Ah, Good Gray City! Let me sing thy song
Of western splendor, vigorous and bold;
In vice or virtue unashamed and strong--
Stormy of mien but with a heart of gold!
I love thee, San Francisco; I am proud
Of all thy scars and trophies, praise or blame
And from thy wind-swept hills I cry aloud
The everlasting glory of thy name.
PREFACE
This is the story of San Francisco. When a newspaper editor summoned me
from the mountains to write a serial he said:
"I've sent for you because I believe you love this city more than any
other writer of my acquaintance or knowledge. And I believe the true
story of San Francisco will make a more dramatic, vivid, human narrative
than any fiction I've ever read.
"Take all the time you want. Get everything straight, and _put all
you've got into this story_. I'm going to wake up the town with it."
To the best of my ability, I followed the editor's instructions. He
declared himself satisfied. The public responded generously. The serial
was a success.
But, ah! I wish I might have written it much better ... or that Robert
Louis Stevenson, for instance, might have done it in my stead.
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