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CHAPTER XXI.
FIFTY YEARS AGO
It is said, and I think truthfully, that youthful impressions are more lasting than any others. This is my own experience, for my mind is stored with early reminiscences. It is verified by no less a person than my dear old friend, Bishop Cridge, who told me quite recently that he well remembered an incident that occurred to him when he was between three and four years old – that of a regiment of soldiers passing through his native village, and of his following them quite a distance from his home, and of the distress of his family on discovering his absence. In a long life of ninety-one years this is, I think, remarkable. Well, this is not the subject of my present writing. It is to give my impressions of this fair city fifty years ago, as I remember it as a child.
To-day fifty years ago I landed with my parents and brothers on the Hudson’s Bay Company’s wharf, having arrived from San Francisco on the steamer Northerner, which docked at Esquimalt, as all large ocean steamers then did. We came from Esquimalt on a small steamer, the Emma, or Emily Harris. The latter steamer was built, I think, by Thomas Harris, and named after his daughter, Mrs. William Wilson, whom I am pleased to know is still a resident with her family. The scene will ever be impressed on my mind as I saw my future home on that 12th day of February, 1859. Outside Johnson Street on the north, Blanchard Street on the east, and the north end of James Bay bridge on the south, everything else was country – oak and pine trees, with paths only, otherwise trails made by Indians and cattle. Within this wood under the oaks were wildflowers of all kinds in profusion. Through these woods and by these paths I went day by day to the old Colonial School on the site of the present Central. With the exception of private schools kept by the late Edward Mallandaine, and another kept by the late John Jessop, our school supplied the wants of the time. It was built of squared logs, whitewashed, and was the residence of the master as well. It was situated in the middle of a large tract of land which is to-day used for school purposes. The school was built in the middle of a grove of oaks, and there could not have been a more beautiful spot. Under these oaks we boys and girls (alas, how few are left), sat at noon and ate our lunch, or rested after a game of ball, or "hunt the hounds." Those were happy days in their rustic simplicity, and so will those say who remain to-day, fifty years later. There are several living here in the still fair city of Victoria, but how many have gone to that bourne whence no traveller yet returned?
We made what would now be considered a pretty long trip from San Francisco, eleven days. Just think of it, long enough to have gone to Europe. We passed on and out of the east gate on to Fort Street. How strange it all looked to me after the large city of San Francisco. As I have before stated, nearly the whole block from the Brown Jug corner to Broad Street was an orchard. I "borrowed" apples from this orchard later on, and good they tasted, and like stolen sweets were sweetest. Fort Street from Government up was a quagmire of mud, this street not having been paved, as it was later, with boulders from the beach and with a top layer of gravel or pebbles, also from the beach. The sidewalk on the Five Sisters’ side of the street was made of slabs, round side up, and was very slippery in wet weather. This I have from my brother. I can remember the other side of the street was made of two boards laid lengthwise.
Douglas Street had many tents on it, as well as did Johnson. Where the Five Sisters’ block stands was a log house, set back from the street. This was the company’s bakery, where I used to go for bread at 25¢. a loaf (about four pounds). There was not a brick building on the west side of Government Street save the residence of Thomas Harris on the corner of Bastion. His daughter, Mrs. Wilson, with a large family, is with us to-day. This building was afterward converted into the Bank of British Columbia.
The only brick building on the east side was the Victoria Hotel, now the Windsor, the first brick building in Victoria, constructed by George Richardson, still a resident. Where the B. C. Market is now was a neat cottage built of squared logs whitewashed, with green door and window casings. It was the residence of Dr. Johnson of the company’s service. The corner now occupied by the Bank of Commerce and the C. P. R. offices was vacant lots, and there were many other vacant lots on that side of Government Street, both north and south. There was a lake on View Street above Quadra, with good duck shooting in winter. Fort Street from the corner of Douglas Street east was blank, with the exception of a lot of Hudson’s Bay Company’s barns, set back in the block. This was, I believe, the site of a farm before 1858, for there were so many evidences of it when I played in these barns as a child, often helping, as I thought, to unload hay for the cattle which were kept here in the winter.
A deep ravine ran east and west between Johnson and Pandora Streets into Victoria harbor. This ravine was bridged at Store, Government and Douglas Streets, behind Porter’s building. There were only two wharves in the harbor south of the bridge to the Indian reserve. Over this bridge all traffic passed to Esquimalt and surrounding country until Point Ellice bridge was built.
The Songhees reserve was covered with Indian lodges, and the Indians were numbered by hundreds. At times of feasts, when they had a potlatch, or at the making of a "medicine-man," the reserve was a lively place and the noise deafening with their yells, both day and night. It was unsafe to go there at night when these celebrations were held. Many outrages were committed on passers-by by Indians when in a state of drunkenness.
Over James Bay to what is now the outer dock, was a forest of pines and oak trees, with very few residences. With all this rustic simplicity we lived and enjoyed the passing hour. We have many things now we did not dream of then; not knowing of them we did not miss them, and were just as happy without them. I might conclude thus with:
"Victoria, the sweetest village of the west,
Scene of my youth, I love thee best."
CHAPTER XXII.
FORTY YEARS AGO
April, 1908.
Sir, – I am always interested in "Forty Years Ago." It brings back to me food for thought, especially of late, when so many old-timers have passed away. Before commenting on the Colonist’s "Forty Years Ago" in Saturday’s issue, I would remark that I expected mention to have been made in the article on the late R. S. Byrn, that he was a newspaper man for some years. I remember Mr. Byrn as bookkeeper for the Standard, under Amor De Cosmos, forty-two years ago, seeing him every day, as the Standard office was next door to my father’s store on Government Street, opposite Trounce Avenue. The Standard, like the Colonist, was started by Amor De Cosmos. The first item of interest on Saturday is the sailing of the steamer Enterprise for New Westminster (she made only two trips a week); among her passengers were Chief Justice Needham, Rev. E. White (the pioneer minister of the Wesleyan Church in Victoria), and R. Holloway. The latter is connected with the government Gazette to-day.
The next item announces the first cricket match of the season at Beacon Hill. The Victoria eleven are Charles Clark, a clever amateur actor who helped to make a success of the various entertainments our club gave for charity in these days; E. Dewdney, afterwards Governor; – . Walker, a prominent barrister of those days; Joseph Wilson, of the firm of W. & J. Wilson; Josiah Barnett, cashier of the McDonald Bank; C. Guerra, a remittance man; C. Green, of Janion, Green & Rhodes; Thomas Tye, of Mathews, Richard & Tye; John Howard, of Esquimalt; Gold Commissioner Ball, and last though not least, Judge Drake. A cricket match in those days was always able to draw a crowd, being the ball game of the day. In this match the name does not appear of a Mr. Richardson, who was a professional player and at least an extra fine player, who came here about that time with a visiting team. He is still in Victoria, as I saw him quite lately.
Among the passengers by the steamer California for San Francisco, I note Rev. Dr. Evans, of the Methodist Church, and family; C. C. Pendergast, in charge of Wells Fargo’s bank and express, an important institution then; J. H. Turner, (Hon.) William Lawson, of the Bank of British North America, and brother of James H. Lawson; R. P. Rithet & Co., Mr. and Mrs. Pidwell, whose daughter Mr. Higgins married; John Glassey, an uncle of Mr. T. P. McConnell; J. S. Drummond, father of Mrs. Magill; Richard Broderick, the coal dealer, and wife, and Mrs. Zelner, whose husband kept a drug store where the B. C. Market now is. It will be noted that a number of people assembled on the wharf to see their friends off. I might say that this was the usual thing in those days. Even some business places would be closed while the proprietor went to the wharf to say good-bye to a relative or friend.
An Incident of the Mystic Spring.
Sir, – In Thursday’s paper in the "Forty Years Ago" column I note the account given of the suicide of a young girl at Cadboro Bay. An interesting account is given in the "Mystic Spring" by my friend, Mr. Higgins. Poor girl! It was another case of unrequited affection. I knew Miss Booth well, being of my own age. We had met on many occasions at picnics and dances and at other festivities. On the memorable afternoon cited I saw her walking on the Cadboro Bay Road from town just ahead of me, and I hurried and caught up and accosted her, asking where she was off to. She was then more than three miles from home, which was on the Esquimalt Road. She replied in the most cheerful manner, with a smile: "Oh, I’m going for a walk to Cadboro Bay." I remarked on the long distance she was from home, to which she replied, and passed on. Little did I think then that she was on her way to her death, and in so cool and collected a manner. My memory has been freshened lately by my brother, as to the circumstances attending the sad affair. Miss Booth was one of three sisters who lived with their father and mother, as before stated, on Esquimalt Road. She had become acquainted with a young gentleman who afterward became an M.P. at Ottawa, and this acquaintance ripened into something stronger, so much so that she fell in love with him, and showed it so pointedly that he, as well as others, could not well help noticing it. He did not reciprocate her affection, and I believe told her so, and like an honest man avoided her. This in time was too much for her and she took the fatal course which ended in her drowning herself near the "Mystic Spring."
Being the last to see her in life, and knowing her so well, I tendered my evidence at the coroner’s inquest. I might say that the family shortly afterwards moved to Ladner’s Landing, and the two sisters married there, and part of the family still reside in that vicinity. This ends another little episode of forty years ago. This is for those who may remember the sad occurrence and the interest taken in the poor girl’s sad fate at the time.
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE LATE GOVERNOR JOHNSON
To the Editor, – As I sit writing, my eyes rest on the picture of the subject of these few remarks. This picture was sent to me with an autograph letter by Governor John Johnson, of Minnesota, four years ago, under these circumstances. In a magazine I was reading, as I lay in bed with typhoid fever, I came across an article written by a life-long friend of this good and great man. Of his early boyhood to the time when he was elected Governor of Minnesota, what an example he was to the youth of that day as well as this. The short sketch ran thus: John Johnson was the eldest, I think, of four children. His father was a blacksmith and a good mechanic. Both father and mother were Swedes. Although a good mechanic, he developed into a lazy, bad man, who neglected his wife and children, and eventually landed in the poorhouse. Being left to themselves, the mother took in washing, and after school, John, the eldest, took home the clothes and took out parcels for a tradesman. John was thus able to help to keep the family. He was ambitious, wanted to learn, attended night school for that purpose, engaged with a chemist, gave it up, went into a lawyer’s office, then into politics, and after filling several important positions got elected Governor of his native state. What I admired in John Johnson was his devotion to his mother, brother and sisters; also his self-denial. What would you think of an alpaca coat to resist the rigors of a Minnesota winter? Well, John, by working at night in various ways saved up enough to buy an overcoat, he having none, and having to be out late at night delivering the clothes his mother had washed during the day. Through unforeseen demands on his mother’s earnings the poor boy was forced to give up the overcoat and hand over the hard-earned money for something he thought was wanted more, and went through the winter with nothing warmer than an alpaca jacket. I cannot but believe that these hardships laid the foundation for a delicate constitution, and every time I looked at his picture hanging in my dining-room I thought, "How delicate he looks; will he live to be an old man?" I was so taken with the story of his early life, his trials bravely endured, and his final triumph, that I wrote to him and congratulated him on his election. This election was a great victory for him, as his opponents used the fact against him that his father had been an inmate of the poorhouse and had died there a pauper, to defeat him. These disgraceful tactics were repudiated by many of his opponents, who showed they did so by voting against their own candidate and for John Johnson. This gain of votes from his opponents elected him by a good majority. Well, I told him in my letter that I was a British subject living in Victoria, Canada, and as such I congratulated him on his victory, that I was glad his old mother was alive to see his triumph, and that she should be proud, and no doubt was proud, of such a son.
In due course he replied, and also sent me his photo, which, as I said before, I had framed and hung up in my dining-room as an object-lesson for all of how a good and noble son made a good and noble man. There is room for many more such in this world.
To show the respect and love of the people for this good and great man, I have added the account of his burial. The late Governor Johnson paid a visit to Victoria about a year before his death, and I am sorry I was not aware of the fact until it was too late, as I should have esteemed it an honor to have shaken hands with him:
"St. Paul, Minn., Sept. 23. – While the body of Governor John A. Johnson, of Minnesota, was being lowered into its grave this afternoon all industrial activity in the state was stopped for five minutes as a tribute to the memory of the dead Governor.
"The body, which had been lying in state in the rotunda of the capitol since yesterday, where it was guarded by officers and privates of the state militia, was taken to the railroad station at 9.15 this morning, escorted by ten companies of militia, preceded by a band of one hundred pieces.
"At the station the body was placed aboard a special train which left for St. Peter, Minn., where interment took place this afternoon at three o’clock. The funeral services were held in the St. Peter Presbyterian Church, where Johnson sang in the choir when a boy. While the services were in progress at St. Peter’s, memorial services were held in all the churches in Minneapolis and St. Paul. The public schools are closed to-day, and the whole state is in mourning."
CHAPTER XXIV.
A TRIP TO A CORAL ISLAND
The Ladrone Islands, which from time immemorial have belonged to Spain, now, as is well known, belong to the United States. There is a cable station on the chief island, Guam. The Ladrone Islands lie off the coast of the Philippines, and are about three thousand miles from the Hawaiian Islands in a west-southwest direction. The Island of Guam has about five thousand inhabitants, mostly Philipinos, natives, Chinese and Europeans. Guam, with its sandy beach, its cocoanut trees and coral strand, puts one much in mind of the coral islands of story books, where an open boat with boys of various ages have landed from some wrecked vessel, and lived on fish, berries and cocoanuts, not forgetting wild pigs and goats. Altogether it is typical of what all boys read and would like to read again.
The coins used in trade are all Spanish, mostly of copper, but silver is also used. The natives make mats, just such as our natives used to make years ago in British Columbia, so finely woven as to hold water. Water is carried in the Ladrone Islands in bamboos, the divisions being cut out, and the whole bamboo filled with water and carried on the shoulder. The usual vehicle is a two-wheeled cart, drawn by a bull with long horns, the reins being fastened to the horns; certain pulls on each horn turn him to left or right. They trot along like ponies. The ruins exist of a Spanish church at Agana, over a hundred years old, the bells belonging to it being hung in a low tower near by.
Since the American occupation the natives have taken to baseball as a recreation.
It is an interesting sight to see the native women wash clothes. They stand in a stream up to their waists, and after soaping the clothes, they pound them with a stone, or else take one end of the garment in both hands and dash the other end up against a rock or board. The natives have adopted a great many of the old Spanish customs among themselves, including cock-fighting, which sport is carried on every Sunday and holiday. Every man has his trained fighting-cock, and they take great interest in the sport, staking large sums on their birds. They lash sharp, razor-like knives on the birds’ spurs, and the fight seldom lasts more than a few minutes, and generally ends in one of them being ripped up.
The native huts have always the roof and sometimes the walls covered with palm leaves, which are impervious to rain, and will last about five years, when they have to be renewed. The floor is generally covered with rough boards, far enough off the ground to make a chicken-house underneath, or else room to tie up a bull or cariboo, or to put the bull-cart under.
One of the chief exports of the island is copra, which is the meat of the cocoanut, picked and dried at a certain stage of its growth. In front of nearly every native hut can be seen copra drying on mats, and it is always taken in at night away from the dew. It is used to make shredded cocoanut, cocoanut oil, soap and other things, and the natives get about two and a half cents a pound for it.
CHAPTER XXV.
A VICTORIAN’S VISIT TO SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA
We left Victoria March 2nd via Seattle for San Francisco and Los Angeles by the good steamer Governor. We arrived at San Francisco Sunday, March 6th, after a rather rough trip, on which I did not miss a meal. After breakfast Mrs. F. and I, with three fellow-passengers, went to Sutro Heights and then to Golden Gate Park. The seals were still sleeping on the rocks or bobbing about in the water as of old. Sutro’s gardens were a disappointment, as they seemed to have been allowed to go to decay. Of all the beautiful statuary representing the gods and goddesses of ancient Greece and Rome, all were in a state of dilapidation – arms, legs and heads broken off and covered with moss and dirt. Many of the glass houses in the gardens were in a like state. We did not stay long there, but took cars for Golden Gate Park, which is kept up by the Government and everything is kept in a perfect state of repair. Beautiful avenues of tropical trees, flowers in profusion, statues of public men of the past, and then the museum. This had the most attractions for me, as there were many interesting things to inspect, of which more anon. On the down trip we took on board at San Francisco a party of seven gentlemen who were going to Los Angeles for a holiday, consisting of a judge, a lawyer, a doctor, a manager of an electric light company, two merchants, and last but not least, a blacksmith, all members of a singing society. These gentlemen gave us several most enjoyable little concerts. We arrived at Redondo on March 8th and took cars for Los Angeles soon after arrival, and were in Los Angeles about two o’clock. I must confess I was not impressed with San Francisco, for while there were some very handsome, ornate and very high buildings, especially in the burned area and on Market Street, there were alongside the new buildings the cellars of former fine buildings filled with debris of the buildings destroyed by quake or fire, also whole blocks boarded up and covered with advertisements, behind which were piles of broken masonry and twisted steel. I went along Montgomery to Kearney Street, up Clay to Powell and found very little change from what I left in 1859. The Plaza did not seem the least altered.
In 1855 my brother one day remarked that the street above Powell had had no name long enough, and, as we lived in it, he took the liberty of naming it. There was a box with "Taylor’s" soap or candles printed on the cover lying on the ground, and taking a saw he cut the Taylor in two, nailing "Tay" up on the corner house. Strange to say, it is "Tay" Street to-day, after fifty-five years, but instead of being on the house it is painted on a lamp-post. Clay Street had the honor of having the first cable street cars, but I did not see any on my late visit.
It seemed to me as if it would be a long time ere San Francisco would be like it was before the earthquake. A party of us went out to Golden Gate Park, but days might have been profitably spent in the gardens and museum, and on account of lack of time we could only partly inspect the many interesting things to be seen at the latter place, so I reserved a further inspection till my return home, which account will be given later on.
If I was disappointed with San Francisco I was more than pleased with Los Angeles, for several reasons – the most important being that it is the starting-point for so many trips into the most beautiful places, of which a deal might be said, more than I have time to say just now. Los Angeles is said to contain 320,000, and likely it does, for the traffic is more congested in the principal streets than in San Francisco. I was told it would be so hot in Los Angeles that I took a light suit and straw hat to wear there, but I found it just such weather as we get in June, and I did not change my winter clothes or wear the straw hat at all, and when going out after dinner I wore my overcoat, being warned that I ran the risk of taking cold if I did not. The theatres of Los Angeles are many and good. The restaurants and cafeterias are both good and reasonable in price. It took us some time to get used to the cafeterias’ way of doing business. Imagine a line fifty feet long – men, women and children – waiting their turn to get their knife and fork, dessert and teaspoons, napkin and tray; then just such food and drinks as you may fancy, from bread 1c., to meats, 10c. to 25c. When your tray is loaded, you pass on to the woman who checks up what you have and gives you the price on a celluloid check, which, on going out, you hand to the cashier and pay. It is said that you can get used to anything in time, and we soon got used to this and found it popular with all, for these cafeterias are always full, the food being excellent.
We patronized a vegetarian cafe often, where every thing was made from vegetables, no tea or coffee allowed, these drinks being considered unwholesome.
The abomination of Los Angeles is its automobiles and motor cycles, which I blessed many times a day. They say there are hundreds – I should say thousands – of them and they are always in evidence, day and night, and what with the number of cars, it was impossible to cross the streets at times, and it was surprising the narrow escapes I had. My attention was drawn to the height of the sidewalks, they often being twelve and fifteen inches above the road. It was soon explained, for a few days later, on going to the theatre, it rained, and three hours later, going home, the streets were running rivers of water, and we had to walk up and down to find a narrow place to get over to the sidewalk. The streets having high crowns, the water, of course, runs to the gutters, and often boards have to be laid from the sidewalk across the gutters to get over these torrents. The next morning, the rain storm being over, the streets were clear of water. It is the custom here to wash the streets down at night, so that they are always clean. They are made of asphalt, and in Pasadena of a composition of asphalt and fine stone or gravel, and are also treated with crude oil. As part of our time was spent in Pasadena, I have something to say of that most beautiful of all southern cities. It is about a half hour’s run from Los Angeles, and you pass scores of pretty bungalows on the way, as well as stretches of country covered with very low green hills with cattle feeding. Pasadena is termed the "home of millionaires." Well, if handsome houses, grounds, trees and flowers make a millionaire’s home, it is rightly named. Fine roads run in every direction past these lovely plains, and you are overpowered at times with the smell of orange blossoms as you pass through miles of orange orchards or groves.
Among the beautiful homes is that of Judge Spinks, surrounded by beautiful trees of all kinds, as well as an orange garden, where after a long auto ride we received the hospitality of Mrs. Spinks and Mrs. and Miss Clapham, and carried off a supply of oranges enough for a week. The many friends of Judge and Mrs. Spinks will be glad to know that his health has greatly improved since residing there.
Passing the orange trees one day in the cars I noticed in the distance that the ground instead of being black or green was golden for quite a distance ahead and on drawing near found it to be caused by oranges, which completely covered up the surface of the soil, and was in fact the product of that grove picked and lying on the ground.
What might be considered the finest place in Pasadena is the Busch estate; the grounds are a wonder in artistic taste and extent, and are to be added to, a large piece of ground having been recently bought by Mr. Busch for that purpose. The grounds are open to the public at all times, and his residence also at stated times. He is the head of the Anheuser-Busch beer concern. I might state what is a well-known fact, that they don’t believe in fences down there. I have not seen one yet. All these lovely places are open to the road. You walk off the sidewalk to the house everywhere. Flowers grow even in the street, alongside the walk, and are cultivated by those whose property faces them. Speaking of trees, I must mention that they have the greatest variety of shade trees to be seen anywhere. The tall eucalyptus, imported from Australia, is seen by thousands, and the beautiful pepper tree of Chili or Peru. This tree was my favorite, looking something between a weeping willow and an acacia, but growing much taller, with its red berries in bunches showing clearly on the green. Then the palms with their spreading branches or stems! Of these latter, we saw a pair that the gentleman informed me he had brought home in a coal oil tin sixteen years ago, and to-day the trunks were twenty inches thick and the trees spread over a surface of twenty-five feet, leaving a passage between to walk up to the front of the house. There are avenues of these beautiful trees in the various parks in Los Angeles, Pasadena and Riverside. Further, in the matter of trees I would draw a comparison between the authorities of these southern towns and our own municipal authorities. When making new roads or drives, they find a fine tree growing on the road; instead of cutting it down as our vandals do, they leave it there and protect it, and I saw a notable example of this, when three men were treating or doctoring a veteran growing on the road which showed signs of dying, and they were doing all that could be done to save its life and keep it there. As we wandered about admiring all this beauty in nature we came to an extra pretty place, and the impulse took hold of me to have a nearer view; to if possible get permission to pick an orange and some blossoms to send home; so I stopped in my walk and made for where I saw two ladies sitting in the sunshine in front of the cottage. My wife restrained me and I hesitated, but on casting my eyes towards the ladies I perceived one of them smile, so I proceeded on, and raising my hat, apologized for our interview, saying that we were from the north and were captivated by the beauty of the place. "Oh, not at all, you are perfectly welcome. Would you like to look around?" We gladly accepted, and were shown around the premises, and at my request to pick an orange myself to send home, I was given permission, and told I might pick a lemon also, and would I like a bunch of orange blossoms?
We finally had two card boxes given us, and packed the fruit in one and the orange blossoms in the other. We were then invited in to rest and found the ladies were representative of those we met afterwards – the most kindly and courteous – and here I must say that I never met more obliging people than these same good people of California. I never met with a rebuff from anyone, and I am sure I bothered them enough during our stay with enquiries of every kind and another.
The police are instructed to supply everyone with necessary information and are provided with books containing such information as people may require. There are many excursions out of Los Angeles in various directions, of which we availed ourselves. One of these took us to Causton’s ostrich farm, San Gabriel Mission, and Long Beach. The ostrich farm is well worth a visit, to see these monster birds running about with wings outstretched. We were informed that at the age of six months they were full grown, and considering their size and weight it is a wonder. They eat as much as a cow, and, to show how high they can reach, the keeper stood on something and raised his hand up to eight feet and the ostrich easily took an orange from his hand and swallowed it whole. We were warned not to come too close to them, for the ostrich is attracted by bright hatpins in the ladies’ hats or by jewelry, or by anything bright – all are swallowed whole. One was sitting on a batch of eggs, which had just been vacated by the male, who does the most of the sitting. The visit to the San Gabriel Mission was of great interest to me, for it was of ancient origin, having been one of those founded by Padre Junipero Serra in 1771. The church we visited, and were conducted through by a lay priest who, in a monotonous tone of voice, recited all he knew of the mission. As before stated, the mission was about one hundred and forty years old, and one cannot but admire the zeal and devotion of the men who endured the hardships of the life they must have led so long ago. The church windows were very high from the ground, as the natives were not to be trusted, and the fathers might be surprised at any moment during the service and shot at. They had often to take refuge there from further attacks in early times. We were told that the building, which was built, as all were at that time, of sun-dried bricks and mud, was renewed since only in roof and seats. The original doors were preserved and shown us in a room. They were made very substantially, with iron bolts and bands and big locks, but now crumbling with age. The pictures of saints on the walls were painted in oil, and very poor specimens of art, I should say. They were old, and were sent from Spain. Although twenty-five cents was asked for admission we were asked to contribute to a fund for the restoration of the building, and many small coins were given by our party, and, when it is remembered that these excursions are daily, the year around, it must be an expensive job keeping the old building in repair. It looked as if twenty dollars would have covered the cost of any repairs made in a year, and it looked to me a case of graft on someone’s part. There is another church, founded at the same time, in Los Angeles, and I produce all I could decipher of an ancient inscription I copied from the front: "Los – de Esta Parroquia A La Reina de Los Angelus" (built 1814). These missions are planted at stated distances from San Diego to San Francisco, and all by that pioneer of Roman Catholicism, Junipera Serra. There is a statue to him in Golden Gate Park in San Francisco in the attitude of exhortation, leaning forward with arms extended upward. I visited three of the missions, and they are all about the same. There is great food for contemplation in visiting these relics of the past. To think of the conditions as existing then and now.
