"It is a disgrace to both the Catholic Church and the State of California that the grand old ruin, with its sacred sepulchres, should be left to crumble away. If nothing is done to protect and save it, one short hundred years more will see it a shapeless, wind-swept mound of sand. It is not in our power to confer honor or bring dishonor on the illustrious dead. We ourselves, alone, are dishonored when we fail in reverence to them. The grave of Junipero Serra may be buried centuries deep, and its very place forgotten; yet his name will not perish, nor his fame suffer. But for the men of the country whose civilization he founded and of the church whose faith he so glorified, to permit his burial-place to sink into oblivion is a shame indeed."
Such an appeal could hardly pass unheeded; the old church rose from its ruins and the grave of Serra was discovered near the altar. Above it on the wall is a marble tablet with a Latin inscription which may be translated as follows:
"Here lie the remains of the Administrator Rev. Father Junipero Serra Order of Saint Francis Founder of the California Missions And President Buried in peace. Died 28th day of August A. D. 1784 And his companions Rev. Fathers John Crespi Julian Lopez and Francis Lasuen May they rest in peace."
Surely it is a pleasant resting-place for the weary old priest and no doubt the spot above all others which he himself would have chosen. Could he look back on his field of work to-day perhaps his sorrow for the wreck and ruin of his cherished dream might be mitigated by the tributes of an alien people to his sincerity of purpose and beauty of character.
Beautiful as was the situation of nearly all the missions, we were inclined to give to Carmel preeminence in this regard. Around it glows the gold of the California poppy; a bright, peaceful river glides quietly past; rugged, pine-crested hills rise on either side and a short distance down the valley is the blue gleam of Carmel Bay, edged by a wide crescent of yellow sand. Beyond this is the rugged, cypress-crowned headland, Point Lobos—why called the Point of Wolves I do not know unless it be that the insatiable waves that gnaw ceaselessly at the granite rocks suggested to some poetic soul the idea of ravenous beasts.