And if such dreams beguile.

I know that you sit by your cozy fire,
When shadows crowd the room,
And my soul responds to an old desire
To roam through the velvety gloom,
So stealthily stealing, softly shod,
My spirit is hurrying thence
To the lure of an ancient mystic god,
Whose magnet is intense,
Where I know your soul, too, roams in fur,
For I hear it call with a throaty purr,
From the shadowy backyard fence.



Bohemia of the Present

San Francisco's care-free spirit was fully exemplified before the ashes
of the great fire of 1906 were cold. On every hand one could find little
eating places established in the streets, some made of abandoned boxes,
others of debris from the burned buildings, and some in vacant basements
and little store rooms, while a few enterprising individuals improvised
wheeled dining rooms and went from one part of the city to another
serving meals.

The vein of humor of irrepressible effervescence of spirit born of
Bohemianism gave to these eating places high sounding names, and many
were covered with witty signs which laughed in the face of Fate.