We were shown the little museum with some splendid old service books, those huge folios which, before the present cheap reproduction of modern small volumes, stood in grand state in the centre of the choir, and all placed themselves around and sang from the noble and precious pages. There were relics, too, of the times when the Indians were in their primitive condition, the child-like pupils of the patient Franciscans. It was not much of a display, but its very meagreness made it pathetic. Our lay brother took us into the second enclosure; that is, within the convent proper, where no women are admitted, except in most special cases, and as a mark of honor to noble ladies. Some of us felt quite elated at the distinction thus given to us as men, but the ladies pooh-poohed at our airs, for from the neighboring tower they could look down and see into the whole place, and declared there was nothing specially in it. Well, there was not, but there would be if they were there. We went also into the well-kept cemetery, where a great crucifix kept solemn watch over the sleeping dust of the departed. It was all beautiful with flowers, a lovely place of peace and rest. One cannot help respecting those missions which are so frequently met in California. They represent an immense amount of patient, humble, and persistent labor. We all took a great, four-horse vehicle in the afternoon for an excursion to Sycamore Canon, to which spot, however, we never got, and did not regret it a particle. We stopped at an orange ranch half-way, and there we stayed. We wanted to have an "orange wallow," as I called it, and that we got under the trees of a superb orange orchard, where the ground was lush with grass and a general air of luxurious opulence was on every hand. This verdure results, I understand, from the higher elevation of the place, which catches the "high fog" from the Pacific. The moisture of this vapor condenses on the trees and plants, taking the place of rain, and, to a great extent, of irrigation. As we were winding our way up the steep ascent, with its ever-increasing view down the valley and over the Pacific, we could not but be elated and inspirited with our surroundings. We were, it may be said, a rather noisy crowd. In this happy state on we went. As we journeyed, we noticed a woman dressed in blue jeans busy at work in her garden. She seemed too busy to notice us. The ordinary rustic curiosity to see the noisy newcomers was entirely absent. She never once looked our way.