e railway ferryboat
"Solano," the largest of its kind in the world, and the upper view of
the great Bay of San Francisco, make a deep impression on the mind.
I was well repaid for all my pains. But on that first night, as we
hastened to our goal, amid landscapes of beauty and fruitfulness
traversed in the olden days by the feet of pioneers and gold-seekers,
it all seemed as if we were in fairyland. Will the dream be
substantial when we enter the City by the Golden Gate?

CHAPTER II

VIEWS FROM THE BOAT ON THE BAY

Arrival at Oakland--"Ticket!"--On the Ferryboat--The City of "Live
Oaks"--Mr. Young, a Citizen of Oakland--Distinguished Members of
General Convention--Alameda--Berkeley and Its University--Picturesque
Scenery--Yerba Buena, Alcatraz and Angel Islands--San Francisco at
Last.

It was on the morning of Wednesday, October the second, 1901, when
I had my first view of that Queen City of the Pacific coast, San
Francisco. Our train, fully nine hours late, in our journey from Salt
Lake City, arrived at its destination on the great Oakland pier or
mole at 2:30 A.M. The understanding with the conductor the evening
before, as we were descending the Sierra Nevada Mountains, was that
we would not be disturbed until day break. When the end of our long
journey was reached I was oblivious to the world of matter in midnight
slumber; but as soon as the wheels of the sleeping coach had ceased to
revolve I was aroused with the cry, "Ticket!" First I thought I was
dreaming, as I had heard the phrase, "Show your tickets," so often;
but the light of "a lantern dimly burning" and a stalwart figure
standing before the curtains of my sleeping berth, soon convinced
me that I was in a world of reality. This, I may say, was my only
experience of the kind, in all my travelling over the Southern Pacific
Railway, the Sante Fe, and the Mexican International and Mexican
Central Railways. There was little sleep after the interruption; and
when the morning came with its interest and novelty I was ready to
proceed across the Bay of San Francisco. Our faithful porter, John
Williams, whose name is worthy of mention in these pages, as I stepped
from the Pullman car, said, "Good-bye, Colonel!" He always addressed
me as "Colonel." The porters on all the western roads and on the
Mexican railways are polite and obliging, and a word of commendation
must be said for them as a class.

The Rev. Dr. James W. Ashton, of Olean, N.Y., my fellow-t