When Folks Find I Ain't Afeard To

The Delicate Thought, That Cannot Find Expression, For Ruder Speech Too Fair, That, Like Thy Petals, Trembles In Possession, And Scatters On The Air.

Which I Wish To Remark-- And My Language Is Plain,-- That For Ways That Are Dark And For Tricks That Are Vain, The Heathen Chinee Is Peculiar.

Each Lost Day Has Its Patron Saint!

Thiar Ain't No Sense In Gittin' Riled!

It Would Seem Evident, Therefore, That The Secret Of The American Short Story Was The Treatment Of Characteristic American Life, With Absolute Knowledge Of Its Peculiarities And Sympathy With Its Method.