; neglect and malice have disfigured others; but a
society, composed alike of Catholics and Protestants, is now, in the
interest of the past, endeavoring to rescue them from utter ruin. It
is a worthy task. What subjects for a painter most of them present!
How picturesque are their old cloisters, looming up dark, grand, and
desolate against the sky! How worn and battered are they by the
storms of years! How tremblingly stands the Cross upon their ancient
towers, as if its sacred form had become feeble like the fraternity
that once flourished here! What witnesses they are of an irrevocable
past! Their crumbling walls, if they could speak, might grow
sublimely eloquent, and thrill us with inspiring tales of heroism,
patience, tact, and fortitude exhibited when these Missions bloomed
like flowery oases on the arid areas of the South and West, and
taught a faith of which their melancholy cloisters are the sad
memorials.

Ten miles from Los Angeles, the Southern Pacific railroad passes a
long edifice, the massive walls of which might lead us to suppose it
was a fortress, but for its cross and a few antiquated bells. It is
the church of the San Gabriel Mission. All other buildings of the
institution have disappeared; but this old edifice remains, and,
unless purposely destroyed by man, may stand here for five centuries
more, since its enormous walls are five feet thick, and the mortar
used in their construction has rendered them almost as solid as if
hewn from rock. As I descended, at the station a quarter of a mile
away, a little barefooted Mexican boy approached and shyly offered me
his hand. "Are you the Father," he asked?

"No," I said, "I am not the Father, but I have come to see the
church; can you show it to me?"

"But Padre Joaquin said I was to meet a Father."

"Well," I answered, "I am the only passenger who has come by this
train, so you had better walk back with me."

[Illustration: SAN GABRIEL MISSION CHURCH.]

The Mexican boys seem to be the best part of what Mexico has left in
California. This lad, for example, was attending an American school,
and appeared bright and ambitious, though so extremely courteous and
respectful that he seemed almost timid. The little hut in which he
lived was opposite the church, and he seemed perfectly familiar with
the sacred structure. "See," he said, pointing to some mutilated
wooden statues in the poor, scantily furnished sacristy, "here are
some images which cannot be