THE SAN FRANCISCO FAIRY. A Tale of Early Times. Down came the Fish's lower jaw upon her light canoe, And he asked her if that ladder would answer for her shoe-; Then tripping up it lightly, she spied a splendid seat, With wampum it was covered---her lover's it would beat. SAN FRANCISCO PUBLISHED BY C. P. KIMBALL, AND FOR SALE BY ALL BOOKSELLERS. D. E. Appleton & Co., 508 and 510 Montgomery Street, GENERAL AGENTS. THE SAN FRANCISCO FAIRY A Tale of Early Times. At such a sight she fainted, yet still she did not fall, But straightway told her sorrows, she told him of them all. The Fish he wagged his little fin, and shook his pointed nose, And said, "My darling Maiden, into my mouth you goes!" San Francisco: PUBLISHED BY C. P. KIMBALL, AND FOR SALE BY ALL BOOKSELLERS. D. E. Appleton & Co., 508 and 510 Montgomery Street, GENERAL AGENTS. PREFACE This little Tale is founded upon the well-known tradition, prevalent among the old inhabitants, that where the Golden Gate now is was once dammed up by a rock or rocks, and the whole Valley was a great inland sea with its entrance to the Ocean down near Monterey. The writer has seen, on Ohio Street, in this City, (which in 1850 was quite an elevated spot of ground,) the black sedimentary earth, at least two feet thick, which abounds in greater or less degree throughout the Valley, and which readily accounts for the wonderful fertility of the soil. San Francisco, December, 1868. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by Chas. P. Kimball, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Northern District of California. THE SAN FRANCISCO FAIRY LONG years ago, ere Spaniards lived on California soil, An Indian of the Digger tribe was resting from his toil; He lived beside an inland sea, or lake, so wondrous large No one could look from shore to shore--a day's sail for a barge. This Indian was a happy dog, of threescore years and eight, Of children he had half a score, also an aged mate; His youngest was Li-Lamboni, a petit laughing cit-- Who kept the Wigwam happy by her fund of ready wit. A blooming maid of twenty, perhaps of two years more, Her lovers might be counted at wholesale by the score; But there was one--a comely lad--a Chieftain's only son, This one alone of all the crowd her youthful love had won. So tall, so straight, so beautiful, an eye like diamonds bright, Not one could beat him in the chase, by night or broad daylight; And when upon the war-path with the braves he started out, The death-song of his enemies would plainly mark his route. But, ah, alas! the wampum to make him all her own. She did not have the needful, for she had poorly grown; And often on the placid Lake, within her log canoe. She pondered long and deeply on just what she should do.