stantly and asserted that San Francisco could thank him for an editorial writer second to none in the United States of America. As a ma

in San Francisco as a guest at the house on Ballinger Hill,

y was prepared to welcome him not only on account of his distinguished connections but because his de

position would give him the future was his to mould. No man, then or since, has brought so rare an assortment of talents to the erratic journalism of San Francisco; not even James King of William, the murdered editor of the Evening Bulletin. Perhaps he too would have been murdered had he rema

a man of immense erudition for his years (he was only thirty); and he was insatiably interested in the affairs of the world and in every phase of life. He was a poet by nature, and a jo

ersational subjects of men irritated him, and he cultivated their society and that of women only in so far as they were essential to his deeper understanding of life. His code was noblesse oblige and he privately damned it as a superstition foisted upon him by his ancestors. He was sentimental and ironic, passionate an

rs when he came to San

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