of Laurel Hill, with all the rites peculiar to the followers of
Confucius.

But what thrilling histories of men from many lands are entombed in
all these tens of thousands of graves, what fond hopes are buried
here, what withered blossoms of life mingle with this consecrated soil
by the waters of the Pacific! Many a one who sought the Golden West in
pursuit of fortune found all too soon his goal here with unfulfilled
desire, while anxious friends and relatives beyond the seas and the
mountains or on the other side of the continent awaited his home
coming for years in vain. Here, indeed, are no rolls of papyrus, no
hieroglyphics, as in Egyptian tombs, to tell us the story of the
past, but it is written in the experiences of the gold seekers, it is
interwoven with the life of the city, now the mistress of the great
ocean which laves her feet, and it is burned into the memories of many
living witnesses.

If yonder grave could tell its tale it would speak to you of a
misspent life which might have been a blessing--of midnight revels and
mad excesses and Circe's feasts, the ruin of soul and body. And this
grave could talk to you about one who, far away from home and
kindred, had pined and wasted away in his loneliness, and had died of
homesickness. But while you are touched with the pathetic recital,
that grave near by reads you a lesson of patience, of heroism, of
faith, of purity of soul and body preserved in the midst of fiery
temptations, even while strong men were yielding themselves up to
"fleshly lusts which war against the soul."

The shrubs and trees and flowers on which you gaze, and which are
green and blossom the year round, now beautify all and mother earth