CALIFORNIA SCENERY, No. 31.—Presidio of San Francisco. The Presidio (garrison) of San Francisco was established in 1776. The formal celebration of the founding was held September 17, the day known in the Catholic calendar as that of the Impression of the Wounds of St. Francis, the chosen patron of the Presidio. The establishment of the place was in the name of Charles III., king of Spain. It is situated on a beautifully-sloping site on the north end of the San Francisco peninsula, commanding the bay, and about two miles inside the Golden Gate. It is now a well-improved garrison, with accommodations for several thousand troops, and ample parade and drill grounds.
THE SOCIABLE TO DEACON PEASLEY’S.
By Priscilla Ann Baker
(Concluded.)
Baker churned fur me in the mornin’, an’ I baked the bread I had started, an’ a big crockful of cookies, an’ about half past nine we wus to Hugh’s ag’in. Him an’ Nathan (he’s next to Ruth) wus liftin’ their late pertaters, an’ so Baker fell to an’ helped ’em. I went in an’ foun’ Ruth powerful weak an’ pale, but up tryin’ to make beds what time Robbie didn’t have her tyin’ strings to cheers or somethin’ else fur him. Sive an’ Janie’d gone to school. I give her my bunnet, an’ nursed Robbie a bit, an’ then I wanted her to lay down an’ let me finish; but she said she wouldn’t have no chill that day, an’ I couldn’t coax her to give up.
I swep’ the house all over, tho, an’ we made some crab-butter she’d ben wantin’ to, an’ I ironed too—they’d hired the wash done.
She looked a heap brighter when she see the cookies an’ a couple of loaves I’d brung along, an’ says, “I hain’t be’n so I could bake raised bread, bein’ down so much, an’ I jest can’t make good biscuit. How do you make ’em, Mis’ Baker?”
Pore little thing! I told her I’d do their bakin’ till she got well ag’in, an’ she must come over an’ take some receipts outen my new cook-book that was give me; an’ then I fell to an’ made a mess of biscuits jest to show her. We never said nothin’ about the sociable till I wus washin’ dishes. (I’d made Ruth lay down an’ rest.)
Then Hugh tol’ us as how they’d writ frum the ’sylum his wife wusn’t no better, nur likely to be fur a spell. He seemed wonderful hurt over that sociable, sayin’ he didn’t see what pleasure it could be to the parson an’ Deacon Peasley an’ all of ’em to act so. He wusn’t mad towards none of ’em, but ’peared to be mighty creshed.
We p’inted him to the God of all comfort, an’ after talkin’ awhile longer went acrost town to see Mis’ Bailey an’ her two. Her boys is nine an’ ’leven, an’ powerful bad if all we hear’s so. She tries to teach ’em better, but their pa bein’ away, an’ Mis’ Bailey gone nigh about all the time earnin’, it hain’t much wonder they run on the street an’ learn every meanness that’s a-goin’—an’ there’s always a plenty a-goin’, ’pears like.
Mis’ Bailey’s man wus a lawyer, an’ the cleverest, best-heartedest fellow you ever see; as sharp as chain lightnin’, too; fur them as could jedge said he’d go to Congress some day. But, land! he never; he would drink so. He wus always good to her, tho, an’ would quit now an’ ag’in to please her; but he never asked God’s help, an’ ’twouldn’t be long till he’d go down ag’in, the other lawyers an’ jedges bein’ always at it, you know. Well, doin’ so much head-work (fur he wus jest reshed all the time), an’ drinkin’ by spells all along too, kinder fired his brain, an’ he got powerful crazy. By the time he wus took away to the ’sylum (she wouldn’t let ’em at first) they’d run through about everything, even sellin’ the pianner; fur his money’d be’n as free as water fur every pore or sick body.
Mis’ Bailey hain’t one to set an’ warm her hands to somebody else’s fire, tho, if she wus brung up in New York, so she went to givin’ paintin’ an’ music lessons, not only to Bean Blossom, but to towns all ’round; an’ that’s what took her from home so much. As it wus a Wednesday, Baker went home, an’ left me till after prayer-meetin’, so Mis’ Bailey an’ me had a good long talk. She’d be’n to home all that day, washin’ an’ cleanin’ an’ bakin’ to do till another spare day. I had her not to stop her work fur me, an’ I set in the kitchen, an’ we talked away till about 5 o’clock, when she got through, an’ set down by me a spell. Then I brung up about the sociable, an’ I see right away that that wus what had made her so sober-like, tho she’d tried to be entertainin’ to me.
I hadn’t said much till she jest grabbed me round the neck an’ broke out: “You blessed old woman! I thought last night I didn’t have a friend in this town. I didn’t sleep a bit till after 3 o’clock, thinkin’ about poor Frank, an’ prayin’ fur him,” says she. An’ then she laid there on my bosom an’ sobbed like her heart wus broke.
I quieted an’ talked to her a spell about it all, an’ then told her how I’d be’n layin’ by some money along outen the butter, an’ havin’ a right smart sprinklin’ of turkeys an’ chickens to sell about Thanksgivin’ an’ after, I’d be’n ’lowin’ to have her paint me a good-sized pictur’ to hang over the sofy into the front room. That he’ped her furgit, you know, an’ she promised to put some big mountains an’ pine trees an’ a waterfall into it, an’ have it done anyway by the 5th of December, Baker’s birthday.
When the boys come in we e’t supper, washed dishes, an’ all went to prayer-meetin’. They wus singin’ when we went in, an’ Parson Jones read a chapter, explainin’ it along, an’ then he said that after Deacon Williams would pray, anybody that felt moved to sing or speak should be free to do so. Deacon Williams prayed, an’ after we’d sung ag’in, I riz up to speak, fur I couldn’t wait no longer.
“I’ve got a burden onto my mind,” I begun, “an’ as it concerns the hull church, I feel to mention it. It’s be’n a-weighin’ onto me ever sence last night,” says I, “an’ it’s about that sociable to Deacon Peasley’s.” At that Mis’ Bailey laid her head onto the back of the next seat, an’ folks looked at me kinder wonderin’; but I wanted ’em to look, an’ listen too, so I went on. “I s’pose it wus got up fur some good end, but it’s ended in grievin’ an’ discouragin’ two of as good an’ faithful members as is in this church,” says I. “You all13know we hain’t got a more prayin’, workin’ man than Hugh Brown, bringin’ up his own children in the fear of the Lord, getherin’ ev’ry neglected child into the Sunday-school, an’ superintendin’ it right along fur years, besides helpin’ at the Y. M. C. A. meetin’. Then here’s Mis’ Bailey, workin’ away an’ providin’ fur hern, alwus to prayer-meetin’, rain or shine, teachin’ a class in Sunday-school, takin’ half days to help the sewin’ circle, an’ never havin’ no time to visit nur nothin’ fur herself,” says I. “Hugh Brown nur Mis’ Bailey wusn’t to Deacon Peasley’s last night, where their brethren an’ sisters wus playin’ they wus lunatics an’ laughin’ an’ actin’. No,” says I, “they wus to their homes prayin’ (you all knows why) fur sweet little Mis’ Brown an’ Frank Bailey, as wus everybody’s friend. I’m as sure as that I stand here that the Lord’s angels wus at them homes, an’ carried them tears an’ prayers up to the great white throne. I b’lieve it, becuz they’ve both got furgivin’ sperits,” says I. “If the money that wus took in is fur to convert the heathen, I think we’d best to not send it outen Bean Blossom. I never heerd tell of no furriners to ‘Greenland’s icy mountains,’ nur nowhere, carryin’ on that a-way,” says I.
“I don’t lay this onto no one person; Baker an’ me wus there along with the rest; I don’t want to misjedge nobody; fur I’m most sure it wus more unthoughtedness than it wus meanness; but ’pears to me like the time fur fastin’ an’ sackcloth an’ ashes has come to the Peniel church.”
Then I set down, an’ it wus that still fur a spell you could have picked up a pin. Parson Jones got up then, an’ the first thing he says wus: “Praise the Lord! I’m glad Sister Baker’s ben given light, an’s not afraid to let it shine.” Then that man went on an’ jest talked the nicest I ever heerd him. He said he knowed nobody took no time to think jest what that sociable would mean. It had led us into sin. It looked very heartless an’ cruel to him now, tho he had thought nothin’ about it previous; an’ he blamed hisself more than the people, bein’ the pastor, fur not thinkin’. This wus a unintentional offense to Brother Brown an’ Sister Bailey, but he wanted to ask their furgiveness in God’s presence an’ before the people, an’ asked all of us that felt as he did to rise up. We all did, an’ then, kneelin’ down, the parson made such a prayer as we hadn’t listened to fur many a day, ownin’ our carelessness an’ sins, an’ prayin’ fur pardon, an’ fur “our dear sad brother an’ sister, their families, an’ specially the ones who must live apart from them an’ in so much distress.”
When we got still enough (we couldn’t keep from cryin’), Baker sung, “From every stormy wind that blows;” an’ then meetin’ wus out.
Well, a crowd come roun’ Mis’ Bailey, shakin’ hands (she couldn’t speak, pore thing!), an’ when I got to the lobby, all the men wus speakin’ to Hugh, an’ I went home happy; fur I’d got a burden offen my min’, an’ I never waked the next mornin’ till Baker’d come back in from milkin’.
