The next day (November 26th), without having met any
hostile force, driving these horses before us, we encamped at Mr.
Murphy's rancho. Mr. Murphy is the father of a large and respectable
family, who emigrated to this country some three or four years since
from, the United States, being originally from Canada. His daughter,
Miss Helen, who did the honours of the rude cabin, in manners,
conversation, and personal charms, would grace any drawing-room. On the
28th, we proceeded down the Pueblo valley, passing Gilroy's rancho, and
reaching the mission of San Juan just before dark. The hills and
valleys are becoming verdant with fresh grass and wild oats, the latter
being, in places, two or three inches high. So tender is it, however,
that it affords but little nourishment to our horses.
The mission of San Juan Bautista has been one of the most extensive of
these establishments. The principal buildings are more durably
constructed than those of other missions I have visited, and they are
in better condition. Square bricks are used in paving the corridors and
the ground floors. During the twilight, I strayed accidentally through
a half-opened gate into a cemetery, inclosed by a high wall in the rear
of the church.
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