with it or them.

But for real interest one must get back to the slope of Telegraph Hill;
to the streets running up from Columbus avenue, until they are so steep
that only goats and babies can play on them with safety. At least we
suppose the babies are as active as the goats for the sides of the hill
are alive with them.

Let us walk first along Grant avenue and do a little window shopping.
Just before you turn off Broadway into Grant avenue, after passing the
Fior d'Italia, the Buon Gusto, the Dante and Il Trovatore restaurants,
we come to a most interesting window where is displayed such a variety
of sausages as to make one wonder at the inventive genius who thought of
them all. As you wonder you peep timidly in the door and then walk in
from sheer amazement. You now find yourself surrounded with sausages,
from floor to ceiling, and from side wall to side wall on both ceiling
and floor, and such sausage it is!

From strings so thin as to appear about the size of a lady's little
finger, to individual sausages as large as the thigh of a giant, they
hang in festoons, crawl over beams, lie along shelves, decorate
counters, peep from boxes on the floor, and invite you to taste them in
the slices that lay on the butcher's block. One can well imagine being
in a cave of flesh, yet if you look closely you will discover that
sausage is but a part of the strange edible things to be had here.

Here are cheeses in wonderful variety. Cheeses from Italy that are made
from goats' milk, asses' milk, cows' milk and mares' milk, and also
cheeses from Spain, Mexico, Germany, Switzerland, and all the other
countries where they make cheese, even including the United States.