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 conversed briefly as the time would permit, in the old language of Homer and Plato, which all patriotic Greeks love.  He asked me if I was a Papa, and was pleased when I said, “Yes.”  I introduced him to my companions in the coach, and he greeted them warmly; and as the train began to move on we bade each other farewell.  We may never meet again, but the Cross of Saint Andrew was a bond between us, and we felt that we were brethren in one Lord, Saint Andrew’s Divine Master and ours.  So the sight of that Cross there by the Pacific, with all its history of faith and love and martyrdom, caused our hearts to beat in unison with our brethren by the Golden Gate.  I thought then it would be a special advantage to strangers in strange cities, if in some way the Brotherhood could serve as a Bureau