used, they are so broken, and here are
more," he added, opening some drawers and displaying four or five
smaller figures in various stages of dilapidation. Thus, for some
time he continued to call my attention to different curious relics
with such interest and reverence that I was almost sorry when Father
Joaquin appeared. It was sad to see the altar of the church defaced
and cracked, and its statues, brought a hundred years ago from
Spain, scarcely less battered than those which the boy had shown me
in the sacristy. Yet it was plain that worshipers as well as vandals
had been here. The basins for holy water, cut in the solid wall, were
worn, like the steps of an ancient building, with countless fingers,
long since turned to dust. There, also, were two old confessionals,
one of which was so hopelessly infirm that it had been set aside at
last, to listen to no more whispered tales of sin and sorrow. The
doors of the church at first looked ancient, but wore a really modern
air, when compared with the original portals, which, no longer able
to stand upright, had been laid against the wall, to show to
tourists. Yet, eighty years ago, this church stood proudly at the
head of all the Missions, and reared its cross above the richest of
their valleys. According to Father Joaquin's estimate, the Fathers of
San Gabriel must have had twenty thousand acres under cultivation,
and, in 1820, this Mission alone possessed one hundred and sixty
thousand vines, two thousand three hundred trees, twenty-five
thousand head of cattle, and fifteen thousand sheep. "It was all
ours," he said, with a sweep of his hand, "we had reclaimed it from
the desert, and, by the treaty between the United States and Mexico,
we were allowed to retain all lands that we had cultivated. Yet of
those twenty thousand acres, one hundred and fifty are all that are
left us!"

The Padre accompanied me to the station. "How large is your parish,
Father?" I asked.

"It is thirteen miles long," was his reply, "and I have in it eight
hundred souls, but most of them live too far away to walk to church,
and are too poor to ride."

"And how many Indians have you?"

"Perhaps a hundred," he answered, "and even they are dying off."

"What of their character?" I asked.

"They have sadly fallen away," was the response. "True, they are
Christians as far as they are anything, but they are hopelessly
degraded, yet they respect the Church, and are obedient and
reverential whe