Belasco, accompanied by several friends, left New York on February 7, 1909, for San Francisco, where he arrived on the 12th and where he remained for nearly a month. He had been apprized that the health of his father was failing and that, in the course of nature, his death was likely to occur soon. His expedition was prompted by filial affection and it was undertaken with a heavy heart. His visit, however, greatly cheered and benefited his aged parent, and the sojourn in his native city was made a time of festival and happiness. On February 24 a dinner was given at the Bismarck Café by surviving pupils of the Lincoln Grammar School, of the classes from 1865 to 1871, at which Belasco was the principal guest; and on the 27th a supper was given in his honor at the Bohemian Club. He has written for me this account of his visit: “...The only really sad time was when at last I had to say ‘Good-bye’ and come away: that was a sorrow. But I would not have missed the visit back home for all the world! The happiness of seeing my old father and the pleasure my coming gave him are priceless memories to me, and I like to think my visit helped him to hold on: he lived nearly two years longer. I would have gone back the next year, but I was warned against the agitation our parting would bring to both of us.... I was so hospitably received on every hand that I entirely forgot my enterprises in New York and I felt like a boy again, without a worry. Although it was less than three years after the earthquake-fire, prosperity was in evidence everywhere; the spirit of the people was simply wonderful, and it sent me home encouraged and inspired to attempt greater things. I am proud that I was born in San Francisco, and I cannot say too much for the hospitality and overwhelmingly friendly reception accorded me.... The night at the Lincoln School Dinner was wonderful. There were about seventy of the ‘boys’ there, and dear old Professor Bernhard Marks, who had been the principal and who was nearly eighty, presided and called the roll, just as he used to do when we were all lads. Sometimes a silence followed a name; many times there came the answer ‘Dead,’ and now and then somebody responded ‘Present.’ I cried! Then the principal put us through our paces again, at the old lessons, and dealt out cuts on the hand with very little of the old-time vigor. After that there were speeches, and so many lovely things were said about me that I was too embarrassed to reply properly: I remember that I began by saying it was the happiest night of my life--and then stood there with tears running down my cheeks! But I managed to say a few words that pleased them, and then there were many calls for me to recite ‘The Madman’ and at last I got up to do it. I started in with restraint, to [Illustration: