In 1846 prices were ruinously high, as the alcalde was free to confess—­he being a citizen of the United States and a clergyman into the bargain.  Unbleached cottons, worth 6 cents per yard in New York, brought 50 cents, 60 cents, 75 cents in old Monterey.  Cowhide shoes were $10 per pair; the most ordinary knives and forks, $10 per dozen; poor tea, $3 per pound; truck-wheels, $75 per pair.  The revenue of these enormous imposts passed into the hands of private individuals, who had placed themselves by violence or fraud at the head of the Government.

In those days a “blooded” horse and a pack of cards were thought to be among the necessaries of life.  One of the luxuries was a rancho sixty miles in length, owned by Captain Sutter in the valley of the Sacramento.  Native prisoners, arrested for robbery and confined in the adobe jail at Monterey, clamored for their guitars, and the nights were filled with music until the rascals swung at half-mast.

In August, 1846, The Californian, the first newspaper established on the coast, was issued by Colton & Semple.  The type and press were once the property of the Franciscan friars, and used by them; and in the absence of the English w, the compositors on The Californian doubled the Spanish v.  The journal was printed half in English and half in Spanish, on cigarette paper about the size of a sheet of fools-cap.  Terms, $3 per year in advance; single copies, 12-1/2 cents each.  Semple was a man just suited to the newspaper office he occupied; he stood six feet eight inches in moccasins, was dressed in buckskin, and wore a foxskin cap.

The first jury of the alcaldean court was empanelled in September, 1846.  Justice flourished for about three years.  In 1849 Bayard Taylor wrote:  “Monterey has the appearance of a deserted town:  few people in the streets, business suspended,” etc.  Rumors of gold had excited the cupidity of the inhabitants, and the capital was deserted; elsewhere was metal more attractive.  The town never recovered from that shock.  It gradually declined until few, save Bohemian artists and Italian and Chinese fishermen, took note of it.  The settlement was obsolete in my day; the survivors seemed to have lost their memories and their interest in everything.  Thrice in my early pilgrimages I asked where the Presidio had stood; on these occasions did the oldest inhabitant and his immediate juniors vaguely point me to three several quarters of the town.  I believe in my heart that the pasture in front of the old church—­then sacred to three cows and a calf—­was the cradle of civilization in the far West.

[Illustration:  San Carlos de Carmelo]