The Days of a Ma?i Xj.^q^ 



man must rise above his own creations. That which is in man 

 is greater than all that he can do. 



One of my adventures in San Francisco (a minor 

 though incongruous one) was to escort a society 

 leader with pressing business from the Valencia Street 

 Station through Van Ness Avenue to her destination 

 at the P>rry. On the steps of what had been the 

 fashionable St. Dunstan's Hotel, we sat and munched 

 the luncheon of crackers and cheese she had brought 

 along. My second visit to the city dealt with romance. 

 The home of Mrs. Robert Louis Stevenson, set on a 

 hill overlooking the ocean and protected on one side 

 by a wooded knoll, had been preserved from destruc- 

 tion by her nephews and Mr. Salisbury Field, ^ who 

 kept the roof damp with rugs and sacks dipped in 

 water from a little bird-pool.- In the desolation which 

 followed, this was the only house left standing in 

 Marriage the neighborhood. A well-known newspaper corre- 

 spondent having taken the dramatic occasion to press 

 his suit with a woman journalist, they were married 

 at Mrs. Stevenson's, and my wife and I were bidden 

 to the ceremony. Being the only man present with 

 a frock coat, I was selected to "give away" the 

 bride. 



The unconquerable spirit of the West revealed 

 itself in the amazing energy with which San Francisco 

 was reconstructed. A placard 



don't talk earthquake, 

 talk business 



met the eye of Mary Austin on her way through a 



' Son of an old friend and schoolmate of Mrs. Stevenson, who afterward 

 married Mrs. Strong, her daughter. 



2 See "Life of Mrs. Robert Louis Stevenson," by Nellie Van de Grift Sanchez. 



n 178 3 



midst the 

 ruins 



