There are two attractions in the vicinity, without which I fear Monterey would have ultimately passed from the memory of man.  These are the mission at Carmelo, and the Druid grove at Cypress Point.  In the edge of the town there is a cross which marks the spot where Padre Junipero Serra sang his first Mass at Monterey.  It was a desolate picture when I last saw it.  It stood but a few yards from the sea, in a lonely hollow.  It was a favorite subject with the artists who found their way thither, and who were wont to paint it upon the sea-shells that lay almost within reach.  Now a marble statue of Junipero Serra, erected by Mrs. Leland Stanford, marks the spot.

Six miles away, beyond the hills, above the shallow river, in sight of the sparkling sea, is the ruin of Carmelo.  From the cross by the shore to the church beyond the hills, one reads the sacred history of the coast from alpha to omega.  This, the most famous, if not the most beautiful, of all the Franciscan missions, has suffered the common fate.  In my day the roof was wanting; the stone arches were crumbling one after another; the walls were tufted with sun-dried grass; everywhere the hand of Vandalism had scrawled his initials or his name.  The nave of the church was crowded with neglected graves.  Fifteen governors of the territory mingle their dust with that consecrated earth, but there was never so much as a pebble to mark the spot where they lie.  Even the saintly Padre Junipero, who founded the mission, and whose death was grimly heroic, lay until recent years in an unknown tomb.  Thanks to the pious efforts of the late Father Cassanova, the precious remains of Junipero Serra, together with those of three other friars of the mission, were discovered, identified, and honorably reentombed.

From 1770 to 1784 Padre Junipero Serra entered upon the parish record all baptisms, marriages, and deaths.  These ancient volumes are carefully preserved, and are substantially bound in leather; the writing is bold and legible, and each entry is signed “Fray Junipero Serra,” with an odd little flourish of the pen beneath.  The last entry is dated July 30, 1784; then Fray Francesco Palou, an old schoolmate of Junipero Serra, and a brother friar, records the death of his famous predecessor, and with it a brief recital of his life work, and the circumstances at the close of it.

Junipero Serra took the habit of the order of St. Francis at the age of seventeen; filled distinguished positions in Spain and Mexico before going to California; refused many tempting and flattering honors; was made president of the fifteen missions of Lower California—­long since abandoned; lived to see his last mission thrive mightily, and died at the age of seventy—­long before the fall of the crowning work of his life.