he Golden Gate;
And ferryboats their ceaseless traffic ply,
From mole to mole, from early morn till late.

And so the march of commerce takes its way,
And every clime contributes of its store
Where once the Indian's tepee held its sway,
Now stands the Golden City on the shore.

[Illustration]

IN CHINA TOWN

If you are a tourist, making your first visit to San Francisco, you
will inquire at once for Chinatown, the settlement of the Celestial
Kingdom, dropped down, as it were, in the very heart of a big city; a
locality where you are as far removed from anything American as if you
were in Hongkong or Foochow. Chinatown is only about two blocks wide
by eight blocks long; yet in this small area from ten to fifteen
thousand Chinese live, and cling with all the tenacity of the race to
their Oriental customs and native dress. They are as clean as a new
pin about their person, but how they can keep so immaculate amid such
careless and not over-clean surroundings is a mystery not to be solved
by a white man.

For a few dollars a guide will conduct a party through Chinatown, and
point out all the places of interest; but we preferred to act for
ourselves in this capacity, and saunter from place to place as our
fancy dictated. Stores of all kinds line both sides of Grant Avenue,
formerly called Dupont, where all kinds of Chinese merchandise are
displayed in profusion. At one place we stopped to examine some most
exquisite ivory carvings, as delicate in tracery as frost on a window
pane. Next we lingered before a shop where the women of our party went
into raptures over the exquisite gowns and the beautiful needlework
displayed. Here are shown padded silks of the most delicate shades, on
which deft fingers have embroidered the ever-present Chinese stork and
cherry blossoms, as realistic as if painted with an artist's brush.

That peculiar building just across the way is the Kow Nan Low
Restaurant, resplendent with dragons and lanterns of every shape and
size suspended above and about the doorway.

If you are fond of chop suey, or bird's-nest pudding, and are not too
fastidious as to its ingredients, you may enjoy a dinner fit for a
mandarin.

We stop before a barber shop and watch the queer process of shaving
the head and braiding the queue. The barber does not invite
inspection, as the curtains are partly drawn, but we peep over the top
and look with interest at the queer process of tonsorial achiev