If, of all words of tongue and pen, The saddest are, It might have been,' More sad are these we daily see: 'It is, but hadn't ought to be!'

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.

Nobody shoulders a rifle in defense of a boarding house.

The only sure thing about luck is that it will change.

A bird in the hand is a certainty, but a bird in the bush may sing.

Thiar ain't no sense In gittin' riled!

The delicate thought, that cannot find expression, For ruder speech too fair, That, like thy petals, trembles in possession, And scatters on the air.