n vessel. It was pulled with two oars, and had a small mast
and sail.

Our fishing being successful, we were all in high glee, and we went on
shore to fry some of our victims for our afternoon's meal. During the
conversation, somebody spoke of some ancient ruins, fifteen miles north,
at the entrance of a small creek. The missionary was anxious to see
them, and we agreed that our companions should return to Monterey while
he and I would pass the night where we were, and proceed the next
morning on an exploring expedition to the ruins. We obtained from
another boat a large stone jug of water, two blankets, and a
double-barrelled gun. As soon as our companions quitted us, we pulled
the boat round to the northern point of the bay, and having selected
proper quarters for the night, we made a kind of shelter on the beach
with the oars, mast and sail, and lighted a fire to make ourselves more
comfortable. It was one of those beautiful mild evenings which can be
found only in the Bay of Monterey; the gentle and perfumed breeze softly
agitated the foliage around and above us, and as night came on, with its
myriads of stars and its silvery moon, the missionary having, for some
time, raised his eyes above in silent contemplation, reverted to scenes
of the past, and of other climes.

He spoke of Hurdwar, a far distant mission in the north of India, close
to the Himalayas. The Hindoos call It the "City of a Thousand Palaces;"
they say it was built by the genii on the very spot where Vishnu had
reposed himself for a few weeks, after one of his mystic transmutations,
in which he had conquered Siva, or Sahavedra, the spirit of evil. Though
not so well known, Hurdwar is a place still more sacred than Benares;
people assemble there once a year from all parts, and consecrate several
days to their ablutions in the purifying waters of the Ganges. In this
noble city is also held one of the greatest fairs of India, indeed of
all the world; and as its time is fixed upon the same month as that in
which the Hindoo devotees arrive at the city, numerous caravans from
Persia, Arabia, Cashmere, and Lahore, repair to the spot, and erect
their bazaars along the banks of the river, forming a street of many
miles. The concourse collected at these times has been ascertained to
number more than one million of souls.

There the Padre Marini had remained as a missionary for some years, all
alone. His flock of converts was but a small one; he had little to