, doctors, merchants, sailors,
scholars, unlettered,--all are here for gold. Such is the San
Francisco of those early days. It is a romance of reality, of the
Golden West!

CHAPTER IV

THE STORY OF GOLDEN GATE PARK AND THE CEMETERIES

St. Andrew's Brotherhood--Patras--The Cross at Megara and the
Golden Gate--Portsmouth Square and its Life--Other City Squares
and Parks--Golden Gate Park, its Beauty, Objects and Places of
Interest--Prayer Book Cross--Chance Visitors--Logan the Guide--First
View of the Pacific Ocean--"Thy Way is in the Sea"--The Cemeteries of
San Francisco--World-wide Sentiment--Group Around Lone Mountain--Story
of the Graves--Earth's Ministries--Lesson of the Heavens.

When my companion Ashton and I landed at the Market Street Ferry
House, an imposing structure of two stories, with a wide hall on the
second floor and offices and bureaus of information on either side,
our newfound friend, Mr. Young, bade us a "Good-by" with a hearty
handshake, hoping he might meet us again. Before leaving us, however,
he introduced us to a young man a member of the Brotherhood of St.
Andrew, who took us to the temporary office of the Society in the
Ferry House, and gave us necessary directions about the street cars,
hotels and churches. We were in a strange city on the western shore
of the Continent, yet, we felt at home at once through the cordial
greeting of the Brotherhood. The St. Andrew's Cross, which our young
guide wore on his coat, was indeed a friendly token. It spoke volumes
to the heart; and I was carried back in memory to that early morning,
when, having sailed over Ionian Seas, our good ship cast anchor in the
Bay of Patras, and my feet pressed the soil which had been consecrated
by the blood of the Saint, whose cross was now a token of good will
and welcome at the ends of the earth. I could not but recall besides a
memorable incident in connection with the Saint Andrew's Cross. We had
passed the Isthmus of Corinth, and our train halted for a space at
Megara, a town of six or seven thousand people, where is the bluest
blood in all Greece; and as I alighted from my coach on the Athens and
Peloponnesus Railway, I saw, some twenty rods away, a Greek Papa or
Priest, who made a splendid figure. An impulse came over me to speak
to him, and I knew there was one sign which he would recognise and
understand. It was the Saint Andrew's Cross, which I made by crossing
my arms. He immediately came to me and we