waters, away beyond the Farallone Islands, was tinged with red and
gold, the fading glories of the dying day. We could see in the glow
of evening the heaving of the sea and the motion of its comparatively
calm surface, in that twilight hour.

Gathering clouds hung over the horizon and formed the shadows in the
picture. Every picture has light and shade. It is a portrait of life.
We stood silently for a time drinking in all the beauty of the scene,
well nigh entranced, awed, thrilled betimes; and at last in order to
give fitting expression to the thoughts within our hearts, I suggested
that we should hold a brief service in recognition of His power who
holds the seas in the hollow of His hands, Who had guided our feet in
safe paths and byways of the world, often over its troublesome waves.
Ashton said an appropriate Collect from the dear old Prayer Book of so
many tender and far off memories, while I expressed my feelings in the
grand words of the Psalm--"Thy way is in the sea, and Thy paths in the
great waters, and Thy footsteps are not known." We felt God's presence
in that hushed hour, we saw in vision the divine Christ walking over
the waters to us!

In our wanderings about the city the sleeping places of the dead
naturally attracted our attention; and where, especially, on Sunday
afternoons, the living congregate to mourn over their loved ones, to
scatter flowers on their graves, or to while away an hour amid scenes
which have a melancholy interest and tend to sobriety and remind one
of another land where there is no death for those who pass through the
Golden Gate of eternity. Cemeteries have always attracted the living
to their solemn precincts at stated times, anniversaries and fiestas.
It is so in all lands, among all peoples no matter what their creed,
and in all ages. Jew and Gentile alike, Mohammedan and Christian, by