The Cincinnati daily star. [volume] ([Cincinnati, Ohio]) 1875-1880, 1879-03-08
night from their ruined towers. l could
but remembers these lines in the Angelus;'

night from their ruined towers. / could
but remembers these lines in the Angelus;'
BELLS Of the past, whose long. forgotten music
Still fills the wide expanse.
Tingipg the solemn moments OF the present
With color of romance.
l hear You call and see the sun descending
On rock, and Wave and sand,
As down the coast the mission voices blending
Gifdte tho heathep land
Early morning found us among the
ruins. 1t had been long, narrow,
gloomy structure, fronted with two
towers, the one-the taller-eontaining
a circular stone staircase, where steps,
hollow-worn, lead to the dome, which
was surmounted with heavy iron cross,
that thus worn and twisted and misshapen
! by the elements, still stood uplifted. The
fstone arches of the interior were crushed
and fallen, while the columns that had
supported them tottered and trembled as
Though scarcely able TO sustain their own
weight. The walls still retained por-
ton of their original brilliant green and
red and gold coloring, as did some OF the
rooms, where still remained traces of
fresco. Font and Virgin, sacristy and
altar, crunbled and broken, still re-
mained. Within the ehancel were worn
and scaritied tomb-stones that marked
the resting places of some good mission
aries who had died in the faith. But
these were not the only ruins ]
beheld. Leaving the Mission Church
and approaching the cottage |
have spoken of, l noticed two old people,
whose withered faces and shrunken
frames suggested the clean and slippered
pantaloon," or mummy, sitting in the
sunlight short distance from each other
One was a man, hombre, the other wo-
man, sonora. Both seemed palsied with
age. The old man sat resting his head
upon Il cane made of a piece of grape
vine, and paid not the slightest attention
to my approach. The woman regarded
me with look of curiosity; and a. ]
came near her, with the slightest incli-
nation of the head, and in low, shrill
tone of voice that reminded me of the
Swapping of violin strings, said, "BuenOs
Deos, Senor." lifted my hat, and re-
turned the salutation Of the sonora. She
motioned me to seat, while gazed
upon her with feelings of awe and rever-
ence. You will hardly believe me when
tell you that she ,"as one hundred and
twelve yeas old. Iengaged her in con-
versation, and though her voice at times
was low and almost inaudible, yet her
utterance was distinct. 1t was during
my conversation with her that morning
that learned the story of Pedrillo. She
told it to me in Spanish and broken
English, at times resting, at times her
voice becoming as shrill and piercing as
trumpet, To me it was of thrilling in
terest and added double enchantment to
the scenes had Just before wit
messed. And this was her story:
1t was more than hundred years
ago, Senor, that the good Padre Juniperro
Sera landed with his company of ms
sionaries near Monterey, where stands
the white cross that bears his name. He
was Jealous Franciscan, courageous,
gentle, full of ardor for his religion and
of the hope of establishing his Church
and making Christians of all the native
! Calfornians. | was a muchachita then,
very little girl indeed, when the good
Padre came and selected the site Of
yonder Mission, and commenced the
building of it. Soon all Of lis became
converts and were baptized, and when
the Church was finished all of the peo-
pie who lived in this valley and upon
wonder hillsides were of the congrega-
ton. Yonder, Just beyond that sloping
hill, lived the wealthiest OF all the in
habitants, Salvador Benito, whose an
cestors were not originally native Cali
fornians, but whose boast it was that
theirs was Castilian blood. An exiled
knight who, wandering from Spain to
Mexico a fugitive, had come hither and
settled among the peaceful people who
filled these shores, and who, laying aside
his sword, had accustomed himself to
pursue their pastoral avocations. Such
| was the boast of Salvador Benito.
His was the largest rancho, the
finest vineyards, the swiftest bronchos,
his house the largest and his corral con-
tanned the choicest breeds of cattle. His
wife had died long ago, before | can re-
member, and he, proud and naughty
had reared and trained his only child, q
daughter, Staquita, until she had grown
into beautiful yet robust womanhood
the envy Of parents and the object of the
love of all the young men, muchaehos, il
the neighborhood. But none of then
found favor with her; She was alike to
ali, and no one could say he was pre-
ferred.
None were more skillful than she il
saddling and riding the wild Mexican
horses that her father owned. Non'
were more agile of foot None coulc
, swing the lasso with more grace Or toss i
, with more effect. No skins were tanned
as those that came from her hands. M
, thongs so stout as those she twisted. N
rugs so wonderfully dyed and dexter
. olsly made at those that ornamente'
r the halls of the proud Salvador Moth
+ ing was sweeter than her voice accom-
Y panied by the guitar that her father ha'
q purchased for her at a fabulous cost. n
= one excelled ber in deeds of charity an,
/ beneyolence. Staquita was her father
/. ,;Jo ond tho iov of tbe GOOD Padr