly,” snaps the Colonel, as he continues rummaging in the bottom of the vehicle. “I have,” answers Manager Wyman, removing his hat, exposing a pate as devoid of hair and as bald as a door knob, from which he brushes an imaginary fly. “I saw a horse fly, but didn’t notice if he had shoes on,” observes Mrs. McKernan, keeping her eye on the Colonel, who is growing desperate in his failure to find