From Mr. Isaacs.

"Tell him to come now. Now do you understand?" Then she added in a low tone, for my ear only, “I don't think they know it, I am dying. I shall be dead before to-night. Don't tell him that. Make him come now. John knows. Now go. I am tired. No-wait. Did he save the man's life?"

Yes: the man is safe and free in Thibet."

"That was nobly done. Now go. You have always been kind to me and you love him. When you see me again, I shall be gone. When I am gone, put some flowers on me for friendship's sake. You have always been so kind. Good-bye, dear Mr. Griggs. Good-bye. God keep you.

F. Marion Crawford.

From King Richard II. Act IV.

King Richard. Now mark me how I will undo my-
self.-

I give this heavy weight from off my head,
And this unwieldy scepter from my hand,
The pride of kingly sway from out my heart:
With mine own tears I wash away my balm,
With mine own hands I give away my crown,
With mine own tongue deny my sacred state,
With mine own breath release all duteous oaths:
All pomp and majesty I do forswear:

My manors, rents, and revenues, I forgo;
God pardon all oaths that are broke to me!

God keep all vows unbroke are made to thee!

Make me that nothing have, with nothing griev'd:
And thou with all pleas'd. that hast all achiev`d!
I have no name, no title,

No not that name was given me at first,

But 'tis usurp'd.

O. that I were a mockery king of snow,
Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke,
To melt myself away in water drops!

Shakespeare.

From The Lion of Flanders.

At last, after many anxious and suspicious glances around him in every direction the knight ventured to raise the visor of his helmet, so far as to make his features visible. Although his countenance bore all the signs of long and severe suffering, yet the extraordinary vivacity of his eyes testified of the fire which still glowed within his breast. For some moments he remained lost in thought, gazing fixedly upon the ruins; then a bitter smile passed over his lips, his head sank upon his breast, and he seemed intent upon something at his feet; at last a tear fell from either eye, as he thus spoke:

"O my brave brothers in arms! these stones have been wetted with your noble blood, and here beneath my feet, you sleep the long sleep of death! But happy you who have left this troublous life in your country's cause, and without having seen our beloved Flanders in bondage. The blood of him to whom you gave the proud name of the Lion bedewed this ground along with yours; but, less fortunate than you, he still survives-an outcast, left to sigh over your silent graves, like a helpless woman, impotent for aught but tears.”— Hendrick Conscience.

From Dion and the Sibyls.

Hark! did you hear the crash with which the fore-paws have come down? The steed seemed to be very near falling backward, but after a struggle of two or three seconds, recovered himself; and, O ye gods! just as you heard that ponderous thud with which he descended upon his fore-feet, the youth darted from the ground with a spring like his first, and he is now on the brute's back as before. He stoops to the horse's neck; he has caught the bridle in his teeth, and lifts that brave, clear face again. Listen to the multitude! Oh how the euge, euge, thunders from a hundred thousand sympathetic voices. The fell beast of a horse seems astonished. And lo! now he leaps from the ground with all four feet at the same time. Lo! the horse seems to have ascertained that he who has this day mounted him is worthy of his service; do

r the tread of his hoofs. Faster and faster rushes the lways restrained by the outer torch, which is brought s head, while the inner is held further to the rear. es are flecked with foam. The pace grows too rapid ort curve, and the steed is now guided straight for stern opening in the arena. They are gone; and again Is not that shout like the roar of waters on a stormshore, as a hundred thousand men proclaim the suca generous and brave youth, who could face the chance g torn limb from limb in order to give a poor slave like ndemned to a frightful death, his life and his liberty, and a future?-Miles Gerald Keon.

From The Odyssey.

With speed Telemachus obeys, and flies
Where piled in heaps the royal armor lies:
Four brazen helmets, eight refulgent spears,
And four broad bucklers to his sire he bears:
At once in brazen panoply they shone,

At once each servant braced his armor on;
Around their king a faithful guard they stand,
While yet each shaft flew deathful from his hand,
Chief after chief expired at every wound,

And swell'd the bleeding mountain on the ground.
Soon as his store of flying fates was spent,
Against the wall he set the bow unbent.
The hero stands oppress'd with mighty woe,
On every side he sees the labor grow:
"Oh cursed event! and oh unlook'd for aid!
Melanthius or the women have betray'd-
Oh my dear son!"-The father with a sigh
Then ceased: the filial virtue made reply:
"Falsehood is folly, and 'tis just to own
The fault committed: this was mine alone;
My haste neglected yonder door to bar.
And hence the villian has suppled their war."

Pope.

CHAPTER XVI.

TONE COLOR.

The power of some painters is so great, that, by one stroke of the brush, they can change the nature of a picture. They can convert a dismal scene into a smiling one, a weeping into a laughing child.

We can as quickly and completely color an emotion by means of vocal quality. Faure tells us, that "the speaker's palette is as rich and varied as that of the painter. Besides its lights and shadows, its broken tones and brilliant colors, it possesses infinite varieties of rhythm and timbre that may be combined to produce endless effects."

In order to do this, we must color the words to fit the thought they express, we must make the sound "seem an echo to the sense."

The following from Moore's "Puck The Fairy," can only be justly rendered in a light, jaunty, delicate manner corresponding with its mirthful flow.

To a miser's bed, where he snoring slept
And dreamt of his cash, I slily crept:

Chink, chink o'er his pillow like money
And he waked to catch-but away I sprang,

rang,

Singing, I am the sprite

Of the merry midnight,

[light!

Who laugh at weak mortals, and love the moon

ve how inappropriate the bright, gay colors ormer would be to express the following from omeless Poor."

There black waters in their luring silence
Under loathsome ashes crawl and creep,
There the rats and vermin herd together,
There God's poor ones sometimes come to sleep.

In slow darkness creeps the dismal river
From its depths looks up a sinful rest,
Many a weary, baffled, hopeless wanderer
Has it drawn into its treacherous breast.

Adelaide A. Procter.

cheerless picture requires vocal colors sombre as lismal river."

writers of merit since Homer's day have underthe charm and potency of words whose sound s their sense. Dante acknowledges this when he

Could I command rough rhymes and hoarse, to suit
That hole of sorrow, o'er which every rock

His firm abutment rears, then might the vein
Of fancy rise full springing.

s desire of accomodating the sound to the sense iven birth to many words whose sound corresponds, ables, or suggests the thing signified.

nce Tone Color embraces not only correspondence und and sense, but also resemblance and suggestss. Among the following words may be found of en

an, whirring, slender, rugged,