colorization. While this is exceedingly important, it is no more so than all other steps in the Grammar of the Spoken Word. It is an identification of the speaker with the author's understanding and feelings.

HUSKS

Mrs. Wellington.

"Why is it, that Life has a depth and a fulness

A wealth and a richness, and beautiful sparkle for some

happy souls,

While others find only the husks?

And truly for some,

Life's a strain of rich music,

An echo so joyous of notes glad and cheery

That they scarce ever dream of the thousands,

Who get but the husks.

Why is it that Love sheds its daintiest halo
And brightens life's prose,

To the sweetest of idyls

And floods us with joy-dreams,

While thousands are finding but husks.

Then if we would make life

A beautiful picture all flashing and sparkling

'Mid radiance of sun-light

'Tis e'en but our choice to make gladness, Or get but the husks."

"Oh, somewhere, somewhere, God unknown, exist and be!
I am dying; I am all alone; I must have Thee.
God! God! my sense, my soul, my all dies in the cry.
Saw'st thou the faint star flame and fall? Ah, it was I."

Myers.

"Could you come back to me, Douglas, Douglas,
In the old likeness that I knew,

I would be so faithful, so loving, Douglas,
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.

Stretch out your hand to me, Douglas, Douglas,
Drop forgiveness from heaven like dew;

As I lay my hand on your dead heart, Douglas,
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.'

Mrs. Craik.

FROM OTHELLO

"Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors,
My very noble and approved good masters,
That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter,
It is most true; true, I have married her:
The very head and front of my offending

Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech,
And little blest with the soft phrase of peace;

For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith,

Till now some nine moons wasted, they have used

Their dearest action in the tented field;

And little more of this great world can I speak,

More than pertains to feats of broil and battle;
And therefore little shall I grace my cause

In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious patience,
I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver

Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms,

What conjuration and what mighty magic

For such proceeding I am charged withal

Somewhere a hand hath worthy action done,-
Somewhere within the gloom, a ray of light has run,
Somewhere among the multitude was heaven's joy begun,
Somewhere, aye, somewhere.

Somewhere 'mid chaos and despair, prayers were breathed; Somewhere an answer to a breaking heart bequeathed; Somewhere sin's sword was crushed,-its harm forever sheathed,

Somewhere, aye, somewhere.

Somewhere in thy life, this somewhere's bound to be,
Somewhere in thy life, the true light thou shalt see,
Somewhere to thy understanding true joy will flee,-
Somewhere, aye, somewhere.

Somewhere, a worthy deed will be for thy hand, Somewhere, sometime 'twill heal heart's severed bandSomewhere, thy sin will cease, for aye, at thy command SOMEWHERE, AYE, SOMEWHERE.

VI. Rhythm

Rhythm is the value shower. As each idea is weighted or freighted, thus it will move. As it has little or no thought or feeling, it will rattle on like an empty wagon or a shallow brook. Whereas, the idea weighted with thought and feeling, a part of one's very being, will roll forth into the realm of understanding as a freighted wagon upon the ground or a loaded vessel upon the high seas.

THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE AT BALAKLAVA

Alfred Tennyson.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson, Poet. Born 1809, in England. Balaklava is a small Greek fishing village with 700 inhabitants in the Crimea. During the "Crimean War" between France, England and Turkey on the one side and Russia on the other, it was the scene of the famous cavalry charge described below, on the 25th of October, 1854. Who it was that "had blundered" will never be known. Lord Raglan, commander of the British Army, denied

that he gave the order. Lord Lucan, the cavalry commander, said that he received the order from Capt. Nolan of Lord Raglan's staff. Capt. Nolan was killed in the charge.

Half a league, half a league,

Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!" he said:

Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

"Forward, the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismayed?
Not though the soldiers knew
Some one had blundered:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,

Cannon in front of them

Volleyed and thundered;

Stormed at with shot and shell,

Boldly they rode and well,

Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell

Rode the six hundred.

Flashed all their sabres bare,
Flashed as they turned in air,
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while

All the world wondered:

Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right through the line they broke;

Cossack and Russian

Reeled from the sabre-stroke
Shattered and sundered.
Then they rode back, but not—
Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,

Cannon behind them

Volleyed and thundered;

Stormed at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came through the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?
Oh, the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honor the charge they made!
Honor the Light Brigade,

Noble six hundred!