Never shall I forget the day when Lucy and I called at a handsome
residence on Washington Street. The door was opened by one of the most
spiritual-countenanced young ladies I have ever had the pleasure of
meeting, and from that day to this she has been one of my warmest, most
loyal friends--Sister B---- G----. More times than I can count I have
acted upon and profited by her wise and kindly advice, and never did
she fail me with sympathy and help in a trying hour. Her widowed mother
was the first large contributor to the fund. Only God knows my heart's
gratitude the day she handed me that cheque for one hundred dollars.

Through the daughter I learned who had spiritual charge of the jail
work, and soon, acting on her suggestions, made the acquaintance of
Mrs. Mason. She invited us to attend the following Sunday morning
services at 9:30 o'clock. In consequence of my responding, the next
chapter will relate the sad story which came to me from the lips of a
youth sentenced to Folsom penitentiary for ninety-nine years.

We soon located the neighborhood of the poor wandering girls, where
many gladly bade Lucy and me welcome. Also, we were informed that,
owing to circumstances at that time, the only religious people who
would be admitted to certain houses were Salvation Army lassies.
Learning our errand, one of these kindly disposed women of God
accompanied us, we wearing bonnets loaned for this occasion. The
landlady of one of these houses was the one we met on the train, when
Callie accompanied me to San Francisco on that important trip.

At this time a gospel-tent was pitched in the rear of the court-house
and city hall. Each night there congregated large numbers of people,
most of whom came from the humble walks of life. In that precious