El Camino Real 191 



From the hillside comes the note of the valley quail, 

 then the roar of its wings. The nest of the wood-rat 

 hangs on a limb ; the air is filled with insect life dancing 

 lightly in the sunbeams, all on this winter day. 



And so on we go, over the same road that Father 

 Junipero Serra and Governor Felipe de Neve with their 

 guard of sixty soldiers passed when marching to found 

 the Presidio of Santa Barbara one hundred and nine 

 years ago, and with a final burst of speed, ride bravely 

 into the old town of San Buenaventura, cross the shal- 

 low river that creeps lazily out from the grove of alders 

 and willows, round the big hill that divides the town, 

 and passing the shadows of the old Mission of San 

 Buenaventura seek the more material comforts of the 

 Inn of the Roses. 



In and about San Buenaventura there are rides of 

 no little interest. The Ojai Valley is but a few miles 

 away along a seductive trout stream that successfully 

 woos the coacher; but the old Mission is the pilce de 

 resistance, and one cannot contemplate these old piles, 

 almost the only historic ruins in America, without being 

 impressed with the energy, courage, and faith of Padre 

 Junipero Serra and his followers, who built this chain of 

 Missions up and down the coast for six hundred miles ; 

 a region infested with Indians, and at that time with 

 wild and dangerous animals. 



The San Buenaventura Mission, which was founded 

 in 1783, is small, but well preserved. It has a large 

 belfry or bell tower, a large enclosure, but lacks the 



