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.

Morgan!--She ain't nothing else, and I've got the papers to prove it. Sired by Chippewa Chief, and twelve hundred dollars won't buy her. Briggs of Turlumme owned her. Did you know Briggs of Turlumme?-- Busted hisself in White Pine and blew out his brains down in Frisco?

With the smile that was childlike and bland.

Never a tears bedims the eye That time and patience will not dry.

Your voices break and falter in the darkness,-- Break, falter, and are still.