How sweet to be at Breezy in the springtime of the year, With the lilacs all abloom at the gate, And everything so new, so jubilant, so dear, And every little bird is a-looking for his mate. There, don't you dare laugh! Perhaps another time I may swing into the exact rhythm. The Rev. William Rankin Duryea, late Professor at Rutgers College, New Brunswick, was before that appointment a clergyman in Jersey City. His wife told me that he once wrote some verses hoping to win a prize of several hundred dollars offered for the best poem on "Home." He dashed off one at a sitting, read it over, tore it up, and flung it in the waste basket. Then he proceeded to write something far more serious and impressive. This he sent to the committee of judges who were to choose the winner. It was never heard of. But his wife, who liked the rhythm of the despised jingle, took it from the waste basket, pieced it together, copied it, and sent it to the committee. It took the prize. And he showed me in his library, books he had long wanted to own, which he had purchased with this "prize money," writing in each "Bought for a Song." 1 Dark is the night, and fitful and drearily Rushes the wind like the waves of the sea, Little care I as here I sing cheerily, Wife at my side and my baby on knee; King, King, crown me the King! Home is the Kingdom, and Love is the King. 2 Flashes the firelight upon the dear faces Dearer and dearer as onward we go, Forces the shadow behind us and places Brightness around us with warmth in the glow King, King, crown me the King! Home is the Kingdom, and Love is the King. 3 Flashes the love-light increasing the glory, Beaming from bright eyes with warmth of the soul, Telling of trust and content the sweet story, Lifting the shadows that over us roll; King, King, crown me the King! Home is the Kingdom, and Love is the King. 4 Richer than miser with perishing treasure, Served with a service no conquest could bring, Happy with fortune that words cannot measure, Light-hearted I on the hearthstone can sing, King, King, crown me the King! Home is the Kingdom, and Love is the King. WM. RANKIN DURYEA, D.D. [Illustration: THE SWITCH] Breezy Meadows, my heart's delight. I was so fortunate as to purchase it in a ten-minute interview with the homesick owner, who longed to return to Nebraska, and complained that there was not grass enough on the place to feed a donkey. I am sure this was not a personal allusion, as I saw the donkey and he did look forlorn.