CHURCH OF SAN JOSE. 205 



are scattered round an open space, the plaza: 

 trees of greenest foliage, in double rows, shade 

 one from the burning sun, and everywhere spa- 

 cious orchards and flower-gardens testify to the 

 fertility of the soil. 



Having a note from a friend in San Francisco 



to the host of ' House. 1 more than ordinary 



civility was accorded me, and by some superhu- 

 man means a buggy would be ready in about two 

 hours to take me to the mines. Crossing the 

 Alameda, a grove of Avillows and oaks, planted 

 by the padres, leads to the old crumbling walls 

 of what was once a very spacious mission, now 

 rapidly falling to decay. The interior of the old 

 church is decorated with rude carvings, paint- 

 ings of the Crucifixion, and frescoed figures of 

 saints and martyrs, clad in garments of dazzling 

 colours. One old shaven priest, with a parti- 

 cularly dirty cassock, and a face so begrimed 

 with layers of filth as to be mosquito-proof, was 

 the only ecclesiastic visible. Thousands of cliff 

 swallows (Hirundo lunifrons] were busy build- 

 ing their bottle-shaped mud nests under the 

 dilapidated roof 



Discovered little worth looking at in the 

 town. Found the buggy waiting : my coachman, 

 a regular Yankee, puffing vigorously at an im- 



