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-traveller, and I were soon in the ferry house.

We ascended a wide staircase and then found ourselves in a large waiting room, through whose windows I looked out on the Bay of San Francisco for the first time.

Off in the distance, in the morning light, I could catch a glimpse of the Golden City of the West.

Near by was a departing ferryboat bound for San Francisco.

Just then a young man, evidently a stranger, accompanied by a young woman, apparently a bride, accosted me and asked the question, "Sir, do you think we can get on from up here ?" Looking at the bay-steamer fast receding, I assured him, somewhat pensively, that I thought we could.