We soon entered through a narrow street the mission of San Jose, or St. Joseph.  Passing the squares of one-story adobe buildings once inhabited by thousands of busy Indians, but now deserted, roofless, and crumbling into ruins, we reached the plaza in front of the church, and the massive two-story edifices occupied by the padres during the flourishing epoch of the establishment.  These were in good repair; but the doors and windows, with the exception of one, were closed, and nothing of moving life was visible except a donkey or two, standing near a fountain which gushed its waters into a capacious stone trough.  Dismounting from our mules, we entered the open door, and here we found two Frenchmen dressed in sailor costume, with a quantity of coarse shirts, pantaloons, stockings, and other small articles, together with aguardiente, which they designed retailing to such of the natives in the vicinity as chose to become their customers.  They were itinerant merchants, or pedlars, and had opened their wares here for a day or two only, or so long as they could find purchasers.

Having determined to remain here the residue of the day and the night, we inquired of the Frenchmen if there was any family in the place that could furnish us with food.  They directed us to a house on the opposite side of the plaza, to which we immediately repaired.  The senora, a dark-skinned and rather shrivelled and filthy specimen of the fair sex, but with a black, sparkling, and intelligent eye, met us at the door of the miserable hovel, and invited us in.  In one corner of this wretched and foul abode was a pile of raw hides, and in another a heap of wheat.  The only furniture it contained were two small benches, or stools, one of which, being higher than the other, appeared to have been constructed for a table.  We informed the senora that we were travellers, and wished refreshment and lodgings for the night. “Esta bueno, senores, esta bueno,” was her reply; and she immediately left us, and, opening the door of the kitchen, commenced the preparation of our dinner.  The interior of the kitchen, of which I had a good view through the door, was more revolting in its filthiness than the room in which we were seated.  In a short time, so industrious was our hostess, our dinner, consisting of two plates of jerked beef, stewed, and seasoned with chile colorado, a plate of tortillas, and a bowl of coffee, was set out upon the most elevated stool.  There were no knives, forks, or spoons, on the table.  Our amiable landlady apologized for this deficiency of table-furniture, saying that she was “muy pobre” (very poor), and possessed none of these table implements.  “Fingers were made before forks,” and in our recent travels we had learned to use them as substitutes, so that we found no difficulty in conveying the meat from the plates to our mouths.