We parted soon after we arrived at Monterey, and I have never seen or heard of him since.

I shall, however, have to speak of him again during our journey and sojourn at that town.
The other, Padre Antonio, died at the settlement previous to my journey to Monterey, and the Indians still preserve his robes, missal, and crucifix, as the relics of a good man.

Poor Padre Antonio! I would have wished to have known the history of his former life.

A deep melancholy was stamped upon his features, from some cause of heart-breaking grief, which even religion could but occasionally assuage, but not remove.
After his death, I looked at his missal.

The blank pages at the beginning and the end were filled up with pious reflections, besides some few words, which spoke volumes as to one period of his existence.
The first words inscribed were; "Julia, obiit A.D.1799.