n under its influence."

[Illustration: DISCARDED SAINTS, SAN GABRIEL.]

[Illustration: MUTILATED STATUES.]

[Illustration: THE BAPTISMAL FONT.]

[Illustration: SAN GABRIEL, FROM THE SOUTHEAST.]

Most of the Californian Missions are really dead, and near that of La
Purissima may still be seen the rent in the ground made by the
earthquake which destroyed it. Others, like San Gabriel and San Juan
Capistrano, are dragging out a moribund existence, under the care of
only one or two priests, who move like melancholy phantoms through
the lonely cloisters, and pray among the ruins of a noble past. The
Mission of Santa Barbara, however, is in fairly good repair, and a
few Franciscan Fathers still reside there and carry on a feeble
imitation of their former life.

[Illustration: A DEGENERATE.]

It is on his way to this Mission that the traveler passes the reputed
residence of Ramona. There is, it is true, another structure near San
Diego which, also, claims this distinction; but the ranch on the
route from Los Angeles to Santa Barbara perfectly corresponds to
"H.H.'s" descriptions of her heroine's home, with its adjoining brook
and willows, and hills surmounted by the cross. The house is almost
hidden by the trees with which a Mexican ordinarily surrounds his
dwelling, and is, as usual, only one story high, with a projecting
roof, forming a porch along the entire front. As we learn in
"Ramona," much of the family life in those old days--sewing,
visiting, and siesta-taking--went on in the open air, under the shade
of the porticos which were wide and low. Here it was that Alessandro
brought Felipe back to health, watching and nursing him as he slept
outdoors on his rawhide bed; and we may see the arbor where the
lovers met, the willows where they were surprised by Senora Moreno,
and the hills on which the pious lady caused wooden crosses to be
reared, that passers-by might know that some good Catholics were
still left in California.

[Illustration: THE CROSS ON THE HILL.]

[Illustration: SANTA BARBARA MISSION.]

The Mission of Santa Barbara is of solid brick and stone, with walls
six feet in thickness. Its cloisters look sufficiently massive to
defy an earthquake, and are paved with enormous bricks each twelve
inches square. The huge red tiles of the roof, also, tell of a
workmanship which, although rude, was honest and enduring. The
interior, however, is of little interest, for the poor relics which
the Fathers keep