The Canadian Elocutionist

by Anna K. Howard · English · Gutenberg #8093 · 620,490 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Canadian Elocutionist

Author: Anna K. Howard

Release date: May 1, 2005 [eBook #8093]
Most recently updated: December 26, 2020

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CANADIAN ELOCUTIONIST ***

E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Jerry Fairbanks, Charles Franks, and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team

THE CANADIAN ELOCUTIONIST

DESIGNED FOR THE USE OF
Colleges, Schools and for Self Instruction
TOGETHER WITH A COPIOUS SELECTION,
_IN PROSE AND POETRY, OF_
PIECES ADAPTED FOR READING, RECITATION AND PRACTICE

ANNA K. HOWARD, LL.B.,

[MISS ANNA HALLECK KELSEY].

Teacher of Elocution and English Literature.

"The manner of speaking is as important as the matter."--CHESTERFIELD.

PREFACE.

The principal object the author had in view in the preparation of this
work, was to place in convenient form for the use, both of teachers and
others, the principles, rules, illustrations and exercises, that she has
found most useful and practical for the purpose of instruction, and best
calculated to make good readers, and easy, graceful and correct speakers.

For this purpose the rules and advices have been simplified and divested,
as much as possible, of all abstruse scientific terms, and made as simple
and plain as could be done, having a due regard to the proper explanations
requisite to make them easy to understand and not difficult to practise.

It is hoped that this system of instruction, which has been for some years
very successfully employed by the compiler in her own practice, may prove a
valuable aid to those who wish to pursue the study of the art.

The examples chosen to illustrate the rules have been taken with a due
regard to their fitness to exemplify the principles involved, and to show
the various styles of reading, declamation and oratory, and the selections
have been made in such a manner as to adapt them for use in schools,
colleges and for public reading.

TORONTO, _September_ 24_th_, 1885.

INTRODUCTION.

Of the importance of the study of Elocution as part of a good education
there can be no question. Almost every one is liable to be called upon,
perhaps at a few minutes notice, to explain his views and give his opinions
on subjects of various degrees of importance, and to do so with effect ease
in speaking is most requisite. Ease implies knowledge, and address in
speaking is highly ornamental as well as useful even in private life.

The art of Elocution held a prominent place in ancient education, but has
been greatly neglected in modern times, except by a few persons--whose fame
as speakers and orators is a sufficient proof of the value and necessity of
the study. The Ancients--particularly the Greeks and the Romans--were fully
conscious of the benefits resulting from a close attention to and the
practice of such rules as are fitted to advance the orator in his
profession, and their schools of oratory were attended by all classes; nor
were their greatest orators ashamed to acknowledge their indebtedness to
their training in the art for a large portion of their success. The Welsh
Triads say "Many are the friends of the golden tongue," and, how many a
jury has thought a speaker's arguments without force because his manner was
so, and have found a verdict, against law and against evidence, because
they had been charmed into delusion by the potent fascination of some
gifted orator.

As Quintilian remarks: "A proof of the importance of delivery may be drawn
from the additional force which the actors give to what is written by the
best poets; so that what we hear pronounced by them gives infinitely more
pleasure than when we only read it. I think, I may affirm that a very
indifferent speech, well set off by the speaker, will have a greater effect
than the best, if destitute of that advantage;" and Henry Irving, in a
recent article, says: "In the practice of acting, a most important point is
the study of elocution; and, in elocution one great difficulty is the use
of sufficient force to be generally heard without being unnaturally loud,
and without acquiring a stilted delivery. I never knew an actor who brought
the art of elocution to greater perfection than the late Charles Mathews,
whose utterance on the stage was so natural, that one was surprised to find
when near him that he was really speaking in a very loud key." Such are
some of the testimonies to the value of this art.

Many persons object to the study of elocution because they do not expect to
become professional readers or public speakers, but surely this is a great
mistake, and they might as well object to the study of literature because
they do not expect to become an author; and still more mischievous in its
results is the fallacy, only too current even among persons of
intelligence, that those who display great and successful oratorical
powers, possess a genius or faculty that is the gift of nature, and which
it would be in vain to endeavour to acquire by practice, as if orators
"were born, not made," as is said of poets.

The art of reading well is one of those rare accomplishments which all wish
to possess, a few think they have, while others who see and believe that it
is not the unacquired gift of genius, labour to obtain it, and it will be
found that excellence in this, as in everything else of value, is the
result of well-directed effort, and the reward of unremitting industry. A
thorough knowledge of the principles of any art will enable a student to
achieve perfection in it, so in elocution he may add new beauties to his
own style of reading and speaking however excellent they may be naturally.
But it is often said "Our greatest orators were not trained." But is this
true? How are we to know how much and how laborious was the preliminary
training each effort of these great orators cost them, before their
eloquence thrilled through the listening crowds? As Henry Ward Beecher
says: "If you go to the land which has been irradiated by parliamentary
eloquence; if you go to the people of Great Britain; if you go to the great
men in ancient times; if you go to the illustrious names that every one
recalls--Demosthenes and Cicero--they all represent a life of work. You
will not find one great sculptor, nor one great architect, nor one eminent
man in any department of art, whose greatness, if you inquire, you will not
find to be the fruit of study, and of the evolution which comes from
study." So much for the importance of Elocution and the advantages of
acquiring a proficiency therein.

A few remarks to those who are ambitious of excelling in the art may now be
given, showing how they may best proceed in improving themselves therein.

The following rules are worthy of strict attention:--1. Let your
articulation be distinct and deliberate. 2. Let your pronunciation be bold
and forcible. 3. Acquire a compass and variety in the height of your voice.
4. Pronounce your words with propriety and elegance. 5. Pronounce every
word consisting of more than one syllable with its proper accent. 6. In
every sentence distinguish the more significant words by a natural,
forcible and varied emphasis. 7. Acquire a just variety of pause and
cadence. 8. Accompany the emotions and passions which your words express,
by corresponding tones, looks and gestures.

To follow nature is the fundamental rule in oratory, without regard to
which, all other rules will only produce affected declamation not just
elocution. Learn to speak slowly and deliberately, almost all persons who
have not studied the art have a habit of uttering their words too rapidly.
It should be borne in mind that the higher degrees of excellence in
elocution are to be gained, not by reading much, but by pronouncing what is
read with a strict regard to the nature of the subject, the structure of
the sentences, the turn of the sentiment, and a correct and judicious
application of the rules of the science. It is an essential qualification
of a good speaker to be able to alter the height as well as the strength
and the tone of his voice as occasion requires, so accustom yourself to
pitch your voice in different keys, from the highest to the lowest; but
this subject is of such a nature that it is difficult to give rules for all
the inflections of the voice, and it is almost, if not quite impossible to
teach gesture by written instructions; a few lessons from a good and
experienced teacher will do more to give a pupil ease, grace, and force of
action than all the books and diagrams in the world. Action is important to
the orator, and changes of action must accord with the language; the lower
the language the slower should be the movements and _vice versa_,
observing Shakespeare's rule: "Suit the action to the word, the word to the
action, with this special observance--that you o'erstep not the modesty of
nature." Study repose, without it, both in speech and action, the ears,
eyes, and minds of the audience, and the powers of the speaker are alike
fatigued; follow nature, consider how she teaches you to utter any
sentiment or feeling of your heart. Whether you speak in a private room or
in a great assembly, remember that you still speak, and speak
_naturally_. Conventional tones and action have been the ruin of
delivery in the pulpit, the senate, at the bar, and on the platform.

All public speaking, but especially acting and reciting, must be heightened
a little above ordinary nature, the pauses longer and more frequent, the
tones weightier, the action more forcible, and the expression more highly
coloured. Speaking from memory admits of the application of every possible
element of effectiveness, rhetorical and elocutionary, and in the delivery
of a few great actors the highest excellence in this art has been
exemplified. But speaking from memory requires the most minute and careful
study, as well as high elocutionary ability, to guard the speaker against a
merely mechanical utterance. Read in the same manner you would speak, as if
the matter were your own original sentiments uttered directly from the
heart. Action should not be used in ordinary reading.

Endeavour to learn something from every one, either by imitating, but not
servilely, what is good, or avoiding what is bad. Before speaking in public
collect your thoughts and calm yourself, avoiding all hurry. Be punctual
with your audience, an apology for being late is the worst prologue.
Leave off before your hearers become tired, it is better for you that they
should think your speech too short than too long.

Let everything be carefully finished, well-polished, and perfect. Many of
the greatest effects in all arts have been the results of long and patient
study and hard work, however simple and spontaneous they may have appeared
to be.

Remember, that the highest art is to conceal art, that attention to trifles
makes perfection, and that perfection is no trifle.

CONTENTS

PART I.

I.--PHYSICAL CULTURE.

Calisthenics
Walking
Sitting
Kneeling

II.--BREATHING EXERCISES.

Directions for Breathing

III.--ARTICULATION.

Articulation

IV.--ELEMENTARY SOUNDS, ETC.

Elements
Pronunciation and Accent

V.--QUALITIES OF VOICE.

I. Pure
II. Orotund
III. Guttural
IV. Tremor
V. Aspirate
VI. Falsetto

VI.--FORCE.

I. DEGREES.
I. Gentle
II. Moderate
III. Heavy

II. VARIATIONS OF FORCE, OR STRESS.
I. Radical
II. Median
III. Vanishing
IV. Compound
V. Thorough
VI. Semitone
VII. Monotone

VII.--TIME.

I. Moderate
II. Quick
III. Slow

VIII.--PITCH.

I. Middle
II. High
III. Low
IV. Transition

IX.--PAUSES, INFLECTIONS, ETC.

I. Rhetorical pause
II. Emphasis
III. Climax
IV. Inflection
V. Circumflex or Wave

X.--PERSONATION.

I. Personation
II. Expression

XI.--GESTURE.

I. Position of the Hand
II. Direction

XII.--INTRODUCTION TO AUDIENCE.

I. Introduction
II. Advice to Students

XIII.--GENERAL EXAMPLES FOR PRACTICE.

PART II.

SELECTIONS FOR READING.

A Child's First Impression of a Star... _N. P. Willis._
A Legend of Bregenz... _Adelaide A. Procter._
A Modest Wit
A Prayer... _James Russell Lowett._
A Slip of the Tongue
A Tarryton Romance
Advice to a Young Lawyer... _Story._
An Autumn Day... _Bryant._
An Order for a Picture... _Alice Cary._
Ask Mamma... _A. M. Bell._
Aunty Doleful's Visit
Baby's Visitor
Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata
Bells Across the Snow... _Frances Ridley Havergal._
Brutus on the Death of Caesar... _Shakespeare._
Calling a Boy in the Morning
Cataline's Defiance... _Rev'd. George Croly._
Christ Turned and Looked upon Peter... _Elisabeth B. Browning._
Cuddle Doon... _Alexander Andersen._
Curfew Must not Ring To-night
Dios Te Guarde
Domestic Love and Happiness... _Thomson._
Drifting... _T. Buchanan Read._
Elizabeth... _H. W. Longfellow._
Eve's Regrets on Quitting Paradise... _Milton._
Experience with European Guides... _Mark Twain._
Fashionable Singing
First Experience
Gertrude of Wyoming... _Campell._
Ginevra... _Rogers._
God, the True Source of Consolation... _Moore._
Good-Bye... _Whyte Melville._
Guilty or Not Guilty
Hagar in the Wilderness... _N. P. Willis._
Hannah Binding Shoes... _Lucy Larcom._
Highland Mary... _Burns._
Home Song... _H. W. Longfellow._
How We Hunted a Mouse... _Joshua Jenkins._
How Women say Good-bye
I Remember, I Remember... _T. Hood_
I'll Take What Father Takes... _W. Boyle._
In School Days... _Whittier._
Jimmy Butler and the Owl
Keys... _Bessie Chandler_
King John... _Shakespeare._
Landing of Columbus... _Rogers._
Little Bennie... _Annie G. Ketchum._
Little Mary's Wish... _Mrs. L. M. Blinn._
Love in Idleness... _Shakespeare._
Makin' an Editor Outen 0' Him... _Will. M. Carleton._
Malibran and the Young Musician
Marmion and Douglas... _Sir W. Scott._
Mary Maloney's Philosophy
Mary Stuart... _Schiler._
Memory's Pictures... _Alice Cary._
My Trundle Bed
Nay, I'll Stay With the Lad... _Lillie E. Barr._
Never Give Up
Niagara... _John G. C. Brainard._
No Kiss
Ocean... _W. Wetherald._
On His Blindness... _Milton._
On the Miseries of Human Life... _Thomson._
Only Sixteen
Oration Against Cataline... _Cicero._
Over the Hill from the Poor-House... _Will M. Carleton._
Papa Can't Find Me
Passing Away... _Pierpont._
Paul's Defence before Agrippa... _Bible._
Per Pacem ad Lucem... _Adelaide A. Procter._
Poor Little Joe... _Peleg Arkwright._
Poor Little Stephen Girard... _Mark Twain._
Prayer... _Tennyson._
Reading the List
Reflections on the Tomb of Shakespeare... _Irving._
Rock of Ages... _F. L. Stanton._
Roll Call
Romeo and Juliet... _Shakespeare_
Sandalphon... _H. W. Longfellow._
Santa Claus in the Mines
Satisfaction
Saved... _Mary B. Sleight._
Scene at Niagara Falls... _Charlei Torson._
Scenes from Hamlet... _Shakespeare._
Scenes from Leah the Forsaken
Scenes from Macbeth... _Shakespeare._
Scenes from Pizarro... _Sheridan._
Scene from Richelieu... _Sir Edward Lytton Bulwer._
Sim's Little Girl... _Mary Hartwell._
Slander
Somebody's Mother
Song of Birds... _H. W. Longfellow._
Sonnet... _James Ritttell Lowell._
St. Philip Neri and the Youth... _Dr. Byrom._
Temperance... _Rev. John Ireland._
The Ague
The Approach to Paradise... _Milton._
The Armada... _Macaulay._
The Bald-Headed Man
The Battle of Agincourt... _Shakespeare._
The Bishop's Visit... _Emily Huntington Miller._
The Bridal Wine-Cup... _Sidney Herbert._
The Chimes of S. S. Peter and Paul
The Dead Doll
The Death-Bed... _Thomas Hood._
The Engineer's Story
The Faithful Housewife
The Famine... _H. W. Longfellow._
The Field of Waterloo... _Lord Byron._
The Fireman... _George M. Baker._
The Foolish Virgins... _Tennyson._
The Hired Squirrel... _Laura Sanford._
The Hypochondriac
The Inexperienced Speaker
The Jester's Choice... _Horace Smith._
The Kiss
The Last Hymn... _Marianne Farningham._
The Last Station
The Launch of the Ship... _H. W. Longfellow._
The Little Hatchet Story... _R. N. Burdette._
The Little Hero
The Little Quaker Sinner
The Miniature
The Model Wife... _Ruskin._
The Modern Cain... _E. Evans Edwards._
The Newsboy's Debt
The Old Man in the Model Church... _John H Yates._
The Old Soldier of the Regiment... _G. Newell Lovejoy._
The Opening of the Piano... _O. W. Holmes._
The Painter of Seville... _Susan Wilson._

The Patriot's Elysium... _Montgomery._
The Polish Boy... _Mrs. Ann S. Stephens._
The Potion Scene (Romeo and Juliet)... _Shakespeare._
The Quaker Widow... _Bayard Taylor._
The Quarrel of Brutus and Cassius... _Shakespeare._
The Retort
The Rift of the Rock... _Annie Herbert._
The Seasons... _Thomson._
The Serenade
The Sioux Chief's Daughter... _Joaquin Miller._
The Sister of Charity... _Owen Meredith._
The Wedding Fee... _B. M. Streeter._
The Whistler... _Robert Story._
The World from the Sidewalk
The Worn Wedding Ring... _W. C. Bennett._
The Young Gray Head... _Mrs. Southey._
There's Nothing True but Heaven... _Moore._
Though Lost to Sight to Memory Dear... _Ruthven Jenkyns._
Three Words of Strength... _Schiller._
To Her Husband... _Anne Bradstreet._
Tom... _Constance Fenimore Woolsen._
Trial Scene from the Merchant of Venice... _Shakespeare._
Trusting
Wanted
Waterloo... _Lady Morgan._
Wounded
Your Mission

TESTIMONIALS.

Miss Kelsey has given special attention to Reading and Elocution for a
number of years. She has a powerful voice, with variety of expression.
Miss Kelsey I know to be a lady of true Christian principles, ambitions to
excel, and set a good example in Elocution and Literature. I commend
her to those interested in this branch of learning.

Allen A. Griffith,

Author of "Lessons in Elocution,"
And Professor of Elocution at State Normal School at Ypsilanti, Mich.

I have long known Professor Griffith, whose communication is enclosed.
Such is his ability in his profession, and so large are his acquirements,
And so just and broad his critical faculty, that I cannot commend Miss
Kelsey in any way so well as by saying that I accept the Professor's
judgment as most satisfactory. His opinion of her is reliable beyond
question.

I have been pleased with Miss Kelsey's views on Elocution, as far as I can
learn them from a single interview, and hope she may be successful in the
profession she has chosen.

W. Hogarth,

_Late Pastor of Jefferson Ave. Presbyterian Church,_
Detroit, Michigan.

35 Union Square, New York.

Miss Kelsey has been under my instruction in Elocution, and I take
pleasure in saying that she was so earnest in study, and so faithful
in practice, that her proficiency was very great. I bespeak for her
added success as a teacher; and from the repertoire which her recent
study has given, new triumphs as a public reader.

Anna Randall Diehl,

Author of "Randall's Elocution," and "The Quarterly
Elocutionist."

Ann Arbour, November 3rd, 1880.

_To whom it may concern:_

I have known Miss Kelsey (now Mrs. William J. Howard) for upwards
of two years, and have a high respect for her as a conscientious,
cultivated and agreeable lady, who is entitled to confidence and
esteem. She has a good reputation as an Elocutionist, and I have
no doubt would give valuable and faithful instruction to any one
who may seek her aid.

(Signed) THOMAS M. COOLEY.

Professor of Law, Michigan University, and Judge of Supreme
Court, Michigan.

* * * * *

MICHIGAN UNIVERSITY,
ANN ARBOR, MICH.
November 13th, 1880.

For several years Mrs. Anna K. Howard, (then Miss Kelsey) lived in Ann
Arbor as a teacher of Elocution, and also as a student in one of our
professional departments, and was known to me as very earnest in all her
work.

I never had the pleasure of hearing her read or of witnessing any of her
instructions in Elocution; but of her proficiency in both directions, I
frequently heard very favourable reports.

MOSES COIT TYLER,

Professor of History in Cornell University, and author of "History of
American Literature."

* * * * *

[_St. Catharines (Ont.) Times_.]

MISS KELSEY fairly took the audience by storm, being heartily encored.
She is one of the best professional readers we have ever listened to.

* * * * *

[_Ann Arbor (Mich.) Courier_.]

MISS KELSEY'S manner is simple and graceful, or full of vigour and fire;
her voice singularly sweet and flexible, or deep and sonorous at will. Miss
K. has given readings in many of our important cities, and she always holds
her audience spell-bound.

* * * * *

[_Grand Rapids (Mich.) Press._]

MISS KELSEY is a lady of unusual talent; evidently understands her
vocation. She fully sustained her reputation acquired elsewhere, and has
made many friends in this city--her professional worth and professional
merit being recognized--who will be pleased with another opportunity of
listening to her readings should she thus favour them.

* * * * *

[_St. Thomas (Ont.) Times_.]

The readings of Miss Kelsey were the _piece de resistance_ of the evening.
This lady has a very sweet voice, and flexible, pure accentuation, and is
altogether as good an elocutionist as we have ever heard. It was wonderful
how distinctly her voice was heard all over the hall, though apparently
making no effort. She was applauded with enthusiasm.

CHAPTER I.

PHYSICAL CULTURE.

Gymnastic and calisthenic exercises are invaluable aids to the culture and
development of the bodily organs, for purposes of vocalization.

The organs of the voice require vigour and pliancy of muscle, to perform
their office with energy and effect.

Before proceeding to the vocal gymnastics, it is indispensable, almost, to
practice a series of muscular exercises, adapted to the expansion of the
chest, freedom of the circulation, and general vitality of the whole
system.

First, stand firmly upon both feet, hands upon the hips, fingers in front,
head erect, so as to throw the larynx directly over the wind-pipe in a
perpendicular line; bring the arms, thus adjusted, with hands pressed
firmly against the waist, back and down, six times in succession; the
shoulders will be brought down and back, head up, chest thrown forward.
Keeping the hands in this position, breathe freely, filling the lungs to
the utmost, emitting the breath slowly. Now, bring the hands, clenched
tightly, against the sides of the chest; thrust the right fist forward--
keeping the head up and chest forward, whole body firm; bring it back, and
repeat six times; left the same; then both fists; then right up six times;
then left; then both; then right, down six times; left, the same; then
both. Now clench the fists tightly, and press them under the arm-pits,
throwing the chest as well forward as possible, shoulders down and back,
head erect; thrust the fists down the sides, and return, six times, with
the utmost energy. Now, keeping the head, shoulders, and chest still the
same, extend the hands forward, palms open and facing, bring both back as
far as the bones and muscles of the shoulders will admit, without bending
arms at elbows. Now, thrust the body to the right, knees and feet firm, and
strike the left side with open palms, vigorously, repeat with body to the
left. Now, with arms akimbo, thrust the right foot forward (kicking) with
energy, six times; left same. Now, place the clenched fist in the small of
the back with great force; throw the whole body backwards, feet and knees
firm, tilling the lungs to the utmost and uttering, as you go over, the
alphabetical element, "_a_" then long "_o_," then long "_e_"
If these movements have been made with great energy and precision, the
blood is circulating freely, and the whole body is aglow, and you are ready
now for vocal exercises.

These should be repeated daily with increasing energy.

The best time for practicing gymnastic exercises is either early in the
morning or in the cool of the evening; but never immediately after meals.

As the feet and lower limbs are the foundation, we shall begin by giving
their different positions. The student should be careful to keep the body
erect.

A good voice depends upon the position, and the practice of Position and
Gesture will prove a valuable aid in physical culture, and in acquiring a
graceful address. There are two primary positions of the feet in speaking:

_First._--The body rests on the left foot, right a little advanced,
right knee bent.

_Second._--The body rests on the right foot, the left a little
advanced, left knee bent.

There are two other positions which are called secondary. They are assumed
in argument, appeal or persuasion.

The first secondary position is taken from the first primary by advancing
the unoccupied foot, and resting the body upon it, leaning forward, the
_left_ foot brought to its support. The second secondary position is
the same as the first with the body resting on the left foot. In assuming
these positions the movements must be made with the utmost simplicity,
avoiding all display or parade, and advancing, retiring or changing with
ease and gracefulness, excepting when the action demands energy or marked
decision. All changes must be made as lightly and as imperceptibly as
possible, without any unnecessary sweep of the moving foot, and in all
changes that foot should be moved first which does not support the weight
of the body. All action should be graceful in mechanism and definite in
expressiveness. The speaker should keep his place--all his motions may be
easily made in one square yard, but the stage or dramatic action requires
more extended movements.

WALKING.

In walking, the head and body should be carried upright, yet perfectly free
and easy, with the shoulders thrown back, the knees should be straight, and
the toes turned out. In the walk or march, the foot should be advanced,
keeping the knee and instep straight, and the toe pointing downward; it
should then be placed softly on the ground without jerking the body; and
this movement should be repeated with the left foot, and the action
continued until it can be performed with ease and elegance.

"In a graceful human step," it has been well observed, "the heel is always
raised before the foot is lifted from the ground, as if the foot were part
of a wheel rolling forward, and the weight of the body, supported by the
muscles of the calf of the leg, rests, for a time, on the fore part of the
foot and toes. There is then a bending of the foot in a certain degree."

SITTING.

In reading, the student should sit erect, with both feet resting on the
floor, and one foot slightly advanced, the head up so as to be able to use
the whole trunk in respiration.

KNEELING.

To kneel gracefully, assume the first standing position resting the weight
of the body on the right foot, then place the left knee gently down on the
floor keeping the body perfectly erect, then bring the right knee down;--in
rising, these motions are reversed, the right knee being raised first, the
full weight of the body resting on it while rising, bring up the left knee
and assume the first standing position. To be effective these motions
should be very gracefully executed and a great deal of practice must be
given to acquire freedom of action.

HOLDING THE BOOK.

The book should be held in the right hand by the side, standing in the
first position then raise it and open it to place, pass it to the left hand
letting the right hand drop by the side, the book being held so that the
upper part of it is below the chin, so as to show the countenance, and
permit the free use of the eyes, which should frequently be raised from the
book and directed to those who are listening.

CHAPTER II.

BREATHING EXERCISES.

Deep breathing with the lips closed, inhaling as long as possible, and
exhaling slowly, is very beneficial.

Having inflated the lungs to their utmost capacity, form the breath into
the element of long _o_, in its escape through the vocal organs. This
exercise should be frequently repeated, as the voice will be strengthened
thereby, and the capacity of the chest greatly increased. Do not raise the
shoulders or the upper part of the chest alone when you breathe. Breathe as
a healthy child breathes, by the expansion and contraction of abdominal and
intercostal muscles. Such breathing will improve the health, and be of
great assistance in continuous reading or speaking. Great care is necessary
in converting the breath into voice. Do not waste breath; use it
economically, or hoarseness will follow. Much practice on the vocal
elements, with all the varieties of pitch, then the utterance of words,
then of sentences, and finally of whole paragraphs, is necessary in
learning to use the breath, and in acquiring judgment and taste in
vocalizing. _Never speak when the lungs are exhausted. Keep them well
inflated._

SPECIAL DIRECTIONS FOR BREATHING.

1. Place yourself in a perfectly erect but easy posture; the weight of the
body resting on one foot; the feet at a moderate distance, the one in
advance of the other; the arms akimbo; the fingers pressing on the
abdominal muscles, in front, and the thumbs on the dorsal muscles, on each
side of the spine; the chest freely expanded and fully projected; the
shoulders held backward and downward; the head perfectly vertical.

2. Having thus complied with the preliminary conditions of a free and
unembarrassed action of the organs, draw in and give out the breath very
fully and very slowly, about a dozen times in succession.

3. Draw in a very full breath, and send it forth in a prolonged sound of
the letter _h_. In the act of inspiration, take in as much breath as
you can contain. In that of expiration, retain all you can, and give out as
little as possible, merely sufficient to keep the sound of _h_
audible.

4. Draw in a very full breath, as before, and emit it with a lively,
expulsive force, in the sound of _h_, but little prolonged in the
style of a moderate, whispered cough.

5. Draw in the breath, as already directed, and emit it with a sudden and
violent explosion, in a very brief sound of the letter _h_, in the
style of an abrupt and forcible, but whispered cough. The breath is, in
this mode of expiration, thrown out with abrupt _violence_.

6. Inflate the lungs to their utmost capacity and exhale the breath very
slowly, counting rapidly up to ten, as many times as possible with one
breath.

Each of the above exercises should be repeated often, by the student, in
his room, or while walking; and may be given with the gymnastic exercises
previously introduced.

CHAPTER III.

ARTICULATION.

A good articulation consists in a clear, full, and distinct utterance of
words, in accordance with the best standard of pronunciation, and this
constitutes the basis of every other excellence in reading and oratory.
Care and attention, with diligent practice, will keep young persons from
falling into the bad habit of imperfect articulation, for most voices are
good until domestic or local habits spoil them. Hence the great importance
of careful training in early childhood, for if parents and instructors
would direct their attention to this matter a manifest improvement would
quickly follow; yet, to acquire a good articulation is not so difficult a
task "as to defy the assaults of labour."

"The importance of a correct enunciation in a public speaker is well known
--for if he possesses only a moderate voice, if he articulates correctly,
he will be better understood and heard with greater pleasure, than one who
vociferates without judgment. The voice of the latter may indeed extend to
a considerable distance,--but the sound is dissipated in confusion; of the
former voice, not the smallest vibration is wasted, every stroke is
perceived even at the utmost distance to which it reaches; and hence it
often has the appearance of penetrating even farther than one which is
loud, but badly articulated."

In connection with this subject, a few words are necessary concerning
impediment of speech, for in cases where a slight degree of hesitation
breaks the fluent tenor of discourse much may be accomplished by due care
and attention, and most defects of speech, voice, and manner may be
modified or remedied by cultivation and diligent study and practice.

In seeking for a remedy the first thing to be considered is the care of the
health, for this is the foundation of every hope of cure, and all excesses
should be avoided and all irregularities guarded against.

All the mental powers should be enlisted in the combat with the defect, and
the student should speak with deliberation and with an expiring breath, and
when alone practice frequently the words and letters that he finds most
difficult to pronounce, and should also furnish his mind with a copious
vocabulary of synonyms, so that if he finds himself unable to utter a
particular word, he may substitute some other in its place. But above all
he must maintain a courageous command over himself and exert the energy of
his own mind. By observing these rules, if the defect is not entirely
eradicated, it will at least be palliated in a considerable degree.

CHAPTER IV.

ELEMENTARY SOUNDS OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE.

The number of elements in the language is thirty-eight.

They are divided into _vowels_, _sub-vowels_, and
_aspirates_; or, as classified by Dr. Rush in his "Philosophy of the
Human Voice," into _tonics_, _sub-tonics_, and _atonics_.

There are fifteen _vowels_, fourteen _sub-vowels_, and nine
_aspirates_.

_Table of the Elements._

VOWELS

A as heard in _a_le, f_a_te, m_a_y.
A " " " _a_rm, f_a_rm, h_a_rm.
A " " " _a_ll, f_a_ll, _o_rb.
A " " " _a_n, ide_a_, p_a_n.
E " " " _e_asy, im_i_tate, m_e_.
E " " " _e_nd, l_e_t, m_e_nd.
I " " " _i_sle, _i_ce, fl_y_, m_i_ne.
I " " " _i_n, p_i_n, _E_ngland.
O " " " _o_ld, m_o_re, _o_ats.
O " " " _oo_se, l_o_se, t_o_, f_oo_l
O " " " _o_n, l_o_ck, n_o_t.
U " " " m_ew_, f_ew_, t_u_be, p_u_pil.
U " " " _u_p, t_u_b, h_e_r, h_u_rt.
U " " " f_u_ll, p_u_ll, w_o_lf.
OU " " " _ou_r, fl_ou_r, p_ow_er.

SUB-VOWELS.

B as heard in _b_ow, _b_oat, _b_arb.
D " " " _d_ay, bi_d_, _d_are.
G " " " _g_ay, fi_g_, _g_ilt.
L " " " _l_ight, _l_iberty, a_ll_.
M " " " _m_ind, stor_m_, _m_ate.
N " " " _n_o, o_n_, _n_i_n_e.
NG " " " si_ng_, fi_ng_er, lo_ng_.
R " " " _r_oe, _r_a_r_e, o_r_b.
TH " " " _th_en, wi_th_, benea_th_.
V as heard in _v_ice, _v_ile, sal_v_e.
W " " " _w_oe, _w_ave, _w_orld.
Y " " " _y_oke, _y_e, _y_onder.
Z " " " _z_one, hi_s_, _Z_enophon.
ZH " " " a_z_ure, enclo_s_ure.

ASPIRATES.

F as heard in _f_ame, i_f_, li_f_t.
H " " " _h_e, _h_ut.
K " " " _k_ite, ca_k_e.
P " " " _p_it, u_p_, a_p_t.
S " " " _s_in, _c_ell, ye_s_.
SH " " " _sh_ade, _sh_ine, flu_sh_ed.
T " " " _t_ake, oa_t_s, i_t_.
TH " " " _th_in, tru_th_, mon_th_s.
WH " " " _wh_en, _wh_ich, _wh_at.

There are many words in which there are difficult combinations of the
elements; they, as well as those in which the combinations are easy, should
be practiced upon until the pupil is able to articulate each element
correctly. The following is a table of the _analysis of words_, in
which there are easy and difficult combinations of elements. Let the pupil
spell the words, uttering separately each _element_, and not the
_name_ of the word, as is the practice which generally obtains in our
schools.

_Table of the Analysis of Words._

WORDS. ELEMENTS.

ale, a-l.
day, d-a.
fame, f-a-m.
crew, k-r-u.
call, k-a-l.
deeds, d-e-d-z.
wool, w-u-l.
isle, i-l.
dare, d-a-r.
ink, i-ng-k.
pause, p-a-z.
mow, m-o.
lose, l-o-z.
pray, p-r-a.
spell, s-p-e-l.
twists, t-w-i-s-t-s.
waste, w-a-s-t.
awful, a-f-u-l.
up, u-p.
mouths, m-ou-th-z.
sky, s-k-i.
lamb, l-a-m.
oak, o-k.
eve, e-v.
once, w-u-n-s.
awe, a.
power, p-ou-u-r.
mulcts, m-u-l-k-t-s.
John, d-gh-a-n.
objects, o-b-d-jh-e-k-ts.
thousandth, th-ou-z-a-n-d-th.
wives, w-i-v-z.
softness, s-o-f-t-n-e-s.
shrugged, sh-r-u-g-d.
themselves, th-e-m-s-e-l-v-z.
church, t-sh-u-r-t-sh.

They were _wrenched_ by the hand of violence.
The _strength_ of his nostrils is _terrible_.
A gentle current _rippled_ by.
Thou _barb'd'st_ the dart by which he fell.
Arm'd, say ye? Arm'd, my lord!
He _sa_wed _six sl_eek, _sl_im _s_apling_s_.
It was strongly _urged_ upon him.
Ami_dst_ the mi_sts_, he thru_sts_ his fi_sts_ again_st_ the po_sts_.
The swan swam over the sea; well swum, swan. The
swan swam back again; well swum, swan.

PRONUNCIATION AND ACCENT.

Pronunciation is the mode of enouncing certain words and syllables. As
pronunciation varies with the modes and fashions of the times, it is
sometimes fluctuating in particular words, and high authorities are often
so much at variance, that the correct mode is hard to be determined; hence
to acquire a correct pronunciation, this irregularity, whatever be the
cause, must be submitted to.

Be very careful to give each letter its proper sound and avoid omitting or
perverting the sound of any letter or syllable of a word, without some good
authority.

The unaccentuated syllables of words are very liable to be either omitted,
slurred or corrupted, and there is no word in the language more frequently
and unjustly treated in this respect than the conjunction--_and_. It
is seldom half articulated, although it is properly entitled to
_three_ distinct elementary sounds.

Heaven _a_nd earth will witness,
If Rome must fall, that we are innocent. I

The Assyrian came down, like the wolf on the fold,
And _h_is cohorts were gleaming in purple _a_nd gold.

The word _and_, in these and similar examples, is commonly pronounced
as if written _u_nd or _u_n, with an imperfect or partially occluded
articulation of these elements; whereas, it ought always to be
pronounced in such a manner that each of its own three elementary sounds,
though in their combined state, may distinctly appear.

In pronouncing the phrase, "and his," not only the _a_, but the
_h_, is, also, frequently suppressed, and the sound of the _d_ is
combined with that of the _i_ following it; as if written thus,
_u_nd _diz_ cohorts, and so on. Many pronounce the phrase "are
innocent," in the first example, as if written _a rinesunt_. This
practice of suppressing letters, and as it were melting words into
indistinct masses, cannot be too cautiously guarded against.

Avoid the affectations and mis-pronunciations exemplified in the following
list of words which are often mispronounced. Do not say--

G_i_t for g_e_t.
H_e_v " h_a_ve.
K_e_tch " c_a_tch.
G_e_th'er " g_a_th'er.
St_i_d'y " st_e_ad'y.
Good'n_i_ss " good'n_e_ss.
Hon'ist " hon'est.
Hun'd_u_rd " hund'red.
Sav'_i_j " sav'_a_ge.
Ma_w_n'ing " mo_r_n'ing.
Cli'm_i_t " cli'm_a_te.
Si'l_u_nt " si'l_e_nt.
Souns " soun_d_s.
Fiels " fiel_d_s.
Sof'ly " sof_t_'ly.
Kindl'st " kindl'_d_st.
Armst " arm'_d_st.
Gen'ral " gen'_e_ral.
Sep'rate " sep'_a_rate.
Mis'ries " mis'_e_ries.
Dif'frence " diff'_e_rence.
Ex'lent " ex'c_el_lent.
Comp'ny " com'p_a_ny.
Liv'in " liv'i_ng_.
Lenth'en " le_ng_th'en.
Chastisemunt " chastisement.
Bereavemunt " bereavement.
Contentmunt " contentment.
Offis " office.
Hevun " heaven.
Curosity " curiosity.
Absolut " absolute, etc.

CHAPTER V.

QUALITIES OF VOICE.

By Quality of Voice is meant the kind of voice used to express sentiment.

There are two general divisions of quality: PURE and IMPURE. These are sub-
divided into Pure, Deepened or Orotund, Guttural, Tremor, Aspirate, and
Falsetto qualities.

PURE QUALITY.

The Pure or Natural tone is employed in ordinary speaking or descriptive
language, and is expressed with less expenditure of breath than any other
quality of voice. It is entirely free from any impure vocal sound.

"How calm, how beautiful a scene is this,--
When Nature, waking from her silent sleep,
Bursts forth in light, and harmony, and joy!
When earth, and sky, and air, are glowing all
With gayety and life, and pensive shades
Of morning loveliness are cast around!
The purple clouds, so streaked with crimson light,
Bespeak the coming of majestic day;--
Mark how the crimson grows more crimson still,
While, ever and anon, a golden beam
Seems darting out its radiance!
Heralds of day! where is that mighty form
Which clothes you all in splendour, and around
Your colourless, pale forms spreads the bright hues
Of heaven?--He cometh from his gorgeous couch,
And gilds the bosom of the glowing east!"

_Margaret Davidson._

Sweet was the sound, when oft at evening's close
Up yonder hill the village murmur rose;
There, as I passed with careless steps and slow
The mingling notes came softened from below;
The swain responsive as the milk-maid sung,
The sober herd that lowed to meet their young;
The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool,
The playful children just let loose from school;
The watch-dog's voice that bayed the whispering wind,
And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind;
These all in sweet confusion sought the shade,
And filled each pause the nightingale had made.
But now the sounds of population fail,
No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale,
No busy steps the grass-grown footway tread,
For all the blooming flush of life is fled.
All but yon widowed, solitary thing,
That feebly bends beside the plashy spring;
She, wretched matron--forced in age, for bread,
To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread,
To pick her wintry fagot from the thorn,
To seek her nightly shed and weep till morn--
She only left of all the harmless train,
The sad historian of the pensive plain!

_Goldsmith._

OROTUND QUALITY.

The Orotund is a highly improved state of the Natural voice, and is the
quality most used, being far more expressive, as it gives grandeur and
energy to thought and expression. This voice is highly agreeable, and is
more musical and flexible than the common voice.

Dr. Rush defines the Orotund as that assemblage of eminent qualities which
constitute the highest characteristic of the speaking voice. He describes
it to be a full, clear, strong, smooth, and ringing sound, rarely heard in
ordinary speech; but which is never found in its highest excellence, except
by careful cultivation. He describes the fine qualities of voice
constituting the Orotund in the following words:--

By a fullness of voice, is meant the grave or hollow volume, which
approaches to hoarseness.

By a freedom from nasal murmur and aspiration.

By a satisfactory loudness and audibility.

By smoothness, or a freedom from all reedy or guttural harshness.

By a ringing sonorous quality of voice resembling certain musical
instruments.

The possession of the power of this voice is greatly dependent on
cultivation and management, and experiments have proved that more depends
on cultivation than on natural peculiarity. Much care and labour are
necessary for acquiring this improved condition of the speaking voice, the
lungs must be kept well supplied with breath, there must be a full
expansion of the chest, causing the abdomen gently to protrude, the throat
and the mouth must be kept well open so as to give free course to the
sound. Never waste the breath, every pause must be occupied in replenishing
the lungs, and the inhalation should be done as silently as possible, and
through the nostrils as well as by the mouth.

Excellence in this quality of voice depends on the earnest and frequent
practice of reading aloud with the utmost degree of force. The voice may be
exerted to a great extent without fatigue or injury, but should never be
taxed beyond its powers, and as soon as this strong action can be employed
without producing hoarseness, it should be maintained for half an hour at a
time.

This practice is very beneficial to the health, especially if prosecuted in
the open air, or in a large, well ventilated room, and if pursued
regularly, energetically, and systematically, the pupil will be surprised
and delighted at his rapid progress in this art, and his voice, from a
condition of comparative feebleness, will soon develop into one of well-
marked strength, fullness, and distinctness.

Ye ice-falls! ye that from the mountain's brow
Adown enormous ravines slope amain,--
Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice,
And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge!
Motionless torrents! silent cataracts!
Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven
Beneath the keen, full moon? Who bade the sun
Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers
Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet!--
God! let the torrents, like a shout of nations,
Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, God!--
And they, too, have a voice,--yon piles of snow,
And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God!

_Coleridge._

The hoarse, rough voice, should like a torrent roar.

Hurrah! the foes are moving. Hark to the mingled din
Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin.
The fiery duke is pricking fast across Saint Andre's plain,
With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne.
Now by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France,
Charge for the golden lilies--upon them with the lance!
A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest,
A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white crest,
And in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a guiding star,
Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre.

_Macaulay_.

"Up drawbridge, grooms!--What, warder, ho!
Let the portcullis fall."--
Lord Marmion turned,--well was his need!--
And dashed the rowels in his steed,
Like arrow through the archway sprung;
The ponderous gate behind him rung:
To pass there was such scanty room,
The bars, descending, razed his plume.

_Sir Walter Scott_.

Fight, gentlemen of England! fight, bold yeomen!
Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head!
Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood!
Amaze the welkin with your broken staves!
A thousand hearts are great within my bosom!
Advance our standards, set upon our foes!
Our ancient word of courage--fair Saint George--
Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons!
Upon them! Victory sits on our helms!

_Shakespeare._

And reckon'st thou thyself with spirits of heaven,
_Hell-doomed_, and breath'st defiance here and scorn,
Where I reign king? and to enrage the more
_Thy_ King and Lord! _Back_ to thy _pun_ishment,
_False fu_gitive, and to thy speed add wings,
Lest with a whip of scorpions I pursue
Thy lingering, or with one stroke of this dart
Strange horrors seize thee, and pangs unfelt before.

_Milton._

These are Thy glorious works, Parent of Good!
Almighty! Thine this universal frame,
Thus wondrous fair!--Thyself how wondrous, then!
Unspeakable! who sitt'st above these heavens,
To us invisible, or dimly seen
Midst these, thy lowest works!
Yet these declare Thy goodness beyond thought,
And power divine!

An hour passed on:--the Turk awoke:--
That bright dream was his last;--
He woke--to hear his sentries shriek,
"To arms!--they come!--the Greek, the Greek!"
He woke--to die, 'midst flame and smoke,
And shout, and groan, and sabre-stroke,
And death-shots felling thick and fast.

Like forest-pines before the blast,
Or lightnings from the mountain-cloud;
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud,
Bozzaris cheer his band;
"Strike--till the last armed foe expires,
Strike--for your altars and your fires,
Strike--for the green graves of your sires,
Heaven--and your native land!"

They fought like brave men, long and well,
They piled that ground with Moslem slain,
They conquered--but Bozzaris fell
Bleeding at every vein.
His few surviving comrades saw
His smile, when rang their proud hurrah,
And the red field was won;
They saw in death his eyelids close,
Calmly, as to a night's repose,
Like flowers at set of sun.

_Halleck._

GUTTURAL QUALITY.

The Guttural Quality is used in expressing the strongest degree of
contempt, disgust, aversion, revenge, etc. Its characteristic is an
explosive resonance in the throat, producing a harsh and grating sound, and
its expression can be used in all the various tones, giving to them its own
peculiar character.

This quality, is, however, of rare occurrence, and needs less cultivation
than the other qualities.

Avaunt! and quit my sight! Let the earth hide thee!
Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold:
Thou hast no speculation in those eyes
Which thou dost glare with!
Hence, horrible shadow!
Unreal mockery, hence!

_Shakespeare._

How like a fawning publican he looks!
I hate him, for he is a Christian:
But more, for that, in low simplicity,
He lends out money gratis, and brings down
The rate of usance here with us in Venice:
If I can catch him once upon the hip,
I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.
He hates our sacred nation; and he rails,
Even there where merchants most do congregate,
On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift,
Which he calls interest:--Cursed be my tribe,
If I forgive him!

_Shakespeare._

Thou stands't at length before me undisguised--
Of all earth's grovelling crew, the most accursed.
Thou worm! thou viper!--to thy native earth
Return! Away! Thou art too base for man
To tread upon! Thou scum! thou reptile!

"And, Douglas, more I tell thee here,
Even in thy pitch of pride,
Here in thy hold, thy vassals near,
(Nay, never look upon your Lord,
And lay your hands upon your sword,)
I tell thee, thou'rt defied!
And if thou said'st I am not peer--
To any lord in Scotland here,
Lowland or Highland, far or near,
Lord Angus, thou has't lied!"

_Sir Walter Scott_.

TREMOR QUALITY.

The Tremor Quality is used in expressing pity, grief, joy, mirth, etc., and
its characteristic is a frequent rise and fall of the voice, and a more
delicate exercise of that particular vibration in the throat, known as
"gurgling." It is apparent in extreme feebleness, in age, exhaustion,
sickness, fatigue, grief, and even joy, and other feelings in which ardour
or extreme tenderness predominate.

Pity the sorrows of a poor old man
Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door;
Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span;--
Oh, give relief, and heaven will bless your store!

The king stood still till the last echo died; then, throwing off the
sackcloth from his brow, and laying back the pall from the still features
of his child, he bowed his head upon him, and broke forth in the resistless
eloquence of woe:--

"Alas! my noble boy! that thou should'st die! Thou, who wert made so
beautifully fair! that death should settle in thy glorious eye, and leave
his stillness in thy clustering hair! How could he mark thee for the silent
tomb, my proud boy, Absalom!

"Cold is thy brow, my son! and I am chill, as to my bosom I have tried to
press thee! How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill, like a rich harp-
string, yearning to caress thee, and hear thy sweet '_My father_!'
from those dumb and cold lips, Absolom!

"But death is on thee! I shall hear the gush of music and the voices of the
young; and life will pass me in the mantling blush, and the dark tresses to
the soft winds flung;--but thou no more, with thy sweet voice, shalt come
to meet me, Absalom!"

_N. P. Willis._

Noble old man! He did not live to see me, and I--I--did not live to see
_him_. Weighed down by sorrow and disappointment, he died before I was
born--six thousand brief summers before I was born.

But let us try to hear it with fortitude. Let us trust that he is better
off where he is. Let us take comfort in the thought that his loss is our
gain.

_Mark Twain._

Forsake me not thus, Adam, witness heav'n
What love sincere, and reverence in my heart
I bear thee, and unweeting have offended,
Unhappily deceiv'd; thy suppliant
I beg, and clasp thy knees; bereave me not,
Whereon I live, thy gentle looks, thy aid,
Thy counsel in this uttermost distress.
My only strength and stay: forlorn of thee,
Whither shall I betake me, where subsist?
While yet we live, scarce one short hour, perhaps
Between us two let there be peace, both joining,
As joined in injuries, one enmity,
Against a foe by doom express assign'd us,
That cruel serpent!

_Milton._

ASPIRATE QUALITY.

The Aspirate Quality is used in the utterance of secrecy and fear, and
discontent generally takes this quality.

Its characteristic is distinctness, therefore exercises on this voice will
prove invaluable to the pupil and deep inhalations are indispensable.

The aspirate is usually combined with other qualities and the earnestness
and other expressive effects of aspiration may be spread over a whole
sentence or it may be restricted to a single word.

The aspirate quality is entitled to notice as a powerful agent in
oratorical expression, and the whispered utterances of any well disciplined
voice will be heard in the remotest parts of a large theatre, and the voice
is greatly strengthened by frequent practice in this quality.

Hark! I hear the bugles of the enemy! They are on their march along the
bank of the river! We must retreat instantly, or be cut off from our boats!
I see the head of their column already rising over the height! Our only
safety is in the screen of this hedge. Keep close to it--be silent--and
stoop as you run! For the boats! Forward!

MACBETH. I have done the deed:--Did'st thou not hear
a noise?

LADY MACBETH. I heard the owl scream, and the crickets
cry. Did not you speak?

MACB. When?

LADY M. Now.

MACB. As I descended?

LADY M. Ay.

MACB. Hark! Who lies i' the second chamber?

LADY M. Donaldbain.

MACB. This is a sorry sight. [_Showing his hands._

LADY M. A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight.

MACB. There's one did laugh in his sleep, and one
cried "Murder!"
That they did wake each other; I stood and heard them:
But they did say their prayers, and addressed them
Again to sleep.

_Shakespeare_

"Pray you tread softly,--that the blind mole may not
Hear a footfall: we are now near his cell.
Speak softly!
All's hushed as midnight yet.
See'st thou here?
This is the mouth o' the cell: no noise! and enter."

_Shakespeare._

Ah' mercy on my soul! What is that? My old friend's ghost? They say none
but wicked folks walk; I wish I were at the bottom of a coal-pit. See; how
long and pale his face has grown since his death: he never was handsome;
and death has improved him very much the wrong way. Pray do not come near
me! I wish'd you very well when you were alive; but I could never abide a
dead man, cheek by jowl with me.

FALSETTO QUALITY.
The Falsetto Quality is used in expressing terror, pain, anger, affection,
etc. Some people speak altogether in falsetto, especially those who are not
careful in pronunciation. It is harsh, rude, and grating, and is heard in
the whine of peevishness, in the high pitch of mirth, and in the piercing
scream of terror.

I was dozing comfortably in my easy-chair, and dreaming of the good times
which I hope are coming, when there fell upon my ears a most startling
scream. It was the voice of my Maria Ann in mortal agony. The voice came
from the kitchen, and to the kitchen I rushed. The idolized form of my
Maria Ann was perched upon a chair, and she was flourishing an iron spoon
in all directions, and shouting "_Shoo-shoo_," in a general manner to
everything in the room. To my anxious inquiries as to what was the matter,
she screamed, "_O, Joshua, a mouse, shoo--wha--shoo--a great--shoo--
horrid mouse, and it ran right out of the cupboard--shoo--go away--shoo--
Joshua--shoo--kill it--oh, my--shoo._"

SIR PETER.--Lady Teazle, Lady Teazle, I'll not bear it.

LADY TEAZLE.--Sir Peter, Sir Peter, you may bear it or not, as you please;
but I ought to have my own way in everything, and, what's more, I will,
too. What though I was educated in the country, I know very well that women
of fashion in London are accountable to nobody after they are married.

SIR P.--Very well, ma'am, very well!--so a husband is to have no influence,
no authority?

LADY T.--Authority! No, to be sure. If you wanted authority over me, you
should have adopted me, and not married me; I am sure you were old enough.

_Sheridan._

"I've seen mair mice than you, guidman--
An' what think ye o' that?
Sae haud your tongue an' say nae mair--
I tell ye, it was a rat."

CHAPTER VI.

FORCE.

Force refers to the strength or power of the voice, and is divided into
forms and degrees. Very particular attention should be given to the subject
of force, since that _expression_, which is so very important in
elocution, is almost altogether dependent on some one or other modification
of this attribute of the voice. It may truly be considered the light and
shade of a proper intonation. Force may be applied to sentences or even to
single words, for the purpose of energetic expression.

The degrees of force are Gentle, Moderate, and Heavy.

GENTLE FORCE.

The Gentle Force is used in expressing tenderness, love, secrecy, caution,
etc., and the lungs must be kept thoroughly inflated, especially in
reverberating sounds.

"Heard you that strain of music light,
Borne gently on the breeze of night,--
So soft and low as scarce to seem
More than the magic of a dream?
Morpheus caught the liquid swell,--
Its echo broke his drowsy spell.
Hark! now it rises sweetly clear,
Prolonged upon the raptured ear;--
Sinking now, the quivering note
Seems scarcely on the air to float;
It falls--'tis mute,--nor swells again;--
Oh! what wert thou, melodious strain?"

_Mrs. J. H. Abbot._

Was it the chime of a tiny bell,
That came so sweet to my dreaming ear,
Like the silvery tones of a fairy's shell,
That he winds on the beach so mellow and clear,
When the winds and the waves lie together asleep,
And the moon and the fairy are watching the deep,
She dispensing her silvery light,
And he his notes as silvery quite,
While the boatman listens and ships his oar,
To catch the music that comes from the shore?--
Hark! the notes on my ear that play,
Are set to words: as they float, they say,
"Passing away! passing away!"

_Pierpont._

3.
Hear the sledges with the bells--silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle in the icy air of night!
While the stars that oversprinkle all the heavens, seem
to twinkle
With a crystalline delight--
Keeping time, time, time, in a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells,--
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

_E. A. Poe._

MODERATE FORCE.

The Moderate Force is used in ordinary conversation and unemotional
utterances.

She stood before her father's gorgeous tent
To listen for his coming. Her loose hair
Was resting on her shoulders like a cloud
Floating around a statue, and the wind,
Just swaying her light robe, reveal'd a shape
Praxiteles might worship. She had clasp'd
Her hands upon her bosom, and had raised
Her beautiful dark Jewish eyes to heaven,
Till the long lashes lay upon her brow.
Her lips were slightly parted, like the cleft
Of a pomegranate blossom; and her neck,
Just where the cheek was melting to its curve,
With the unearthly beauty sometimes there,
Was shaded, as if light had fallen off,
Its surface was so polish'd. She was stilling
Her light, quick breath, to hear; and the white rose
Scarce moved upon her bosom, as it swell'd,
Like nothing but a lovely wave of light
To meet the arching of her queenly neck.
Her countenance was radiant with love,
She looked like one to die for it--a being
Whose whole existence was the pouring out
Of rich and deep affections.

_N. P. Willis._

Oh! sing unto the Lord a new song, for He hath done marvellous things: His
right hand and His holy arm hath gotten Him the victory. Make a joyful
noise unto the Lord, all the earth: make a loud noise, and rejoice, and
sing praise. Sing unto the Lord with the harp; with the harp, and the voice
of a psalm.

POR. The quality of mercy is not strain'd;
It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath: it is twice bless'd;
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes;
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown;
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings:
But mercy is above this sceptred sway,
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,
It is an attribute to God himself;
And earthly power doth then show likest God's,
When mercy seasons justice.

_Shakespeare._

HEAVY FORCE.

Heavy Force, is used in giving the language of command, exultation,
denunciation, defiance, etc., and in using this force the lungs must be
inflated to their utmost capacity. In giving the accompanying examples the
student must exert every energy of the body and mind, and by earnest
practice he will increase the power and flexibility of his voice to a
surprising extent, and also acquire a distinctness of tone and earnestness
of manner, that will serve him well, as a public speaker.

Banished from Rome! What's banished, but set free
From daily contact with the things I loathe?
"Tried and convicted traitor!" Who says this?
Who'll prove it, at his peril, on my head?

Banished! I thank you for't! It breaks my chain!
I held some slack allegiance till this hour--
But now, my sword's my own. Smile on, my lords!
I scorn to count what feelings, withered hopes,
Strong provocations, bitter, burning wrongs,
I have within my heart's hot cells shut up,
To leave you in your lazy dignities!
But here I stand and scoff you! here I fling
Hatred and full defiance in your face!
Your Consul's merciful--for this, all thanks:
He dares not touch a hair of Cataline!

"Traitor!" I go--but I return. This--trial?
Here I devote your senate! I've had wrongs
To stir a fever in the blood of age,
Or make the infant's sinews strong as steel!
This day's the birth of sorrow! This hour's work
Will breed proscriptions! Look to your hearths, my lords!
For there henceforth shall sit, for household gods,
Shapes hot from Tartarus!--all shames and crimes!--
Wan treachery, with his thirsty dagger drawn;
Suspicion, poisoning his brother's cup;
Naked rebellion, with the torch and axe,
Making his wild sport of your blazing thrones;
Till anarchy comes down on you like night,
And massacre seals Rome's eternal grave!

_George Croly._

But Douglas round him drew his cloak,
Folded his arms, and thus he spoke:
"My manors, halls, and bowers, shall still
Be open, at my sovereign's will,
To each one whom he lists, howe'er
Unmeet to be the owner's peer.
My castles are my king's alone,
From turret to foundation stone;--
The _hand_ of Douglas is his own,
And never shall in friendly grasp,
The hand of such as Marmion clasp!"
Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire,
And shook his very frame for ire--
And "This to me!" he said--
"And 'twere not for thy hoary beard,
Such hand as Marmion's had not spared
To cleave the Douglas' head!
And first I tell thee, haughty peer,
He who does England's message here,
Although the meanest in her state,
May well, proud Angus, be thy mate!"

_Sir Walter Scott._

What man dare, I dare!
Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear,
The armed rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger,
Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves
Shall never tremble: or, be alive again,
And dare me to the desert with thy sword!
Hence, horrible shadow! Unreal mockery, hence!

_Shakespeare._

VARIATIONS OF FORCE OR STRESS.

These are known as the Radical, Median, Vanishing, Compound, and Thorough
stress.

RADICAL STRESS.

This is used in expressing lively description, haste, fear, command, etc.,
and consists of an abrupt and forcible utterance, usually more or less
explosive, and falls on the first part of a sound or upon the opening of a
vowel, and its use contributes much to distinct pronounciation. It is not
common to give a strong, full and clear radical stress, yet this abrupt
function is highly important in elocution, and when properly used in public
reading or on the stage "will startle even stupor into attention." It is
this tone that prompts children to obedience, and makes animals submissive
to their masters.

Out with you!--and he went out.

There's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower,
There's a titter of winds in that beechen tree,
There's a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the flower,
And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea!

_Bryant._

But hark! that heavy sound breaks in once more,
As if the clouds its echo would repeat;
And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before!
Arm! arm! it is! it is! the cannon's opening roar!

Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro,
And gathering tears and tremblings of distress,
And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago
Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness;
And there were sudden partings, such as press
The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs
Which ne'er might be repeated! Who could guess
If ever more should meet those mutual eyes,
Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise?

_Byron._

MEDIAN STRESS.

The Median Stress is used in the expression of grandeur, sublimity,
reverence, etc., and smoothness and dignity are its characteristics, for it
gives emphasis without abruptness or violence. In using this stress, there
is a gradual increase and swell in the middle of a sound, and a subsequent
gradual decrease--thus giving a greater intensity of voice and dignity of
expression than Radical Stress.

_Roll on_, thou dark and deep blue ocean, _roll_.

_Byron._

We _praise_ thee, O God, we acknowledge _thee_ to be the
_Lord_.

Father! Thy hand
Hath reared these venerable columns; Thou
Didst weave this verdant roof; Thou didst look down
Upon the naked earth; and, forthwith, rose
All these fair ranks of trees. They in Thy sun
Budded, and shook their green leaves in Thy breeze,
And shot towards heaven. The century-living crow,
Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died
Among their branches, till, at last, they stood,
As now they stand, massy, and tall, and dark,--
Fit shrine for humble worshipper to hold
Communion with his Maker!

_Bryant._

How are the mighty fallen! Saul and Jonathan were lovely and pleasant in
their lives; and in their death they were not divided; they were swifter
than eagles, they were stronger than lions. Ye daughters of Israel, weep
over Saul, who clothed you in scarlet, with other delights; who put on
ornaments of gold upon your apparel! How are the mighty fallen in the midst
of battle! O Jonathan! thou wast slain in thine high places! How are the
mighty fallen, and the weapons of war perished!

THE VANISHING STRESS.

The Vanishing Stress occurs as its name implies at the end or closing of a
sound or vowel, and is used in expressing disgust, complaint, fretfulness,
ardour, surprise, etc. The sound is guttural, and sometimes terminates in
sobbing or hic-cough. It has less dignity and grace than the gradual swell
of the Median Stress.

Do you hear the rain, Mr. Caudle? I say, do you hear it? But I don't care;
I'll go to mother's to-morrow; I will; and what's more I'll walk every step
of the way; and you know that will give me my death. Don't call me a
foolish woman; 'tis you that's the foolish man. You know I can't wear
clogs; and, with no umbrella, the wet's sure to give me a cold: it always
does: but what do you care for that? Nothing at all. I may be laid up for
what you care, as I dare say I shall; and a pretty doctor's bill there'll
be. I hope there will. It will teach you to lend your umbrellas again. I
shouldn't wonder if I caught my death: yes, and that's what you lent the
umbrella for.

_Douglas Jerrold._

CAS. Brutus, bay not me!
I'll not endure it. You forget yourself,
To hedge me in: I am a soldier, I,
Older in practice, abler than yourself
To make conditions.

BRU. Go to! you are not, Cassius.

CAS. I am.

BRU. I say you are not!

CAS. Urge me no more: I shall forget myself:
Have mind upon your health; tempt me no farther!

BRU. You say you are a better soldier:
Let it appear so; make your vaunting true,
And it shall please me well. For mine own part,
I shall be glad to learn of noble men.

CAS. You wrong me every way, you wrong me, Brutus.
I said, an elder soldier, not a better.
Did I say better?

BRU. If you did, I care not!

CAS. When Caesar lived, he durst not thus have moved
me!

BRU. Peace, peace! you durst not so have tempted him?

CAS. I durst not?

BRU. No.

CAS. What! durst not tempt him?

BRU. For your life, you durst not!

CAS. Do not presume too much upon my love;
I may do that I shall be sorry for.

_Shakespeare._

COMPOUND STRESS.

Compound Stress is the natural mode of expressing surprise, and also--
though not so frequently--of sarcasm, contempt, mockery, etc. In using this
stress the voice, with more or less explosive force, touches strongly and
distinctly on both the opening and closing points of a sound or vowel, and
passes slightly and almost imperceptibly over the middle part.

Gone to be married! Gone to swear a peace!
False blood to false blood joined! Gone to be friends!
Shall Lewis have Blanche, and Blanche these provinces?
It is not so; thou hast misspoke, misheard,--
Be well advised, tell o'er thy tale again:
It can not be;--thou dost but say 'tis so.

_Shakespeare._

JULIA. Why! do you think I'll work?

DUKE. I think 'twill happen, wife.

JULIA. What, rub and scrub your noble palace clean?

DUKE. Those taper fingers will do it daintily.

JULIA. And dress your victuals (if there be any)? O, I
shall go mad.

_Tobin._

THOROUGH STRESS.

Thorough Stress is used in expressing command, denunciation, bravado,
braggadocio, etc. This stress has a degree of force a little stronger than
the compound stress, and it is produced by a continuation of the full
volume of the voice throughout the whole extent of the sentence. When the
time is short the tone resembles that of uncouth rustic coarseness.

These abominable principles, and this more abominable avowal of them,
demand the most decisive indignation.

Now strike the golden lyre again;
A louder yet, and yet a louder strain':
Break his bands of sleep asunder,
And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder'.
Hark! hark! the horrid sound
Has raised up his head,
As awaked from the dead;
And amazed he stares around.
Revenge! revenge.

_Dryden._

SEMITONE.

The progress of pitch through the interval of a half tone. It is called
also the Chromatic melody, because it expresses pity, grief, remorse, etc.
It may colour a single word, or be continued through an entire passage or
selection.

1.
The New Year comes to-night, mamma, "I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord"--tell poor papa--"my soul to keep,
If I"--how cold it seems, how dark, kiss me, I cannot see,--
The New Year comes to-night, mamma, the old year dies with me.

The Semitone is very delicate, and must be produced by the nature of the
emotion. An excess, when the mood or language does not warrant it, turns
pathos into burlesque, and the scale may very easily be turned from the
sublime to the ridiculous. Strength, flexibility, and melody of voice are
of little worth if the judgment and taste are defective.

MONOTONE

Is a sameness of the voice, indicating solemnity, power, reverence, and
dread. It is a near approach to one continuous tone of voice, but must not
be confounded with monotony. Much of the reading we hear is monotonous in
the extreme, while the judicious use of the monotone would sufficiently
vary it, to render it attractive. Monotone is of great importance in
reading the Bible, the beautiful words of the Church Service, and in
prayer, and the haste with which these solemn words are often slurred over,
is much to be deplored. Monotone is usually accompanied by slow time, and
it is, in fact, a low Orotund.

The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament showeth His handy
work. Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night showeth knowledge.
There is no speech nor language, where their voice is not heard.

_Bible._

These, as they change, Almighty Father! these
Are but the varied God. The rolling year
Is full of Thee.--
And oft Thy voice in dreadful thunder speaks;
And oft at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve,
By brooks and groves, in hollow-whispering gales.
In Winter, awful Thou! with clouds and storms
Around Thee thrown, tempest o'er tempest rolled--
Majestic darkness! On the whirlwind's wing,
Riding sublime, Thou bidd'st the world adore,
And humblest Nature, with Thy northern blast.

_Thomson._

Now o'er the one-half world
Nature seems dead; and wicked dreams abuse
The curtain'd sleep; now witchcraft celebrates
Pale Hecate's off'rings; and wither'd murder,
Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf,
Whose howl's his watch,--thus with his stealthy pace,
With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design
Moves like a ghost.--Thou sure and firm-set earth!
Hear not my, steps, which way they walk; for fear
The very stones prate of my whereabout,
And take the present horror for the time
Which now suits with it.

_Shakespeare._

CHAPTER VII.

TIME.

The varieties of movement in utterance are expressed by Time, which is the
measure of the duration of the sounds heard in speech, and it is divided
into three general divisions; viz.--Moderate, Quick and Slow time, these
being sub-divided by the reader, according to the predominate feeling which
the subject seems to require.

Time and Stress, properly combined and marked, possesses two essential
elementary conditions of agreeable discourse, upon which other excellences
may be engrafted. If either be feebly marked, other beauties will not
redeem it. A well-marked stress, and a graceful extension of time, are
essential to agreeable speech, and give brilliancy and smoothness to it.

MODERATE TIME.

1. Moderate is the rate used in narrative or conversational style.

O bright, beautiful, health-inspiring, heart-gladdening water! Every where
around us dwelleth thy meek presence--twin-angel sister of all that is good
and precious here; in the wild forest, on the grassy plain, slumbering in
the bosom of the lonely mountain, sailing with viewless wings through the
humid air, floating over us in curtains of more than regal splendour--home
of the healing angel, when his wings bend to the woes of this fallen world.

_Elihu Burritt._

But thou, O Hope! with eyes so fair!
What was thy delighted measure?
Still it whispered promised pleasure,
And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail.
Still would her touch the strain prolong;
And, from the rocks, the woods, the vale,
She called on Echo still through all her song;
And, where her sweetest theme she chose,
A soft, responsive voice, was heard at every close;
And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden hair.

_Collins._

Tell him, for years I never nursed a thought
That was not his; that on his wandering way,
Daily and nightly, poured a mourner's prayers.
Tell him ev'n now that I would rather share
His lowliest lot,--walk by his side, an outcast,--
Work for him, beg with him,--live upon the light
Of one kind smile from him, than wear the crown
The Bourbon lost.

_Sir E. Bulwer Lytton._

QUICK TIME.

Quick Time is used in haste, joy, humour, also in anger, and in exciting
scenes of any kind.

Look up! look up, Pauline! for I can bear
Thine eyes! the stain is blotted from my name,
I have redeemed mine honour. I can call
On France to sanction thy divine forgiveness.
Oh, joy! oh rapture! by the midnight watchfires
Thus have I seen thee! thus foretold this hour!
And 'midst the roar of battle, thus have heard
The beating of thy heart against my own!

_Sir E. Bulwer Lytton._

Lord Marmion turned,--well was his need!--
And dashed the rowels in his steed,
Like arrow through the archway sprung;
The ponderous gate behind him rung:
To pass there was such scanty room,
The bars, descending, razed his plume.

The steed along the drawbridge flies,
Just as it trembled on the rise;
Not lighter does the swallow skim
Along the smooth lake's level brim;
And when Lord Marmion reached his band,
He halts, and turns with clenched hand,
And shout of loud defiance pours,
And shook his gauntlet at the towers.

_Sir Walter Scott._

They bound me on, that menial throng,
Upon his back with many a thong;
Then loosed him with a sudden lash--
Away!--away!--and on we dash!
Torrents less rapid and less rash.

Away!--away!--my breath was gone,
I saw not where he hurried on:
'Twas scarcely yet the break of day,
And on he foamed--away!--away!
The last of human sounds which rose,
As I was darted from my foes,
Was the wild shout of savage laughter,
Which on the wind came roaring after
A moment from that rabble rout:

_Byron._

SLOW TIME.

Slow Time is used in all subjects of a serious, deliberate, and dignified
character, in solemnity, and grandeur, reverential awe, earnest prayer,
denunciation, and in all the deeper emotions of the soul.

Is this a dagger which I see before me,
The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee:--
I have thee not!--and yet I see thee still!
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
To feeling, as to sight? or art thou but
A dagger of the mind--a false creation,
Proceeding from a heat-oppressed brain?
I see thee yet, in form as palpable
As this which now I draw!
Thou marshll'st me the way that I was going!
And such an instrument I was to use.
Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses,
Or else worth all the rest. I see thee still!
And on thy blade and dudgeon, gouts of blood!

_Shakespeare._

_Alon._ (c.) For the last time, I have beheld the shadowed ocean close
upon the light. For the last time, through my cleft dungeon's roof, I now
behold the quivering lustre of the stars. For the last time, O Sun! (and
soon the hour) I shall behold thy rising, and thy level beams melting the
pale mists of morn to glittering dew-drops. Then comes my death, and in the
morning of my day, I fall, which--No, Alonzo, date not the life which thou
hast run by the mean reck'ning of the hours and days, which thou hast
breathed: a life spent worthily should be measured by a nobler line; by
deeds, not years. Then would'st thou murmur not, but bless the Providence,
which in so short a span, made thee the instrument of wide and spreading
blessings, to the helpless and oppressed! Though sinking in decrepit age,
he prematurely falls, whose memory records no benefit conferred by him on
man. They only have lived long, who have lived virtuously.

_Sheridan._

O thou that rollest above, round as the shield of my fathers! whence are
thy beams, O sun! thy everlasting light? Thou comest forth in thy awful
beauty: the stars hide themselves in the sky; the moon, cold and pale,
sinks in the western wave. But thou thyself movest alone: who can be a
companion of thy course? The oaks of the mountains fall; the mountains
themselves decay with years; the ocean shrinks and grows again; the moon
herself is lost in the heavens; but thou art forever the same, rejoicing in
the brightness of thy course. When the world is dark with tempests, when
thunders roll and lightnings fly, thou lookest in thy beauty from the
clouds, and laughest at the storm. But to Ossian thou lookest in vain; for
he beholds thy beams no more; whether thy yellow hair floats on the eastern
clouds or thou tremblest at the gates of the west. But thou art, perhaps,
like me,--for a season; thy years will have an end. Thou wilt sleep in thy
clouds, careless of the voice of the morning.

_Ossian._

CHAPTER VIII.

PITCH.

Pitch is the degree of elevation or depression of sound. On the proper
pitching of the voice depends much of the ease of the speaker, and upon the
modulation of the voice depends that variety which is so pleasing and so
necessary to relieve the ear, but no definite rules can be given for the
regulation of the pitch,--the nature of the sentiment and discriminating
taste must determine the proper key note of delivery. He who shouts at the
top of his voice is almost sure to break it, and there is no sublimity in
shouting, while he who mutters below the proper key note soon wearies
himself, becomes inaudible, and oppresses his hearers. Pitch is
distinguished as Middle, High, and Low.

MIDDLE PITCH.

The Middle Pitch is used in conversational language, and is the note that
predominates in good reading and speaking.

1
A free, wild spirit unto thee is given,
Bright minstrel of the blue celestial dome!
For thou wilt wander to yon upper heaven,
And bathe thy plumage in the sunbeam's home;
And, soaring upward, from thy dizzy height,
On free and fearless wing, be lost to human sight.

_Welby._

2
Eternal blessings crown my earliest friend,
And round his dwelling guardian saints attend!
Blest be that spot, where cheerful guests retire
To pause from toil, and trim their evening fire:
Blest that abode, where want and pain repair,
And every stranger finds a ready chair:
Blest be those feasts with simple plenty crowned,
Where all the ruddy family around
Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail,
Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale;
Or press the bashful stranger to his food,
And learn the luxury of doing good.

_Goldsmith._

HIGH PITCH.

High Pitch indicates command, joy, grief, astonishment, etc. To obtain a
good control of the voice in a high pitch, practice frequently and
energetically with the greatest force and in the highest key you can
command. Do not forget to drop the jaw, so as to keep the mouth and throat
well open, and be sure to thoroughly inflate the lungs at every sentence,
and if the force requires it even on words. Do not allow the voice to break
into an impure tone of any kind, but stop at once, rest for a short time
and then begin again. The following examples are excellent for increasing
the compass and flexibility of the voice, and the pupil must practice them
frequently and with sustained force.

1.
"The game's afoot,
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry 'God for Harry, England and Saint George!'"

_Shakespeare._

Ring! Ring!! Ring!!!

MELNOTTE. Look you our bond is over. Proud conquerors that we are, we have
won the victory over a simple girl--compromised her honour--embittered her
life--blasted in their very blossoms, all the flowers of her youth. This is
your triumph,--it is my shame! Enjoy that triumph, but not in my sight. I
_was_ her betrayer--I _am_, her protector! Cross but her path--
one word of scorn, one look of insult--nay, but one quiver of that mocking
lip, and I will teach thee that bitter word thou hast graven eternally in
this heart--_Repentance!_

BEAUSEANT. His Highness is most grandiloquent.

MELNOTTE. Highness me no more! Beware! Remorse has made me a new being.
Away with you! There is danger in me. Away!

_Sir E. Bulwer Lytton._

4.
Up, comrades, up!--in Rokeby's halls,
Ne'er be it said our courage falls!

_Sir Walter Scott._

To arms! To arms!! a thousand voices cried.

6.
The combat _deepens!_ On ye _brave!_
Who rush to _glory_ or the _grave_.

_Campbell._

Charcoal! Charcoal! Charcoal!

Hurrah! Hurrah!! Hurrah!!!

LOW PITCH.

Low Pitch is used to express grave, grand, solemn, and reverential
feelings, and is very effective in reading.

To obtain a good control of the voice in Low Pitch, first practice the
examples given under the High Pitch, until you are fatigued, then after
resting the lungs and vocal organs, practice the lowest and deepest tone
you can command, giving, however, a full clear and resonant sound.

Seems, Madam! Nay, it is; I know not 'seems,'
'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,
Nor customary suits of solemn black,
Nor windy suspiration of forced breath;
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,
Nor the dejected 'haviour of the visage,
Together with all forms, moods, shapes of grief,
That can denote me truly: these indeed, seem,
For they are actions that a man might play;
But I have that within that passes show;
These but the trappings and the suits of woe.

_Shakespeare._

Then the earth shook and trembled: the foundations of Heaven moved and
shook, because he was wroth. There went up a smoke out of his nostrils; and
fire out his mouth devoured; coals were kindled by it. He bowed the
heavens, also, and came down; and darkness was under his feet; and he rode
upon a cherub, and did fly; and he was seen upon the wings of the wind; and
he made darkness pavilions round about him, dark waters, and thick clouds
of the skies. The Lord thundered from heaven, and the Most High uttered his
voice; and he sent out arrows and scattered them; lightning and discomfited
them. And the channels of the sea appeared; the foundations of the world
were discovered at the rebuking of the Lord, at the blast of the breath of
his nostrils.

I am thy father's spirit;
Doomed for a certain term to walk the night,
And for the day confined to fast in fires,
Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature,
Are burned and purged away.

_Shakespeare._

Unchanged through time's all-devastating flight;
Thou only God! There is no God beside!
Being above all beings! Three-in-One!
Whom none can comprehend, and none explore;
Who fill'st existence with Thyself alone;
Embracing all--supporting--ruling o'er--
Being whom we call God--and know no more!

_Derzhaver._

TRANSITION.

Transition signifies a sudden change in the force, quality, movement, or
pitch of the voice, as from a subdued to a very high tone, from a slow to a
rapid rate of utterance, and also the reverse of these movements. It also
refers to changes in the style of delivery, as from a persuasive to the
declamatory, etc., and to the expression of passion or emotion, as from
grief to joy, from fear to courage, etc.

Transition thus forms a very important part in vocal culture, and public
speakers often ask the question: "How can I modulate my voice?" for they
are well aware that nothing relieves the ear more agreeably than a well
regulated transition, for who has not been bored by listening to a speaker
whose voice throughout has been pitched in one monotonous tone, either too
high or too low? A change of delivery is also necessary when a new train of
thought is introduced, for pitch, tone, quality, time, and force should all
be changed in conformity with the changes of sentiment. No definite rules
can be laid down in relation to the proper management of the voice in
transition which would be intelligible without the living teacher to
exemplify them. Constant practice must be persevered in to enable the pupil
to make the necessary transitions with skill and ease.

[This selection demands the entire range of the speaking voice, in pitch--
all qualities, and varied force.]

Hark! the alarm bell, 'mid the wintry storm!
Hear the loud shout! the rattling engines swarm.
Hear that distracted mother's cry to save
Her darling infant from a threatened grave!
That babe who lies in sleep's light pinions bound,
And dreams of heaven, while hell is raging round!
Forth springs the Fireman--stay! nor tempt thy fate!--
He hears not--heeds not,--nay, it is too late!
See how the timbers crash beneath his feet!
O, which way now is left for his retreat?
The roaring flames already bar his way,
Like ravenous demons raging for their prey!
He laughs at danger,--pauses not for rest,
Till the sweet charge is folded to his breast.
Now, quick, brave youth, retrace your path;--but lo!
A fiery gulf yawns fearfully below!
One desperate leap!--lost! lost!--the flames arise
And paint their triumph on the o'erarching skies!
Not lost! again his tottering form appears!
The applauding shouts of rapturous friends he hears!
The big drops from his manly forehead roll,
And deep emotions thrill his generous soul.
But struggling nature now reluctant yields;
Down drops the arm the infant's face that shields,
To bear the precious burthen all too weak;
When, hark!--the mother's agonising shriek!
Once more he's roused,--his eye no longer swims,
And tenfold strength reanimates his limbs;
He nerves his faltering frame for one last bound,--
"Your child!" he cries, and sinks upon the ground!

And his reward you ask;--reward he spurns;
For him the father's generous bosom burns,--
For him on high the widow's prayer shall go,--
For him the orphan's pearly tear-drop flow.
His boon,--the richest e'er to mortals given,--
Approving conscience, and the smile of Heaven!

CHAPTER IX.

PAUSES.

"A pause is often more eloquent than words." The common pauses necessary to
be made, according to the rules of punctuation, are too well known to
require any particular notice here, they serve principally for grammatical
distinctions, but in public reading or speaking other and somewhat
different pauses are required.

The length of the pause in reading must be regulated by the mood and
expression and consequently on the movement of the voice, as fast or slow;
slow movements being accompanied by long pauses, and livelier movements by
shorter ones, the pause often occurring where no points are found--the
sense and sentiments of the passage being the best guides.

"How did Garrick speak the soliloquy, last night?"--"Oh! against all rule,
my lord, most ungrammatically! Betwixt the substantive and the adjective,
which should agree together in number, case, and gender, he made a breach
thus----stopping, as if the point wanted settling; and betwixt the
nominative case, which, your lordship knows, should govern the verb, he
suspended his voice in the epilogue a dozen times, three seconds and three-
fifths by a stop-watch, my lord, each time." "Admirable grammarian!--But,
in suspending his voice,--was the sense suspended?--Did no expression of
attitude or countenance fill up the chasm?--Was the eye silent? Did you
narrowly look?"--"I looked only at the stopwatch, my lord!"--"Excellent
observer!"

_Sterne._

A Rhetorical Pause--is one not dependent on the grammatical construction of
a sentence, but is a pause made to enable the speaker to direct attention
to some particular word or phrase, and is made by suspending the voice
either directly before or after the utterance of the important phrase. In
humorous speaking the pause is generally before the phrase, as it awakens
curiosity and excites expectation; while in serious sentiments it occurs
after and carries the mind back to what has already been said.

A pause of greater or less duration is always required whenever an
interruption occurs in the progress of a thought, or the uniform
construction of a sentence, as in the case of the dash, the exclamation,
the parenthesis, etc. In these cases the mind is supposed to be arrested by
the sudden change of sentiment or passion. It is necessary in most cases to
make a short pause just before the parenthesis, which read more rapidly,
and in a more subdued tone; when the parenthesis is concluded, resume your
former pitch and tone of voice.

EXAMPLES OF RHETORICAL PAUSES.

(1.) After the subject of a sentence:
Wine | is a mocker.

(2.) After the subject-phrase:
The fame of Milton | will live forever.

(3.) When the subject is inverted:
The best of books | is the Bible.

(4.) Before the prepositional phrase:
The boat is sailing | across the river.

(5.) After every emphatic word:
_William_ | is an honest boy.
William _is_ | an honest boy.
William is an _honest_ | boy.

(6.) Whenever an ellipsis occurs:
This | friend, that | brother,
Friends and brothers all.

(7.) In order to arrest the attention:
The cry was | peace, peace!

EMPHASIS.

Emphasis generally may be divided into two classes--Emphasis of sense and
Emphasis of feeling. Emphasis relates to the mode of giving expression;
properly defined it includes whatever modulation of the voice or expedient
the speaker may use, to render what he says significant or expressive of
the meaning he desires to convey, for we may, by this means, give very
different meanings to our sentences, according to the application of
emphasis. For instance, take the sentence--"Thou art a man." When delivered
in a cool and deliberate manner, it is a very plain sentence, conveying no
emotion, nor emphasis, nor interrogation. But when one of the words is
emphasized, the sentence will be very different from what it was in the
first instance; and very different, again, when another word is made
emphatic; and so, again, whenever the emphasis is changed, the meaning is
also changed: as, "THOU art a man." That is _thou_ in opposition to
another, or because _thou_ hast proved thyself to be one. "Thou art a
MAN." That is a _gentleman_. "Thou ART a man." That is, in opposition
to "thou _hast been_ a man," or "thou _wilt be_ one." "Thou art
A man." That is, in opposition to _the_ man, or a _particular_
man.

Then, again, the sentence may be pronounced in a very _low_ tone of
voice, and with force or without force. It may be raised uniting a good
deal of stress, or without stress; and then, again, it may be heard with
the greatest force, or with moderate force. Each of these latter modes of
intonation will make a very different impression on an audience, according
to the employment of the other elements of expression, with that of the
general pitch..

In addition to these, the sentence may be pronounced in a very _low and
soft_ tone, implying kindness of feeling. Then, in a _whisper_,
intimating secrecy or mystery. It may be heard on the SEMITONE, high or
low, to communicate different degrees of pathos. And then, again, the
TREMOR nay be heard on one or all of the words, to give greater intensity
to other elements of expression which may be employed. As, also, a GUTTURAL
emphasis may be applied to express anger, scorn, or loathing. These are
some of the different meanings which may be given to this sentence of four
words by the voice. A good reader, or speaker, then, ought not only to be
able to sound every word _correctly_; he ought to know, always, the
EXACT _meaning_ of what he reads, and _feel_ the sentiment he
utters, and also to know HOW to give the _intended_ meaning and
emotion, when he _knows_ them.

By _practice_ upon the different exercises herein, the student will
not fail to recognize the emotion from the sentiment, _and will be able
to give it_.

Emphasis of feeling is suggested and governed entirely by emotion, and is
not strictly necessary to the sense, but is in the highest degree
expressive of sentiment.

1. _On_! ON! you noble English.

2. _Slaves_! TRAITORS! have ye flown?

3. To _arms_! to ARMS! ye braves?

4 Be _assured_, be ASSURED, that this declaration will stand.

5. _Rise_, RISE, ye wild tempests, and cover his flight!

6. To _arms_! to ARMS! to ARMS! they cry.

7. _Hurrah_ for bright water! HURRAH! HURRAH!

8. I _met_ him, FACED him, SCORNED him.

9. _Horse_! HORSE! and CHASE!

10. The charge is _utterly_, TOTALLY, MEANLY, false.

11. Ay, cluster there! Cling to your master, _judges_, ROMANS, SLAVES.

12. I defy the honourable _gentleman_; I defy the GOVERNMENT; I defy
the WHOLE PHALANX.

13. He has allowed us to meet you here, and in the name of the present
_generation_, in the name of your COUNTRY, in the name of LIBERTY, to
thank you.

14 They shouted _France_! SPAIN! ALBION! VICTORY!

CLIMAX.

Climax, or cumulative emphasis, consists of a series of particulars or
emphatic words or sentences, in which each successive particular, word, or
sentence rises in force and importance to the last.

INFLECTIONS.

The inflections of the voice, consist of those peculiar slides which it
takes in pronouncing syllables, words, or sentences.

There are two of these slides, the upward and the downward. The upward is
called the rising inflection, and the downward the falling inflection, and
when these are combined it is known as the circumflex.

The rising inflection is used in cases of doubt and uncertainty, or when
the sense is incomplete or dependent on something following. The falling
inflection is used when the sense is finished and completed, or is
independent of anything that follows.

Indirect questions usually require the falling inflection.

Falling inflections give power and emphasis to words. Rising inflections
give beauty and variety. Rising inflections may also be emphatic, but their
effect is not so great as that of falling inflections.

I _am_`.

Life is _short_`.

Eternity is _long_`.

If they _return_`.

Forgive us our _sins_`.

Depart _thou_`.

What' though the field be lost`?
All` is not` lost`: the unconquerable will`,
And stud`y of revenge`, immor`tal hate`,
And cour`age nev`er to submit` or yield`.

And be thou instruc`ted, oh, Jeru`salem', lest my soul depart` from thee;
lest I make thee' des`olate, a land not' inhab`ited.

If the members of a concluding series are not emphatic, they all take the
rising inflection except the _last_, which takes the falling
inflection; but if emphatic, they all take the falling inflection except
the _last_ but _one_, which takes the rising inflection.

The dew is dried up', the star is shot', the flight is past', the man
forgot`.

He tried each art', reproved each dull delay', allured to brighter worlds'
and led the way`.

They will celebrate it with thanksgiving', with festivity' with bonfires',
with illuminations`.

He was so young', so intelligent', so generous', so brave so everything',
that we are apt to like in a young man`.

My doctrine shall drop as the rain', my speech shall distill as the dew',
as the small rain upon the tender herb' and as the showers upon the grass`.

THE CIRCUMFLEX OR WAVE.

The Circumflex is a union of the two inflections, and is of two kinds;
viz., the Rising and the Falling Circumflex. The rising circumflex begins
with the falling, and ends with the rising inflection; the falling
circumflex begins with the rising, and ends with the falling inflection.

Positive assertions of irony, raillery, etc., have the falling circumflex,
and all negative assertions of doubled meaning will have the rising. Doubt,
pity, contrast, grief, supposition, comparison, irony, implication,
sneering, raillery, scorn, reproach, and contempt, are all expressed by the
use of the wave of the circumflex. Be sure and get the right feeling and
thought, and you will find no difficulty in expressing them properly, if
you have mastered the voice. Both these circumflex inflections may be
exemplified in the word "so," in a speech of the clown, in Shakespeare's
"As You Like It:"

"I knew when seven justices could not take up a quarrel; but when the
parties were met themselves, one of them thought but of an If; as if you
said so, then I said sô. Oh, hô! did you say so*? So they shook hands, and
were sworn friends."

The Queen of Denmark, in reproving her son, Hamlet, on account of his
conduct towards his step-father, whom she married shortly after the murder
of the king, her husband, says to him, "_Hamlet_, you have your father
_much_ offended." To which he replies, with a circumflex on
_you_, "Madam, yô*u have my father much offended." _He_ meant his
_own_ father; _she_ his _step_-father. He would _also_
intimate that she was _accessory_ to his father's _murder_; and
his peculiar reply was like _daggers_ in her _soul_.

In the following reply of Death to Satan, there is a frequent occurrence of
circumflexes, mingled with _contempt_: "And reckon's _thou
thyself_ with _spirits_ of heaven, hell-doomed, and breath'st
_defiance here_, and _scorn_ where _I_ reign king*?--and, to
enrage thee _more, th*y_ king and _lord!_" The voice is
circumflexed on _heaven_, _hell-doomed_, _king_, and
_thy_, nearly an octave.

CHAPTER X.

PERSONATION.

Personation is the representation, by a single reader or speaker, of the
words, manners, and actions of one or several persons. The change of voice
in personation in public reading is of great importance, but is generally
overlooked, or but little practiced.

The student must practice assiduously upon such pieces as require
Personation in connection with narrative and descriptive sentences, and he
must use the Time, Pitch, Force, and Gesture, which are appropriate to the
expression of the required thought. For example, if it be the words uttered
by a dying child, the Pitch will be low, Pure Voice, slightly Tremor, Time
slow, with a pause between the narrative and the quoted words of the child,
these last being given very softly and hesitatingly.

"Tell father, when he comes from work, I said goodnight to him; and mother
--now-I'll-go-to-sleep."

The last words very soft, and hesitating utterance.

Before this example, is another in the same selection, not quite so marked,
which we give from the third verse. She gets her answer from the child;
softly fall the words from him--

"Mother, the angels do so smile, and beckon little Jim! I have no pain,
dear mother, now,--but oh, I am so dry! Just moisten poor Jim's lips again
--and, mother, don't you cry." With gentle, trembling haste, she held the
liquid to his lips,----

That which is quoted is supposed to be uttered by the dying child, and can
not be given effectively without the changes in voice, etc., referred to
above.

If, however, the climax of the narrative is a battle scene, and the
Personation represents an officer giving a command, then a most marked
change must be made in the voice between the narrative and the personation,
which demands Full Force, Quick Time, High Pitch, and Orotund Quality, and
the narrative portion will commence with Moderate Pitch and Time
(increasing), and Medium Force.

"Forward, the Light Brigade!
'Charge for the guns!' he said,
Into the valley of death
Rode the Six Hundred."

(_desc_.) And when Peter saw it, he answered unto the people:
(_per_.) "Ye men of Israel, why marvel ye at this? or why look ye so
earnestly on us, as though by our own power or holiness, we had made this
man to walk?" etc.

To read the Bible acceptably in public, requires the application of every
principle in elocution; for nowhere is Expression so richly rewarded, as in
the pronunciation of the sacred text. The Descriptive and Personation
should be so distinctly marked, that the attention will be at once
attracted to the different styles, and the meaning understood.

EXPRESSION.

The study of Expression is one of the most important parts of elocution, as
it is the application of all the principles that form the science of
utterance. It is the ART of elocution. Expression then should be the chief
characteristic of all public reading and speaking. The student must forget
self, and throw himself entirely into the spirit of what he reads, for the
art of feeling is the true art which leads to a just expression of the
features:

"To this one standard make you just appeal,
Here lies the golden secret, learn to _feel_."

The voice under the influence of feeling, gives the beautiful colouring,
and breathes life and reality to the mental picture. Every turn in the
current of feeling should be carefully observed and fully expressed. Not
only the varied changes of the voice, however, but the indications by all
the features of the countenance, contribute a share to give a good
expression, and by far the greatest is derived from the eyes. The
management of the eyes is, therefore, the most important of all--

"A single look more marks the eternal woe,
Than all the windings of the lengthened, oh!
Up to the face the quick sensation flies,
And darts its meaning from the speaking eyes;
Love, transport, madness, anger, scorn, despair,
And all the passions, all the soul is there."

The eye of the orator, and the expressive movements of the muscles of his
face, often _tell_ more than his words, his body or his hands, and
when the eye is lighted up and glowing with meaning and intelligence, and
frequently and properly directed to the person or persons addressed, it
tends greatly to rivet the attention, and deepen the interest of the
hearer, as well as to heighten the effect, and enforce the importance of
the sentiments delivered. To the eyes belong the effusion of tears, and to
give way to this proof of feeling should not be called a mark of weakness,
but rather a proof of sensibility, which is the test of sincerity.

Next to the eyes, the mouth is the most expressive part of the countenance.
"The Mouth," says Cresallius, "is the vestibule of the soul, the door of
eloquence, and the place in which the thoughts hold their highest debates."
It is the seat of grace and sweetness; smiles and good temper play around
it; composure calms it; and discretion keeps the door of its lips. Every
bad habit defaces the soft beauty of the mouth, and leaves indelible traces
of its injury, they should, therefore, be carefully avoided. The motion of
the lips should be moderate, to moisten them by thrusting the tongue
between them is very disagreeable, and biting the lips is equally
unbecoming. We should speak with the mouth, more than with the lips.

Unless the pupil is very careful, he will find some difficulty in keeping
the mouth sufficiently wide open, he will gradually close the mouth until
the teeth are brought nearly together, before the sound is finished, the
inevitable consequence of which is a smothered, imperfect and lifeless
utterance of the syllable or word. A good opening of the mouth is
absolutely indispensable in giving the voice the full effect of round,
smooth and agreeable tone.

* * * * *

CHAPTER XI.

GESTURE.

As more or less action must necessarily accompany the words of every
speaker who delivers his sentiments in earnest, as they ought to be to move
and persuade, it is of the utmost importance to him that that action be
appropriate and natural--never forced and awkward, but easy and graceful,
except where the nature of the subject requires it to be bold and vehement.
If argument were necessary to enforce the importance of cultivation in
gesticulation, one sufficiently cogent might be drawn from the graceful
skill and power displayed in this art by the best actors on the stage. No
truth is clearer than that their excellence in this is due to their own
industry.

But, in applying art to the aid of Oratory, and especially in copying the
gesture of those who excel in it, great caution is to be observed. No true
orator can be formed after any model. He that copies or borrows from any
one, should be careful in the first place, not to copy his peculiarities or
defects: and whatever is copied, should be so completely brought under
command, by long practice, as to appear perfectly natural. Art should never
be allowed to put any restraint upon nature; but should be so completely
refined and subdued as to appear to be the work of nature herself; for
whenever art is allowed to supersede nature, it is immediately detected,
shows affectation, and is sure to disgust, rather than please and impress,
the hearer.

In general terms, force and grace may be considered the leading qualities
of good action. In pleasing emotions the eye of the speaker follows the
gesture, but in negative expressions the head is averted. The stroke of the
hand terminates on the emphatic word. Be careful not to "saw the air" with
the hands, but to move them in graceful curved lines. They should move
steadily, and rest on the emphatic word, returning to the side after the
emotion is expressed that called them into action.

The following positions and directions are as good as any, that can be
expressed in a small compass, and they are given here for practice. One
caution must be noted, which is, that excess of action is nearly as
detrimental in oratory as no action. It becomes the speaker, therefore, in
this, as well as in everything else, that pertains to elocution and
oratory, to _avoid extremes_.

I. POSITION OF THE HAND.

1. Supine; open hand, fingers relaxed, palm upward; used in appeal,
entreaty, in expressing light, joyous emotions, etc.

2. Prone; open hand, palm downward; used in negative expressions, etc.

3. Vertical; open hand, palm outward; for repelling, warding off, etc.

4. Clenched; hand tightly closed; used in defiance, courage, threatening,
etc.

5 Pointing; prone hand, loosely closed, with index finger extended; used in
pointing out, designating, etc.

II. DIRECTION.

1. Front; the hand descending below the hip, extending horizontally, or
ascending to a level or above the head, at right angles with the speaker's
body.

2. Oblique; at an angle of forty-five degrees from the speaker's body.

3. Extended; direct from the speaker's side.

4. Backward; reversely corresponding to the oblique.

ABBREVIATIONS.

R. H. S. Right Hand Supine.

R. H. P. Right Hand Prone.

R. H. V. Right Hand Vertical.

B. H. S. Both Hands Supine.

B. H. P. Both Hands Prone.

B. H. V. Both Hands Vertical.

D. f. Descending Front.

H. f. Horizontal Front.

A. f. Ascending Front.

D. o. Descending Oblique.

H. o. Horizontal Oblique.

A. o. Ascending Oblique.

D. e. Descending Extended.

H. e. Horizontal Extended.

A. e. Ascending Extended.

D. b. Descending Backward.

H. b. Horizontal Backward.

A. b. Ascending Backward.

DIRECTIONS.

The dotted words indicate where the hand is to be raised in preparation.

The gesture is made upon the words in capitals.

The hand drops upon the italicized word or syllable following the word in
capitals. If italicized words precede the word in capitals, it indicates
that the hand is to follow the line of gesture.

The following examples have appeared in several works on Elocution--"The
New York Speaker," "Reading and Elocution," etc.

R. H. S.

_D.f._ This sentiment I* will* maintain* | with the last
breath of LIFE.

_H.f._ I* appeal* | to YOU, sir, for your de _cis_ ion.

_A.f._ I* appeal* | to the great Searcher of HEARTS for
the truth of what I _ut_ ter.

_D. o._ Of* all* mistakes* | NONE are so _fa_ tal as those
which we incur through prejudice.

_H. o._ Truth*, honour*, | JUS tice were his _mo_ tives.

_A. o._ Fix* your* eye* | on the prize of a truly NO ble am-
_bi_ tion.

_D. e._ AWAY* | with an idea so absurd!

_H. e._ The* breeze* of* morning* | wafted IN cense on the
_air_.

_A. e._ In dreams thro'* camp* and* court* he* bore* | the
trophies of a CON queror.

_D. b._ AWAY* | with an idea so abhorrent to humanity!

_H. b._ Search* the* records* of* the* remotest* an TI quity for
a _par_allel to this.

_A. b._ Then* rang* their proud HURRAH!

R. H. P.

_D. f._ Put* DOWN | the unworthy feeling!

_H. f._ Re* STRAIN the unhallowed pro _pen_ sity.

_D. o._ Let every one who* would* merit* the* Christian* name*
| re PRESS | such a feeling.

_H. o._ I* charge* you* as* men* and* as* Christians* | to lay a
re STRAINT on all such dispo _si_ tions!

_A. o._ Ye* gods* | with HOLD your _ven_ geance!

_D. e._ The* hand* of* affection* | shall _smooth the_ TURF for
your last _pil_ low!

_H. e._ The* cloud* of* adver* | sity threw its gloom _over all
his_ PROS pects.

_A. e._ So* darkly* glooms* yon* thunder* cloud* that* swathes*
| as with a purple SHROUD Benledi's distant _hill_.

R. H. V.

_H. f._ Arise!* meet* | and re PEL your _foe!_

_A. f._ For* BID it, Almighty _God!_

_H. o._ He generously extended* the* arm* of* power* | to
ward OFF the _blow_.

_A. o._ May* Heaven* a VERT the cal _am_ ity!

_H. e._ Out* of* my* SIGHT, | thou serpent!

_H. b._ Thou* tempting* fiend,* a VAUNT!

B. H. S.

_D. f._ All personal feeling he* de* POS ited on the _al_ tar
of his country's good.

_H. f._ Listen,* I* im PLORE you, to the voice of _rea_ son!

_A. f._ HAIL, universal _Lord_!

_D. o._ Every* personal* advantage* | he sur REN dered to
the common _good_.

_H. o._ WELCOME!* once more to your early _home_!

_A. o._ HAIL! holy _Light_!

_D. e._ I* utterly* re NOUNCE | all the supposed advantages
of such a station.

_H. e._ They* yet* slept* | in the wide a BYSS of possi _bil_ ity.

_A. e._ Joy,* joy* | for EVER.

B. H. P.

_D. f._ Lie* LIGHT ly on him, _earth_--his step was light on
thee.

_H. f._ Now* all* the* blessings* of* a* glad* father* LIGHT on
_thee!_

_A. f._ Blessed* be* Thy* NAME, O Lord Most _High_.

_D. o._ We* are* in* Thy* sight* | but as the _worms_ of the
DUST!

_H. o._ May* the* grace* of* God* | _abide with you for_ EVER.

_A. o._ And* let* the* triple* rainbow* rest* | _o'er all the
mountain_ TOPS.

_D. e._ Here* let* the* tumults* of* passion* | _forever_ CEASE!

_H. e._ Spread* _wide_ a ROUND the heaven-breathing _calm_!

_A. e._ Heaven* | _opened_ WIDE her ever-during _gates_.

B. H. V.

_H. f._ HENCE*, hideous _spectre_!

_A. f._ AVERT*, O _God_, the frown of Thy indignation!

_H. o._ Far* from* OUR _hearts_ be so inhuman a feeling.

_A. o._ Let* me* not* | NAME it to _you_, ye chaste stars!

_H. e._ And* if* the* night* have* gathered* aught* of* evil* or*
concealed*, dis PERSE it.

_A. e._ Melt* and* dis* PEL, ye spectre _doubts_!

* * * * *

CHAPTER XII.

INTRODUCTION TO AN AUDIENCE.

The speaker should present himself to the audience with modesty, and
without any show of self-consequence, and should avoid everything opposed
to true dignity and self respect; he should feel the importance of his
subject and the occasion. He should be deliberate and calm, and should take
his position with his face directed to the audience.

A bow, being the most marked and appropriate symbol of respect, should be
made on the last step going to his place on the platform. In making a
graceful bow, there should be a gentle bend of the whole body, the eyes
should not be permitted to fall below the person addressed, and the arms
should lightly move forward, and a little inward. On raising himself into
an erect position from the introductory bow, the speaker should fall back
into the first position of the advanced foot. In this position he commences
to speak. In his discourse let him appear graceful, easy, and natural, and
when warmed and animated by the importance of his subject, his dignity and
mien should become still more elevated and commanding, and he should assume
a somewhat lofty and noble bearing.

ADVICE TO STUDENTS.

The student must ever bear in mind that there is no royal road of attaining
excellence in Elocutionary art without labour. No matter under what
favourable circumstances he may have been placed for observing good
methods, or how much aid he may receive from good teachers, he never can
make any _real_ improvement, unless he does the work for himself, and
by diligence and perseverance he may achieve a great measure of success,
and free himself from many blemishes and defects.

As the highest attainment of art, is the best imitation of nature, to
attain to excellence in art the student must study nature as it exists in
the manner of the age,--

"And catch the manners, living as they rise."

The rules of every science, as far as they are just and useful, are founded
in nature, or in good usage; hence their adoption and application tend to
free us from our artificial defects, all of which may be regarded as
departures from the simplicity of nature. Let the student, therefore, ever
bear in mind that whatever is artificial is unnatural, and that whatever is
unnatural is opposed to genuine eloquence.

Good reading is exactly like good talking--one, therefore, who would read
well or who would speak well, who would interest, rivet the attention,
convince the understanding, and excite the feelings of his hearers--need
not expect to do it by any extraordinary exertion or desperate effort; for
genuine eloquence is not to be wooed and won by any such boisterous course
of courtship, but by more gentle means. But, the pupil must not be tied
down to a too slavish attention to rules, for one flash of genuine emotion,
one touch of real nature, will produce a greater effect than the
application of all the studied rules of rhetorical art.

"He who in earnest studies o'er his part,
Will find true nature cling around his heart,
The modes of grief are not included all
In the white handkerchief and mournful drawl."

Before attempting to give a piece in public the pupil must practice it well
in private, until the words and ideas are perfectly familiar, and it must
be repeated o'er and o'er again, with perfect distinctness and clear
articulation,--for more declaimers break down in consequence of forgetting
the words of their piece, than from any other cause, and the pupil must
practice assiduously until there is no danger of failure from this source.

Do not be discouraged if your early attempts are not very successful ones,
but persevere; the most renowned actors and orators were not at all
remarkable in the commencement of their career, they all, with scarcely an
exception, attained to eminence by untiring perseverance.

Never rest satisfied with having done as you think--"well"--but be
constantly trying to improve and to do better, and do not let the flattery
of injudicious friends lead you to imagine you have a remarkable genius for
oratory or for reading--such a foolish notion will be productive of great
harm and effectually stop your further improvement, and those who are led
to believe they are great geniuses and above the necessity of being guided
by the rules suited for more commonplace mortals, rarely, if ever, attain
to eminence, or become useful members of society.

Do not rely too much on others for instruction or advice as to the way of
reading or speaking a passage, think for yourself, read it over carefully
until you have formed a definite opinion as to how it ought to be
delivered, then declaim it according to your own idea of its meaning and
character.

Avoid everything like affectation; think of your subject and its
requirements, not of yourself, and do not try to make a great display. Let
your tone, look and gestures be all in harmony--be deliberate, yet earnest
and natural; let nature be the mistress with art for her handmaiden.

Do not be such a slavish imitator of others, that it can be said of you, as
it is of many--"Oh! I know who taught him Elocution. Every gesture and
every movement is in accordance with some specific rule, and a slavish
mannerism that never breaks into the slightest originality, marks his whole
delivery, and all of ----'s pupils do exactly the same way."

Remember always that the GOLDEN RULE of Elocution is:--

BE NATURAL AND BE IN EARNEST.

CHAPTER XIII.

GENERAL EXAMPLES FOR PRACTICE.

QUICK TIME--INCREASE--HIGH PITCH--OROTUND.

Still sprung from those swift hoofs, thundering South,
The dust like the smoke from the cannon's mouth,
Or the trail of a comet, sweeping faster and faster,
Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster.
The heart of the steed and the heart of the master
Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls,
Impatient to be where the battle-field calls;
Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play,
With Sheridan only ten miles away!

Under his spurning feet, the road
Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed;
And the landscape sped away behind,
Like an ocean flying before the wind;
And the steed, like a barque fed with furnace ire,
Swept on, with his wild eyes full of fire;--
But, lo! he is nearing his heart's desire!
He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray,
With Sheridan only five miles away!

MIDDLE PITCH--PURE.

How peaceful the grave--its quiet, how deep! Its zephyrs breathe calmly,
and soft is its sleep, and flowerets perfume it with ether!

ASPIRATE.

How ill this taper burns!
Ha! who comes here?
I think it is the weakness of mine eyes
That shapes this monstrous apparition.

It comes upon me! Art thou any thing?
Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil,
That makest my blood cold, and my hair to stare?
Speak to me what thou art.

OROTUND--HIGH AND VARIED PITCH.

Confusion reigned below, and crowds on deck
With ashen faces and wild questionings
Rushed to her fated side; another crash
Succeeded, then a pause, an awful pause
Of terror and dismay. They see it all!
There floats the direful cause 'longside them now!
"Ahoy!" the seamen cry; "Ahoy! ahoy!
Four hundred souls aboard! Ahoy! ahoy!"
"All will be well!" "No, no, she heeds us not!"
And shrieks of awful frenzy fill the air--
"We sink! we sink!" but lo! the aid so near
Slinks like a recreant coward out of sight.

No sign of succour--none! Now wild despair
And cowardice, thy reign has come; the strong
Are weak, the weak are strong.
The captain cries aloud--"Launch yonder boat!"
The maddened crowd press toward it, but he shouts:
"Stand back, and save the women!" They but laugh
With curses their response. Behold the waves
Are gaping to receive them! still he cries
"Back, back, or I will fire!"--their reply
Comes in a roar of wild defiant groans.

PLAINTIVE--PURE.

_Pauline_. Thrice have I sought to speak: my courage fails me.
Sir, is it true that you have known--nay, are you
The friend of--Melnotte?

_Melnotte_. Lady, yes!--Myself
And Misery know the man!

_Pauline_. And you will see him,
And you will bear to him--ay--word for word,
All that this heart, which breaks in parting from him
Would send, ere still for ever.

_Melnotte_. He hath told me
You have the right to choose from out the world
A worthier bridegroom;--he foregoes all claim
Even to murmur at his doom. Speak on!

_Pauline_. Tell him, for years I never nursed a thought
That was not his; that on his wandering way
Daily and nightly poured a mourner's prayers.
Tell him ev'n now that I would rather share
His lowliest lot,--walk by his side, an outcast,--
Work for him, beg with him,--live upon the light
Of one kind smile from him, than wear the crown
The Bourbon lost!

_Melnotte (aside)_. Am I already mad?
And does delirium utter such sweet words
Into a dreamer's ear? (_aloud_.) You love him thus
And yet desert him?

_Pauline_. Say, that, if his eye
Could read this heart,--its struggles, its temptations--
His love itself would pardon that desertion!
Look on that poor old man--he is my father;
He stands upon the verge of an abyss;
He calls his child to save him! Shall I shrink
From him who gave me birth? Withhold my hand
And see a parent perish? Tell him this,
And say--that we shall meet again in Heaven!

SLOW--LOW OROTUND.

The stars--shall fade away,--the sun--himself--
Grow dim--with age,--and Nature--sink--in years;
But thou--shalt flourish--in immortal youth,--
Unhurt--amidst the war of elements,--
The wreck of matter,--and the crash of worlds.

MODERATE--PURE.

At church, with meek and unaffected grace,
His looks adorned the venerable place;
Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway,
And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray.
The service past, around the pious man,
With ready zeal, each honest rustic ran;
E'en children followed, with endearing wile,
And plucked his gown, to share the good man's smile:
His ready smile a parent's warmth expressed,
Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distressed;
To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given,
But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven.
As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form,
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm.
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
Eternal sunshine settles on its head.

ASTONISHMENT AND SURPRISE.

Whence and what art thou, execrable shape!
That dar'st, though grim and terrible, advance
Thy miscreated front athwart my way
To yonder gates? Through them, I mean to pass--
That be assured--without leave asked of thee!
Retire, or taste thy folly; and learn by proof,
Hell-born! not to contend with spirits of heaven!

ANGER.

Next Anger rushed, his eyes on fire; in lightnings owned his secret stings;
with one rude clash he struck the lyre, and swept with hurried hand, the
strings.

PITY.

The Duchess marked his weary pace, his timid mien, and reverend face; and
bade her page the menials tell, that they should tend the old man well; for
she had known adversity, though born in such a high degree; in pride of
power, in beauty's bloom, had wept o'er Monmouth's bloody tomb.

REVENGE.

And longer had she sung--but, with a frown, Revenge impatient rose; he
threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down; and, with a withering look,
the war-denouncing trumpet took, and blew a blast--so loud and dread, were
ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe.

COURAGE.

"Fight on!" quoth he, undaunted, but our war-ships steered away;
"She will burst," they said, "and sink us, one and all, beneath the bay;"
But our captain knew his duty, and we cheered him as he cried,
"To the rescue! We are brothers--let us perish side by side!"

HORROR.

HOPE.

All's for the best! set this on your standard,
Soldier of sadness, or pilgrim of love,
Who to the shores of Despair may have wandered,
A way-wearied swallow, or heart-stricken dove;
All's for the best!--be a man but confiding,
Providence tenderly governs the rest,
And the frail barque of his creature is guiding
Wisely and wanly, all for the best.

MERCY.

The quality of mercy is not strain'd;
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath; it is twice blessed;
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes:
'Tis mightiest--in the mightiest; it becomes
The throned monarch--better than his crown;
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe--and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
But mercy--is above this sceptered sway,
It is enthroned--in the hearts of kings,
It is an attribute--to God himself:
And earthly power--doth then show likest God's,
When mercy--seasons justice.

LOVE.

In peace, Love tunes the shepherd's reed;
In war, he mounts the warrior's steed;
In halls, in gay attire is seen;
In hamlets, dances on the green.
Love rules the court, the camp, the grove,
And men below, and saints above;
For love is heaven, and heaven is love.

AWE, EXTENDING TO FEAR.

It thunders! Sons of dust, in reverence bow!
Ancient of Days! thou speakest from above!
Thy right hand wields the bolt of terror now--
That hand which scatters peace and joy and love.
Almighty! trembling, like a timid child,
I hear Thy awful voice!--alarmed, afraid,
I see the flashes of Thy lightning wild,
And in the very grave would hide my head!

REVERENCE.

O Lord, our Lord, how excellent is Thy name in all the earth! who hast set
Thy glory above the heavens. When I consider the heavens, the work of Thy
fingers; the moon and the stars, which Thou hast ordained; what is man that
Thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that Thou visitest him?

For Thou hast made him a little lower than the angels, and hast crowned him
with glory and honour. Thou madest him to have dominion over the works of
Thy hands: Thou hast put all things under his feet. O Lord, our Lord, how
excellent is Thy name in all the earth!

* * * * *

SELECTIONS.

DOMESTIC LOVE AND HAPPINESS.

O happy they! the happiest of their kind!
Whom gentler stars unite, and in one fate
Their hearts, their fortunes, and their beings blend.
'Tis not the coarser tie of human laws,
Unnatural oft, and foreign to the mind,
That binds their peace, but harmony itself,
Attuning all their passions into love;
Where friendship full exerts her softest power,
Perfect esteem, enliven'd by desire
Ineffable, and sympathy of soul;
Thought meeting thought, and will preventing will,
With boundless confidence; for nought but love
Can answer love, and render bliss secure.
Let him, ungenerous, who, alone intent
To bless himself, from sordid parents buys
The loathing virgin, in eternal care,
Well-merited, consume his nights and days:
Let barbarous nations, whose inhuman love
Is wild desire, fierce as the sun they feel;
Let eastern tyrants from the light of Heaven
Seclude their bosom-slaves, meanly possess'd
Of a mere lifeless, violated form:
While those whom love cements in holy faith,
And equal transport, free as nature live,
Disdaining fear. What is the world to them,
Its pomp, its pleasure, and its nonsense all?
Who in each other clasp whatever fair
High fancy forms, and lavish hearts can wish,
Something than beauty dearer, should they look
Or on the mind, or mind-illumin'd face;
Truth, goodness, honour, harmony and love,
The richest bounty of indulgent Heaven.
Meantime a smiling offspring rises round,
And mingles both their graces. By degrees
The human blossom blows; and every day,
Soft as it rolls along, shows some new charm,
The father's lustre, and the mother's bloom.
Then infant reason grows apace, and calls
For the kind hand of an assiduous care.
Delightful task! to rear the tender thought,
To teach the young idea how to shoot,
To pour the fresh instruction o'er the mind,
To breathe th' enlivening spirit, and to fix
The generous purpose in the glowing breast.
Oh, speak the joy! ye, whom the sudden tear
Surprises often, while you look around,
And nothing strikes your eye but sights of bliss,
All various nature pressing on the heart:
An elegant sufficiency, content,
Retirement, rural quiet, friendship, books,
Ease and alternate labour, useful life,
Progressive virtue, and approving Heaven.
These are the matchless joys of virtuous love:
And thus their moments fly. The seasons thus,
As ceaseless round a jarring world they roll,
Still find them happy; and consenting spring
Sheds her own rosy garland on their heads:
Till evening comes at last, serene and mild;
When, after the long vernal day of life,
Enamour'd more, as more remembrance swells
With many a proof of recollected love,
Together down they sink in social sleep;
Together freed, their gentle spirits fly
To scenes where love and bliss immortal reign.

_Thomson_.

* * * * *

THE SEASONS.

These, as they change, ALMIGHTY FATHER, these
Are but the varied GOD. The rolling year
Is full of THEE. Forth in the pleasing Spring
THY beauty walks, THY tenderness and love
Wide flush the fields; the softening air is balm,
Echo the mountains round; the forest smiles;
And every sense, and every heart is joy.
Then comes THY glory in the Summer months,
With light and heat refulgent. Then THY sun
Shoots full perfection through the swelling year,
And oft THY voice in dreadful thunder speaks;
And oft at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve,
By brooks, and groves, in hollow-whispering gales
THY bounty shines in Autumn unconfin'd,
And spreads a common feast for all that lives.
In Winter, awful THOU! with clouds and storms
Around THEE thrown, tempest o'er tempest roll'd.
Majestic darkness! on the whirlwind's wing,
Riding sublime, THOU bids't the world adore,
And humblest Nature with THY northern blast.

_Thomson_.

* * * * *

ON HIS BLINDNESS.

When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide--
"Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?"
I fondly ask; but Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies: "God doth not need
Either man's work, or his own gifts; who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best; his state
Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed,
And post o'er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve who only stand and wait."

_Milton_.

* * * * *

THE PATRIOT'S ELYSIUM.

There is a land, of every land the pride,
Beloved by heaven o'er all the world beside;
Where brighter suns dispense serener light,
And milder moons imparadise the night:
A land of beauty, virtue, valour, truth,
Time-tutored age, and love-exalted youth.
The wandering mariner, whose eye explores
The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores;
Views not a realm so bountiful and fair,
Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air!
In every clime, the magnet of his soul,
Touched by remembrance, trembles to that pole;
For in this land of heaven's peculiar grace,
The heritage of nature's noblest race,
There is a spot of earth supremely blest,
A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest,
Where man, creation's tyrant, casts aside
His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride;
While, in his softened looks, benignly blend
The sire, the son, the husband, father, friend.
Here woman reigns; the mother, daughter, wife,
Strews with fresh flowers the narrow way of life.
In the clear heaven of her delightful eye,
An angel guard of loves and graces lie;
Around her knees domestic duties meet,
And fireside pleasures gambol at her feet.
Where shall that land, that spot of earth be found?
Art thou a man?--a patriot?--look around!
Oh! thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam,
That land thy COUNTRY, and that spot thy HOME.

_Montgomery_.

* * * * *

THE APPROACH TO PARADISE.

So on he fares; and to the border comes
Of Eden, where delicious Paradise,
Now nearer, crowns, with her enclosure green,
As with a rural mound, the champaign head
Of a steep wilderness, whose hairy sides,
With thicket overgrown, grotesque and wild,
Access denied; and overhead up grew
Insuperable height of loftiest shade,
Cedar, and pine, and fir, and branching palm,--
A sylvan scene; and, as the ranks ascend,
Shade above shade, a woody theatre
Of stateliest view. Yet higher than their tops
The verd'rous wall of Paradise up sprung;
Which to our general sire gave prospect large
Into his nether empire neighbouring round:
And, higher than that wall, a circling row
Of goodliest trees, laden with fairest fruit,
Blossoms and fruits, at once, of golden hue,
Appeared, with gay enamelled colours mixed;
On which the Sun more glad impressed his beams
Than in fair evening cloud, or humid bow,
When God hath showered the earth; so lovely seemed
That landscape: and of pure, now purer air
Meets his approach, and to the heart inspires
Vernal delight and joy, able to drive
All sadness but despair: now gentle gales,
Fanning their odoriferous wings, dispense
Native perfumes, and whisper whence they stole
Those balmy spoils;--as when, to them who sail
Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past
Mozambique, off at sea north-east winds blow
Sabean odours from the spicy shore
Of Araby the blest; with such delay
Well pleased they slack their course; and, many a league,
Cheered with the grateful smell, old Ocean smiles.

_Milton_.

* * * * *

LOVE IN IDLENESS.

OBE. Well, go thy way; thou shalt not from this grove,
Till I torment thee for this injury.
My gentle Puck, come hither: Thou remember'st
Since once I sat upon a promontory,
And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin's back,
Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath,
That the rude sea grew civil at her song;
And certain stars shot madly from their spheres,
To hear the sea-maid's music.

PUCK. I remember.

OBE. That very time I saw (but thou could'st not),
Flying between the cold moon and the earth,
Cupid, all armed: a certain aim he took
At a fair vestal, throned by the west;
And loos'd his love-shaft smartly from his bow,
As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts;
But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft
Quench'd in the chaste beams of the watery moon;
And the imperial votaress passed on,
In maiden meditation, fancy-free.
Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell:
It fell upon a little western flower,--
Before, milk-white, now purple with love's wound,--
And maidens call it love-in-idleness.
Fetch me that flower; the herb I show'd thee once;
The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid,
Will make or man or woman madly dote
Upon the next live creature that it sees.
Fetch me this herb: and be thou here again,
Ere the leviathan can swim a league.

PUCK. I'll put a girdle round about the earth
In forty minutes.

_Shakespeare_.

* * * * *

REFLECTIONS ON THE TOMB OF SHAKESPEARE.

As I crossed the bridge over the Avon on my return, I paused to contemplate
the distant church in which Shakespeare lies buried, and could not but
exult in the malediction,

"Good friend, for Jesus' sake forbear,
To dig the dust enclosed here.
Blest be the man that spares these stones;
And cursed be he who moves my bones,"

which has kept his ashes undisturbed in its quiet and hallowed vaults. What
honour could his name have derived from being mingled in dusty
companionship, with the epitaphs, and escutcheons, and venal eulogiums of a
titled multitude? What would a crowded corner in Westminster Abbey have
been, compared with this reverend pile, which seems to stand in beautiful
loneliness as his sole mausoleum! The solicitude about the grave, may be
but the offspring of an overwrought sensibility; but human nature is made
up of foibles and prejudices; and its best and tenderest affections are
mingled with these factitious feelings. He who has sought renown about the
world, and has reaped a full harvest of worldly favour, will find, after
all, there is no love, no admiration, no applause, so sweet to the soul as
that which springs up in his native place. It is there that he seeks to be
gathered in peace and honour, among his kindred and his early friends. And
when the weary heart and the failing head begin to warn him that the
evening of life is drawing on, he turns as fondly as does the infant to its
mother's arms, to sink to sleep in the bosom of the scenes of his
childhood.

How would it have cheered the spirit of the youthful bard, when, wandering
forth in disgrace upon a doubtful world, he cast back a heavy look upon his
paternal home, could he have foreseen, that, before many years, he should
return to it covered with renown; that his name would become the boast and
the glory of his native place; that his ashes would be religiously guarded
as its most precious treasure; and that its lessening spire, on which his
eyes were fixed with tearful contemplation, would one day become the
beacon, towering amidst the gentle landscape, to guide the literary pilgrim
of every nation to his tomb!

_Irving._

* * * * *

ON THE MISERIES OF HUMAN LIFE.

Ah! little think the gay licentious proud,
Whom pleasure, power, and affluence surround;
They, who their thoughtless hours in giddy mirth,
And wanton, often cruel, riot waste;
Ah! little think they, while they dance along,
How many feel, this very moment, death
And all the sad variety of pain.
How many sink in the devouring flood,
Or more devouring flame; how many bleed,
By shameful variance betwixt man and man.
How many pine in want, and dungeon glooms,
Shut from the common air and common use
Of their own limbs; how many drink the cup
Of baleful grief, or eat the bitter bread
Of misery. Sore pierc'd by wintry winds,
How many shrink into the sordid hut
Of cheerless poverty; how many shake
With all the fiercer tortures of the mind,
Unbounded passion, madness, guilt, remorse;
Whence tumbling headlong from the height of life,
They furnish matter for the tragic Muse.
Even in the vale, where Wisdom loves to dwell,
With friendship, peace, and contemplation join'd,
How many rack'd, with honest passions droop
In deep retir'd distress; how many stand
Around the death-bed of their dearest friends
And point the parting anguish.--Thought fond Man
Of these, and all the thousand nameless ills,
That one incessant struggle render life
One scene of toil, of suffering, and of fate,
Vice in his high career would stand appall'd,
And heedless rambling Impulse learn to think,
The conscious heart of Charity would warm,
And her wide wish Benevolence dilate;
The social tear would rise, the social sigh
And into clear perfection, gradual bliss,
Refining still, the social passions, work.

_Thomson._

* * * * *

PAUL'S DEFENCE BEFORE AGRIPPA.

Then Agrippa said unto Paul, Thou art permitted to speak for thyself. Then
Paul stretched forth his hand, and answered for himself: I think myself
happy, King Agrippa, because I shall answer for myself this day before thee
touching all the things whereof I am accused of the Jews: especially
because I know thee to be expert in all customs and questions which are
among the Jews wherefore I beseech thee to hear me patiently.

My manner of life from my youth, which was at the first among mine own
nation at Jerusalem, know all the Jews; which knew me from the beginning,
if they would testify, that after the most straightest sect of our religion
I lived a Pharisee. And now I stand and am judged for the hope of the
promise made of God unto our fathers unto which promise our twelve tribes,
instantly serving God day and night, hope to come. For which hope's sake,
King Agrippa, I am accused of the Jews.

Why should it be thought a thing incredible with you, that God should raise
the dead? I verily thought with myself, that I ought to do many things
contrary to the name of Jesus of Nazareth. Which thing I also did in
Jerusalem: and many of the saints did I shut up in prison, having received
authority from the chief priests; and when they were put to death, I gave
my voice against them. And I punished them oft in every synagogue, and
compelled them to blaspheme; and being exceedingly mad against them, I
persecuted them even unto strange cities.

Whereupon as I went to Damascus with authority and commission from the
chief priests, at mid-day, O king, I saw in the way a light from heaven,
above the brightness of the sun, shining round about me and them which
journeyed with me. And when we were all fallen to the earth, I heard a
voice speaking to me, and saying in the Hebrew tongue, Saul, Saul, why
persecutest thou me? it is hard for thee to kick against the pricks. And I
said, Who art thou, Lord? And he said, I am Jesus whom thou persecutest.
But rise, and stand upon thy feet; for I have appeared unto thee for this
purpose, to make thee a minister and a witness both of these things which
thou hast seen, and of those things in the which I will appear unto thee;
delivering thee from the people, and from the Gentiles, unto whom now I
send thee, to open their eyes, and to turn them from darkness to light, and
from the power of Satan unto God, that they may receive forgiveness of
sins, and inheritance among them which are sanctified by faith that is in
me.

Whereupon, O King Agrippa, I was not disobedient unto the heavenly vision;
but shewed first unto them of Damascus, and of Jerusalem, and throughout
all the coasts of Judea, and then to the Gentiles, that they should repent
and turn to God, and do works meet for repentance. For these causes the
Jews caught me in the temple, and went about to kill me. Having therefore
obtained help of God, I continue unto this day witnessing both to small and
great, saying none other things than those which the prophets and Moses did
say should come; that Christ should suffer, and that he should be the first
that should rise from the dead, and should shew light unto the people and
to the Gentiles.

And as he thus spake for himself. Festus said with a loud voice, Paul, thou
art beside thyself, much learning doth make thee mad.

But he said, I am not mad, most noble Festus; but speak forth the words of
truth and soberness. For the king knoweth of these things, before whom also
I speak freely: for I am persuaded that none of these things are hidden
from him; for this thing was not done in a corner King Agrippa, believest
thou the prophets? I know that thou believest. Then Agrippa said unto Paul,
Almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian. And Paul said I would to God,
that not only thou, but also all that hear me this day, were both almost,
and altogether such as I am, except these bonds.

And when he had thus spoken, the king rose up, and the governor, and
Bernice, and they that sat with them and when they were gone aside, they
talked between themselves, saying, This man doeth nothing worthy of death
or of bonds. Then said Agrippa unto Festus, This man might have been set at
liberty, if he had not appealed unto Caesar.

_Bible_.

* * * * *

MALIBRAN AND THE YOUNG MUSICIAN.

In a humble room, in one of the poorest streets of London, Pierre, a
fatherless French boy, sat humming by the bed-side of his sick mother.
There was no bread in the closet, and for the whole day he had not tasted
food. Yet he sat humming, to keep up his spirits. Still, at times, he
thought of his loneliness and hunger, and he could scarcely keep the tears
from his eyes; for he knew nothing would be so grateful to his poor invalid
mother as a good sweet orange, and yet he had not a penny in the world.

The little song he was singing was his own--one he had composed with air
and words; for the child was a genius.

He went to the window, and looking out saw a man putting up a great bill
with yellow letters, announcing that Madame Malibran would sing that night
in public.

"Oh, if I could only go!" thought little Pierre; and then, pausing a
moment, he clasped his hands; his eyes lighted with a new hope. Running to
the little stand, he smoothed down his yellow curls, and taking from a
little box some old stained paper, gave one eager glance at his mother, who
slept, and ran speedily from the house.

* * * * *

"Who did you say is waiting for me?" said the lady to her servant. "I am
already worn out with company."

"It is only a very pretty little boy, with yellow curls, who says if he can
just see you, he is sure you will not be sorry, and he will not keep you a
moment."

"Oh! well, let him come," said the beautiful singer, with a smile; "I can
never refuse children."

Little Pierre came in, his hat under his arm, and in his hand a little roll
of paper. With manliness unusual for a child, he walked straight to the
lady, and bowing said, "I came to see you because my mother is very sick,
and we are too poor to get food and medicine. I thought that, perhaps, if
you would only sing my little song at some of your grand concerts, may be
some publisher would buy it for a small sum, and so I could get food and
medicine for my mother."

The beautiful woman rose from her seat; very tall and stately she was; she
took the little roll from his hand, and lightly hummed the air.

"Did you compose it?" she asked,--"you, a child! And the words? Would you
like to come to my concert?" she asked, after a few moments of thought.

"Oh, yes!" and the boy's eyes grew bright with happiness; "but I couldn't
leave my mother."

"I will send somebody to take care of your mother for the evening; and here
is a crown, with which you may go and get food and medicine. Here is also
one of my tickets; come to-night; that will admit you to a seat near me."

Almost beside himself with joy, Pierre bought some oranges, and many a
little luxury besides, and carried them home to the poor invalid, telling
her, not without tears, of his good fortune.

* * * * *

When evening came, and Pierre was admitted to the concert-hall, he felt
that never in his life had he been in so grand a place. The music, the
myriad lights, the beauty, the flashing of diamonds and rustling of silk,
bewildered his eyes and brain.

At last she came, and the child sat with his glance riveted upon her
glorious face. Could he believe that the grand lady, all blazing with
jewels, and whom everybody seemed to worship, would really sing his little
song?

Breathless he waited,--the band, the whole band, struck up a little
plaintive melody; he knew it, and clapped his hands for joy. And oh, how
she sang it! It was so simple, so mournful, so soul-subduing;--many a
bright eye dimmed with tears, and naught could be heard but the touching
words of that little song,--oh, so touching!

Pierre walked home as if he were moving on the air. What cared he for money
now? The greatest singer in all Europe had sung his little song, and
thousands had wept at his grief.

The next day he was frightened at a visit from Madame Malibran. She laid
her hand on his yellow curls, and turning to the sick woman said, "Your
little boy, madam, has brought you a fortune. I was offered, this morning,
by the best publisher in London, three hundred pounds for his little song:
and after he has realized a certain amount from the sale, little Pierre,
here, is to share the profits. Madam, thank God that your son has a gift
from heaven."

The noble-hearted singer and the poor woman wept together. As to Pierre,
always mindful of Him who watches over the tried and tempted, he knelt down
by his mother's bedside, and uttered a simple but eloquent prayer, asking
God's blessing on the kind lady who had deigned to notice their affliction.

The memory of that prayer made the singer even more tender-hearted, and she
who was the idol of England's nobility went about doing good. And in her
early, happy death he who stood by her bed, and smoothed her pillow, and
lightened her last moments by his undying affection, was the little Pierre
of former days--now rich, accomplished, and the most talented composer of
the day.

All honour to those great hearts who, from their high stations, send down
bounty to the widow and to the fatherless child.

* * * * *

THE KISS.
He kissed me--and I knew 'twas wrong,
For he was neither kith nor kin;
Need one do penance very long
For such a tiny little sin?

He pressed my hand--that was not right;
Why will men have such wicked ways?
It was not for a moment quite,
But in it there were days and days!

There's mischief in the moon, I know;
I'm positive I saw her wink
When I requested him to go;
I meant it, too--I think.

But, after all, I'm not to blame
He took the kiss; I do think men
Are born without a sense of shame
I wonder when he'll come again!

* * * * *

ADVICE TO A YOUNG LAWYER.

Whene'er you speak, remember every cause
Stands not on eloquence, but stands on laws--
Pregnant in matter, in expression brief,
Let every sentence stand with bold relief;
On trifling points nor time nor talents waste,
A sad offence to learning and to taste;
Nor deal with pompous phrase, nor e'er suppose
Poetic flights belong to reasoning prose.

Loose declamation may deceive the crowd,
And seem more striking as it grows more loud;
But sober sense rejects it with disdain,
As nought but empty noise, and weak as vain.

The froth of words, the schoolboy's vain parade,
Of books and cases--all his stock in trade--
The pert conceits, the cunning tricks and play
Of low attorneys, strung in long array,
The unseemly jest, the petulant reply,
That chatters on, and cares not how, or why,
Strictly avoid--unworthy themes to scan,
They sink the speaker and disgrace the man,
Like the false lights, by flying shadows cast,
Scarce seen when present and forgot when past.

Begin with dignity; expound with grace
Each ground of reasoning in its time and place;
Let order reign throughout--each topic touch,
Nor urge its power too little, nor too much;
Give each strong thought its most attractive view,
In diction clear and yet severely true,
And as the arguments in splendour grow,
Let each reflect its light on all below;
When to the close arrived, make no delays
By petty flourishes, or verbal plays,
But sum the whole in one deep solemn strain,
Like a strong current hastening to the main.

_Judge Story._

* * * * *

THE FOOLISH VIRGINS.

Late, late, so late! and dark the night, and chill!
Late, late, so late! but we can enter still.--
Too late, too late! ye cannot enter now!

No light had we--for that do we repent;
And learning this, the Bridegroom will relent.--
Too late, too late! ye cannot enter now!

No light! so late! and dark and chill the night!
Oh, let us in, that we may find the light!--
Too late, too late! ye cannot enter now!

Have we not heard the Bridegroom is so sweet?
Oh, let us in, though late, to kiss His feet!--
No, no, too late! ye cannot enter now!

_Tennyson._

* * * * *

SOMEBODY'S MOTHER.

The woman was old, and ragged, and grey,
And bent with the chill of the winter's day;

The street was wet with a recent snow,
And the woman's feet were aged and slow.

She stood at the crossing and waited long
Alone, uncared for, amid the throng

Of human beings who passed her by,
Nor heeded the glance of her anxious eye.

Down the street, with laughter and shout,
Glad in the freedom of school let out,

Came the boys, like a flock of sheep,
Hailing the snow piled white and deep,

Past the woman so old and grey,
Hastened the children on their way,

Nor offered a helping hand to her,
So meek, so timid, afraid to stir,

Lest the carriage wheels or the horses' feet
Should crowd her down in the slippery street.

At last came one of the merry troop--
The gayest laddie of all the group;

He paused beside her, and whispered low,
"I'll help you across if you wish to go."

Her aged hand on his strong, young arm
She placed, and so, without hurt or harm,

He guided her trembling feet along,
Proud that his own were firm and strong.

Then back again to his friends he went,
His young heart happy and well content.

"She's somebody's mother, boys, you know,
For all she's old, and poor, and slow;

"And I hope some fellow will lend a hand
To help my mother, you understand,

"If ever so poor, and old, and grey,
When her own dear boy is far away."

And "somebody's mother" bowed low her head
In her home that night, and the prayer she said

Was--"God be kind to the noble boy,
Who is somebody's son, and pride, and joy!"

* * * * *

THE FAMINE.

O the long and dreary Winter!
O the cold and cruel Winter!
Ever thicker, thicker, thicker,
Froze the ice on lake and river;
Ever deeper, deeper, deeper,
Fell the snow o'er all the landscape,
Fell the covering snow, and drifted
Through the forest, round the village.
Hardly from his buried wigwam
Could the hunter force a passage;
With his mittens and his snow-shoes
Vainly walk'd he through the forest,
Sought for bird or beast and found none;
Saw no track of deer or rabbit,
In the snow beheld no footprints,
In the ghastly, gleaming forest
Fell, and could not rise from weakness,
Perish'd there from cold and hunger.

O the famine and the fever!
O the wasting of the famine!
O the blasting of the fever!
O the wailing of the children!
O the anguish of the women!
All the earth was sick and famished;
Hungry was the air around them,
Hungry was the sky above them,
And the hungry stars in heaven,
Like the eyes of wolves glared at them!

Into Hiawatha's wigwam
Came two other guests, as silent
As the ghosts were, and as gloomy,
Waited not to be invited,
Did not parley at the doorway,
Sat there without word of welcome
In the seat of Laughing Water;
Looked with haggard eyes and hollow
At the face of Laughing Water.
And the foremost said: "Behold me!
I am Famine, Bukadawin!"
And the other said: "Behold me!
I am Fever, Ahkosewin!"
And the lovely Minnehaha
Shudder'd as they look'd upon her,
Shudder'd at the words they uttered,
Lay down on her bed in silence,
Hid her face, but made no answer;
Lay there trembling, freezing, burning
At the looks they cast upon her,
At the fearful words they utter'd.

Forth into the empty forest
Rush'd the madden'd Hiawatha;
In his heart was deadly sorrow,
In his face a stony firmness,
On his brow the sweat of anguish
Started, but it froze and fell not.
Wrapp'd in furs and arm'd for hunting,
With his mighty bow of ash-tree,
With his quiver full of arrows,
With his mittens, Minjekahwun,
Into the vast and vacant forest,
On his snow-shoes strode he forward.

"Gitche Manito, the Mighty!"
Cried he, with his face uplifted
In that bitter hour of anguish,
"Give your children food, O Father!
Give us food, or we must perish!
Give me food for Minnehaha,
For my dying Minnehaha!"

Through the far-resounding forest,
Through the forest vast and vacant,
Rang that cry of desolation;
But there came no other answer
Than the echo of his crying,
Than the echo of the woodlands,
"MINNEHAHA! MINNEHAHA!"

All day long roved Hiawatha
In that melancholy forest,
Through the shadow of whose thickets,
In the pleasant days of summer,
Of that ne'er forgotten summer,
He had brought his young wife homeward
From the land of the Dakotahs;
When the birds sang in the thickets,
And the streamlets laugh'd and glisten'd,
And the air was full of fragrance,
And the lovely Laughing Water
Said with voice that did not tremble,
"I will follow you, my husband!"

In the wigwam with Nokomis,
With those gloomy guests that watch'd her,
With the Famine and the Fever,
She was lying, the beloved,
She the dying Minnehaha.
"Hark!" she said, "I hear a rushing,
Hear a roaring and a rushing,
Hear the Falls of Minnehaha
Calling to me from a distance!"
"No, my child!" said old Nokomis,
"'Tis the night-wind in the pine-trees!"
"Look!" she said; "I see my father
Standing lonely in his doorway,
Beckoning to me from his wigwam
In the land of the Dakotahs!"
"No, my child!" said old Nokomis,
"'Tis the smoke that waves and beckons!"

"Ah!" she said, "the eyes of Pauguk
Glare upon me in the darkness,
I can feel his icy fingers
Clasping mine amid the darkness!
Hiawatha! Hiawatha!"
And the desolate Hiawatha,
Far away amid the forest,
Miles away among the mountains,
Heard that sudden cry of anguish,
Heard the voice of Minnehaha
Calling to him in the darkness,
"HIAWATHA! HIAWATHA!"

Over snow-fields waste and pathless,
Under snow-encumber'd branches,
Homeward hurried Hiawatha,
Empty-handed, heavy-hearted,
Heard Nokomis moaning, wailing;
"Wahonowin! Wahonowin!
Would that I had perish'd for you,
Would that I were dead as you are!
Wahonowin! Wahonowin!"
And he rush'd into the wigwam,
Saw the old Nokomis slowly
Rocking to and fro and moaning,
Saw his lovely Minnehaha
Lying dead and cold before him,
And his bursting heart within him
Utter'd such a cry of anguish
That the forest moan'd and shudder'd,
That the very stars in heaven
Shook and trembled with his anguish.

Then he sat down still and speechless,
On the bed of Minnehaha,
At the feet of Laughing Water,
At those willing feet, that never
More would lightly run to meet him,
Never more would lightly follow.
With both hands his face he cover'd,
Seven long days and nights he sat there,
As if in a swoon he sat there,
Speechless, motionless, unconscious
Of the daylight or the darkness.
Then they buried Minnehaha;
In the snow a grave they made her,
In the forest deep and darksome,
Underneath the moaning hemlocks;
Cloth'd her in her richest garments:
Wrapp'd her in her robes of ermine,
Cover'd her with snow like ermine:
Thus they buried Minnehaha.
And at night a fire was lighted,
On her grave four times was kindled.
For her soul upon its journey
To the Islands of the Blessed.
From his doorway Hiawatha
Saw it burning in the forest,
Lighting up the gloomy hemlocks;
From his sleepless bed uprising,
From the bed of Minnehaha,
Stood and watch'd it at the doorway,
That it might not be extinguish'd,
Might not leave her in the darkness.

"Farewell!" said he, "Minnehaha!
Farewell, O my Laughing Water!
All my heart is buried with you,
All my thoughts go onward with you!
Come not back again to labour,
Come not back again to suffer,
Where the Famine and the Fever
Wear the heart and waste the body.
Soon my task will be completed,
Soon your footsteps I shall follow
To the Islands of the Blessed,
To the Kingdom of Ponemah,
To the Land of the Hereafter!"

_H. W. Longfellow._

* * * * *

A SLIP OF THE TONGUE.

It chanced one day, so I've been told
(The story is not very old),
As Will and Tom, two servants able,
Were waiting at their master's table,
Tom brought a fine fat turkey in,
The sumptuous dinner to begin:
Then Will appeared--superbly cooked,
A tongue upon the platter smoked;
When, oh! sad fate! he struck the door,
And tumbled flat upon the floor;
The servants stared, the guests looked down,
When quick uprising with a frown,
The master cried, "Sirra! I say
Begone, nor wait a single day,
You stupid cur! you've spoiled the feast,
How can another tongue be dressed!"
While thus the master stormed and roared,
Will, who with wit was somewhat stored
(For he by no means was a fool
Some Latin, too, he'd learned at school),
Said (thinking he might change disgrace
For laughter, and thus save his place),
"Oh! call me not a stupid cur,
'Twas but a _lapsus linguae_, sir."
"A _lapsus linguae_?" one guest cries,
"A pun!" another straight replies.
The joke was caught--the laugh went round;
Nor could a serious face be found.
The master, when the uproar ceased,
Finding his guests were all well pleased,
Forgave the servant's slippery feet,
And quick revoked his former threat.
Now Tom had all this time stood still;
And heard the applause bestowed on Will;
Delighted he had seen the fun
Of what his comrade late had done,
And thought, should he but do the same,
An equal share of praise he'd claim.
As soon as told the meat to fetch in,
Bolted like lightning to the kitchen,
And seizing there a leg of lamb
(I am not certain, perhaps 'twas ham,
No matter which), without delay
Off to the parlour marched away,
And stumbling as he turned him round,
Twirled joint and dish upon the ground.
For this my lord was ill-prepared;
Again the astonished servants stared.
Tom grinned--but seeing no one stir,
"Another _lapsus linguae_, sir!"
Loud he exclaimed. No laugh was raised.
No "clever fellow's" wit was praised.
Confounded, yet not knowing why
_His_ wit could not one laugh supply,
And fearing lest he had mistook
The words, again thus loudly spoke
(Thinking again it might be tried):
"'Twas but a _lapsus linguae_," cried.
My lord, who long had quiet sat,
Now clearly saw what he was at.
In wrath this warning now he gave--
"When next thou triest, unlettered knave,
To give, as thine, another's wit,
Mind well thou knowest what's meant by it;
Nor let a _lapsus linguae_ slip
From out thy pert assuming lip,
Till well thou knowest thy stolen song,
Nor think a leg of lamb a tongue,"
He said--and quickly from the floor
Straight kicked him through the unlucky door.

MORAL.

Let each pert coxcomb learn from this
True wit will never come amiss!
But should a borrowed phrase appear,
Derision's always in the rear.

* * * * *

THE MODERN CAIN.

"Am I my brother's keeper?"
Long ago,
When first the human heart-strings felt the touch
Of Death's cold fingers--when upon the earth
Shroudless and coffinless Death's first-born lay,
Slain by the hand of violence, the wail
Of human grief arose:--"My son, my son!
Awake thee from this strange and awful sleep;
A mother mourns thee, and her tears of grief
Are falling on thy pale, unconscious brow;
Awake and bless her with thy wonted smile."

In vain, in vain! that sleeper never woke.
His murderer fled, but on his brow was fixed
A stain which baffled wear and washing. As he fled
A voice pursued him to the wilderness:
"Where is thy brother, Cain?"

"Am I my brother's keeper?"

O black impiety! that seeks to shun
The dire responsibility of sin--
That cries with the ever-warning voice:
"Be still--away, the crime is not my own--
My brother lived--is dead, when, where,
Or how, it matters not, but he is dead.
Why judge the living for the dead one's fall?"

"Am I my brother's keeper?"

Cain, Cain,
Thou art thy brother's keeper, and his blood
Cries up to Heaven against thee; every stone
Will find a tongue to curse thee; and the winds
Will ever wail this question in thy ear:
"Where is thy brother?" Every sight and sound
Will mind thee of the lost.

I saw a man
Deal death unto his brother. Drop by drop
The poison was distilled for cursèd gold;
And in the wine cup's ruddy glow sat Death,
Invisible to that poor trembling slave.
He seized the cup, he drank the poison down,
Rushed forth into the streets--home had he none--
Staggered and fell and miserably died.
They buried him--ah! little recks it where
His bloated form was given to the worms.
No stone marked that neglected, lonely spot;
No mourner sorrowing at evening came,
To pray by that unhallowed mound; no hand
Planted sweet flowers above his place of rest.
Years passed, and weeds and tangled briers grew
Above that sunken grave, and men forgot
Who slept there.

Once had he friends,
A happy home was his, and love was his.
His Mary loved him, and around him played
His smiling children. Oh, a dream of joy
Were those unclouded years, and, more than all,
He had an interest in the world above.
The big "Old Bible" lay upon the stand,
And he was wont to read its sacred page
And then to pray: "Our Father, bless the poor
And save the tempted from the tempter's art,
Save us from sin, and let us ever be
United in Thy love, and may we meet,
When life's last scenes are o'er, around the throne."
Thus prayed he--thus lived he--years passed,
And o'er the sunshine of that happy home,
A cloud came from the pit; the fatal bolt
Fell from that cloud. The towering tree
Was shivered by the lightning's vengeful stroke,
And laid its coronal of glory low.
A happy home was ruined; want and woe
Played with his children, and the joy of youth
Left their sweet faces no more to return.
His Mary's face grew pale and paler still,
Her eyes were dimmed with weeping, and her soul
Went out through those blue portals. Mary died,
And yet he wept not. At the demon's call
He drowned his sorrow in the maddening bowl,
And when they buried her from sight, he sank
In drunken stupor by her new-made grave!
His friend was gone--he never had another,
And the world shrank from him, all save one,
And he still plied the bowl with deadly drugs
And bade him drink, forget his God, and die.

He died.
Cain! Cain! where is thy brother now?
Lives he still--if dead, still where is he?
Where? In Heaven? Go read the sacred page:
"No drunkard ever shall inherit there."
Who sent him to the pit? Who dragged him down?
Who bound him hand and foot? Who smiled and smiled
While yet the hellish work went on? Who grasped
His gold--his health--his life--his hope--his all?
Who saw his Mary fade and die? Who saw
His beggared children wandering in the streets?
Speak--Coward--if thou hast a tongue,
Tell why with hellish art you slew A MAN.

"Where is my brother?"
"Am I my brother's keeper?"

Ah, man! A deeper mark is on your brow
Than that of Cain. Accursed was the name
Of him who slew a righteous man, whose soul
Was ripe for Heaven; thrice accursed he
Whose art malignant sinks a soul to hell.

_E. Evans Edwards._

* * * * *

OCEAN.

_In Sunshine._

My window overlooks thee,--and thy sheen of silver glory,
In musical monotony advances and recedes;
Till I dimly see the "shining ones" of ancient song and story,
With aureoles of ocean-haze invite to distant meads,

Where summer song and sunshine on placid waters play;--
Drifting dreamily, insensibly, on fragrance-laden breeze--
Floating onward on the wavelets, without hurry or delay,
I reach some blissful haven in the bright Hesperides.

_Overcast._

How wearily and drearily the mist hangs over all!
And dismally the fog-horn shrieks its warning o'er the wave!
How sullenly the billows heave, beneath the funeral pall!
An impenetrable solitude!--a universal grave!

_In Storm._

O! measureless and merciless! vindictive, wild, and stern!
Fire, Pestilence and Whirlwind all yield the palm to thee!
Roar on in bad pre-eminence--a worse thou canst not earn,
Than clings in famine, wreck, and death, to thee, O cruel Sea!

_Ocean's Lessons._

I have seen thee in thy gladness, thy sullenness and wrath--
What lesson has thou taught, O Sea! to guide my daily path?
I hear thy massive monotone, to me it seems to say,
"When summer skies are over thee, dream not thy life away.

"In days of dark despondency, when either good or ill
"Seems scarcely worth the caring for, then wait and trust Him still;
"Though mist and cloud surround thee, thou art safe by sea or land,
"For thy Father holds the waters in the hollow of His hand.

"Perchance a storm in future life thy fragile bark may toss,
"And every struggle, cry, or prayer, bring nought but harm and loss,
"O tempest-tossed and stricken one! He comes His own to save,
"For not on Galilee alone, did Jesus walk the wave."

_W. Wetherald._

* * * * *

THE LITTLE HATCHET STORY.

And so, smiling, we went on.

"Well, one day, George's father--"

"George who?" asked Clarence.

"George Washington. He was a little boy, then, just like you. One day his
father--"

"Who's father?" demanded Clarence, with an encouraging expression of
interest.

"George Washington's; this great man we are telling you of. One day George
Washington's father gave him a little hatchet for a--"

"Gave who a little hatchet?" the dear child interrupted, with a gleam of
bewitching intelligence. Most men would have got mad, or betrayed signs of
impatience, but we didn't. We know how to talk to children. So we went on:

"George Washington. His--"

"Who gave him the little hatchet?"

"His father. And his father--"

"Whose father?"

"George Washington's."

"Oh!"

"Yes, George Washington. And his father told him--"

"Told who?"

"Told George."

"Oh, yes, George."

And we went on, just as patient and as pleasant as you could imagine. We
took up the story right where the boy interrupted, for we could see he was
just crazy to hear the end of it. We said:

"And he was told--"

"George told him?" queried Clarence.

"No, his father told George--"

"Oh!"

"Yes, told him he must be careful with the hatchet--"

"Who must be careful?"

"George must."

"Oh!"

"Yes, must be careful with his hatchet--"

"What hatchet?"

"Why, George's."

"Oh!"

"With the hatchet, and not cut himself with it, or drop it in the cistern,
or leave it out in the grass all night. So George went round cutting
everything he could reach with his hatchet. And at last he came to a
splendid apple-tree, his father's favourite, and cut it down, and--"

"Who cut it down?"

"George did."

"Oh!"

"But his father came home and saw it the first thing, and--"

"Saw the hatchet?"

"No, saw the apple-tree. And he said, 'Who has cut down my favourite apple-
tree?'"

"What apple-tree?"

"George's father's. And everybody said they didn't know anything about it,
and--"

"Anything about what?"

"The apple-tree."

"Oh!"

"And George came up and heard them talking about it--"

"Heard who taking about it?"

"Heard his father and the men"

"What were they talking about?"

"About this apple-tree."

"What apple-tree?"

"The favourite tree that George cut down."

"George who?"

"George Washington"

"Oh!"

"So George came up and heard them talking about it, and he--"

"What did he cut it down for?"

"Just to try his little hatchet."

"Whose little hatchet?"

"Why, his own, the one his father gave him."

"Gave who?"

"Why, George Washington."

"Oh!"

"So, George came up, and he said, 'Father, I cannot tell a lie, I--'"

"Who couldn't tell a lie?"

"Why, George Washington. He said, 'Father, I cannot tell a lie. It was--'"

"His father couldn't?"

"Why, no; George couldn't?"

"Oh! George? oh, yes!"

"'It was I cut down your apple tree; I did--'"

"His father did?"

"No, no; it was George said this."

"Said he cut his father?"

"No, no, no; said he cut down his apple-tree."

"George's apple-tree?"

"No, no; his father's."

"Oh!"

"He said--"

"His father said?"

"No, no, no; George said, 'Father, I cannot tell a lie, I did it with my
little hatchet.' And his father said, 'Noble boy, I would rather lose a
thousand trees than have you tell a lie.'"

"George did?"

"No, his father said that."

"Said he'd rather have a thousand apple-trees?"

"No, no, no; said he'd rather lose a thousand apple-trees than--"

"Said he'd rather George would?"

"No, said he'd rather he would than have him lie."

"Oh! George would rather have his father lie?"

We are patient and we love children, but if Mrs. Caruthers hadn't come and
got her prodigy at that critical juncture, we don't believe all Burlington
could have pulled us out of the snarl. And as Clarence Alencon de
Marchemont Caruthers pattered down the stairs, we heard him telling his ma
about a boy who had a father named George, and he told him to cut down an
apple-tree, and he said he'd rather tell a thousand lies than cut down one
apple-tree.

_R. N. Burdette._

* * * * *

TRUSTING.

I do not ask that God will always make
My pathway light;
I only pray that He will hold my hand
Throughout the night.
I do not hope to have the thorns removed
That pierce my feet,
I only ask to find His blessed arms
My safe retreat.

If He afflict me, then in my distress
Withholds His hand;
If all His wisdom I cannot conceive
Or understand.
I do not think to always know His why
Or wherefore, here;
But sometime He will take my hand and make
His meaning clear.

If in His furnace He refine my heart
To make it pure,
I only ask for grace to trust His love--
Strength to endure;
And if fierce storms beat round me,
And the heavens be overcast,
I know that He will give His weary one
Sweet peace at last.

* * * * *

THE LAST HYMN.

The Sabbath day was ending in a village by the sea,
The uttered benediction touched the people tenderly,
And they rose to face the sunset in the glowing lighted West
And then hasten to their dwellings for God's blessed boon of rest.
But they looked across the waters and a storm was raging there.
A fierce spirit moved above them--the wild spirit of the air,
And it lashed, and shook, and tore them till they thundered,
groaned, and boomed,
But alas! for any vessel in their yawning gulfs entombed.
Very anxious were the people on that rocky coast of Wales,
Lest the dawns of coming morrows should be telling awful tales,
When the sea had spent its passion, and should cast upon the shore
Bits of wreck, and swollen victims, as it had done heretofore.
With the rough winds blowing round her a brave woman strained her eyes,
And she saw along the billows a large vessel fall and rise.
Oh! it did not need a prophet to tell what the end must be,
For no ship could ride in safety near that shore on such a sea.
Then the pitying people hurried from their homes and thronged the beach.
Oh, for power to cross the waters, and the perishing to reach.
Helpless hands were wrung in terror, tender hearts grew cold with dread,
As the ship urged by the tempest to the fatal rock-shore sped.
She has parted in the middle! Oh, the half of her goes down!
God have mercy! Is His heaven far to seek for those who drown?
So when next the white shocked faces looked with terror on the sea,
Only one last clinging figure on a spar was seen to be.
Nearer the trembling watchers came the wreck tossed by the wave,
And the man still clung and floated, though no power on earth could save.
"Could we send him a short message! Here's a trumpet, shout away!"
'Twas the preacher's hand that took it, and he wondered what to say.
Any memory of his sermon? Firstly? Secondly? Ah, no.
There was but one thing to utter in that awful hour of woe.
So he shouted through the trumpet, "Look to Jesus! Can you hear?"
And "Aye, aye, sir!" rang the answer o'er the waters loud and clear,
Then they listened, "He is singing, 'Jesus, lover of my soul,'"
And the winds brought back the echo, "While the nearer waters roll."
Strange indeed it was to hear him, "Till the storm of life is past."
Singing bravely o'er the waters, "Oh, receive my soul at last."
He could have no other refuge, "Hangs my helpless soul on thee;",
"Leave, oh, leave me not!"--the singer dropped at last into the sea.
And the watchers looking homeward, through their eyes, by tears made dim,
Said, "He passed to be with Jesus in the singing of that hymn."

_Marianne Farningham._

* * * * *

I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER.

I remember, I remember
The house where I was born--
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn;
He never came a wink too soon,
Nor brought too long a day,
But now I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away!

I remember, I remember
The roses red and white,
The violets and the lily-cups,
Those flowers made of light;
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birthday--
The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember
Where I was used to swing,
And thought the air must rush as fresh;
To swallows on the wing;
My spirit flew in feathers then,
That is so heavy now,
And summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow.

I remember, I remember
The fir trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky;
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm further off from heaven
Than when I was a boy.

_Thomas Hood._

* * * * *

NEVER GIVE UP.

Never give up! it is wiser and better
Always to hope than once to despair:
Fling off the load of Doubt's cankering fetter,
And break the dark spell of tyrannical care;
Never give up! or the burden may sink you--
Providence kindly has mingled the cup;
And, in all trials or trouble, bethink you
The watchword of life must be--Never give up!

Never give up!--there are chances and changes
Helping the hopeful a hundred to one,
And through the chaos High Wisdom arranges
Ever success--if you'll only hope on;
Never give up!--for the wisest is boldest,
Knowing that Providence mingles the cup;
And of all maxims the best, as the oldest,
Is the true watchword of--Never give up!

Never give up!--though the grapeshot may rattle,
Or the full thunder-cloud over you burst,
Stand like a rock--and the storm or the battle
Little shall harm you, though doing their worst.
Never give up!--if adversity presses,
Providence wisely has mingled the cup;
And the best counsel, in all your distresses,
Is the stout watchword of--Never give up.

_Anon._

* * * * *

MARMION AND DOUGLAS.

Not far advanced was morning day,
When Marmion did his troop array
To Surrey's camp to ride;
He had safe-conduct for his band,
Beneath the royal seal and hand,
And Douglas gave a guide:
The ancient Earl, with stately grace,
Would Clara on her palfrey place,
And whispered in an undertone,
"Let the hawk stoop, his prey is flown."--
The train from out the castle drew,
But Marmion stopped to bid adieu:--
"Though something I might plain," he said,
"Of cold respect to stranger guest,
Sent hither by your King's behest,
While in Tantallon's towers I stayed,
Part we in friendship from your land,
And, noble Earl, receive my hand."--
But Douglas around him drew his cloak,
Folded his arms, and thus he spoke:--
"My manors, halls, and bowers shall still
Be open, at my Sovereign's will,
To each one whom he lists, howe'er
Unmeet to be the owner's peer.
My castles are my King's alone,
From turret to foundation-stone,--
The hand of Douglas is his own;
And never shall in friendly grasp
The hand of such as Marmion clasp."

Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire,
And shook his very frame for ire,
And--"This to me!" he said,--
"An 'twere not for thy hoary beard,
Such hand as Marmion's had not spared
To cleave the Douglas' head!
And, first, I tell thee, haughty Peer,
He who does England's message here,
Although the meanest in her state,
May well, proud Angus, be thy mate;
And, Douglas, more I tell thee here,
Even in thy pitch of pride,
Here in thy hold, thy vassals near,
(Nay never look upon your lord,
And lay your hands upon your sword,)
I tell thee, thou'rt defied!
And if thou saidst I am not peer
To any lord in Scotland here,
Lowland or Highland, far or near,
Lord Angus, thou hast lied!"--
On the Earl's cheek the flush of rage
O'ercame the ashen hue of age;
Fierce he broke forth,--"And dar'st thou then
To beard the lion in his den,
The Douglas in his hall?
And hop'st thou hence unscathed to go?--
No, by St. Bride of Bothwell, no!
Up drawbridge, grooms,--what, Warder, ho!
Let the portcullis fall."--
Lord Marmion turned,--well was his need!--
And dashed the rowels in his steed,
Like arrow through the archway sprung;
The ponderous gate behind him rung;
To pass there was such scanty room,
The bars descending, razed his plume.

The steed along the drawbridge flies,
Just as it trembled on the rise;
Nor lighter does the swallow skim
Along the smooth lake's level brim;
And when Lord Marmion reached his band,
He halts, and turns with clenched hand,
And shout of loud defiance pours,
And shook his gauntlet at the towers.
"Horse! horse!" the Douglas cried, "and chase!";
But soon he reined his fury's pace;
A royal messenger he came,
Though most unworthy of the name.

* * * * *

St. Mary, mend my fiery mood!
Old age ne'er cools the Douglas blood,
I thought to slay him where he stood.
"'Tis pity of him, too," he cried;
"Bold can he speak, and fairly ride;
I warrant him a warrior tried."
With this his mandate he recalls,
And slowly seeks his castle halls.

_Sir Walter Scott._

* * * * *

CATILINE'S DEFIANCE.

Banished from Rome! What's banished, but set free
From daily contact of the things I loathe?
"Tried and convicted traitor!" Who says this?
Who'll prove it, at his peril on my head?
Banished? I thank you for't. It breaks my chain!
I held some slack allegiance till this hour;
But _now_ my sword's my own. Smile on, my lords;
I scorn to count what feelings, withered hopes,
Strong provocation, bitter, burning wrongs,
I have within my heart's hot cells shut up,
To leave you in your lazy dignities.
But here I stand and scoff you! here I fling
Hatred and full defiance in your face!
Your Consul's merciful. For this all thanks:--
He _dares_ not touch a hair of Catiline!
"Traitor!" I go; but I _return_. This--trial!
Here I devote your Senate! I've had wrongs
To stir a fever in the blood of age,
Or make the infant's sinews strong as steel.
This day's the birth of sorrow! This hour's work
Will breed proscriptions! Look to your hearths, my lords
For there, henceforth, shall sit for household gods,
Shapes hot from Tartarus!--all shames and crimes;--
Wan Treachery, with his thirsty dagger drawn;
Suspicion poisoning his brother's cup;
Naked Rebellion, with the torch and axe,
Making his wild sport of your blazing thrones;
Till Anarchy comes down on you like night,
And Massacre seals Rome's eternal grave.
I go; but not to leap the gulf alone.
I go; but when I come, 'twill be the burst
Of ocean in the earthquake,--rolling back
In swift and mountainous ruin. Fare you well!
You build my funeral-pile; but your best blood
Shall quench its flame.

_Rev. George Croly._

* * * * *

THE WORN WEDDING-RING.

Your wedding-ring wears thin, dear wife; ah, summers not a few,
Since I put it on your finger first, have passed o'er me and you;
And, love, what changes we have seen--what cares and pleasures too--
Since you became my own dear wife, when this old ring was new.

O blessings on that happy day, the happiest in my life,
When, thanks to God, your low sweet "Yes" made you my loving wife;
Your heart will say the same, I know, that day's as dear to you,
That day that made me yours, dear wife, when this old ring was new.

How well do I remember now, your young sweet face that day;
How fair you were--how dear you were--my tongue could hardly say;
Nor how I doted on you; ah, how proud I was of you;
But did I love you more than now, when this old ring was new?

No--no; no fairer were you then than at this hour to me,
And dear as life to me this day, how could you dearer be?
As sweet your face might be that day as now it is, 'tis true,
And did I know your heart as well when this old ring was new!

O partner of my gladness, wife, what care, what grief is there,
For me you would not bravely face,--with me you would not share?
O what a weary want had every day if wanting you,
Wanting the love that God made mine when this old ring was new.

Years bring fresh links to bind us, wife--young voices that are here,
Young faces round our fire that make their mother's yet more dear,
Young loving hearts, your care each day makes yet more like to you,
More like the loving heart made mine when this old ring was new.

And bless'd be God all He has given are with us yet, around
Our table, every little life lent to us, still is found;
Though cares we've known, with hopeful hearts the worst we've struggled
through;
Blessed be His name for all His love since this old ring was new.

The past is dear; its sweetness still our memories treasure yet;
The griefs we've borne, together borne, we would not now forget;
Whatever, wife, the future brings, heart unto heart still true,
We'll share as we have shared all else since this old ring was new.

And if God spare us 'mongst our sons and daughters to grow old,
We know His goodness will not let your heart or mine grow cold;
Your aged eyes will see in mine all they've still shown to you,
And mine in yours all they have seen since this old ring was new.

And O when death shall come at last to bid me to my rest,
May I die looking in those eyes, and leaning on that breast;
O may my parting gaze be blessed with the dear sight of you,
Of those fond eyes--fond as they were when this old ring was new.

_W. C. Bennett._

* * * * *

ROLL-CALL.

The battle was over--the foemen were flying,
But the plain was strewn with the dead and the dying,
For the dark angel rode on its sulphurous blast,
And had reaped a rich harvest of death, as he passed;
For, as grass he mowed down the blue and the gray,
With the mean and the mighty that stood in his way,
While the blood of our bravest ran there as water,
And his nostrils were filled with the incense of slaughter.

The black guns were silent--hushed the loud ringing cheers,
And the pale dead were buried, in silence and tears;
And the wounded brought in on stretchers so gory,
Broken and mangled but covered with glory,
Whilst the surgeons were clipping with expertness and vim,
From the agonised trunk each bullet-torn limb,
And the patient, if living, was carefully sent
To the cool open wards of the hospital tent.

Within one of those wards a brave Highlander lay,
With the chill dews of death on his forehead of clay,
For a shell had struck him in the heat of the fray,
And his right arm and shoulder were carried away;
No word had he spoken--not a sound had he made,
Yet a shiver, at times, had his anguish betrayed,
And so calmly he lay without murmur or moan,
The gentle-voiced sister thought his spirit had flown.

The lamps burning dimly an uncertain light shed,
While the groans of the wounded, the stare of the dead,
Made an age of a night to the gentle and true,
That had waited and watched half its long hours through;
When the surgeon came in with a whisper of cheer,
And a nod and a glance at the cot that stood near,
When--"_Here_!" like a bugle blast, the dying man cried,
"_It is roll-call in Heaven_!" He answered and died.

_Anon._

* * * * *

THE DEAD DOLL.

You needn't be trying to comfort me--I tell you my dolly is dead!
There's no use in saying she isn't--with a crack like that in her head.
It's just like you said it wouldn't hurt much to have my tooth out that day;
And then when the man most pulled my head off, you hadn't a word to say.

And I guess you must think I'm a baby, when you say you can mend it with
glue!
As if I didn't know better than that! Why, just suppose it was you?
You might make her _look_ all mended--but what do I care for looks?
Why, glue's for chairs and tables, and toys, and the backs of books!

My dolly! my own little daughter! Oh, but it's the awfullest crack!
It just makes me sick to think of the sound when her poor head went whack
Against that horrible brass thing that holds up the little shelf,
Now, Nursey, what makes you remind me? I know that I did it myself!

I think you must be crazy--you'll get her another head!
What good would forty heads do her? I tell you my dolly is dead!
And to think I hadn't quite finished her elegant New Year's hat!
And I took a sweet ribbon of hers last night to tie on that horrid cat!

When my mamma gave me that ribbon--I was playing out in the yard--
She said to me most expressly: "Here's a ribbon for Hildegarde."
And I went and put it on Tabby, and Hildegarde saw me do it;
But I said to myself, "Oh, never mind, I don't believe she knew it!"

But I know that she knew it now, and I just believe, I do,
That her poor little heart was broken, and so her head broke too.
Oh, my baby! my little baby! I wish my head had been hit!
For I've hit it over and over, and it hasn't cracked a bit.

But since the darling _is_ dead, she'll want to be buried of course;
We will take my little wagon, Nurse, and you shall be the horse;
And I'll walk behind and cry; and we'll put her in this--you see,
This dear little box--and we'll bury them under the maple tree.

And papa will make a tombstone, like the one he made for my bird;
And he'll put what I tell him on it--yes, every single word!
I shall say: "Here lies Hildegarde, a beautiful doll who is dead;
She died of a broken heart, and a dreadful crack in her head."

_St. Nicholas._

* * * * *

AUNTY DOLEFUL'S VISIT.

How do you do, Cornelia? I heard you were sick and I stepped in to cheer
you up a little. My friends often say, "It's such a comfort to see you,
Aunty Doleful. You have such a flow of conversation, and _are_ so
lively." Besides, I said to myself, as I came up the stairs, "Perhaps it's
the last time I'll ever see Cornelia Jane alive."

You don't mean to die yet, eh? Well, now, how do you know? You can't tell.
You think you are getting better; but there was poor Mrs. Jones sitting up,
and every one saying how smart she was, and all of a sudden she was taken
with spasms in the heart, and went off like a flash. But you must be
careful, and not get anxious or excited. Keep quite calm, and don't fret
about anything. Of course, things can't go on just as if you were down
stairs; and I wondered whether you knew your little Billy was sailing about
in a tub on the mill-pond, and that your little Sammy was letting your
little Jimmy down from the verandah roof in a clothes-basket.

Gracious goodness! what's the matter? I guess Providence'll take care of
'em. Don't look so. You thought Bridget was watching them? Well, no, she
isn't. I saw her talking to a man at the gate. He looked to me like a
burglar. No doubt she let him take the impression of the door-key in wax,
and then he'll get in and murder you all. There was a family at Kobble Hill
all killed last week for fifty dollars. Now, don't fidget so, it will be
bad for the baby.

Poor little dear! How singular it is, to be sure, that you can't tell
whether a child is blind, or deaf and dumb or a cripple at that age. It
might be _all_, and you'd never know it.

Most of them that have their senses make bad use of them though;
_that_ ought to be your comfort, if it does turn out to have anything
dreadful the matter with it. And more don't live a year. I saw a baby's
funeral down the street as I came along.

How is Mr. Kobble? Well, but finds it warm in town, eh? Well, I should
think he would. They are dropping down by hundreds there with sun-stroke.
You must prepare your mind to have him brought home any day. Anyhow, a trip
on these railroad trains is just risking your life every time you take one.
Back and forth every day as he is, it's just trifling with danger.

Dear! dear; now to think what dreadful things hang over us all the time!
Dear! dear!

Scarlet fever has broken out in the village, Cornelia. Little Isaac Potter
has it, and I saw your Jimmy playing with him last Saturday.

Well, I must be going now. I've got another sick friend, and I shan't think
my duty done unless I cheer her up a little before I sleep. Good-bye. How
pale you look, Cornelia. I don't believe you have a good doctor. Do send
him away and try some one else. You don't look so well as you did when I
came in. But if anything happens, send for me at once. If I can't do
anything else, I can cheer you up a little.

* * * * *

THE MINIATURE.

William was holding in his hand
The likeness of his wife--
Fresh, as if touched by fairy wand,
With beauty, grace, and life.
He almost thought it spoke--he gazed,
Upon the treasure still;
Absorbed, delighted, and amazed
He view'd the artist's skill.

"This picture is yourself, dear Ann,
Tis' drawn to nature true;
I've kissed it o'er and o'er again,
It is so much like you."
"And has it kiss'd you back, my dear?"
"Why--no--my love," said he;
"Then, William, it is very clear,
'Tis not at all like me!"

* * * * *

THE CHIMES OF S. S. PETER AND PAUL.

Ring out, sad bells, ring out
Melody to the twilight sky,
With echoes, echoing yet
As along the shore they die;
Chiming, chiming,
Sweet toned notes upon the heart
That one can ne'er forget.

Ring louder! O louder!
Until the distant sea
Shall send thy clear vibrations
Dying back to me;
Tolling, tolling,
Beautiful, trembling notes
Of sad sweet melody.

Ring, ring, ring, a merry Christmas
And a glad New Year;
Ring on Easter morning
And at the May-day dear;
Fling, fling
Thy tones over woodland ways
All the hills adorning.

At the joyous marriage,
And at the gladsome birth
Fling thy silvery echoes
Over all the earth,
But knell, O knell
When death, the shadowy spectre
Shall kiss the lips of mirth

O blessed bells, silver bells,
Thy notes are echoing still
Like the song of an ebbing tide,
Or a mournful whip-poor-will.
As he sings, sings,
In the crimson sunset light
That dies on the burnished hill

Then ring, O softly ring
Musical deep-toned bells;
Till harmony, sweet harmony
Throughout the woodland swells.
To bring, faintly bring,
Thy dying echoes back to me,
Over fields and fells,
Bells, bells, bells.

* * * * *

THE ENGINEER'S STORY.

No, children, my trips are over,
The engineer needs rest;
My hand is shaky; I'm feeling
A tugging pain i' my breast;
But here, as the twilight gathers,
I'll tell you a tale of the road,
That'll ring in my head forever
Till it rests beneath the sod.

We were lumbering along in the twilight,
The night was dropping her shade,
And the "Gladiator" laboured--
Climbing the top of the grade;
The train was heavily laden,
So I let my engine rest,
Climbing the grading slowly,
Till we reached the upland's crest.

I held my watch to the lamplight--
Ten minutes behind time!
Lost in the slackened motion
Of the up grade's heavy climb;
But I knew the miles of the prairie
That stretched a level track,
So I touched the gauge of the boiler,
And pulled the lever back.

Over the rails a gleaming,
Thirty an hour, or so,
The engine leaped like a demon,
Breathing a fiery glow;
But to me--a-hold of the lever--
It seemed a child alway,
Trustful and always ready
My lightest touch to obey.

I was proud, you know, of my engine,
Holding it steady that night,
And my eye on the track before us,
Ablaze with the Drummond light.
We neared a well-known cabin,
Where a child of three or four,
As the up train passed, oft called me,
A-playing around the door.

My hand was firm on the throttle
As we swept around the curve,
When something afar in the shadow,
Struck fire through every nerve.
I sounded the brakes, and crashing
The reverse lever down in dismay,
Groaning to Heaven--eighty paces
Ahead was the child at its play!

One instant--one, awful and only,
The world flew round in my brain,
And I smote my hand hard on my forehead
To keep back the terrible pain;
The train I thought flying forever,
With mad, irresistible roll,
While the cries of the dying night wind
Swept into my shuddering soul.

Then I stood on the front of the engine--
How I got there I never could tell--
My feet planted down on the crossbar,
Where the cow-catcher slopes to the rail,--
One hand firmly locked on the coupler,
And one held out in the night,
While my eye gauged the distance, and measured
The speed of our slackening flight.

My mind, thank the Lord! it was steady;
I saw the curls of her hair,
And the face that, turning in wonder,
Was lit by the deadly glare.
I know little more, but I heard it--
The groan of the anguished wheels--
And remember thinking, the engine
In agony trembles and reels.

One rod! To the day of my dying
I shall think the old engine reared back,
And as it recoiled, with a shudder,
I swept my hand over the track;
Then darkness fell over my eyelids,
But I heard the surge of the train,
And the poor old engine creaking,
As racked by a deadly pain.

They found us, they said, on the gravel,
My fingers enmeshed in her hair,
And she on my bosom a climbing,
To nestle securely there.
We are not much given to crying--
We men that run on the road--
But that night, they said, there were faces,
With tears on them, lifted to God.

For years in the eve and the morning,
As I neared the cabin again,
My hand on the lever pressed downward
And slackened the speed of the train.
When my engine had blown her a greeting,
She always would come to the door,
And her look with the fullness of heaven
Blesses me evermore.

* * * * *

FASHIONABLE SINGING.

Miss Julia was induced to give a taste of her musical powers, and this is
how she did it. She flirted up her panniers, coquettishly wiggle-waggled to
the piano and sang--

"When ther moo-hoon is mi-hild-ly be-ahming
O'er ther ca-halm and si-hi-lent se-e-e-e,
Its ra-dyance so-hoftly stre-heam-ing
Oh! ther-hen, Oh! ther-hen,
I thee-hink
Hof thee-hee,
I thee-hink,
I thee-hink,
I thee-he-he-he-he-he-he-hink hof thee-e-e-e-e!"

"Beautiful, Miss Julia! Beautiful!" and we all clapped our hands. "Do sing
another verse--it's perfectly divine, Miss Julia," said Eugene Augustus.
Then Julia raised her golden (dyed) head, touched the white ivory with her
jewelled fingers, and warbled--

"When ther sur-hun is bri-hight-ly glow-ing-how-ing
O'er the se-hene so de-hear to me-e-e,
And swe-heat the wie-hind is blow-how-ing,
Oh! ther-hen, oh! ther-hen,
I thee-hink
Hof thee-hee,
I thee-hink
I thee-hink
I thee-he-he-he-he-he-he-hink-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho-hof
the-e-e-e-e-e!"--

_Baltimore Elocutionist._

* * * * *

THE OLD SOLDIER OF THE REGIMENT.

From the bold heights of the island, far up in the Huron Sea,
Proudly waved that Summer morning the old flag of liberty;
While close under that fair banner, which to him was love and law,
Sat that hour a veteran soldier of the guard at Mackinaw.

Bowed and wrinkled, thin and h

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