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 PRINTED BT JOHN LOYELL, ST. NICHOLAS STREET. 
 
 
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 Entered, MOQrding to the Act of the Provincial FuliM&ent,in the year 
 one thousand eight hundred and sixty, by Jovatbjlv BiJBBBB, in the 
 OflBee of the Begistrar of the Province of Canada. 
 
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PEEFAOE. 
 
 It is now many years since the first publication ^i my 
 " Grammar of Elocution." The design of that work was 
 the bringing of the system of elocution into a compass 
 fitted for the instruction to be given in Collies. At that 
 time it was my intention to follow it up immediately with 
 another work, like this which is now offered to the public, 
 the object of which might be to introduce the study of the 
 system into Schools. Circumstances have prevented me 
 from earlier fulfilling the original design. The period has 
 now however arrived when a work of this description is 
 imperatively called for and can no longer be delayed. 
 The increasing interest on the subject which has of late 
 been shown both in our Schools and Colleges, and the fact 
 that the large and valuable work by Dr. Rush, has reached 
 a fifth edition are strong indications that the notice of 
 teachers generally begins to be directed to the system it con- 
 tains. The few pages of this work are by no means offer- 
 ed to the public as containing a complete exposi of the 
 philosophy of the human voice. It is intended merely for 
 a text book. Dr. Rush's work should be read and studied 
 by those who design to teach. 
 
' »' . , /, 
 
 .. f 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Preface, 3 
 
 Introduotion, , 9 
 
 Chapter I. On the Vocal Elements, 22 
 
 Chapter II. On the Elements of Expression, 31 
 
 Chapter III. On Pitch, Concrete and Radical,... 33 
 
 Chapter IY • The Radical and Vanishing Movement. 35 
 
 Chapter V. On Concrete Pitch, or Slide, 37 
 
 Chapter VI. Do. continued, 43 
 
 Chapter VII. On Discrete or Radical Pitch, 47 
 
 Chapter VIII. Do. continued, 51 
 
 Chapter IX. On Force, 55 
 
 Chapter X. Do. continued. Stress, Radical Stress, 58 
 
 Vanishing Stress, 60 
 
 Compound Stress, 62 
 
 Median Stress, ib. 
 
 Chapter XL On Quantity, 63 
 
 Chapter XII. On Quality, 68 
 
 Chapter XIII. On Accent, 71 
 
 Chapter XIV. On Analysis, 78 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 Tables for practice on the Vocal Elements, 89 
 
 do. for practice on the Simple Slides 94 
 
00NTINT8. 
 
 > I 
 
 Tables for praotioe on the Waves, 94 
 
 do. for praotioe on Radioal Stress, or Abruptness, 95 
 
 do. for praotioe on Vanishing and Compound Stress, ib. 
 
 do. for praotioe on Median Stress, ib. 
 
 Exercises on Quantity ib. 
 
 EXERCISES. 
 
 Reply of Mr. Pitt, 96 
 
 3aint Paul's Defence before Agrippa, 98 
 
 Song of Moses, '. 10^ 
 
 The Exile of Erin, 103 
 
 Lucy, * 105 
 
 Elegy in a Country Chureh Yard. Graif, 107 
 
 A Conversational Pleasantry, , 11^ 
 
 On Sincerity, lillotson,.. ,.,,....,, 115 
 
 On Happiness of Temper. Goldsmith^ 11^ 
 
 lEtatde of Hastings. Lingard^ 121^ 
 
 Discovery of America by Columbus. EoherUcmy.^ 12^ 
 
 Character of Cromwell, , 13^' 
 
 Ponclusion of Dr. Rush's Chapter on the Mode of 
 
 .> Instruction in Elocution, 136 
 
 Industry necessary to the attainment of Eloquence, 
 
 r ' Ware. 139 
 
 On Duelling. E. Nbtt, U^ 
 
 ^he Raising of Lazarus, 143 
 
 Death of Eli, 14§ 
 
 Extract from Erskine's Speech on Paine's Age of 
 
 Reason, 148 
 
 Speech of Adams. Webster, 151 
 
 Extract from Mr, Webster's Speech on the Greek 
 
 Revolution, |53 
 
 H 
 
 ti ■ .» ■ V '. I : 
 
OONTlirTS. ^ 
 
 Speeoh of Mr. Phnket, 164 
 
 Speech of Mr. Fox in the British Parliament, • 160 
 
 The Confession, firom the Episcopal Service, 164 
 
 Gertrude. Mrs, HemanSf • 166 
 
 Meeting of Satan and Death...... 167 
 
 Introduction to Paradise Lost. Miltonf 1 71 
 
 Epistle to Joseph Hill, Esq. Cowper^ 172 
 
 The Country Bumpkin and Razor Seller, 174 
 
 Scene from Merchant of Venice, 176 
 
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 INTRODUCTION. 
 
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 <w Elocution is not yet fully admitted into the ntimlKJr 
 of acknowledged sciences. A few years ago, indeed, there 
 were hardly any to be found who would allow of its utility 
 at all. A great change in this respect has been latdy 
 taking place ; but even now no small number continue to 
 avow themselves unbelievers in it. — They seem to fancy 
 that good Gqpeaking must, like honest Dogberry's reading 
 and writing ' come by nature ;' that he who possesses 
 natural facility will of course speak well, while he who 
 has it not is doomed to remain forever a mere bungler. ^ 
 1^'^ It is the more difficult to combat this idea, because, 
 like most other errors, it contains a slight admixture of 
 truth. In Elocution, as in every other science, natural 
 talent is no doubt required for the attainment of extra- 
 ordinary proficiency. There are many persons to whom 
 it would be impossible to give any notion of its higher 
 beauties, just as there are many who never can be taught 
 to appreciate fully the sister arts of music, painting, or 
 sculpture. There are even some who cannot be taught at 
 all, just as there are some who cannot be br6ught to dis- 
 tinguish notes in music, or colors in painting. Almost any 
 t)ne, indeed, may enter on a course of instruction in Elocu- 
 tion with at least as good a prospect of success as he could 
 reasonably entertain in pursuing any other of the fine arts. 
 
10 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 !i= 
 
 
 What though none but the highly gifted can reach the 
 first rank, — is this any reason why they alone should make 
 the effort to escape the lowest ? What though some two 
 or three in the thousand cannot rise at ali, —is this a suffi- 
 cient reason why all the rest should lie down contented 
 forever to conceal their natural defects by bearing them 
 company ? Singers and performers of great respectability 
 are manufactured every day by study, from among the 
 middle class of musical men. Why then, in an art which 
 qZI r.mst practise, well or ill, according as they may be 
 proficients in it, (and such is the art of Elocution,) why, 
 we ask, should not every one attempt, at least, to cultivate 
 the powers ho has, to their utmost ? 
 
 But there are many persons, who, though they do not 
 thus object to Elocution altogether, would yet, perhaps, in 
 oafiting their eyes over the pages of thb work denounce 
 the system it contains, as much too complex for their 
 learning. They prefer the old vague terms of rising and 
 falling inflexion, to the precise nomenclature introduced 
 by Dr. Hush. — His analysis they think too difficult of 
 eomprehension ; and therefore they choose rather to em* 
 ploy undefinable words to convey undefined ideas. But 
 this comparison of systems proceeds on a most unfair basis. 
 Is one system really better than another, merely because 
 it gives the learner fewer names and scantier directions ? 
 Surely net. The only question we have a right to a^, 
 is, Which is the si/stem of Nature? When we have 
 settled thi 1 point, our inquiries are ended. All we have 
 to do is to submit to nature, to learn her system ; for we 
 may rest assured we shall never make a better. 
 
 Is it a fact that nature's systems are always simple ? 
 Let the theory of music serve as an example. Who that 
 has ever studied it scientifically with all its rules of time, 
 
 U 
 
INTRODITOTIOir. 
 
 U 
 
 aooent, melody, hannony, diseord, and ezpreauon, (and be 
 it remembered ibis is tbe only way to understand muedo 
 80 as to compose it) will ever apply to it tbe epitbet of 
 pimple ? Wbo would not smile at tbe folly of tbe tyro, 
 wbo should, on that account alonCj decline its study? 
 Wbo would not more tban smile, if, after passing by tbe 
 true and complex system of nature, be were to take up 
 witb some paltry and disjointed fractions of it, in bopefi 
 by tbeir aid to make bimself a musical composer witb lead 
 labor ? Nor is tbe case different in any of the other art0. 
 To comprehend the laws of perspeotiye, witibout which no 
 rules can be given to direct to practical excellence ia 
 painting) requires an acquaintance witb no small portion^ 
 the abstrusities of mathematics. The only way to over- 
 come such difficulties, is to meet them where they are, not 
 to endeavor to forget their existence. 
 
 It is on this ground that we take our stand in defend- 
 ing this system of Elocution. Simple or complex, it 13 
 the scheme of nature. The directions, which it gives are 
 not a whit more refined than those which nature, 
 carefully observed, presents to us. If those who object to 
 them, would submit to follow out this careful observation, 
 instead of suffering their prejudices or idleness to contra^ 
 diet tbe experience of those who have done so, they would 
 soon be convinced of tbe fact. Until this is done, tbe old 
 empirical system will not fail to find supporters. 
 
 What one point, then, is there in this system, of which 
 it can be said with* truth, that nature does not recognise 
 it ? An anonymous critic, eminent no doubt in bis own 
 line, but far from an adept, as we venture to think, in 
 elocution, has objected, in a review of my Grammar, 
 to tbe vocal elements, as they are enumerated at the outset. 
 He tells us, that ' to utter the sounds of the consonants as 
 
XNTEODUOTION. 
 
 distinct somids* lie holds 'to be an impossibility, and 
 directions for doing so, and descriptions of them, to be not 
 only futile but likely to endanger the^ formation of a habit 
 of harsh utterance.' What, however, are we to think of 
 the degree of attention with which this reviewer, who in- 
 sists on the exclusive * imitation of nature,' has in reality 
 observed her, when, confounding the sound of ' m ' as 
 heard in ' m-an ' with the name of the letter ' em,' he 
 expresses, three lines after, his surprise that it should ever 
 have been likened * to the lowing of an ox ? ' What are 
 we to think of the proportion which his habits of observa- 
 tion and reflection bear to those of witticism^ when we 
 find, three pages after, that he cannot see how Demos- 
 thenes could have learned the sound of the trilled ' r ' (in 
 * r-apture') by imitating the dog, * unless the dogs of 
 ancient Greece spoke a language very different from the 
 bow-wow-wow of the canine race of modem days ? ' Did 
 he never, in any of his perambulations by day or night, 
 hear the cheering sound of a * canine ' growl f Let any 
 one explain in what way it is possible to say *man* 
 without actually giving, distinctly or indistincly, as the 
 case may be, the three sounds * m' ' a ' * w,' and we will 
 consent to strike out the consonantal elements from the 
 table. Let any one show in what respect it can be better, 
 for the purposes of ensuring distinct articulation, never to 
 attempt their separate utterance, and we will recommend 
 the pupil to take this easy method of avoiding too great 
 harshness in his pronunciation : till then, we abide by 
 what we think the scheme of nature. 
 
 Nor is the list of slides and waves, given in the two 
 chapters on Concrete Pitch, in any degree imaginary. 
 The difference between the slide on the word * no, (I 
 won't^) and that on ' wJio .^ ' is a real one, and is made for 
 
INTBODirOTION. 
 
 13 
 
 r 
 
 real and definite purposes. It is easy to say the lisl 
 given is a long one ; it is not quite so easy to prove it too 
 long. No one, we venture to assert, who will only listen 
 once to each of those we have enumerated, will find any 
 difficulty in perceiving that no two are alike, either in 
 sound or meaning. No one, possessed of the musical 
 talent required for the task, if he will take the pains to 
 analyze them musically, will discover any inappropriateness 
 in their names, or errors in their definitions. Why then 
 are we called on to reject them, and to be content with 
 * rising and falling inflections^^ words used now to express 
 one meaning, now another, never defined, in fact wholly 
 unintelligible ? Till it can be shown that two such tervM 
 are in truth sufficient to designate intelligibly and without 
 confusion all the multiplied combinations of radical and 
 concrete pitch in speech, we cannot adopt them. Till the 
 more precise arrangement given here and in the Grammar, 
 is proved actually fautly ; till experiment fair and decisive 
 has overthrown, what experiment alone originally discover- 
 ed, we cannot consent to abandon it, however some may 
 oavil at its refinements. 
 
 The same line of argument holds good on all the other 
 points of the system as on these. The modifications of 
 force and stress, the essential conditions of agreeable long 
 quantity, the rules of accent, the principles of analysis, are 
 all of them to be found in nature. We are not at liberty 
 to reject or pass by any of them. 
 
 But it may be asked. Is nothing to be done, then, to 
 render the study of elocution easy ? Are we, on account 
 of the general difficulty of the way, to leave untouched 
 the many stumbling-blocks which the road presents ? By 
 no means. All we say is. Let the road go really through 
 the intended country. K the region be hilly, make the 
 
u 
 
 BJItttOl>lTt!!rtOIf. 
 
 i^ as level as yoa can ; but do not cany it tbrongli 
 attother district. Any thing that may be done to render 
 easy the way of communicating truth, difficult or not, it 
 will be well to do. Any departure from the real truths o^ 
 » science, to something else more specious, is mere trifling ; 
 it is Worse than trifling ; it is deception. Whether or not 
 fdl that can be done in this respect has really been accom- 
 plished, in the Grammar and in this work, is another 
 question, which it is not competent for their author to 
 decide. The utmost he can do, is, to ackowledge th 
 attempt. 
 
 But still there may remain a sepairate objection to the 
 peculiar design of the present work. Is it not impossible 
 to teach young pupils an art, which, on our own showing, 
 is so far from being the simple, straight-ibrward affair, 
 contrived in the old books of elocution ? Why not be 
 content with the endeavor to make young men good 
 speakers, without thus forcing the task on the attention of 
 the youth ? The answer is a simple one. It is in 
 childhood that bad habits of delivery are least deeply 
 rooted, that the voice is found to be most flexible, 
 and best fitted for improvement. As the pupil advances 
 in years, his bad habits are all the while increasing in 
 number and in force ; and the eflfort requisite to over- 
 throw them is consequently becoming in the same propor- 
 tion more severe. Practice the child on a course of exer- 
 cises fitted to prevent him from ever falling into these 
 mistakes, teach him that certain ways of speaking convey 
 always certain meanings, make him read and talk with a 
 constant reference to this knowledge, and you will have 
 gidned a most important point. The great source of 
 difficulty will be then removed. You will have the child, 
 thiis previously trained, comparatively free from faults in 
 
IMTBOBUOXIOIU 
 
 15 
 
 his elooation, and therefore ready, ai he grows older, to' 
 iqi|n%ciate and attain the highest exeeilencies ai speedi*^ 
 Indeed, till some snoh means be generally resorted to, Wff 
 know not how a fair trial can be made of the utilily of 
 instruction in elocution. As long as men are left, for 
 twenty years or more to acquire without restraint any 
 defects of utterance they may chance to pick up, it will 
 continue next to impossible even to reform their faults, 
 by a fbw months only of study and practice. The earlier 
 the required preparation is begun, the further may the 
 after process be pushed. 
 
 And all this can be done, nay, is done, in the kindred 
 art of music. All the mysteries of musical science are 
 now actually in process of communication to large classes 
 of mere children in Uiis very city. These chUdren haTe 
 nothing of importance left unexplained or unpractised. 
 They are exercised in the most thorough and elementary 
 manner, beginning at the very rudiments, and proceed- 
 ing regularly through the whole, no part of the system 
 being left till fully mastered. — The success of this plan, 
 is surprising. The performances of these children are 
 correct and tasteful, their acquaintance with the principles 
 of the art they practice, astonishing. And all this is done 
 with no great labour to the pupil, and with no great loss 
 of time to the teacher. The entire secret lies, in attending 
 strictly to one thing at a time. This great principle of 
 the Pestalozzian system, we have endeavoured to extend 
 to the course of exercises directed in this work. 
 
 Nor is it in music only, that the application of this prin-^ 
 ciple has been found of such signal benefit to the young. 
 AU the superiority of the modern improvements in edu- 
 cation, over the old plans which they have superseded, 
 may be traced to their adoption of it. — The system of 
 
16 
 
 DVTBODUOTIOir. 
 
 mental arithmetic) for example, contained in the Tery 
 valuable arithmetical works of Mr. Colbum, is based en- 
 tirely on it. The unprecedented success which has follow- 
 ed their introduction into almost the earliest schools 
 in the country, is an unansweiable argument in its 
 fayour. 
 
 So tnuch then for the objections which may be brought 
 against the utility of the early course of practice which 
 we reccommend in Elocution. We may now ask in re- 
 turn, Is not the study of the last importance ? We have 
 shown already, that it is only by b^inning our instruc- 
 tion in this department early, that we can hope ever to 
 reap its full advantages. It may now be added, that the 
 department itself is not by any means a mere optional one. 
 Music and the other fine arts, however pleasing, and even 
 sometimes useful, are yet far from being essential to a 
 man^s success in life. — They are accomplishments, elegant 
 indeed, and well worth considerable trouble in attaining, 
 but still nothing but accomplishments. But with Elocu- 
 tion every man must have to do. It is an essential part 
 of every body's business. To some it may no doubt be of 
 more consequence than to others ; but to all it must be, 
 one day or other, an object of some consequence. — And 
 if every one must on occasion be repeatedly called to read 
 and speak, under circumstances which may render it to 
 their interest to do it well, is it not advisable that every 
 one should take that course, by which alone they can rea- 
 sonably hope to insure the power, whenever it may be 
 wanted ? 
 
 There are two circumstances connected with this mode 
 of teaching Elocution, which, as they are very commonly 
 lost sight of, it may be well to notice. The first is, we do 
 not profess to have invented a way, .by studying which a 
 
INTRODttOTIOW. 
 
 17 
 
 I the very 
 8 based en- 
 i has follow- 
 est schools 
 lent in its 
 
 i .. , . .•jn.,.5'? ' 
 
 he brought 
 stice which 
 7 ask in re- 
 * We have 
 our instmo- 
 ope ever to 
 ed, that the 
 tptional one. 
 g, and even 
 isential to a 
 nts, elegant 
 n attaining^ 
 with Eloou- 
 isential part 
 doubt be of 
 it must be, 
 ence. — And 
 ^led to read 
 render it to 
 that every 
 |iey can rea- 
 it may be 
 
 this mode 
 commonly 
 Ist is, we do 
 Ing which a 
 
 man may speak well when he tries. Our object is to 
 shew the pupil the way, the only way, in which he or any 
 body else can speak effectively. — The modes of expressing 
 feeling, which we have enumerated, are all natural, the 
 very same which every one has to use, in order naturally 
 to express them. How then can a knowledge of them 
 make a man's delivery artificial ? ' ' ' " ' ' ' ' * ' 
 
 The second point is, that we do not direct the pupil to be 
 thinking of his elocution, at the time when he may be 
 really engaged in public speaking. It is a point on which 
 we insist as strenuously as the opposers of our system can, 
 that any one who does bo give attention to delivery, wOl be 
 formal and artificial. A man's whole soul must, all the 
 time he is speaking, be devoted to his subject, in order 
 that he may perfectly understand and thoroughly feel what 
 he has to say. If for a single sentence his attention 
 wander from the matter to the manner, his ability to do it 
 justice will be materially diminished. But what of this ? 
 A man may surely so practice his voice before he comes to 
 speak, as to feel justly confident, that he can never fail to 
 express by it the very shade of feeling which he wishes to 
 communicate. It is to the attainment of this excellence 
 by previous labour, that we urge the student of our sys- 
 tem. The accomplished fencer never bestows a thought 
 on his thrusts and parries, at the time he is engaged in the 
 performance of his most difficult feints. The orator does 
 not call to mind the canons of the rhetorical art, which he 
 has learnt years before, and to which his practice is yet 
 all in strict conformity. Is it impossible or unwise to do 
 the very same in respect of Elocution, which all acknow- 
 ledge should be done in every other department ? 
 
 The mode by which we propose to accomplish our object 
 is, strictly and exclusively, that of previous practice, A 
 
 B 
 
18 
 
 IUVRODUOTION. 
 
 few remarks on the nature and extent of the pvaotioe fe- 
 quired, will be all we shall offer to conelude this vpele^ 
 for Eloontton. 
 
 Delivery naturally divides itself into two distinctbranehes, 
 — the oorreot and el^ant utterance of all the sounds or 
 words, to which a meaning has been given by<)onvenUonal 
 agreement, and appropriate expression of the feelings of 
 the mind by those means which nature has provided,- iind 
 which she has rendered equally necessary to all her sub- 
 jects. For example,' — ^if we wish to repeat thesentenoe, 
 ' Thou art the man,' in a proper manner, we shall have to 
 direct the attention, first to the articulation of the words, 
 and next to the expression of the meaning. Any mispro> 
 nunciation of the words, will be an offenee against the 
 conventional authority, irhich has settled and imposed 
 them. Any erroneous communication of the moaning, 
 will be thoTOsult of a departure from the 'na^m^eaDons . 
 of delivery. A sentence like the one just given will admit 
 of many meanings, according as the natural dements of 
 ^pression may be used by the person who reads it. We 
 may make it wholly unemphatic, or, if we please, we may 
 speak it as positive denunciation. It may be even made a 
 question, ' Thou art the man ? * and the question may 
 have any degree of earnestnoBS we may like to giveiti 
 tt may be read angrily or sontywfully. It may have 
 the attention directed to any one of the words in it at 
 pleasure: * Thou art the man,' ^Thou arrthemtin/&c» 
 Any of these changes, (and they are a few only of those 
 which might be enumerated,) are to be effected entirely by 
 the natural modes of expression by the voice and gestures^ 
 
 The first step, then, in the gymnastics of Delivery 
 is the acquisition of a perfectly distinct articulation ; the 
 second is the obtaining a command over all the other fune* 
 
.II«9?»qdijot;on. 
 
 10 
 
 tioiui of the voice, and over those motions of the body 
 /Whiioh are uae^ in sapportiag their effect. Elocution, in 
 its common sense, does not include the hist mentioned item. 
 This is r^erred to under the head of Gesture. In this 
 ^ork, nothing is said of it. The |mpil may be referred, 
 after he has msstered the purely elocutionary system giyen 
 here and in the Grammar, to another little treatise of 
 mine expressly on this subject, which will, I am satisfied, 
 49rove useful to any who would put this last finish to his 
 mode of 4^yeiy. , n :- ...,:., 
 
 Wit^ respect to the precise character of the illustrations 
 and ezerqises contained in the succeeding chapters, it 
 may be of use to add one or two hints to those persons 
 who mity honour them by employing them in their teach- 
 ing. If we are not mistaken, ^ere will be found very 
 lew, if any, sentences in the body of this little book, 
 which the pupils will not do well to understand and learn. 
 The explanations may not perhaps be in every case in 
 themselves sufficiently copious to meet the. intelligence of 
 some children. They have all been written with a view 
 to careful recitation, and the great effort has throughout 
 been to^xmdense them. Wherever it may be found ne- 
 ee^ary, the teacher should enlarge on them till they are 
 clearly understood. Nothing can be gained without this. 
 The selection of examples, by which to illustrate the 
 various movements of the voice, ha^ proved no easy task. 
 It has been made on the principle of always giving the 
 pupil Hal sentences, of such a character as that their 
 meaniug should be readily perceived, and their proper in- 
 tonation reocgniaed. A greater number might have been 
 admable, in order to suit the different capacities of various 
 individuals ; such an attempt, however, would have increased 
 the bulk of the work, beyond its reasonable liDw|B» The 
 
2b 
 
 ttt¥ioi^^)i)ttdK. 
 
 teacher's iiigennity mturt be tasked to ititfelit Bitne, on tlie 
 pattern fturniihed him. The degree to which he will be 
 called to exercise it, will be decided by the talents of his 
 class. No movement of the voice should be passed by, till 
 the pnpils have obtained a perfect perception of its sound 
 and uses. In many cases one example may suffice ; in 
 others, perhaps several may be needed. 
 
 Another point, which must not on any account be lost 
 sight of, is the carefol practice of all thepreseribed exeP' 
 Practice is the sine qu6 non of Elocution, tf in 
 
 cises. 
 
 any department of it, it be omitted, or even slurred over, 
 the inevitable result will be failure. The pupil may have 
 leamt the explanations, and understood them ; he may have 
 listened to, and laughed at, the examples ; but if he have 
 not practised all the exercises, till he has overcome their 
 difficulties altogether, his own delivery will be but veiy 
 little improved, however much he may have increased his 
 power of criticising others. 
 
 After the pupil has passed through this course of train- 
 ing, and not be/orCy let him be brought to reading. The 
 pieces given in this book may serve as a first selection. 
 They are of very different characters, selected to exemplify 
 all, or nearly all, the different species of reading. It is not 
 intended that the scholars should merely read them through^ 
 in the ordinary fashion of schools. Every sentence should 
 be separately analyse«|.and the class should be required to * 
 say what intonation they think the precise idea to be con- 
 veyed demands. When this point is decided, let the sen- 
 tence be read, and repeated till its intonation has become 
 familiar. After every sentence iathe piece has been thu^ 
 gone over, the whole may be then taken up together with 
 advantage. The old mode of school reading and declaim* 
 ittg is perhaps worse than uselesSt - , 
 
nVTBODUOTION. H 
 
 On these prinoiplee the author of this little work has 
 uniformly conducted his instruction. Perhaps he may he 
 authorised, without undue presumption, to recommend the 
 adoption of his course to others. 
 
 r^... 
 
 ■;Vj •? ■ 
 
 '«. . I'l • f 
 
 
 
 ■^-V-i^' 
 
 ^.^y. 
 
 .4 ■ -* ^-.'i; .»,,■ >.>■ 
 
 ,-^.:i....- 
 
 'LklX=^ ^iflT 
 
 
 
 ■.i.S. 
 
 * 
 
 T 
 
 li^. j' 
 
 
 
 ^ ♦*'*' 
 
 ^ 
 
 -*•' 
 
 
 K 
 
 •■i 
 
 
 
 ■f : 
 
 •■ , a. 
 
 3? 
 
 
 
 • 
 
 » 
 
 1 
 
 ». 
 
 ' ■ •• J. 
 
 
 , ■ 
 
 , 
 
 
 
 " 
 
 
 r' '^ 
 
 ; " 
 
 
 .-■; 
 
 
 » 
 
 
 ■ * 
 
 K . L-rivji,. 
 
 
 
 
 f 
 
 
 ■• 
 
 i 
 
 -■,: * 
 
 
 , 
 
 •■ 
 
 
 -' _ .-■•'- 
 
 *^ 
 
 :t\ 
 
 >^- •?■•>,» v., 
 
 *» 
 
 r- 
 
 
 
 
 
 t 
 
 '■ >!?^,-'' 
 
 - 
 
 -\ 
 
 
 \*^ 
 
 
 .i 
 
 f 
 
 
 f 
 
 
 
 * ' 
 
 •t '': 
 
 
 
 ,<5yi 
 
 ■' 
 
 .' i- 
 
 ■ J 
 
 '*^ 
 
 .ij , 
 
 f 
 
 J 
 
 ••• , •/■■• i 
 
 , . Jt^ 
 
 •:\' ■.:; 
 
 
 y ' 
 
 
 '*■■•• 
 
T 
 
 h: 
 
 '.iCrmy'Hm^.w * 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 TO THB i" ., ^. 
 
 ELEMENTS OF ELOCUTION. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ON THE VOOAL ELEMENTS. 
 
 By the word element we mean the simplest form of 
 anything. Thus, when we speak of the elements of 
 geometry, we mean the truths of that science stated in 
 their simplest form. The elements of algebra or arith« 
 metio are the simplest truths of those sciences. In 
 Qvery science, the elements should be first taught. 
 
 The elements of Elocution are its simplest truths. 
 They are of different kinds. 
 
 The first kind of elements are those which we call 
 the vocal elements. In order to speak well, it is first of 
 all necessary to pronounce correctly. Now there is 
 only one effectual way of learning to pronounce dis- 
 tinctly every word in a language; and that is, to ac- 
 quire by practice the power of giving every simple 
 sound, of which these words may be made up. These 
 simple sounds we call the elements of articulation, or 
 the vocal elements. 
 
VOCAL BIilMlMTf. 
 
 SuppcMe we tike the word * matter ' m an example. 
 Bfoft persons perliapi would think it was made up of 
 only two sounds — 'mat/ and 'er.' Th«M, however, 
 are not either of them simple sounds, beoause, as may 
 be easily shown, they ean themselves be divided. In 
 the syllable 'mat/ the first sound heard is <m/ pro- 
 dtieed by closing the lips^ in a particular manner; the 
 second is that of 'a ' in the word ' a-t :' the third is that 
 of ' t ' in the word ' t-ake.' In the second syllable ' er/ 
 we hare two sounds, ' e ' as in the word ' u-nder,' and ' r ' • 
 as in* the word ' oarr.' 
 
 Iii( this word it so happens that the voeal elements are 
 almost the same in number with the letters. This is not, 
 however^ lAways the case. In Hie word ' straight,' the 
 veoal dements are ' s * (as in ' hi-ss '), ' t," r ' (as in ' tr-ow'), 
 'a* (as in 'a-le'), and 't\ The letters 'igh' have no 
 corresponding sounds. - 
 
 The same letter in different words often stands for very 
 different vocal elements. The sounds heard at the beginning 
 of the words, ' a-le,* 'a-11,' *a-rm,' and ' a^t,' are all repre- 
 sented by the letter ' a.' In like n^anner, one element is of- 
 ten represented, by diffeieut letters^ The sound at the be- 
 ginning of the wor4S| ' ea-xl^' ' I-rving,' and 'u-nder,' is 
 exactly the same, though it is WQtten in three different 
 ways. In a perfect alphabet, every sound would have its 
 own letter, and every letter its own sound ; but as ours is 
 not a perfect alphabet, we must be content to remember 
 the difference between a vocal element, or simple sound, and 
 an alphabetic element or letter. 
 
 If now we look back agi^u to the first example, ' mat,' 
 we shall see that the thjtee elfiMcaiits which compose it are 
 very unUke one another. The sound ' a ' is made with the 
 Tfm^ ftUd throat open, and may therefore be pronounced 
 
yOOAL ELEHEI^TS. 
 
 as loud and full as the voice ^ill admit. The element ' m * 
 has the lips closed, and the sound confined. We cannot 
 give it as much force or fulness as the other. The last 
 element, * t,' has a sound like that which we should use in. 
 whispering either of the others. . ,f . '. .-. 
 
 Those elements, which like 'a' may be sounded with 
 the mouth and throat entirely open, are called ' tonic 
 elements.' The alphabetic elements, or letters, used to 
 represent them, are called ' vowels.' =: > 
 
 Those elements, which like ' m ' are sounded with any 
 part of the mouth closed, are called ' subtonios.' Those 
 which like ' t ' have in addition the whispering sound, are 
 called 'atonies.' The subtonic and atonic elements are 
 represented by those letters which we call consonants. 
 
 The tonic elements used in the English language are 14 
 in number. Of these, 8 may be sounded long, the other 
 6 must be pronounced short. , i,:., ,; 
 
 1 
 2 
 3 
 4 
 5 
 6 
 7 
 8 
 
 1 
 2 
 3 
 4 
 
 The 8 long tonics are, 
 
 ee, as in the words ee-l, m-e, ca-t, bel-ie-ve 
 00, oo-ze, m-o-ve, tr-wc, l-«-te 
 
 a, . , a-le, aiVr. pr-ay 
 
 a', 
 a", 
 
 0, 
 ou. 
 
 Or 11, l-aw-d, 1-o-rd, atc-ful 
 
 a-rm, 1-aM-nch, a-fter 
 
 o-ld, n-o, oorkj ow-n 
 
 ovrii y-ow 
 
 i-sle, 1-ie, th-y-me, beautif-y^ st-y 
 
 The 6 short tonics are, 
 i', as in the words i-t, w-i-U, beaut-y 
 
 u. 
 
 5 a 
 
 6 c' 
 
 
 p-i«-ll, f-oo-t, w-o-lf 
 e-dge. m-e-t, h-ca-d 
 o-bjeot, n-o-t, o-live 
 Ortf m-a-n 
 
 [mann-a 
 
 h-e-r, h-ea-yd f-i-rm, w-o-rd, u-nder^ 
 
TOOAL ILEHINT8. 
 
 m 
 
 It may be observed that the first four of the long tonioB 
 answer very nearly, if not exactly, to the first four of the 
 short ones. The word * eat,' (ec-t) shortened becomes * it/ 
 (i'-t). The sound of * ooze ' (c )-z) becomes that of * foot,* 
 (f-M-t) ; * age ' (o-dzh) is changed to * edge,' (e-dzh), and 
 ' air (a'-l) into ' ol,' (o'-l). .;, 
 
 Of the eight long tonics, only two are really monothongs, 
 i.e. only two end with the same sound as that on which 
 they begin. These two are placed at the head of the list ; 
 ' ee ' and ' oo.' 
 
 The other six are dipthongs ; i. e. they begin on one 
 sound and end on another : thus, 
 
 a and i end on the sound ee 
 
 a' 
 ^ o 
 
 a" 
 
 
 
 e' 
 
 00 
 
 These dipthongal elements are to be distinguished from 
 the dipthongs, as they are commonly reckoned in grammar. 
 They consist it is true, of two sounds ; but then the first 
 of them cannot be given without the second, though the 
 second may be sounded apart from the first. The sounds 
 * ay,' * oy,' or * eu,' as in * feudal,' (f-eu-dal) which might 
 be called dipthongs in grammar, are not to be so considered 
 in elocution, because they consist each of them of two per- 
 fectly distinct sounds, either of which may be sounded by 
 itself. Thus, * ay ' is made up of a" and i' * oy ' of o' and 
 i', and ' eu ' of i' and oo. 
 
 The subtonic elements are 15 in number. 
 
 1 b, as in the words b-o\d, 5-ul-5, "El-he. 
 
 2d, (2-are, hard. > 
 
 3g, 
 *1, 
 
 ^r-ive, ha^. 
 
i^ 
 
 voeAL siiBiiSNTier. 
 
 6 m, 
 
 en; 
 
 f ng. 
 
 8r, 
 
 9V, 
 
 10 V, 
 
 11 w, 
 
 12 y, 
 
 13 I, 
 
 14 th, 
 
 16 zh, 
 
 Ip,* 
 
 2t, 
 
 3 k, 
 
 4f, 
 
 6 Tfh, 
 
 * ■ ■ '-^ ■ »w)t, ow^. - ' '■■; ■ *'" ''-''' 
 
 '•' , ai*r^ oar. •'■'•". . ^ '. • 
 
 r-ow, r^uin, b-r-ow, 
 2>-ow, sa-i;e, li-ve,j>/i-ial. 
 w^t,.»-ent, 
 
 is-one, lia-«e, song^s, rai-«e^ Xerxes. 
 th-ea, Bdo-the. smoo-^A; 
 a-x-ure, pueci-Avon. 
 
 The atonic elements are 9 in number, 
 p,^ as in the words ^mU, ha^, a^pe 
 
 ^ake, sa-f, la^^e. 
 Avind-, loo-A;, CrOW, a^cAe, \o<k. 
 f-Boej i-fj o-fffPh-yBiCf lau-yA. . 
 
 6 h, A-it, A>orse. 
 
 7 s, s-aw, hi-M, era-se. 
 
 8 th', th-iviky esii'th. [na-<i-on. 
 
 9 sh, «A-ake, har-«A, o-cf-an, g^a-ci-ous, 
 
 There are several combinations of these elements n^l^ 
 may be easily mistaken for single sounds y e.g. 
 
 The Gombmation d^h in the words j'-oy, a^fCy. stianyye. 
 
 t-sh eirxa-^h. d^mce, 
 
 g-z e^v^ample, &<B-empt. 
 
 k-s ve-», ta-af. 
 
 k-w qu-eea, jfi£-antity. 
 
 *The three atonic elements, p, t, andk, cannot be attered.Mtdr 
 ibiy by themselves. They will require some other element to be 
 sounded with them,p-i, 1-^, ^-s, irU'^ A^I, 1-A, o''k. It does not 
 signify whether the other element be a tonic, a subtonic, or eveu 
 any other atonic. The union of any other element will enable 
 US to sound them clearly enough. 
 
^o^kbtaoo^: 
 
 2t 
 
 The pupils miisfi be eteicised' in repeitting all these ele- 
 ments, B7 THEMSELVES, as well as in the words in which 
 they are exhibited, until each of them can be sounded 
 oorreotly and with ease. A^r this practiee it completed, 
 let them proceed to the two following tables. The first 
 contains a number o£ wtnrdUr which from some cause or 
 other are frequently misprcynounced. These should be all 
 gone 07er very carefUly, the pupils being reijuired, each 
 in his turn, to sound all ihe vocal elements Which every 
 successive word contains ; or, in other language to spell 
 out, not the letters, lini^the dements of whieh it is made 
 up. When the soholiir has given the right spelBng, let 
 the whole class be reqiairod to sound the word^the teacher 
 stopping and correcting an^ who may pronounce It wrong. 
 A good many of <^ words at the beginning of the table 
 are spelt into tlieir elements, to serve as an example of 
 what is to be done witb the others. — The second table 
 contains a number of sentences of difficult utterance. 
 These must be all read With the same care, until every one 
 in the class can repeat them all, without apparent effort, 
 and without mistake or hesitcUion. 
 
 
 TABLE I. 
 
 God 
 
 g-o'-d* 
 
 Lord 
 
 W-r-d 
 
 wants 
 
 w-o'-n-t-s 
 
 orbs 
 
 a'-r-b-z 
 
 offal 
 
 o'-f-l 
 
 awful 
 
 a'-f-u-l 
 
 * The elements marked in italics are those which are most 
 likely to be left ont or mistaken, 
 
^ '^^""^ T-^T-rr-rrr^- 
 
 
 ■ji- : rj'-ii i ,^ Table I— Cbnfinu«<f. . i 
 
 
 r,..j»jP nostril B lyj n-o'-s-t-r'-i'-l ,;.'/; , v 
 
 
 r.i./ whe^^. ..r ,:f/;v ^ wlt€-Jt»wi ;,•; ,; , 
 
 
 ,, p^ delft -^ f^^p-H d-e-^/^< ■ .-.w; ^ 
 
 
 ,, Imlb'd , V t.; J, W-^M^ . , , . ; 
 
 
 -_..: bulbB. j;.^,, M'Ub^x ^" :^ ■: -, 
 
 
 strength , ;r., s-t-rV^-eV^ 
 
 
 ;, stretch , ;,^^ B-t-r'-e-^»A '; , 
 
 
 . stretch'd. ;.- i s-t-r^-^«^< . , . 
 
 
 .; .^ oaring; o'-^eV-i'iig : ^ 
 
 
 thumbscrewc ^ thV-ww-Aj-r'-oa; , - v- 
 
 
 whisps 1 ;. r *P^i'-«tp-« 
 
 
 . rhythm . r'-i'-«A'-«-»i j 
 
 
 . Christmas k-r'-i'-s-m-e'-s 
 
 
 terrible , . ire-f-i'b-l 
 
 
 : u impossible ; , i'-m-po'-s-i'-ft-/ ; 
 
 
 wafts ^-a"^'tr8 
 
 
 ., attempts , a'"^t'6-w-^« . 
 
 ;> 
 
 f toaitor ^/-a-t^'-r 
 
 
 pray jj-r'-a * 
 
 
 wreath'd x^eo-th-d 
 
 
 wreaths t'-eo-thf-B 
 
 
 sprightly t-p-f^-i't-l-i' 
 
 
 through th'V-oo 
 
 
 filch f:i'-l-»^ 
 
 
 amiable arm-iV-6-Z 
 
 
 brow feV-ou 
 
 
 scream s-ky-ee-m 
 
 
 screech-owl «-A5-/-e-e^<A-ou-l 
 
 
 breadths h-/-e^th'-s 
 
 
 hed|^ed l^fi^h-d 
 
 
r ',r; 
 
 ' 
 
 VOCAL ttmass^. 
 
 ' 
 
 Table i- 
 
 'Continued, 
 
 bulge 
 
 V > -■■■'•. ■" 
 
 ' snail 
 
 faU'st 
 
 . . •; 
 
 urged 
 
 false 
 
 ■ .i-T! ■', vi •• 
 
 Humphrey 
 
 entombed 
 
 . ', ' 1 ■ ' • <! 
 
 ' capable 
 
 han£;'d 
 
 
 respectable 
 
 songs 
 
 - -"■- 
 
 example 
 
 harp'd 
 
 ''. i' *'■* ' . 
 
 apple 
 
 bursts 
 
 
 trumpet 
 
 search'd 
 
 
 triumph 
 
 thistle 
 
 . '• ''■ ■■,'? 
 
 - burnt 
 
 thorough 
 
 
 misrule ' 
 
 swerved 
 
 
 sub-prior 
 
 swiyel 
 
 
 thanki^ving 
 
 travels 
 
 . ■.:.•'!' .-■ ■-■'■ 
 
 uproar 
 
 muzzle 
 
 ;-;•- :, -^\;^ 
 
 drawler 
 
 spasms 
 
 .'i .- ^. 
 
 swamps 
 
 fetch'd 
 
 - 1 - 
 
 vex'd 
 
 masks 
 
 ■ • ••--- ^. . 
 
 ^' 
 
 i^ 
 
 ■li-! \\ 
 
 ■r^. 
 
 .vil ' 
 
 TABLE II. 
 
 Whilst bloody treaton flourished OTor us. 
 The 5rea<ff A thereof was ten cubits. 
 Then rusKd the steed, to battle driven. ' ' '' 
 Thou looh'st from thy throne in the clouds and laugKst 
 at the storm. 
 
 Now tet the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide. 
 
 When shall tte venture to tell what was whispered to us ? 
 
 Whence and what art thoU, execrable shape? 
 
 The short and simple aUnals of the poof. 
 
 Hold off your hands, gentlemen. 
 
 KiB attempts -were fruitless. 
 
 Overwhelmed with whirlwinds, 
 
 * Those words are printed in italics which are most frequently 
 mispronouneed. 
 
30 
 
 VOOAL JBI^EMBM^C9. 
 
 Table II — Continued. 
 
 Up the hiffh hill he heaves the huffe round stone. 
 
 The dogs harked tOidkowVd. 
 
 The word filch is of doubtful derivation. 
 
 He was hedged in on every side. 
 
 The acts of the Apostles. 
 
 Can you say crackers^ crime, cruelty ^ crutches f 
 
 The heightSy depths^ and breadths of the subject. 
 
 Search the Scriptures, ' 
 
 Can you whet a ioc< razor? 
 
 We saw on the road large droves of cattle. 
 
 It was the oc^, of all the acts of government the most 
 objectionable, 
 
 A /rame of adamant. 
 
 The attemjptf and not the deed, confounds us. 
 
 Do you mean plain or playing cards f 
 ' Of man's miraculous mistakes, this bears the palm. 
 
 She swore, in faith H was strange, 't was wondrous 
 strange, 't was pitiful, 't was wondrous pitiful. 
 
 Boundless, endless, and svhlime ! 
 
 Mark St thou? 
 
 Your AeaZ<A«, gentlemen. 
 
 Bound the rude ring the ragged rascal ran. 
 
 And on their hinges grate hanrsh thunder, ' , 
 
 It is more formidable than the most clamorous on^po" 
 sition. . -^ 
 
 What an aeknowledgem^ent of the , superiorly of mtue ! 
 
 The strength of his nostrils ia terrible, ,; 
 
 He <nar?8 but dares not bite. 
 
 TTAere the wild beasts Jind shelter, but I can find noue. 
 
 Have you a copy of Smith's Thucydides ? 
 
 I thrust three thousand thistles through the thick of my 
 thumbs 
 
 Peter Piper picked a peck of pepper, , ;' 
 
1LBMIN9S 0F.15:&f RSMION. 
 
 m 
 
 one. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 >jeot. 
 
 wr the most 
 
 U3. 
 
 hepulm. 
 as wondrous 
 
 [moroui^ oppo- 
 it^ of virtue ! 
 
 Jan. fincl aoue. 
 
 ON THE ELEinSNTS OF EXPRESSION. 
 
 We oome now to the consideration of the second class of 
 Elements. In order to speak well, something more is 
 wanted, than merely to sound the words distinctly. We 
 must take care tagive the meaning of the sentences exactly. 
 
 It is possible to give very different meanings to the same 
 words, by saying them in a very different manner. Take 
 the sentence, ' Thou art the man." We may make a plain 
 sentence of these words, without any emphams, or we may 
 make any one of the words in it emphatic : * Thotj art the 
 man,' * Thou ABT the man,'&c. Again, wenuiy makethe 
 sentence a question, * Thou art the man?' and, as before, 
 we may either make the question emphatic, or we may 
 throw the emphasis on any of the words. 
 
 Still further we may utter the sentence in ahurried-and 
 amgry) or in a riow and solemn manner; with great .force 
 and violence, or in a sorrowful tone. We may give it in a 
 loud voice, as though it were intended for everybody to 
 hear it, or in a low tone, as if it were u secret. These are 
 a few only of the many meanings, which may be -given' to 
 these four simple words, by the voice. A good reader, 
 then, ought not only to be able to sound every word cor- 
 rectly ; he ought to know always the exact meaning of 
 what ha reads, and also how to give that meaning^ when 
 he knows: it. 
 
 It is the business of most of the following chapters, to 
 diow how the different ways of using the voice, give diffe- 
 rent meanings to our words; To do this, we must ex^n 
 the second kind of Elements employed in Elocution,- the 
 ' Elements of Expression,' as they are called. 
 
i" 
 
 82 
 
 XLBMlNf 8 OF EXPBXSSION. 
 
 These Elements of expression are four in number : 
 
 I. Pitch, or the place in the musical scale, on which a 
 syllable is sounded. Every sound has some place in the 
 musical scale, either high or low. We all know of what 
 consequence it is, to sound each syllable on the right note, 
 in singing. It will be seen how important the right use 
 of this element is in speaking also. 
 
 II. Force, or the degree of loudness, with which we 
 speak. We use, in speaking, yery different degrees of 
 loudness, according to the expression we desire to give. 
 For instance, in the sentence * Out with you,' (said as one 
 would say it to a dog), the word 'out,' has much more 
 force in it than in the simple sentence, ' He went out.' 
 We shall see also that there are several different kinds of 
 force required for particular purposes. ■ '' 
 
 III. Quantity, or the degree of time, taken up in 
 uttering a syllable. How very different the words * Our 
 Father, who art in heaven,' sound when uttered slowly, as 
 fhey ought to be, from what they would if sounded lightly 
 and quickly, * Our FS^ther, &c.' This difference is made 
 by the use of Quan^tVy. • ^i i»" 
 
 IV. Quality, or the hind of voice we use in speaking. 
 We may speak, for instance, in a hoarse, gruff tone, in a 
 mild voice, in a whisper, or in the common tone of conver- 
 sation. '■ ' -'''' 
 
 On every syllable we utter, we give more or less of 
 each one of these four elements of expression. Every 
 syllable must have some place, higher or lower, in the 
 musical scale, must be sounded with more or less force, 
 must take up more or less time in its utterance, and must 
 be sounded with some one quality of voice. We shall 
 now proceed to show, that all the varieties of expression, 
 which can be given by the voice, are produced by the 
 different combinations of these Elements. 
 
OONOBISBAIID ItASKNlIi yHTOK. 
 
 33 
 
 r: 
 
 which a 
 , in the 
 of what 
 ght note, 
 right use 
 
 ^hich we 
 egrees of 
 e to give, 
 laid as one 
 anch more 
 went out. 
 
 KINDS of 
 
 ken up in 
 dds ' Our 
 1 slowly, as 
 ded lightly 
 ce is made 
 
 or less of 
 Ion. Every 
 Iwer, in the 
 less force, 
 |e, and must 
 We shall 
 expression, 
 Lced by the 
 
 OHAPMR III. 
 
 ON PITCH— OONOAITB AND BADIOAL. 
 
 The first of the Elements of DuptessioB, ih«B, li 
 PiiOHy or the place in the musitial sdile, which eftoh sound 
 mado in speaking oconpies* |t i» easier to UBderstMid 
 what is meant by pitch, in tinfftn^f than it i» in 9peaking. 
 The distinction between the two km t» be first enphdned. 
 
 If you should strike several of the keys of an osgan,. er 
 piaoo-forte, in sucoessioni your efup wauld: diyeetly tdl you 
 that one was higher than another i an/^ al^i tkat each key 
 continued to give the tavM musical 8pun4f all the while it 
 was held down. 
 
 If, on the otiier hand, you should tftkiaii^p a violin, and 
 draw your finger along, up any one of the stnngs^ 9^ the 
 same Ume that you were drawing the bow aoross it^ yon 
 would find the sound given does iwt continue the same 
 from beginning to end, but keeps gradually rising higher 
 and higher. In the same way, by moving your finger 
 down the string, while the |^bow is passing over it, you 
 make a similar mewing sound, beginning high, and be- 
 coming gradually lower. 
 
 The difference between the notes (^ the organ, cr pianOj 
 is said to be a difference in ^ discrete or radical ^teh : ' 
 that between the beginning and end of the mewing sound 
 on the violin, is called a difference in * coTicrete jntchf or 
 * slide: 
 
 When we want to sing, we need only attend to differ- 
 I ences in discrete or radical pitch ; for, however long we 
 [sound a note in singing, it always remains the same in its 
 
 
 
84 
 
 OONORBTX AMD RADICAL PITOB. 
 
 musical sound,* like the note of the organ. When we 
 speak, however, this is not the case. 
 
 Take the two words ' I wo'n't,' and say them with the 
 passionate intonation of an angry child, 'I Wo'n't.' Any 
 person who has a good ear for music, will perceive two 
 things in regard to the pitch of these words. First, the 
 word 'wo'n't' begins at a higher place in the scale, than 
 the word ' I ;' or in other language, there ip a difference 
 in ' radical pitclC between them, just as there is a d^er- 
 enoe between two keys of a piano. Secondly, the word 
 ' wo'n't,' instead of running on, all the while it is sounded, 
 on the same note, like the organ, runs down a good way in 
 the musical scale, between the b^inning and the end, with 
 a sound like that made, as we have said, on the violin. In 
 other words, between the beginning and the end of the 
 word, there is a manifest difference in ' concrete pitchy] or 
 ' slide.^ The same thing may be seen by sounding, with the 
 same expression, the word * you Can't,' * he Ought,' &c. 
 
 We have then to attend to both these kinds of pitcL, as 
 elements of expression. In the first place, we must show 
 what differences in concrete pitch are made in speech, and 
 what differences of meaning they give to the words ; and, 
 in the second place, we must show the same things in regard 
 to discrete pitch. 
 
 Great care must be taken, however, before proceeding 
 further, that every pupil clearly understands the distinc- 
 tion between the two kinds of pitch. Unless he perfectly 
 understands this, at the outset, the succeeding explanations 
 will be wholly useless. Concrete pitch, or slide, refers to 
 
 * This explanation, though not in perfect accordance withDr 
 Rush's beautiful and correct analysis of the singing voice, cornea 
 near enough for the purposes of elementary instruction. 
 
JUDICAL AND VANI8HIN0 VOYUIXNT. 
 
 36 
 
 the difference of pitoh between the beginning and end of the 
 Bame sound or syllable, as in the words * wo^n't/ * can't/ 
 < ought/ in the examples given. Discrete, or radical, pitch 
 refers to the difference of pitoh, between the beginning of 
 one sound or syllable and that of another, as between the 
 words ' I ' and ' wo'nH,' &o. in the examples. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE RADICAL AND YANISHINQ MOVEMENT. 
 
 Before explaining, separately, the two kinds of pitch 
 used in speaking, we shall glance at the elements of sound 
 which enter into the Concrete slide of the voice, when it 
 is so managed as to give the greatest possible pleasure to 
 the ear. 
 
 We shall employ the letter ' I ' for the purpose of illus- 
 trating the slide of the voice. That element (as before 
 stated) is a dipthong ; being compounded of the opening 
 sound of the element, and the obscure one of ee as heard 
 in E-ve, upon which latter sound it dies away into silence. 
 
 If I be properly uttered alone in a deliberate but natural 
 manner, as it would be in the sentence '' / acknowledge 
 him as my friend J^ it will open with some degree of 
 abrupt fulness, will gradually lessen in volume as it pro- 
 ceeds will terminate in a delicate vanish and will rise in 
 pitch a tone or second during its slide. 
 
 The circumstances to be displayed in this process and 
 worthy of notice as elements of sound are : — 
 
 1. The force and fulness of the opening. 
 
 2. The equable lessening of Yolume. 
 

 36 
 
 SADIOAL AND TAHBBfIKO iOTtHSSn, 
 
 I ! 
 
 3. The gradual change of flound from the opening pari 
 of the element into the obscure sound of ee. 
 
 4. The extended quantity. 
 
 5. The final termination of the progressiyely diminish- 
 ing sound in ajine vanish upon the ee. 
 
 6. The rise in pitch through the interval of a tone. 
 The circumstances to which exclusive attention is next 
 
 to be directed, are, the opening fulness, the gradually dimi- 
 nishing volume, and the final vanish. The contrast of the 
 two extremities of the element, as to force or volume of 
 voice, induced Dr. Bush, the ingenious discoverer of these 
 circumstances, to give the name of radical to the first part 
 of the element,and vanishing movement to the second, — and 
 he calls the whole movement which has been described, a 
 radical and vanishing tone. The terms need never confuse 
 the mind ; the radical means the beginning of a syllable, 
 while the vanish is employed to express its termination. 
 The gradually lessening volume of sound upon syllables 
 and exquisite vanish with which they terminate, contrasted 
 with their opening fulness, are circumstances which shew 
 the superiority of the human voice over aH instruments. 
 The full manifestations of the radical and vanish in the 
 management of slides of long quantity, or in otiier words, 
 in the utterance of long syllables, in speaking, reading, and 
 recitation, is in the highest degree captivating to the ear 
 and is what gives smoothness and delicacy to the tones of 
 the voice. In short syllables, the difference of the radical 
 and vanish is perceptible though not so obvious. 
 
 If the voice is destitute of the vanishing property it will 
 sound coarse, harsh and heavy. On this account, much 
 practice ought to be insiste(i upon in order to acquire these 
 agreeable elements of the slide of speech. 
 
 The long vowels diew the properties of the voied juist 
 
oovoBiari pxtcb. 
 
 37 
 
 dMoribed) in the beit manner. Their opening can be 
 rendered ahn^)! and full, their quantity can be extended ; 
 they display the lessening volume of the voice, its final 
 vanish, and change of pitch during its slide more obviously 
 than any other elements. The elements contained in 
 Table No. II. page 94, should be sounded as often as is 
 necessary to acquire a full command over the use of the 
 voice above described. 
 
 The following mhtonics vrill display the property of the 
 voice we have described, though not so perfectly as the 
 vowels, 
 
 g 
 
 r 
 
 m 
 n 
 r final, 
 
 V 
 
 z 
 
 This subject will be resumed as respects syllables under 
 the heads of force and quantity. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ON CONCRETE PITCH, OR SLIDE. 
 
 8IMPLB SLIDKS OP THB VOIOB. 
 
 HAyi:^ain€hap. III. explained the distinction between 
 the two kinds of pitch used in speaking, we proceed now to 
 explain each of them separately. And first, for the uses 
 of concrete pitch, or slide, as an element of expression. 
 
 It was stated that when we sing, the voice continues for 
 
 some time on one note, and then passes, through a 
 
 onger or shorter interval of discrete pitch, to another. 
 
 There if, in learning to sing, no need of attending, at alb 
 
II i 
 
 38 
 
 OONOBETB PraOH. 
 
 to concrete pitch, because no sncli movement of the voice is 
 required to be used in it. But in speaking, as was shown 
 n the examples given, this is not the case. 
 
 Very careful observations, made by persons having 
 what is called a very fine ear for music, have shown 
 that the voice goes through some interval or other of con- 
 crete pitch, on enery syllahle which is uttered in speech. 
 This may, perhaps, be thought strange at first by some, 
 but it has been proved beyond a doubt, by those who have 
 made experimeii^s on the subject. 
 
 Take a sentence, ' I am coming to see you to-day,' for 
 example,, and let the whole sentence, or any number of the 
 words in it, be first swng, and then spoheUf taking care not 
 to drawl them at all in trying to speak them. It will be 
 seen that there is a great difference between the souci of 
 any one of the syllables when spoken, and that of the 
 same syllable when sung. This difference is produced by 
 the use of concrete pitch. 
 
 Now, let the same sentence be repeated, just as one nat- 
 urally would in common conversation, but with a pause 
 after the word * see,* as if the speaker was interrupted j * I 
 
 am coming to see .' The word * see ' has, in such a 
 
 case, a very peculiar intonation, one which no one can 
 mistake. It makes any one who hears it, feel directly 
 that something more is to be said. The same intonation 
 will be heard on any other of the words of the sentence, 
 by making the sudden pause after it. * I — / * I am 
 com — ,' ' I am coming to — ,' &c. 
 
 This peculiar expression was found, by Dr. Rush, to 
 depend on the i.::;e of concrete pitch. He discovered, by 
 several experiments, that the voice rises, or slides upwards 
 a certain small distance, (or ' interval,' as it is called,) in 
 concrete pitch, between the beginning and the end of the 
 
dONOBETB PltOH. 
 
 39 
 
 pliable. This small intenral is tlie same with wbat we call 
 inmnsio, 'atone.' The slide he therefore named, Hhe 
 upward slide of the tone.* 
 
 The upward slide of the tone is used on all the unem- 
 phatic syllables in speaking, which have other syllables to 
 came directly after them. It may be made apparent, by 
 stopping suddenly, as if interrupted, after any one of 
 them. When the syllables follow one another without in- 
 terruption, we do not commonly notice it ; but, as will 
 soon be seen, it is of great coi^sequence to make it rightly, 
 in all those cases in which it ought to be given. 
 
 Let the same sentence be now repeated in the same 
 manner, to the end. * I am coming to see you to-day.* 
 The last syllable, ' day,* has an intonation quite different 
 from that which we have just shown the other syllables i(y 
 have. We feel, as soon as it is uttered, that there is no 
 other word to come after it, and that the sense of the pas- 
 sage is complete. The same intonation may be given to 
 any other one of the syllables, if we make it the end of 
 the sentence. ' I am come.* ' I am coming.' ' I am com" 
 ing to see you.' &c. Where as in the former case, we 
 stopped short, as if interrupted, the intonation at once led 
 us to expect the continuation of the sentence ; but here, 
 where the sentence is supposed to be ended, the intonation 
 does not lead us to listen for any thing further. In this 
 case, the slide made on the syllable, has been ascertained 
 to be * the downward slide of the tone ;' or, in other words, 
 the voice slides downward in concrete pitch, just as far as 
 in the former case it was found to slide upwards. 
 
 The downward slide of the tone, then is used on all 
 unemphatio syllables, which come at the end of a clause, 
 and require any pause after them. It may always be easily 
 distinguished from the corresponding upward slide, by its 
 expression. 
 
4fi 
 
 
 Let ua now tiake ibe bod^U ^[vei^iaii ' W90 it yoa^ ?' 1^ 
 repeat it without 4U]^ more ^nphqais on tbe word ^yoa,' 
 than is required to make the sentence soa«d ^iHra question. 
 There is in this ease a peouliar inton^ition on Uia ig/ilable 
 ' you/ giving it the natval^xpi;e8|non of a f|UflBl9Qn. This 
 may be proved in a moment by repeating the word ' you f ' 
 alone. It is quite aa^a^ making the single word soui^d 
 like a question, as it is to make the sentence a quesUon. 
 This exprcBsion of the simple question, is made by the use 
 of an vpward ^lide of the voice, throng a distapce or 
 interval about twice m long a^liie one before explained. 
 This dide is called from the mi^aical name of the interval 
 through which it jiiassei^ '4ihe upward stide of ^&e tMTd,^ 
 
 B^at ^ answer ip this qjiestio% ^It wap// givio^ 
 to the word ^1/ that moderate digree «|f «m])basis, whiioh 
 will mark it out as the answer to « question] lusd it wiU 
 be seen that its eicpieasion, even 'V^ben it is s^peated i)y 
 itself, is different from tha^t 4>f any lof the slides ^eadjr 
 mentioned. '/.' THie slidewhich gires^it this e^^cession, 
 is the downward slide, eorrospondii^ to the preoediug v^ 
 ward one. It is called ' the downward alide of the third.' 
 
 If, now, the question be arepeated, with more of earnest- 
 ness and surprise than before, 'was it you?' the^i^o 
 upwards on the word 'you ' mUl be readily perc^ved to^be 
 longer than before. It i^, ip fact, nearly twice as long. 
 It is ascertained to pass t^urough the interval, ealled ia 
 music, skji/ih, and is ^erefone ojdled 'the uj>ward slide of 
 the fifth.' 
 
 Let the an&wer to this second question be now repeated, 
 
 of course with a greater degree of em^ia^is Hjiw before, 
 
 ' It was I.* We have now a downward sUde on the word 
 
 ' I,' equal in length to the upward slide made in the ques- 
 
 ion. It is called the ' downward slide c^ the fif^b.' 
 
47QjfjCifa;m ^f&m. 
 
 41 
 
 syllable 
 . TWs 
 
 nestion. 
 
 topee or 
 {limned, 
 interval 
 
 9, whifih 
 ditwlU 
 )atedl»y 
 
 9lre»djr 
 cession, 
 
 ing sap- 
 third.' 
 
 jli4e 
 dto^be 
 
 long. 
 
 edi« 
 lideef 
 
 mefore, 
 le W4»d 
 ques- 
 
 Sttf^oee, howevjec, tliat thejiek^ii wlio luid twice repeated 
 the question, wese te xcipeat it yet a third time, as if he 
 still douhted the femth of the answer ; ' l[iOJJ V The 
 npward slide wo^, in this case, be much more piercing 
 than before^ JA has been fonnd to run up through what 
 is called an octaTe. We call it ^erefore ' the upward 
 slide of the octaye/ 
 
 In the same manner, if we re|>eat the answer to this third 
 (joestion, ^I)' we shaUhave a^ide, beginning on a high 
 note in the 899^9^ and running down to a very low one. 
 This slide is also found to pass through an octaye, and ip 
 called ' the downward slide of the octave.' 
 
 These slides of the octave are hiirdly ever used, esoept 
 in conversation or in acting. They are too violent and 
 passionate for common reading or faking. Still, it is 
 well to know them, and to acquire the power ei soundip^ 
 ^hem coR«ctly^ whoever thc^ may be required. 
 
 There iremains still one other interval of concrete pijbch, 
 tkroi^h which the Yoice nemetimes passes. It is only 
 about half the length of the tone, and is called in music, 
 the semitone. To explain it, let the sentence ^ I wiU be a 
 good boy,' be repeated in the tone of a er^^ng child, but 
 without giving emphasis to any of the words in it. If, as 
 in the first example ^ven in tins chapter, the sentence be 
 inteiErupted before the end, (* I will — ,' ' I will be a — ,' • I 
 will be a good—,') it will be observed that the last syllable 
 uttesed has a crying or plaintive expression, and also that 
 it leases us in expectation of something to follow it. This 
 expression is produced by the voice sliding upwards^ 
 through th]« very short interval of a semitone. The slide 
 is called, therefore, ' the upward slide of the semitone.' If, 
 on the other hand the s^tence be finished, (' I will be a 
 good boy/) there wUl still be the crying or plt^ntive ex- 
 
42 
 
 OONOBETX PITOfi. 
 
 ! 11 
 
 ! i 
 
 ))re88ioii, but the feeling that the sentence is unfinished is 
 lio longer produced. This expression is the result of ' the 
 downward slide of the semitone,' on the word * hoy.' 
 
 The musical names are given to all these ten simjple 
 ilides, (as they are called,) merely to distinguish them 
 from one another. It is not expected, that most pupils 
 will he able to distinguish the semitone, tone, third, &c as 
 they are used in music. This is not at all necessary. All 
 that need be done, is to show the expression of each slide. 
 It will be easy always to distinguish them by this. Their 
 musical character is, for practical purposes, of no impor- 
 tance. 
 
 These slides must all be practised on by the pupils, till 
 they can be made with perfect e»se, and with unvarying suc- 
 cess. For this purpose, it may be well to use the following 
 tables. The fii^t contains the eight long tonic elements, on 
 which all the slides may be made with ease. The second 
 consists of the six short tonic elements, to which, on ac- 
 count of the shortness of their sound, it is hard, if not 
 impossible, to give the long slide of the octave. These 
 should be first taken up. Let each scholar in the class, 
 sound each of thes^ elements, as varied by the use of the 
 ten slides, and the whole class repeat after him, the ins- 
 tructor taking care to note and correct all errors. This, 
 after a little practice, will not be difficult. When all the 
 slides can be well made on each of these elementary 
 sounds, let the class proceed to a similar course of drilling 
 on the third and fourth tables, which consist of words, 
 selected to afibrd them practice on long and short syllables 
 respectively. The class should not be considered compe- 
 tent to pass beyond this step, till they are able, any one of 
 them, to sound correctly, and without effort, any slide that 
 may be called for, and on any one of the elements or 
 syllables: 
 
OONOBXTB PITCH. 
 
 48 
 
 Tables for jc>racHce on the simple Slides. 
 I. ee, 00, a', a", o, ou, i. 
 
 i', u, e, o', a'", e'. 
 
 III. all, old, fair, heal, dare, save, hail, thrive you, I, 
 he, hound. 
 
 rV« gone, will, sit, out, ice, ought, past, done, ask, 
 bite. 
 
 CHAPTEK. VI. 
 
 on ac- 
 if not 
 These 
 e class, 
 of the 
 he ins- 
 
 This, 
 all the 
 entary 
 rilling 
 words, 
 Uables 
 ompe- 
 one of 
 le that 
 
 ts or 
 
 CONOR BTE P I T H— C(m«ntt«<l.. 
 COMPOUND SLIDES, OR WAVES, 
 
 The last chapter has given an account of the simple 
 slides of the voice, as they are commonly used in speech. 
 We have now to consider a second kind of slides called 
 the compound slides or waves. The slides mentioned in 
 the last chapter have all of them only one direction, that 
 is, they run either upwards or downwards, through a cer- 
 tain interval. In the compound slides, or waves, on the 
 other hand, the voice slides, first in one direction, and 
 then back again in the other. 
 
 Let the sentence, * Hail, holy light,' be repeated, giv- 
 ing to the word * hail ' the longest possible sound, unac- 
 companied with anything like positive emphasis, and avoid- 
 ing carefully all drawling on it, and it will be perceived. 
 
u 
 
 PQNOiuftTjs ;ax(m. 
 
 by a nice ear, that the yoioe first falls a little in concrete 
 pitch, and then rises again through an equal interval. It 
 is found to pass, in either direction, through a musical 
 tone. The wave is called ' the indirect equal wave of the 
 tone : ' indirect, because it terminates with a rising move- 
 ment and equal, because the interval passed through in 
 one direction, is the same with that traversed in the other. 
 
 Repeat in the same way, ^ all hail,' still avoiding aU posi- 
 itive emphasis on the word * hail,' but lengthening out its 
 sound; without drawling, and the voice will pass through 
 the same wave, but in the opposite direction. It will first 
 rise, and then fall, a tone. This is what is called ^ the 
 direct equal wave of the tone.' There is the same di£fer- 
 ence of expression between the two waves of the tone, as 
 between the two simple slides of the tone. The indirect 
 wave answers to the upward slide, in not finishing the 
 clause, but requiring other words to follow it. The direct 
 wave answers to the downward slide, in always giving the 
 other expression. 
 
 Let the question be imagined to be put, 'you said 
 ffiiil ? ' If this sentence be repeated as a simple en<][«iry 
 with the same long sound on ' hail,' as before, the voice, 
 instead g£ ^rst rising a third, (as in the example given m 
 the last chapter, where the word ' you ' was Bounded in its 
 common, or rather short, way,) will first fall a third, and 
 then rise again to where It started. This i^ what we call 
 ' tiie indirect equal wave of the third.' 
 
 ' I said, Mail' Let this last word now have the em^- 
 phasis naturally given, in the answer to such a question as 
 the preceding, together with, the same sloW; serious ut- 
 t^rance as before, and the voice will be found first to rise, 
 aind then to &U a third. This is an exampk oi ^ the M- 
 nec^ equal wave of the third.' 
 
COHCIBXTl MTOff. 
 
 41^ 
 
 ' Toa said Hail ? ' If tbe question be again repeated 
 with more surprise and emphasis, but still with the same 
 long sound, there will be on the word ' hail/ ' the indirect 
 equal wave of the fifth/ "^ 
 
 'Yes, Hail.' In this answer, more positive than the 
 former one, we i^all hear ' the direct equal wave of the 
 fifth/ ' ' ^ 
 
 In the same way, by again repeating the question 
 and answer, with increased violence, we may make the * in- 
 direct,' and 'direct equal waves of the octave; ' but as, 
 like the slides of the octave, these waves are scarcely ever 
 used, elcept in conversation, they need hardly be practised 
 on for speaking. 
 
 The two equal waves of the semitone are easily explained. 
 They correspond in expression with the slides of the semi- 
 tone; that is, they are both plaintive in the expression, the 
 indirect wave suspending the sense, and being used on 
 words which re immediately followed by others^ the 
 direct wave closing it, and coming iherefore at the end. 
 They may be easily exhibited, by uniting the plaintive 
 expression with slow utterance. For instance, 
 
 * Pity the sorrows of a jc>ddr did man.' 
 
 Here the indirect equal wave of the semitone will Mi 
 on the words *poor' and *old." 
 
 *I will be a good 6oy.' 
 
 Sere the closing word, *boy,' will exhibit the direct 
 equal wave of the semitone. 
 
 The ten preceding waves have all received the name of 
 equal waves, from their ascending and descending parts 
 being eqttal. But this is not the ease in regard to aU tbe 
 
' I 
 
 46 
 
 OONORITB VITOB. 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 waves that can be made. Wherever the two parts of a 
 compound slide are unequal, it is said to be ^ an unequal 
 wave.' These unequal waves are, of course, very nume. 
 rous ; but as they have all of them very nearly the same 
 expression, (that of contempt and ridicule,) it is not worth 
 while to try to enumerate them. It is enough to state, 
 that they become more strikingly emphatic, according as 
 the intervals of concrete pitch passed through, in either 
 direction, are made longer. 
 
 The question ^your friend?', or the answer 'my friend,* 
 may be made to exemplify this species of wave, the inter- 
 vals of pitch employed in the waves being greater or less^ 
 according to the degree of scorn thrown into the utterance 
 of the words 'you' and 'mine.' 
 
 So, also, in the following example : — 
 
 ' Not think they'd bhaye?' quoth Hodge, with wond'ring 
 
 eyes, . . : 
 
 And voice not much unlike an Indian yell, 
 ' What were they made for then, you dog ?' he cries — 
 ' Made ?' quoth the fellow, with a smile, ' to bell 1' 
 
 Here the words ' shave,' ' made,' and ' sell,' will exhibit 
 the unequal wave. 
 
 Where, as on the word ' your' (in the first example,) or 
 on the words ' shave' and ' made' (in the second,) the ex- 
 pression of interrogation is to be given, the slide ends with 
 an upward movement^ and is called ' an inverted unequal 
 wave;' whereas on the other two words, ' my' and ' self' 
 on which there is no interrogation, the slide ends by 
 running downwards, and is called f the direct unequal 
 
 wave.' ,.. 
 Of course, a wave cannot be ma^o o^ any really (short 
 
DI60BBTB PITCH. 
 
 47 
 
 syllable, as the only way of making it, oonsists in length- 
 ening the syllables on which it is to be exhibited.' ;tvrn.Tr 
 
 These waves must all be practised on the two following 
 tables, in the same manner as was directed for the slides 
 in the last chapter. j . ij!,' 
 
 'nt 
 
 TABLES. 
 
 I. ee, 00, a, a', a", o, on, i. 
 
 II. save, all, old, fair, praise, wo, move, arm, roll. 
 
 <•■ ■' 
 
 B utterance 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 ON DISOBETE OB BADIOAL PITCH. 
 
 In explaining what was meant by pitch, as an element 
 of expression, it was shown that there were two kinds 
 of pitch used in speaking, the first being the change of 
 pitch or slide made between the beginning and the end of 
 each syllable, and the second being the pitch on which the 
 beginning of the successive syllables is made. The first of 
 these two kinds of pitch has been explained in the two 
 preceding chapters. We have now to consider the second. 
 
 If we say, as a pettish child would do, the words * I 
 WON'T,' we shall notice that the second word begins a 
 good deal higher th . the first. This distance or interval 
 between the two ib much greater in this case, than it was 
 between any two of the syllables in the example given in 
 the fourth chapter, ' I am coming to see you to-day.' We 
 have then, in this chapter, to see' what different intervals 
 of this kind may be made, and what are their uses. 
 
 Lei the sentence, 'I am coming to see you to-day/ be 
 
n 
 
 4m 
 
 DiKuovB ntom. 
 
 repetted, takiBg great ove not to make any WMd ift^ it 
 emphatic. Two things may bo observed in the way of 
 uttering it. 1. As was shown in ohi^r V., theie 
 will be no slides of more than a tone on any of the 
 syllables in it. 2. Though the syllabNjS do not all begin 
 on the tame note^ yet no two of them have any threat dif- 
 ference in radical pitch between them, such as was obser- 
 Ted in the other example between the words ' I' and * wont' 
 The slight difference, which is made between some of then, 
 has been found to be the same with what we have called a 
 tone. The first rule then to be remembered in reference 
 to Badical Pitch is, that an interval of a tone between two 
 syllables gives no emphasb to either of them. 
 
 ^ You dare tell me so?' If this sentence be read as it 
 would be commonly spoken, the word ' dare' would be em 
 phasissed by having its radical pitch a third lower than that 
 of the word before it. It would have al$o^ as wateqplaiii' 
 ed in the last chapter an iq>ward slide of a thiid^ in^ order 
 to give it the intonation of a simple question. 
 
 ' I dare tell you so.' Hiere we should give aa npwan^^ 
 interval of & third in discrete pitch, between the word^^T 
 and^dare.' There should be also a downward slide of 
 the same length on tbe latter word, to ^ve it & somewhat 
 positive e^ession. 
 
 Bepeai the question with more eamestnessi, ^ You 
 DABS?' Here we shall have the downward interval of the 
 fifth, with an upward slide of the same length* 
 
 * I DABK.' This r^ated answer wofuld exemplify the 
 upward intetvat with the fifth of its downwtjrd' sUdt. 
 
 In the same w|ty tbe^ corresponding oetaves maofibe 
 made, but, as was before observed, they are of little use, 
 except for acting. 
 
 In aU the above examples of ^Qf^atic disorete inteiviBitf, 
 
DISOBITE PITOB. 
 
 49 
 
 it will be seen that, by adding them to their correspond- 
 ing slides, a word is emphasized in a mnch more lively 
 manner than it would have been by the slides alone. Let 
 the sentence, ' Sir, I thank the government for this mea- 
 sure,' be read, first, in the solemn and dignified tone of a 
 man quite confident of being in the right, and then in a 
 more lively manner, and it will be seen, that the difference 
 between the two readings will bo, that in the former case 
 we have a downward slide on the word ' thank ' without 
 any upward discrete interval, while in the latter wo use 
 both together. In the same way, taking any of the 
 examples which have been given in the fourth chapter for 
 the slides, their emphasis may be made more or less lively, 
 simply by adding or not adding a discrete interval in the 
 opposite direction. 
 
 The emphasis, then, which is given by the use of rising 
 discrete pitch, is t'ways lively. In all the examples whicl. 
 have yet been given, the emphatic discrete interval has 
 been accompanied by an equally long slide running the 
 other way ; but this, it should be understood, is not always 
 the case. The rule for the employment of rising discrete 
 pitch is, to make the interval wider, according as we would 
 have the emphasis more lively : the slides and waves must 
 then be added acoordirg to their own rules. An example 
 will be sufficient to explain this. 
 
 * A preay fellow you are, to be sure.' This sentence is 
 one which requires no emphatic slides. There is no in* 
 terrogation to require an upward slide, and nothing 
 positive, to need a downward one» If therefore we wish 
 to read it as an angry taunt, we must give to it the lively 
 emphasis of the wide discrete intervals combined with the 
 unemphatic slide of the tone. Between the syllable ' pret-' 
 therefore, and the one before it, there will be an upward 
 
 D 
 
1 I 
 
 H I 
 
 1 I 
 
 10 
 
 DISCRETE PITCH. 
 
 interval of a fifth or a third, according as the taunt is 
 made more or loss severe. A downward interval of corres- 
 ponding length will then bo made between ' ty* and ' fel-.' 
 The voice may perhaps rise a second time in radical pitch, 
 on *you.* 
 
 We have stated it as a general rule, that this kind of 
 emphasis may be used, at any time when we want to give 
 a lively expression. There are some particular cases in 
 which it is almost necessary to use it. These may be best 
 shown by examples. 
 
 'Had I been his alave^ he could not have used me 
 worse,^ We have here between the words 'his' and 
 ' slave,' an upward discrete interval of a third or fifth, 
 according to the degree of violence with which we suppose 
 the sentcnoa to be spoken. There is, in addition to this, 
 a downward slide of the same length on the latter word. 
 On the second emphatic word, ' worse,' we shall probably 
 give only the downward slide, without any upward 
 interval. On both words we require a lively emphasis. 
 Why then do we not give the upward interval on the 
 second, as well as on the first ? The reason is this. The 
 first clause is conditional : ^ Jf \ had been &c. ; ' the 
 second is not. We give to the emphatic words in the 
 conditional clause the upward interval, in order to keep 
 the sense suspended, and to make the hearer constantly 
 expect a second clause. When we come to the second 
 clause, we commonly cease to use it, that we may mark out 
 clearly the transition. This will be found to be a rule of 
 almost universal application. 
 
 It may be remarked that in this mode of applying the 
 upward intervals, it is by no means ntcezzary to have a 
 corresponding downward slide joined with them, though 
 this is certainly the most common us&go. The sentence 
 
DI8CBXTE PVton, 
 
 ftl 
 
 
 
 < If ho did hate me, what then ?' will perhaps explain this. 
 Let it he read with snoh eagerness and haste as to give an 
 upward fifth between * he ' and * did :' the downward slide 
 on the word * did ' would hardly ever be made more than 
 a third in length. 
 
 ' He thought so, and therefore he said it.' In this 
 example there is an antithesis between the two words 
 ' thought ' and ' said.' In order to give the right ex- 
 pression to the sentence, it will be found necessary to give 
 the wide radical interval on the one, and not on the other. 
 Both of them will receive an emphatic downward slide. 
 The most natural way of reading the sentence will be, to 
 put an upward discrete third or fifth on the word ' thought,^ 
 and not on ' »aid.^ 
 
 One more ease may as well be mentioned. When we 
 are asking questions with a great deal of anr r, or surprise, 
 we very commonly give to the emphatic syllables long 
 upward slides, and then run along the other syllables 
 which come between them, on the high pitch where the 
 slide left off. This may be seen in the quetsllua * All of 
 them drowned ?' 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 DISCRETE OR RADICAL PITCH. — Continued, 
 
 In the preceding three chapters we have considered 
 many of the uses both of Concrete and Discrete Pitch. 
 Enough has been said of the modes of employing them for 
 every purpose of emphasizing words. A little more may 
 perhaps be said with advantage on the mode of employing 
 them, especially the latter, on the une/mphatic syllables in 
 discourse. 
 
82 
 
 blSORZlTE PITCH. 
 
 Iii i^6reret)l66 to the pitch of unemphatic syllables, two 
 things which have been already noticed, must be very 
 carefully borne in mind. 1. They must all haye the slide 
 of the tone upwards, if we wish to connect them closely 
 with succeeding words, and downwards, if we wish to 
 separate them. 2. No two of them must ever hare bet- 
 ween them an interval of discrete pitch, wider than a tone. 
 
 The great thing to be avoided in reading a number of 
 unemphatic words, is monotony. There are two kinds of 
 monotony, one of which is almost as disagreeable as the 
 other. The first is that of sounding too many syllables 
 together, on the same note of radical pitch. You may 
 have an example of it, in the way in which a child who 
 could just spell out his words, would read the sentence 
 ' I — will — be — a — good — boy.' The only way to avoid 
 this kind of monotony is to recollect, that we must never 
 give the same radical pitch to more than three or four 
 syllables successively. The voice must be continually rising 
 and falling, discretely, through the tone. Unless indeed the 
 subject be a somewhat solemn one, we must not let even 
 three or four syllables run along on the same note. 
 
 The second kind of monotony is that which we almost 
 always hear, when people try to read poetry. It consists 
 in running over and over again through the same, or nearly 
 the same, succession of notes, in the different clauses of a 
 sentence. There are not many persons who will not fall 
 into it, in reading such a verse as this of Addison's, 
 
 « When all thy mercies, my God, 
 
 My rising soul surveys. 
 Transported with the view, I'm lost 
 
 In wonder, lore, and praise.'^ 
 
 i: 
 
 It will require very great attention to get rid of this 
 monotony, even in reading prose. 
 
BI8CAETE PITCH. 
 
 53 
 
 It should be remembered, that we always take most notice 
 of the way. in which the voice is managed, at the pauses 
 which take place iu a sentence. If they are all made with 
 the same rise or fall of the voice, the monotony which they 
 will cause, will be very apparent as well as unpleasant jto 
 every one. The greatest pains should be taken to make the 
 intonation at the pauses as diversified as possible, always 
 recollecting, however, that, unless the words happen to be 
 emphatic, we cannot employ any intervals of pitch wider 
 than the tone. 
 
 There is a particular intonation required before the 
 long pause, which occurs between unportant sentences or 
 paragraphs. It is called the Cadence. It has several 
 forms, which are to be used according to the nature of the 
 dosing syllables of the sentence. 
 
 1. The first, or perfect form of the cadence is employed, 
 when the last two syllables are neither of them emphatic* 
 Each of these syllables is made to fall a tone in radical 
 pitch below the one before it, the last syllable having, of 
 course, the downward slide of the tone. 
 
 ' I could not have slept this night in my bed, nor even 
 reposed my head upon my pillow, without giving vent to 
 my steadfast abhorrence of such enormous and preposterous 
 
 '•""■-pies.- 
 
 ' Nothing came amiss ^ 
 
 him.' 
 
 * None but a fool would measure his satisfaction by what 
 
 the world thinks „<» 
 
 °* it.' 
 
 2. In the second form of the cadence, the voice passes 
 through a downward slide of a third on the last syllable but 
 
54 
 
 DISCRETE PITCH. 
 
 one. The last syllable then has its radical pitch, on the 
 same note on which the previous slide had ended, and falls 
 in its concrete pitch through the intervel of a tone. 
 
 ' He went his way therefore, and washed, and came 
 
 SEE- 
 
 ing.' 
 * He said, He is a pro- 
 
 phet.' 
 
 ' One dead, uniform silence reigned over the whole 
 
 RE- 
 
 gion. 
 
 3. The third form of the cadence is made, by letting 
 the last syllable fall a tone in its radical pitch below the 
 one before it, and then giving it the downward slide of the 
 third. 
 
 * They answered and said unto him. Thou wast alto- 
 gether born in sins, and dost thou teach us? And they 
 cast him ^^, 
 
 * Andrew, in a sorrow^l tone, (as is usual on those 
 occasions,) prayed heaven to prolong his life, and health to 
 enjoy it him- ^^^^, 
 
 ' He then embraced his friends, stripped himself of part 
 of his apparel, and laid his head upon the ^t qqj^ » 
 
 ' And the waters prevailed upon the earth an hundred 
 and fifty j^^^^; 
 
FORCE. 
 
 5& 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 ON FORCE. 
 
 ■■ ■: } 
 
 ^A^ 
 
 The second of the elements of expression has been 
 stated to be the force, or degree of loudness, with which 
 we speak. Every body knows that we speak much louder 
 at some times than at others. Every body knows too, 
 that loud speaking gives a very different meaning to a 
 sentence, from what softer and less forcible speaking does. 
 For example, the sentence ' Take care. Sir,' if uttered with 
 great force and loudness, would seem like an angry threat) 
 but, if uttered in a milder tone, it would appear a very 
 friendly warning. Such feelings as anger, joy, pain, terror, 
 or confidence, a i generally expressed by the use of con- 
 siderable forc' ' eoresy, sorrow, doubt, or shame, will 
 require much less. 
 
 This general rule must suffice to direct the pupil for 
 what purposes he is to employ this element throughout a 
 speech or sentence. If the sentiment contained be of the 
 first class, he must use a good deal of force throughout. 
 His own judgment must tell him how much is required. 
 
 It is not, however, only to the general loudness of voice 
 with which whole sentences are to be spoken, that we have 
 to attend. We must see on what words in a sentence it is 
 to be most used, and also in what manner it may in each 
 case be best used, so as to convey the exact meaning we 
 wish to give. 
 
 In every sentence, some syllables must have greater force 
 than others. * It is false, Sir, utterly fahe.* Now, wheth- 
 er this sentence be read in a loud angry tone, or in a milder 
 and more sorrowful one, the emphatic syllables ' false,' ' ut-' 
 and ' false,' will be given with more force than the others. 
 
66 
 
 FOSOE. 
 
 In this oafle, we see that the element of force is used to 
 give emphasis. 
 
 But now let us take another sentence : ' And Nathan 
 said unto David.' Read this sentence without giving 
 emphasis to any of the words in it. The syllables * Na-' 
 ' said ' and ' Da-' will still be louder than the others. Here, 
 then, we have the elements of force used more on one 
 syllable than on another, without making it emphatic. 
 
 When the element of force is used to make a word 
 emphatic, we commonly call it stress. What is the differ- 
 ence between stress, and that kind of force which was given 
 to the unemphatic words in the last example ? In order 
 to explain this, we must describe more minutely the nerfitre . 
 of the slide, which has been shown to be made on every 
 syllable in speaking. 
 
 It has been shown already, that whenever we speak, 
 there is a greater or less change of pitch between the 
 beginning and the end of the sound we make. This 
 change, we- may now say, is a gradual one, that is, the voice 
 passes quickly through all the sound that can be made 
 between the pitch where we begin, and that on which we 
 end. There is another thing, too, to be noticed. In 
 common speaking, it will be seen that the voice begins 
 more or less hud and full, and- gradually dies away, 
 becoming weaker and weaker as it rises or falls in its 
 slide. This has been fully explained in Chap. V., under 
 the head of the Radical and Vanisli. 
 
 This gradual dying away of the sound takes place, we 
 have said, in ordinary speaking. All unemphatic words 
 have it, whether they are sounded loud or not. This may 
 be seen by a reference to the example already given. ' And 
 Nathan said unto David.' Let the whole be read without 
 emphasis, just as one would say the words in the middle of 
 
 
FOBOS. 
 
 51;^ 
 
 may 
 And 
 
 iOUt 
 
 leof 
 
 a story. The syllables 'Na-' 'said' and 'Da-' will b« 
 louder than the rest, as has been already, shown. Now 
 let each syllable be repeated separately, exactly as it 
 was given in reading the whole sentence, and it will be 
 found that on every one there will be made a gradual and 
 even lessening of sound from the beginning to the end. 
 This, as we shall see, is the reason why the louder syllables 
 in the sentence do not strike us as emphatic. Why some 
 syllables should receive this unemphatic force will be ex* 
 plained in the chapter on Accent. It will be enough here 
 to state that, whatever may be the force of voice with which 
 we maybe speaking, if thiB full opening and regular vanith 
 is given, it will not be emphatic, i. e. it will not be what we 
 have called a stress. 
 
 It is only where this proportion between the radical and 
 vanifiAi is not preserved, that we have itresi or emphatic 
 force. Now this may ha^^n several ways. • 
 
 1. The radical may be sounded fully, and the vanish be 
 given very faintly, and of course very short. This is what 
 we call radical stress. 
 
 2.^ The radical may be sounded faintly, and the force 
 may be ^ven on the vanish. This has been termed vanish" 
 ing stress. 
 
 3. Force may be given at both ends, i. e. first on the 
 radical, and then at the end of the vanish. This we call 
 compimnd stress. 
 
 4. Force may be given in the middle of the sound. 
 This is called median stress. 
 
 Each of these four kinds of stress will require, some 
 explanation. / 
 
fit 
 
 fTi-; 
 
 biX:. iV.ti 
 
 FOROI. 
 
 . . CHAPTER X. 
 
 fORCE.— Con<intte({, 
 BTREfS — ^RADICAL STRESS. 
 
 r < 
 
 By radical stress, then, we mean the giving a full sound 
 to the radical, and a much feebler and shorter sound to 
 the vanish of the syllable. It is, in fact, giving it what 
 we may call an abrupt or sudden sound. It may be 
 named either radical stress, or abruptness. 
 
 An example of this kind of stress may be had in the 
 words ' out with you.' Let this sentence be uttered in a 
 very hasty and passionate manner, and after it, in a natural 
 manner, such a sentence as * he went out.' In the first 
 case, the word ^ out ' will have radical stress given to it, 
 in the second it will not. The difference maybe very 
 easily perceived, and when once perceived will not be 
 very easily forgotten. 
 
 We shall notice, if we attend to the above example, a 
 very important fact in regard to this kind of stress. The 
 tonic element ou in the word ' out,' is one of the eight 
 long tonics, and is therefore capable of having a somewhat 
 long sound given to it. In the second sentence, ' he went 
 out,' where radical stress is not given to the word, we 
 shall find that we may make it as long a syllable as custom 
 will permit us ; but in the first, where radical stress is to 
 be given, we must make it as short as possible. 
 
 Radical stress, then, or force and abruptness, gives us a 
 means of emphasizing a clais of words, which we very often 
 cannot emphasize in any other way. Y^ cannot make a 
 naturally short syllable emphatic, by gi^ g it a longer 
 sound than others. It is also very diff .alt to make the 
 
 i 
 
be 
 
 e, a 
 
 we 
 torn 
 8 to 
 
 usa 
 "Iten 
 a 
 er 
 he 
 
 FORCX. 
 
 59 
 
 long slides with perfect distinotness on such a syllable. 
 Wide intervals of radical pitch, together with the employ- 
 ment of radical stress, are the only means we can make use 
 of to distinguish it. 
 
 It is then of great importance, that every pupil should 
 acquire a perfect command over this mode of employing 
 the element of force. For this purpose let him practise 
 diligently on the following tables, until he is able. '^ • h it 
 apparent eflFort, to give to every one of the sounds which 
 they contain, the abrupt expression heard on the word 
 * out ' in the preceding example. This sudden, coughing 
 c£fort of the voice will be the radical stress which he has 
 to learn. 
 
 It may be observed, that, as radical stress means noth- 
 ing more than the giving to the radical a considerably 
 greater degree of force as compared with the vanish, than 
 it would have had in ordinary speaking, it by no means 
 follows, that it must always have a great degree o£ general 
 force or loudness of voice, combined with it. Badical 
 stress may be given to a syllable just as completely when 
 we are speaking in a law voiccj as when we are declaiming 
 in a very loud one. It is true, indeed, that the addition 
 of general force to radical stress gives it much greater in- 
 tensity and energy, but still it must never be forgotten, 
 that it is not necessary to its existence. 
 
 The tables must be practised on, in the order in which 
 they are here arranged ; first, the short tonic elements, as 
 it will be found to be most easy to a beginner to give to 
 them this kind of sound ; next, the eight long tonics to be 
 sounded as short as possible ; and last, the list of words 
 subjoined. It may be well also, in order to become 
 entirely master of radical stress in all its varieties, to prac- 
 tise on these tables, first with a moderate degree of loud- 
 ness or force of voice, then with its utmost power, and 
 
60 
 
 FOBOSw 
 
 afterwards with as little force as possible. Care muft be 
 takeiij howeyer, that the sudden short '^^ploaiTe soupd be, 
 always given, whatever be the degree of foroe which we 
 employ. This exercise will be found to be of vety great 
 utility, and must therefore be persevered in, till thepi^pUs 
 have acquired a very peri^t command ("^er the use of 
 radical stress. A public speaker who cannot use this 
 element well, will never make himself beabd in a place of 
 any sise.* 
 
 * 
 
 TABLES. 
 
 I. i' u, e, o', a'", e'. 
 
 II. ee, 00, a, a', a", o, ou, i. 
 
 III. it, end, edge, odd, at, up, eat, ask, art, all, ought, 
 oaf, old, out, ice, ev-et, o/*-fer, ac/-ive, tin-der, o<A-cr, art- 
 ful, ow-er, 01M^ed, ic-y. 
 
 VanuhinyStrest. 
 
 The second modification of stress has been stated to be, 
 the giving to the vanish a greater degree of force than to 
 the radical. It is in fact just the reverse of the natural, 
 or unemphatic pronunciation of the syllable. In common 
 speaking, we begin loud and end faintly ; in this element, 
 we begin more faintly, and end loud. « 
 
 Vanishing stress may be most commonly heard in the 
 speech of the lower orders among the Irish. ' And mre 
 your honor will bo A;nowing.' It is heard also in the 
 sound which we make in sobbing. 
 
 It ought only to be used at the end of the emphatic 
 slides of the voice. When it is added to the slide of the 
 tone, it gives nothing more than the jerk we sp often, hear 
 
 * Radieal startis cuts across the ear of an audience, gives 
 briUianey to disconrBe, and rouses dal^ness Into attention. 
 
FOBOl. 
 
 61 
 
 I rnuft b« 
 sound h%, 
 wliioh we 
 ery gteai 
 ^heprpils 
 le use of 
 use this 
 I place of 
 
 I, ought, 
 
 i tobe, 
 than to 
 atural, 
 »nmon 
 ement, 
 
 in the 
 1 sure 
 n the 
 
 on the unomphatic words in Irish pronunciation. When 
 properly combined with an emphatic slide, it gives a more 
 hasty and earnest expression than the radical stress. In 
 this way it is very frequently used by young children, * I 
 loontj 1 tell you.' 
 
 In order to gi^e vanishing stress to a syllable, it is also 
 necessary that it be one which is capable of receiving a 
 pretty long sound. It need not indeed be a very long 
 one, but it must not, like those syllables to which we give 
 radical stress, be very short. 
 
 Two tables are subjoined for practice on this element. 
 The first contains the eight long tonics ; the second, a few 
 words on which vanishing stress may be easily exhibited. 
 Each of the emphatic slides and waves may as well be 
 given in their turn, in combination with it. Great care 
 has to be taken, however, that the whole of the stress be 
 thrown on to the end of the slide or wave, and none of it 
 to the beginning. If the sound be forcible at the opening, 
 as well as at the close of the syllable, it will produce com- 
 pound and not vanishing stress. 
 
 It may be observed here, that any d^ee of general 
 loudness may be made to accompany the use of vanishing 
 stress. This is indeed the case with all the four kinds of 
 stress. They should therefore all of them be practised not 
 only in a loud antl energetic tone, but also in a more mo- 
 derate, and even in a low and muffled voice. 
 
 TABLES FOR PRACTICE. 
 
 1. ee, 00, a, a', a"j o, ou, i» 
 
 II» he, you, may, dare, past, will, bound, bite, gone, 
 done, shallt 
 
 ivet. 
 
62 
 
 ■:jti-'l 
 
 FOBOE. 
 
 Compound Street, 
 
 Xt will not be neonaaJ^^' ' . 
 
 -estnesa of the vanishing atr^ l^K- f "^V ""* *"" 
 fflore gravity and dignity It tl^ • ? *^ "'"' """oh 
 «ve force to both efSlof ^« n'lf "■ ^'""8 """"P*™- 
 '•«nd of the voice onTon tt ''i^?'*' '^''"6 *« ^»' 
 
 - «■« word <., . i„ l7o£,:;^/ -' ^ «- 
 
 ,«"HrrlS'™' "" '"^''"^ '''* -"Jvantage on 
 
 Median Stress. 
 
 "g it. the voice opens aUheT^ ^'^"^'^- 1° ^'•iW^ 
 mode^te fo..e-if he„ l^r" "' '''' ''""'"<' "'* 
 tto middle, after which it2 "wL '""^' " "^'^^ «" 
 "ourse, all this can be done^Iv?^ T?.*" ""^ *"''• ©^ 
 very considerable length »!!' I '^"'''''*" "»'''>' '»«' of 
 
 'H'he^d in the sen£,T'; ««'*<'*'•""'• ^'^o-" 
 «■><» thee, Bethsaida ' 4 1 ""*?' *^'*' ^horazin, „„ 
 
 groat iwlemnity. ^*"*P'^«'n is always that of 
 
 Median stress can be given n..,.!, 
 oqnal waves of the voice ^W """f "<»•« Po^octly on the 
 
 to dwell long on one sylhwr„t ® u"^' ""*" '' '" """"o 
 of an eqnal wave, and Sl^ 7""^'^ '^^'"^ the fo™, 
 very long syllabi;. jHS" t''' T- *^ ""'' ^iven on 
 fo-, each example should^' IS"""' **"«'' «"«- 
 
 - "* sounded successively, with 
 
iato tiid 
 the ear- 
 h much 
 sompara- 
 he faint 
 be given 
 
 tage on 
 
 om any 
 
 ixhibit- 
 
 le with 
 
 JIs tiU 
 
 d. Of 
 
 are of 
 
 hould 
 
 In, wo 
 
 lat of 
 
 In the 
 
 The 
 
 lade 
 
 tbrm 
 
 on 
 
 lere- 
 
 rith 
 
 QtJANTITT. 
 
 63 
 
 median stress on one or more of the equal waves, direct or 
 indirect. .,/[.; ,,' ,.,. * .. . ., ■* ;.,>',; 
 
 It will require great practice to obtain a full command 
 over this element, and great care after it has become 
 familiar to us, to use it judiciously in speaking. 
 
 TABLES FOR PRACTICE. 
 
 I. ee, 00, a, a' a", o, ou, i. 
 
 II. aid, save, all, heal, old, fair, praise, wo, move, 
 know, arm, hail, bear, roll, lord, thine, loneAjf roy-al, 
 glO'Tj, hol-y, un-Ajnow», oon-cca?. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 ON QUANTITY. 
 
 The third of the elements of expression is quantity, or 
 the length of time taken up in pronouncing a syllable. 
 The great rule which must be always borne in mind in 
 using this element, is this. On solemn subjects we speak 
 slowly, on more lively ones we commonly speak quickly. 
 Read the words, * Our FdthSr who art in he&ven,' with a 
 rapid utterance, or ' a pretty fellow you are !' with a slow 
 one, and the inconsistency will be at once apparent to every 
 one. 
 
 This would perhaps seem to be almost enough to say on 
 this subject, and it would be so in reality, if every body 
 could only give long or short quantity, without losing the 
 proper sound of the syllables on which he would show it. 
 We find that most people, when they try to speak rapidly, 
 clip their words so as to make them hardly intelligible to 
 persons near them, and quite inaudible to any one who 
 

 64 
 
 Qt^AMTlTY. 
 
 may bo a little way off. So, too, when thoy try to speak 
 slowly, we are almost sure to find, in their delivery, either 
 what we call iinging or else drxtwling. It is therefore 
 necessary, in a book on Elocution, to show how, by prac- 
 tice, all these common faults may be got rid of. 
 
 The common fault, then, into which people fall in giving 
 short quantity, is that of not pronouncing their words cor- 
 rectly. To avoid this, it will be necessary for the pupil to 
 practise diligently on all tlie vocal elements, as they have 
 been explained in the first chapter, till he can sound them 
 all with perfect ease and accuracy. He must then combine 
 them together in difficult words, such as those contained 
 in the tables, (see page 27) till he feels confident, that he 
 is able to sound them or any others easily, without altering 
 in the least their proper pronunciation. He should then 
 begin to sound them one after another, as quickly as he 
 can, still taking care that no sound whatever, which should 
 be heard in them, be suffered to escape him. A great part 
 of this practice has been already directed to secure a dis- 
 tinct articulation. It must now be repeated, as far as may 
 be necessary to insure the power of articulating, not only 
 well, but also quickly. 
 
 In giving long quantity, again, we have said most per- 
 sons either sing or drawl. How are these faults to be 
 avoided ? To answer this question, it will be only neces- 
 sary to repeat a part of what has been already said on the 
 subjects of pitch and force. 
 
 First, then, the voice in speaking, ought never to rest for 
 a single instant on the same pitch. In every syllable after 
 it has once begun, it must be all the while either rising or 
 falling. If we neglect this rule, we shall make a sound 
 like that which is heard in singing. Every one, who^ in 
 trying to read slov^ly, sings his long syllables, will be found 
 
QUANTITY. 
 
 66 
 
 to make this mistftke. He will have run along a part at 
 least of the sound nearly on the same pitch, instead of 
 making it rise or fall throughout. To get rid of this fault, 
 therefore, we must persevere in praotising the different 
 slides and wave8,till it becomes, so to say, unnatural to us, 
 even when making them as long as possible, not to sound 
 them correctly. 
 
 The second fault is drawling. This must be corrected 
 by the proper use of the element of force. There have 
 been explained five diflferent ways in which force ma^ be 
 applied to a syllable; the first being the natural radical and 
 vanish, which adds no emphasis to it, and the other four 
 being the di£ferent modifications of emphatic force, or strtas. 
 It has been also shown, that of these four kinds of stress, 
 the first, which has been called radical stress, is seldom 
 applied to a syllable without making it short : the other 
 three require the syllable to be naturally long. 
 
 Now, in each of these five ways of applying force, the 
 loudness of the voice is continually changing, throughout 
 the word. Whenever we su£fer it to remain through any 
 considerable part of the sound, for two or three words 
 together, we shall find that we have got into a drawl. If 
 any one will listen to the way in which a young child reads 
 his alphabet, or spells short words, they will find. In the 
 sounds he makes, a good example of both these f;alts 
 which we have been explaining. * a — ^b— o.' — A long sound 
 is given to the name of each letter ; but the Toice runs 
 along through each on almost a level pitch, s id with very 
 nearly the same degree of force. 
 
 In order, then, to correct this s^jcond fault, it will be 
 only necessary to practise sounding syllables with long 
 quantity, taking care to give them always either the natu- 
 ral radical and vanish, or else either vanishing, compound, 
 or median stress. 
 
6t 
 
 QUARTITr. 
 
 It should be stated, however, that in almost every eue 
 where very long quantity is required, it will be best given 
 by the combination of the equal waves with median stress^ 
 This therefore should be first practised. After we have> 
 mastered this point, it may be well to proeeed to practise- 
 quantity on the simple slides, with the natural radical andj 
 vanish of the voice. If the pupil have followed the direc- 
 tions given for practice on vanishing and compound stress,, 
 t will be hardly requisite for him to repeat that exercise.. 
 For the two exercises we have here prescribed, the tables 
 given under the head of median stress will be sufficient.. 
 On them, however, he must practise till he can perfonm 
 the exercise well. 
 
 One point alone remains now to be noticed on this sub- 
 ject. In reading a sentence slowly, it will never do to 
 give the same long quantity to every syllable in it. There 
 are a great many syllables on which we cannot possibly 
 increase the length at all. Such words as bit, tap^ hatCj 
 fop, pettish, can only be made long by altering their sound 
 entirely. We call such syllables mmittoft?*. 
 
 There is a second class again, which we can lengthen a 
 little, but not much. These we call jnutahle. Drtad^ 
 grateful, save, mad, are examples. 
 
 The third dass only are capable of receiving very long 
 quantity. Hail, wo, throne, high, power, are of this char- 
 acter. They are called indefinite. 
 
 In reading solemn passages, then, we must recollect that 
 we are never to attempt to lengthen an immutable i^Uable 
 at all, nor a merely mutable one much. The use of the 
 waves, and of the median or compound stress, is confined 
 to indefinite syllables ; radical stress requires us to sound 
 a syllable, to whatever class it may belong, as if it were 
 immutable \ vanishing stress nuiy be given to either mutar 
 
QVAMriTY. 
 
 «« 
 
 9t given 
 1 Btrem^ 
 we kave^ 
 practise- 
 ioal andi 
 le direc- 
 1 BtreBSy. 
 ^xercise^ 
 le tables 
 ifficknt.. 
 perfomh. 
 
 Mb sub- 
 r do to 
 
 There 
 possibly 
 
 , hatCj 
 r sound 
 
 then a 
 \Drtttdy_ 
 
 |ry long^ 
 char- 
 
 3tthat 
 
 pliable 
 
 lof the 
 
 |)nfiiied 
 
 sound 
 
 were, 
 
 Imuiiar 
 
 ble or indefinite syllables. The natural radical and Tanish 
 and the simple slides, may be given to all. 
 
 A remark or two should be made on the way in which 
 we are to lengthen mutable syllables. Most of them have 
 their tonic element naturally short. In such words no 
 attempt must be made to lengthen out the tonic sound 
 All the quantity which may be given to the syllable must 
 be given on the subtonic elements. 
 
 In the same way, in lengthening indefinite syllables, 
 much of the quantity must be given to the subtonic ele- 
 ments in them. Th-r-o-N, (throne), s-ou-n-d, r-o-L (roll), 
 M-A-D, (made). It will not do, however, in either case, to 
 lengthen a subtonic element at all, if it comes before the 
 tonic element in the syllable. This would sound very af- 
 fectedly ; indeed it would almost make two syllables of it. 
 P-L-i^N-D-^-r (plunder), k-L-A-M (claim), n-on (known.) 
 
 It will probably be difficult, at first, for the pupil to 
 lengthen his subtonic elements, even where they ought to 
 be lengthened. This difficulty must be removed by prac- 
 tising on the following tables. The first contains a list of 
 the subtonics, which admit of being lengthened. On 
 each of these let the pupil practise, first the slides, and then 
 the equal waves of the tone, third and fifth, endeavouring 
 throughout to make the sound as long as they can. The 
 second table contains some mutable syllables, which will re- 
 quire quantity on the closing subtonic elements. The 
 third consists of a few indefinite syllables, whose quantity 
 is to be shared between the tonics and the subtonics which 
 follow it. 
 
I-' 
 
 w 
 
 h' 
 
 *M' 
 
 p! ■ S 
 
 68 
 
 QUALITY. 
 
 TABLES. 
 
 I. b, d, g, 1, m, n, ng, r, v, z, th. 
 
 II. sob, sad, dog, tell, him, son, song, her, or, 
 
 live, his. 
 
 III. old, aid, all, heal, bound, end, known, aim, fair, 
 our, save, raise, soothe, hol-y. 
 
 The bad eflFect of trying to lengthen any of the sub- 
 tonic or atonic elements, at the beginning of a word, may 
 be shown on any of the words in these tables which have 
 consonants before the tonic element. 
 
 An atonic element must never be lengthened at all, 
 either at the beginning or end of a syllable. F-i'-t (fit), 
 sH-a-p (shape), TH-i'-ng-k (think), cat, h-i-s (hiss), p-u-s-H 
 (push). 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 ON QUALITY. 
 
 We have now arrived at the consideration of the last of 
 the elements of expression, viz. quality, or the kind of 
 voice we are to use for diflferent purposes. As might be 
 supposed, the human voice is capable of a great many va. 
 rieties of quality. The words, harsh, smooth, hoarse, full, 
 musical, aspirated, whispering, and many others are em- 
 ployed to denote them. 
 
 When we are speaking on subjects of no great interest, 
 we use that kind of voice which is most easy and natural 
 to us. This is nearly, though not quite the same, in al- 
 
 -J. 
 
QUALITT. 
 
 69 
 
 her, or, 
 aim, fair, 
 
 the sub- 
 vord, may 
 hich have 
 
 ed at all, 
 r-i'-t (fit), 
 ;), p-u-s-H 
 
 le last of 
 \kind of 
 light be 
 lany va. 
 [•se, full, 
 are em- 
 Interest, 
 Inatural 
 k in al- 
 
 most every one. We can always recognize it when we hear 
 it, as the natural tone of i >in non conversation. 
 
 There are some persons whose ordinary quality of voice 
 is bad ; bnt it ought to be remembered, in speaking on 
 this subject, that we do not mean by this expression what 
 is commonly meant by it. If a person pronounces distinct- 
 ly, or talks monotonously, whines, drawls, or talks either too 
 fast or too slow, it is common to sav that he has a bad kind 
 of voice. None of these faults are however, really faults 
 of quality. Bad pronunciation must be amended by prac- 
 tising on the vocal elements,monotony by attending to the 
 proper modes of using pitch and accent^ whining by avoid- 
 ing the use of the semitone slides and waves, drawling by 
 the proper use of stress, quick and slow utterance by the 
 the study of quantity. So_ also, if the voice be too full or 
 too loud, the fault is rather in the misemployment of the 
 element of force. None of these belong really to the head 
 of quality. 
 
 Real faults of quality are only those which cannot be 
 brought under any of the other elements of expression. 
 Like all other faults, they are to be amended only by 
 careful practice. In almost every case they may be re- 
 moved by this means. As soon as the nature of the fault, 
 whatever it may be, has been ascertained, let the pupil di- 
 rect his attention to it for a few weeks in all his reading, 
 and even if he can, whenever he is talking, and he will soon 
 find that he is overcoming it. For example, if his speak- 
 ing voice be too harsh, let him be continually aiming to 
 make it sound less harshly when he reads ; if it be too 
 husky, let him try to make it clear and distinct ; if he 
 have fallen into a habit of speaking too much through the 
 nose, or through the teeth, let it be his endeavour to avoid 
 the peculiar effect of this way of talking, by trying to 
 
I* 
 
 I 
 
 
 70 
 
 QOALITT. 
 
 apeak as other people do, through the throat/ It wiU be 
 the office of the instructor to point out such defects, 
 whenever he finds them to exist. They are not of very 
 common occurrence, and do not therefore require any 
 very detailed explanation. 
 
 We are not, however, to be always using this natural 
 quality of voice of which we have been speaking. Almost 
 every emotion of the mind has its peculiar quality of voice, 
 which is employed to Express it, and no other. It will 
 not, however, be necessary to describe them all, as it is 
 not very often that we find them used improperly. A few 
 may be noticed with advantage, as they will serve to ex- 
 plain more thoroughly what we mean by quality of voice. 
 
 When a person speaks with great authority, or in a very 
 angry manner, his voice is commonly harsher, than usual. 
 The ' come here, sir,' which we should address to a dog 
 who did not mind the whistle, may serve as an example. 
 
 Grief or pity, on the other hand, require a milder 
 quality of voice. ' Poor fellow,' even to a dog, would never 
 be spoken harshly. 
 
 Secrecy will employ a whisper! This needs no ex- 
 ample. 
 
 Fear is expressed by a quality of voice, a good deal 
 like the whisper. We call it aspiration. * What's the 
 matter ? ' * Did'nt you see it ? 
 
 The same quality of voice in combination with great 
 force is used to express extreme violence, and sometimes 
 contempt. ' Coward I' 
 
 There is a quality of voice much used in acting, and 
 indeed of very great importance in good public speaking. 
 Dr. Rush has given it the name of the * orotund.* Its uses, 
 and the modes of obtaining a command Qver it, are explained 
 in the Grammar. As it is not easy of acquisition, it has 
 
 
▲0O1NT. 
 
 rt 
 
 It win be 
 
 h def<90t8, 
 ot of yeiy 
 \{VLlre any 
 
 lis natural 
 Almost 
 y of Toioe, 
 r. ItwiU 
 ill, as it is 
 y. A few 
 >rveto ex- 
 f of voice, 
 r in a very 
 ban usual. 
 B to a dog 
 I example, 
 a milder 
 mid never 
 
 Is no ex- 
 rood deal 
 lat's the 
 
 rith great 
 )metimes 
 
 bing, and 
 ppeaking. 
 Its uses, 
 jxplained 
 In, it has 
 
 been tho^lit )>est not to attempt to give directions for its 
 employment in this hook. It will he found of great 
 importance to the more advanced student of Elocution. 
 In an introductory course of instruction, the teacher would 
 hardly ever require to do more, than to correct 'the faults 
 which may be found in the natural quality of the voice. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 ON ACCENT. 
 
 In the ninth chapter (p. 55) an example was given of a 
 sentence in which some of the syllables, though unemphatic, 
 Were to be read with a somewhat greater degree of force 
 or loudness than the others. ' And Na'than sa'id unto 
 Da'vid/ It was also shown in what respect the un- 
 emphatic increase of force on these syllables differs from 
 the emphatic use of that element which we have called 
 stress, and of which a number of examples have been given. 
 We have now, under the head of accent, to explain the 
 purposes which it is employed to serve in speech. 
 
 The human voice and ear are so formed by nature, as 
 always to require a variety in the force of the successive 
 syllables in a sentence. Take any sentence whatever, and 
 whether there be emphatic words in it or not, this will be 
 seen to be the case. 
 
 * Then' they^ went out' of the ci'ty, and came' unto him. 
 
 * And when' he had said' this', he fell' asleep'.' 
 
 * A War has need of ^good' mem'ory.'' 
 
 In the above examples those syllables which require the 
 heavy sound, and which are called accented syllables, are 
 
72 
 
 AOOWfT. 
 
 all marked thus n Thn .1. 
 
 ^oeive accent, j„^ J^^^f ''«' « m«nosyIl.We may 
 Jong word. "''"y''"«offtes7ll.Me«iD» 
 
 'He'Wafe've,.hen'he.a.i„Sp^„,. ' 
 
 Jn grammars and snpllin^ 1, 1 , 
 
 -A. glance at the five eimn,^] 1 
 '0 demonstrate an im^S f '"'^ ^^*° 'i" ™ffi«» 
 f syllable can h.yee^^SZVf'^'"'' *" "<»»'• 
 becoming accented. iVfte !„J,^"^'^*" "' ''•*<'»« 
 'to two last examples, rivTn/t!^. ^ *" "I^* «'«>•' of 
 a»70f tbeen,phatio wo;df 11!^.'^'' '^?'"<'^ ^^'loW^a in 
 ^-J^ilables, and he 3 Jr^^^""?! "^ *<"«'«coent. 
 ^de unemphatio. ft hL r"^,^"'' "^' «>« words are 
 Observed that accented slbles f'^^ ""'« "«'» ""oe 
 The two e*.n.p,e3 fat J^TtnT "° • "' -^ ^"P'""'*'- 
 They must, however, re^ei^e ,tent ^"^ ""y^^PW 
 ■^t remains onlv to "^'^^ot. 
 
 accented Syllables arT TfT '""' ''' ''"^«°'«'' and ^n- 
 
 -'tft\:;;rttt^re:r""r---«''. 
 
 one cannot. Let the wo^ < th ' 7" '^'^' "" ««^<»'ei 
 
 "-pie- ThefatsyMej*"" f'^ b«t^enas,ne.. 
 
 econd, never. !„ ij«,«„" J' If^^J^ accented, the 
 
 unaccented syllable can C„ttl7 '."" "^ ^J"" «>« 
 
 pause between it and the telj!'' ^"^' '''"«'"' any 
 
 '^p^^' '"o «-«.Miet;C'ti^^t2-ti"*"-' 
 
 ""ere taking care 
 
AOOBNT. 
 
 73 
 
 to make it accented both times. There 'ifill be a yerj per- 
 ceptible break between them, a break long enough for us 
 to have got in, if we had tried, an unaccented syllable, in 
 the time it took up. We might say, ' there' and thereV 
 in as little time as we can * there' — there'.' So much for 
 the first rule. 
 
 II. The second principle is, that two, or even more, 
 unaccented syllables may follow one another without requir- 
 ing any pause between them. ' Therefore there went'.' 
 ' There'fore there went out'.' ' His'tory of the king'.' 
 The above examples show us two, three, and even four 
 unaccented syllables in this close union. More than four, 
 we sh ill find too many. We shall be obliged to pause be- 
 tween them, in order to take breath. 
 
 In each of these examples we find that the accented 
 syllable, and the unaccented sound or sounds which follow 
 it, are uttered by one effort of the voice. As soon as we 
 come to another accented syllable, we must make another 
 effort. 'There'fore there went' out' — .' We give the 
 name of a mecnure to the syllables which are thus sounded 
 by one impulse. In order to make out the measure for 
 reading, we divide them from each other by bars, (thus, 
 
 II) 
 
 There'fore | there | went' to him | all' Je | ru'salem ] — ' 
 And' they shall | burn' to | geth'er. 
 
 If these sentences be read with their accents, as they are 
 here marked out, they will have no pause whatever of the 
 voice, from the beginning to the end. It is not possible, 
 however, to read long sentences, without making pauses in 
 them. Four or five syllables are the most that can be 
 sounded together, without stopping. If we try to utter 
 
:i'l|l 
 
 u 
 
 AOOIMT. 
 
 more, we shall lose our breath. *The following aentente 
 will serve as an example. 
 
 ' I I can'not | my | Lords' I { will' not | join' in con | 
 grat'u I la'tion | on' mis { for'tune and dis | grace' 
 
 ^f » 
 
 Hardly any one will be able to read this sentence, as it 
 is marked out, without stops of any kind. They will be 
 obliged to pause for breath before they reach the end. 
 Yet the accented syllables are all marked rightly. Let u 
 see whether there is not some means by which we can 
 mark out the places where, without violating the sense, we 
 may be allowed to pause for breath. 
 
 Pauses in speech are of various lengths, some taking up 
 a whole measure, or even more ; others only taking half a 
 measure. The following are examples of those which are 
 most commonly used. 
 
 1. Where two accented syllables come together, the voice 
 is commonly compelled to pause between them, through 
 the unaccented portion of the first measure. This pause 
 was exhibited in the repetition of the accented syllable 
 * there' — there'.' It would be thus marked, * | there' 7 | 
 there'.' 
 
 * I No'ah I went' 7 | in'.* 
 
 * Then' they | went' 7 | in' unto | Noah'. | * 
 ' And' the | Lord' 7 | shut' him | in'.' 
 
 * And' in the | six 7 | hun'dredth | year'.' 
 
 If, however, the first accented syllable be indefinite in 
 its quantity, we may make it so long in its sound, as to 
 run it through the time of the whole measure, and so not 
 leave any pause between it and the next. This would be 
 very often done, in solemn reading. 
 
▲OCUDIT. 
 
 Bf senience 
 
 / in con | 
 je'.' 
 
 moe, as it 
 By will be 
 i the end. 
 Let u 
 5h we can 
 sense, we 
 
 :aking up 
 ng half a 
 rhich are 
 
 the voice 
 through 
 is pause 
 syllable 
 lere' 1 | 
 
 nite in 
 , as to 
 so not 
 lid be 
 
 A' 
 
 Yet' 7 I (y I Lord''\ CM' 7 | most' 7 | holy | 
 
 (y I Lord' I most' 7 | migh'ty. | 
 
 In' the I self 7 I tamef \ day' | en'tered | N'oah. 
 
 This pause is so short and unimportant, that it is not 
 worth while to mark it. It has only to be remembered 
 that where two accented syllables come together, a pause 
 of half a measure may be made between them ; but that if 
 the former be indefinite, it need not be made. In the 
 scored examples, the rest (7) is not printed, unless where 
 the sense may happen to require a pause. 
 
 'In' the I self I same' | day' | en'tered | Noah'. | 
 ' Sir' 7 I I' in the | most' ex | press' | terms' |— ' 
 
 2. A pause uay be made, if the sense requires it, 
 through the accented portion of the measure. Thus : 
 
 ' When' he had | end'ed | 7 he | turn'ed to the | south 
 I side' of the | scaffold | 7 and | said'. 
 
 ' Hav'ing | ut'tered a | short' | prayer' | 7 he | gave' the 
 sig'nal I 7 to the | ex'e | cu'tioner. | ' 
 
 The same rest is inserted, wherever a sentence b^ins 
 on an unaccented syllable, in order to show to the reader, 
 that it does not come at the beginning of the measure. 
 Thus: 
 
 7 ' And the | wa'ters pro | vail'ed upon the | earth'. 
 
 7 ' To I sat'isfy him | 7the | door' of the | bed'chamber 
 I 7 was I half | o'pened..| ' 
 
 7 < 1 1 know' I that' my Be | deem'er | li/eth. | ' . 
 
76 
 
 AOOINT. 
 
 3. Pauses may take up the whole time of a measure. 
 Thus: 
 
 * I' am a I ma'zcd | 7 7 | yes' my | Lords' 7 | I' am a 
 I ma'zed at his | Gra'ce's | speech'. | ' 
 
 ' One' I dead' | u'niform | si'lence | 7 7 | reign'ed over 
 the I whole' | jre'gion. | ' 
 
 * When' a | man' hath | once' | forfeited | 7 the | rep'- 
 u I ta'tion | 7 of his in | teg'rity | 7 7 | noth'ing will | 
 then' I serve' his | turn' | 7 7 | neith'er | truth' | nor' j 
 false'hood. 
 
 In the scored exercises, the rests are omitted in the 
 notation used to express this pause. Thus : 
 
 * If I as I cend' | up' into | heav'en | | thou' art 
 there'. | ' 
 
 * 7 To I send' forth' the | mer'ciless | In'dian | | thirst'- 
 ing for I blood' ! | 7 a | gainst' | whom' ? | | your' | pro' 
 testant i breth'reni 
 
 4. Pauses may be made through a measure and a half, 
 or two measures ; and sometimes even through more. 
 
 * 7 I I make' the as | ser'tion | 7 de | lib'erately | | 7 
 I re I peat' it | 7 and | call' on | a'ny | man' who | hears' 
 me I 7 to I take' | down' my | words'. | ' 
 
 * Are' you | com'petent | 7 to trans | fer' them to the | 
 Brit'ish | par'liament ? | | 7 I | an'swer | no'. | ' 
 
 * Then' shall be | brought' to | pass' | 7 the | say'ing 
 that is I writ'ten | | Death' | 7 is | swall'lowed up' | 7 
 in I vic'tory | | | 0' | Death' | |where'isthy | sting'? | | | 
 0' I Grave' | | where' is thy | vic'tory ? | | | 7 The | sting' 
 
AOOBNT. 
 
 77 
 
 neasnre. 
 
 I' am a 
 
 'ed over 
 
 ae 1 rep'- 
 ig will I 
 ' I nor' I 
 
 i in the 
 [)u' art 
 
 thirst'- 
 t' I pro'- 
 
 id a half, 
 )re. 
 
 tely I I 7 
 hears' 
 
 to the 
 
 I say'ing 
 up' 1 7 
 
 |ng'?||| 
 sting' 
 
 of I death' | 7 is | sin' | | 7 and the | strength' of | sin' | 
 7 is the I law'. | | | 7 But | thanks' he to | God' | 7 who 
 I giv'eth us the | vio'tory | | through' our | Lord' | Je'sus 
 Christ.' I I I 
 
 These longest pauses, of course, only take place hetwccii 
 sentences, i. e. in places where, in common printing, full 
 stops would be made. 
 
 Some other pauses may perhaps be seen in the scored 
 exercises. They may, however, be so easily explained by 
 the teacher, while going through them, that it is not worth 
 while to describe them all here. 
 
 The scored exercises, which have been so often referred 
 to] must be all read over by the class, with the utmost 
 care, the attention being directed, not only to the empha- 
 sis, but also more especially to the accents, and to the 
 marked pauses. The priiciple on which they are divided 
 into measures and separated by pauses, must be repeated 
 over and over, while reading them, till it has become 
 perfectly plain and familiar to every one. When the 
 scored pieces have been thus read and studied, the pupils 
 must be required to score out for themselves, the whole or 
 greater part of the two succeeding unscored piece?.* 
 
 * If this practice be diligently performed, there will be found 
 few pupils, if any, in a class who will not have acquired the 
 power of reading without ever getting out of breath. The longer 
 and more attentivelj it is persevered in, the more satisfactory 
 will be the result. If it be neglected, or given up before the 
 desired effect is produced, the whole labor of explaining the 
 system of accent will have been lost. The author of this work 
 may testify, from his own experience, to the utility of the cours« 
 he recommends. Other teachers, who have employed a book of 
 scored exercises which he published some years since, have 
 
--i'j.it"»y!i Jff" A_--»i:MgW 
 
 '!•• 
 
 78 
 
 AMALTBII. 
 
 The mark (') over the aooented syllables which hu been 
 used in all the examples given in this chapter, is omitted 
 in the scored exercises. The pnpil will have no dilBoultj 
 in recollecting that the accented syllable is always the one 
 which comes olose after the bar. 
 
 ' Such were the | last | hours | 7 and | such the | final 
 I close I 7 of tils I great | man's | life. | { | ' 
 
 [! I 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 ON ANALYSIS. 
 
 The preceding chapters of this work, have been taken 
 up in giving an account, first, of the vocal elements, by 
 practising on which we may obtain a correct articulation, 
 and then, of the di£ferent uses of the elements of expression. 
 It was stated, at the outset, that in order for any one to 
 become a perfect speaker, it is necessary that he should 
 have practised on all thesCf till he finds no difficulty what- 
 ever in performing any exercises on them, however diffi- 
 cult. A series of exercises have been given on each sub- 
 ject, which will probably be found sufficient. It is hoped 
 that all the practice recommended on them, has been per- 
 formed. If the pupil really wishes to succeed, it must 
 be. 
 
 assured him of ihett Buceess, in teaching young persons to read 
 carefully, and mind their ttopt. The hasty, gabbling, panting way 
 in Tfhich most children read, is enough to prove the necessity of 
 some such plan. The teacher would do well to ref^r, for his 
 own information on this subject, to the Grammar, where a much 
 fuller explanation of it is given, than was thought neoessa^ iA 
 this work. 
 
ANAITSU. 
 
 79 
 
 LMbeen 
 omitted 
 iiiBoulty 
 the one 
 
 le 
 
 I final 
 
 en taken 
 ents, bj 
 culation, 
 pression. 
 ly one to 
 e should 
 ty what- 
 ver diffi- 
 lach sub- 
 is hoped 
 )een per- 
 it must 
 
 IS to read 
 tttingway 
 )ce88ity of 
 sr, for hit 
 re amneh 
 sessMty id 
 
 But there if also another thing quite ti neoeaeafy to 
 make a good speaker. It is the right understanding of 
 the meaning of what he speaks. Without this, he will h^ 
 all the while making mistakes, however well he may be 
 able to iound either the vocal elements or the elements of 
 expression. He must know when and where he ought to 
 use each element of expression, and he never xjan do that, 
 if there be any part of what he has to say, which he does 
 not understand. 
 
 This, then, is the second thing to which he must attend. 
 When he comes to read^ after having gone through his 
 practice on the elements, he must endeavor to find the 
 exact meaning of each sentence. This is what we call at. 
 tending to the Analysis of speech. 
 
 Some persons of course will be able to do this a great deal 
 easier than others. Every body must, however, learn to 
 do it as well as he can. It will not be possible to give any 
 rules by which it may be done without attention. The 
 only rule we can give is, to think about it. 
 
 A few examples and remarks will perhaps be of use in 
 showing a little, how we are to think in order to find out 
 this point. 
 
 First, we are to see which are the emphatic parts, and 
 which the unemphatic. Those words and parts of the 
 sentences which are mos ' important^ are to be made em- 
 phatic by the use of some one or other of the elements of 
 expression, according to the kind of meaning which they 
 ought to have. Those parts, which are, for any reason, of 
 less consequence, are to be unemphatic. 
 
 ' They brought to the PHARISEES him that afore- 
 time was blind. And it was the SABBATH-DAY when 
 Jesus made the clay, and opened his eyes. Then again 
 the PHABISEES also asked him how he had received 
 
80 
 
 ANALYSIS. 
 
 lii 
 
 'Bit 
 
 ! i 
 ! 
 
 sight He said unto them, he put clay upon mine eyes, 
 and I washed, and do see.* John ix. 13, 14, 15. 
 
 In this example, the first important part is the word 
 ' Pharisees.' We had been told before in the chapter that 
 the people had been wondering at the cure of the blind 
 man, and inquiring of him about it. We now hear, that 
 they brought him to the Pharisees. This word then is 
 emphatic. The words which follow are of no importance 
 at all. The verse might just as well have been * they 
 brought him to the Pharisees' as Hhey brought to the 
 Pharisees him that aforetime was blind.' All these words 
 are, in fact, no more than a kind of name for the man 
 of whom we haye heard so much already, and whose cir- 
 cumstances we all know so well. Of course these words 
 are to be slurred. The second sentence gives a new piece 
 of information, ' all this happened on the sabbath-dat.' 
 The word * sabbath-day,' is therefore to be emphatic, but 
 all the following words ' when Jesus made the clay aad 
 opened his eyes,' are to be slurred, because, as we know 
 from what came before, what it was Jesus had been doing, 
 we do not want to have it told again as important news. 
 'The PHARISEES then asked him the former question.' 
 * Pharisees' is emphatic ; all the words which are used to 
 express the question we had been hearing before, are to be 
 slurred. * He told them his story.' Here * them' is to 
 be emphasized because it is important. The story, as it 
 has been given before in the chapter, is of no importance, 
 and must be lightly passed over. 
 
 In the same way we mark out the emphatic parts, and 
 those which should be slurred in the following examples. 
 
 'But the Jews did not BELIEVE concerning him, 
 that he had been blind and received his nght, until they 
 called the PARENTS of him that had received his sight,' 
 
ANALTBIS. 
 
 81 
 
 le eyes, 
 
 e word 
 ter that 
 le blind 
 ar, that 
 then is 
 [)ortance 
 n 'they 
 [; to the 
 Be words 
 bhe man 
 liose cir- 
 36 words 
 lew piece 
 
 TH-DAY.' 
 
 atic, but 
 clay amd 
 e know 
 m doing, 
 t news, 
 [uestion/ 
 used to 
 lare to be 
 sm' is to 
 fry, as it 
 lortance, 
 
 < And they CAST him OUT. jestts HE ABB that they 
 had cast him out ; and when he had found him he said 
 unto him, dost thou BELIEVE on the Son of God ? 
 
 He answered and said, who is he, Lord, that I might 
 believe on him ? 
 
 ' Art THOU GBEATEB than our father JACOB, who 
 GATE US the well, and drank therwf, himself and his 
 children^ and his cattle f 
 
 Sometimes the slurred part is not really unimportant, 
 the only reason for passing lightly over it, being that we 
 want to give great prominence to some other part. 
 
 ' What IS it, you must, in that event, submit to the 
 people V 
 
 * The smoothness of flattery cannot NOW AVAIL, can- 
 not SAVE us in this rugged and awful crisis.* 
 
 ' What PROFIT hath a man of all his labour, which he 
 taketh under the sun ?' 
 
 Wherever we have to connect together, in meaning, words 
 which are placed away from one another in a sentence, we 
 must slur the words which come between them. Thus : 
 
 'They FOUGHT (like brave men,) LONG and 
 WELL.' 
 
 ' Soon after this short repose, Argyle was brought, 
 (according to order), to the laigh council house, (from 
 which place is dated the letter to his wife), and from 
 thence to the PLACE of EXECUTION. On the scaffold, he 
 had some discourse, as well with Mft. annand, ( a minis^ 
 ter appointed by government to attend him,) AS with MS. 
 CHAATERIS.* 
 
 ' After dinner he retired, (as was his custom,) to his 
 bed-ohambeRj where, (it is recorded,) he SLEPT 
 QUIETLY for about a quarter of an hour.* c; ;. i . . 
 
i' 
 
 m 
 
 ANALYSIS. 
 
 ' It is now sixteen or seventeen years since I baW the 
 QimsN o{'ERAJXOE,{then the DsMphiimess) at Versailles.' 
 
 *Hb refused, (»ayiny,) no, NO, that will Ko!r 
 HELP me,' 
 
 * The MISERABLE INHABITANTS, {flying ftom their 
 fidrmng villages,) IN part were slaxtohterei).' 
 
 'Ay, and that TONGUE of \i\By (that hade the ^Romoms 
 Mark him, and write his speeches in their hooht.) 
 Alas ! {it cried) GIVE me some drink, Titinius, 
 As a 8I0K Girl.' 
 
 It is of very great importance, that the slurred and em- 
 phatic parts of a sentence he thus always clearly marked out 
 in the mind of the reader. It is not possible for any one to 
 read correctly without doing it. In many parts of the 
 sentences given above as examples, it would altogether des- 
 troy the sense, if we should neglect either to emphasize 
 strongly the prominent parts, or to slur over the unimpor- 
 tant ones. This will he seen at once by reading the follow- 
 ing sentences without embodying any slur of the voice* 
 
 * Argyle was brought according to order, to the Laigh 
 Council House, from which place is dated the letter to his 
 Wife, and from thence to the place of execution.' 
 
 * After dinner he retired, as was his custom, to his bed- 
 chamber, where it is recorded, he slept quietly for about a 
 quarter of an hour.* 
 
 < — since I saw the queen of France, then the Dauphiness 
 at Versailles.' 
 
 * He refused saying, No, no, that will not help me.* 
 
 These readings would make it appear that Argyle wrote 
 A letter from the Laigh Council House to his wife, and 
 from her to the place of exeatdon ; that his having kad a 
 
ANALTSXS. 
 
 8A\vthe 
 AILtliS.' 
 will 50* 
 
 )m, thtdr 
 i Romans 
 
 '•) 
 
 IS, 
 
 id and em- 
 [laxked out 
 any one to 
 irts of the 
 reiher des- 
 
 emphasize 
 e unimpor- 
 
 the follow- 
 
 ic voice. 
 
 the Laigh 
 
 3tter to his 
 
 I.' 
 
 to his bed- 
 
 for about a 
 
 )auphiness 
 
 rgyle wrote 
 wife, omd 
 
 ^In&rter of an hour's sleep was recorded in Ms bedchamber; 
 that the Queen of France was Dauphiness at Versailles, 
 aud of course no where else ; and the man who is last spok- 
 en of refused to say No, no, &o. If, in any of the other 
 sentences given, these slurred parts be read as if they 
 were important, the pupil will soon see how much the 
 the meaning is injured by it in thbm also. 
 
 'And they CAST him OUT. Jesus HEARD that 
 they had CAST him OUT, &c.' 
 
 After we have fixed upon the emphatic and slurred parts 
 of every sentence, the next thing to be observed is the 
 hind 0/ feeling with which it should be read. It will not 
 do to read every sentence in the same humdrum way, as is 
 commonly done in schools. 
 
 Some things are to be read lightly, in the Way in which 
 we should tell a story. 
 
 * On the side of the victors almost sixty thousand meti 
 had been engaged, and more than one^fourth were Jef^ oh 
 the fieldi The number of the vanquished, and t^e 
 amount of their loss are unknown. By the va*"i\*/ of iuj 
 Norman historians the English army has been exagf;( rated 
 beyond the limits of credibility : by that of ihe native 
 writers it has been reduced to a handful of regi,/iitt w»v- 
 riors ; but both agree that with Harold and hie brotheri 
 perished all the nobility of the south of England : a loss 
 which could not be repaired.' 
 
 ' Then Martha,, as soon as she heard that Jesus was 
 coming, went and met him : . »ut Mary sat still m the 
 house.' 
 
 * And the Philistines fought, and Israel was smitte*), 
 and they fled every man to his tent, aad there was a verj 
 great slaughter.' 
 
84 
 
 ANALYSIS. 
 
 ii ) 
 
 If i< 
 
 ^: 
 
 [Such passages as these must never be read with violent 
 emphasis, such as we often should use in declaiming.] 
 
 ' NATIONAL PRIDE, INDEPENDENCE of our 
 COUNTRY, these we are told by the Minister are only 
 VULQAR TOPICS, fitted for the meridian of the mob, but 
 utterly unworthy the consideration of this house, or 
 
 of the MATURED UNDERSTANDING of the noblc LORD who 
 CONDESCENDS tO INSTRUCT it.' 
 
 * But it SEEMS this is an age of reason, and the time 
 and the person are at last arrived that are to dissipate 
 the errors that have overspread the past generations of 
 ignorance.' 
 
 In both these examples there should be a good deal of 
 scornful feeling given. This will require unequal waves 
 on those syllables which are printed in small capitals. 
 The emphatic words are all marked by capitals. It will 
 not do to put the unequal wave on all of them. Suppose, 
 now, such passages to be read with very slow time, as 
 though their meaning was solemn, instead of scornful, such 
 reading would strike every one a£: very faulty. 
 
 Other passages, which are really solemn, would require 
 long quantity throughout, and emphatic equal waves of the 
 voice on all the emphatic indefinite syllables. 
 
 *■ But THOU Lord, have mercy upon us miserable 
 ofFENDERS. Spare thou THOSE, GoD, who confess 
 their faults. Restore thou those who are penitent j 
 aocoRDing to thy; promises decLARED unto mankind in 
 Christ Jesus our Lord.' 
 
 * Our FAther who art in heaven, Hallowed be thy NAMfi. 
 Thy KiNGdom come. Thy will de done on earth as it 
 is in heaven. Give us this day our DAily bread, and for- 
 oivi us our tresspasses as we forgive them that tresspass 
 
ANALYSIS. 
 
 85 
 
 against ns: And lead us not into tempTAtion: bat 
 deliver us from Evil. For thine is the KiNGdom, and 
 the POWER, and the GLory, for ever and ever, Amen.* 
 
 In the descriptions which have been given of the elements 
 of expression and their uses, enough has been said to ex- 
 plain to any one who has thoroughly studied them, for 
 what kind of feeling each of them should be employed. 
 All we have to do here is to show the importance of 
 examining every passage we read, to see what feeling ought 
 to be expressed in reading it. When we have done this, 
 it will be easy to give it the right elements. 
 
 Most people, who have thought little on the subject, have 
 fancied that emphasis consists in merely sounding some 
 words louder than the rest. Those who have gone through 
 this little book, will know better. They will understand 
 that emphasis may be given by the increased use of any of 
 the elements of expression, and that each modification or 
 combination of these gives a different kind of emphasis. 
 They will see, therefore, the necessity there is of knowing 
 what kind of emphasis is wanted, as well as the words on 
 which it is wanted. This can only be known by pursuing 
 the second process of analysis here explained. 
 
 Neither process cf analysis then must be neglected, even 
 on a single sentence, in reading the course of exercises 
 given at the end of this book. If the pieces are read with- 
 out it, they might almost as well not be read at all. 
 
 Before concluding this chapter, something should be said 
 on the use of what is called ' Transition of Voice.* 
 
 By transition of voice, properly so called^ we mean a 
 marked and sudden change between two passages, in any 
 of the elements of expression. Thus, we may change from 
 quick to slow, from forcible to weak, frotn a high pitch to 
 a low one^ &o, Of course, such changes must be made only 
 
S6 
 
 ANALYSIS. 
 
 * il 
 
 I 
 
 il 
 
 1. 
 
 rf\ 
 
 Tbe^ 
 
 in plaoM, where the feeling to be expressed by thespeiker, 
 or the ourrent of the thought, changes also. In all saoh 
 cases, a proper analysis of the piece will direct us to make 
 this tran^tion. The following may serve $s examples in 
 whidi violent transition should be used. 
 
 ' At last, turning to poor Dick, '' As for you, you havo 
 always been a sad dog ; you'll never come to good ; you'll 
 never be rich ; I leave you a shilling, to buy a halter!" 
 — ^" All, father," cries Dick without any emotion, " may 
 Heayen givo you life and health to enjoy it yourself." ' 
 
 he speech of the father is angry, that of the sou trifling, 
 must therefore be a marked transition from the 
 oae t the other. 
 
 * Throe millions of people, armed in the holy cause of 
 Ubf; ^7 and in such a country as that which we possess, are 
 invincible by any force which our enemy can send against 
 
 us. Besides; sir, we shall not fight our battles 
 
 alone, There is a just God, who presides over the destinies 
 of nations, and who will raise up friends, to fight our 
 battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone ; 
 
 it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. — — Besides, 
 
 sir, we have no election. Even if we were' base enough to 
 desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest.* 
 
 In this example there are two transitions needed. The 
 first sentence is extremely energetic, and requires deep 
 downward slides on the empl atio words with a considerable 
 degree of forcQ throughout. The second sentence begins, 
 as if the speaker had just recollected something he had not 
 been thinking of before.—' Besides, sir,—.' Qf course 
 this must not run on with the same violence as the words 
 before it. The change of feeling must be marked by a 
 t^ransition from great energy to apparent cdmuess. In the 
 
ANA^TBIfi. 
 
 87 
 
 following sentences the voioe must gradually reooyer its 
 energy, as the feelings of the speaker may be supposed to 
 be gradually warming. A seoond transition, of the same 
 character with the first, will then be required on the 
 seoond, < Besides, sir, .' 
 
 Another use of violent transition is, to give very marked 
 emphasis to one or both of the parts separated by it, and 
 particularly to the last. 
 
 * The WAR is iuEvitable,— and let it come 1 — I rePEAT 
 it, air,— —LET it come. 
 
 Let the first part of this example be spoken on a pretty 
 high note, with strong downward slides on ' wajr,' and ' ev :' 
 the second should then follow on a much lower note, and 
 with slower time. The third part should have an earnest, 
 but conversational intonation ; and the fourth a still lower 
 note, and atill more extended quantity than the second* 
 There ought to be a considerable pause made between each. 
 These tramdtions will be found to give extraordinary energy, 
 
 ' Are you competent to transfer your l^islative rights to 
 the French Council of Five Hundred ?— Are you com- 
 petent to transfer them to the British Parliament ?' 
 
 The first question here will require a high note and 
 quick time throughout. The second must be asked in a 
 low pitch, with all the solemnity of long drawn quantity. 
 
 A species of transition much less violent than that which 
 the preceding examples have been employed to illustrate, 
 should be made in reading, to mark out to the ear the 
 beginning of the paragraphs, or other divisions in a piece. 
 This transition consists, commonly, in a slight abatement 
 either of the force or rapidity of the voice. Examples 
 enough are to be found in the reading exercises. 
 
 u^-m^ 
 
^r 
 
 j> ^,..7^'w>'>f. ;..iv* 
 
 
 CONCLUSION, 
 
 In conclusion, let it be repeated that Elocution is not to 
 be learnt without diligent and persevering exercise of the 
 Toioe. If the pupil has been made to understand all the 
 e:(planatibns of the elements of Elocution which are con- 
 tained in the foregoing pages, and to distinguish by his 
 ear between the different modifications of sound which the 
 examples are intended to exhibit, he will indeed have done 
 much. He will have learnt a good deal that mat after- 
 wards be made useful, and will have improved his ability 
 to criticise the speaking of others. His voice, however, 
 will be little, if at all, improved, unless all the elementary 
 exercises have been thoroughly gone through. His power 
 to USB his voice in reading or in speaking, will not be 
 bettered, unless he proceed to practise himself in this de- 
 partment, by reading in the manner which has been pointed 
 out. The system of accent must be perfectly understood 
 to make him preserve his breath; the habit of correct 
 analysis must be formed, to make him express the sense. 
 
 We do not claim the power of working miracles, of 
 manufacturing good Elocutionists without labor. All we 
 boast of having accomplished, is, the having pointed out a 
 system of exertion, by which with as little fatigue as 
 possible, the pupil may arrive at excellence. To have 
 mastered all that is contained in this book will be as much 
 as a class of young people can accomplish. More will be 
 required, however, to perfect the delivery of the adult. 
 Elocution is, like music, painting or sculpture, a difficult 
 though an elegant and highly useful art, 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 89 
 
 It has been suggested by a gentleman, well known as « 
 Buooessful instruotor of youth, to whose judicious and 
 valuable hints, the author has been much indebted, that it 
 would be useful to collect together all the tables which have 
 been given for practice, as an appendix, to which pupils 
 might refer while pursuing their course of reading, or at any 
 other time, after they had become masters of the theory 
 laid down in the book iti)lf. An Appendix of this nature 
 is therefore inserted before the reading exercises. It will 
 be found of utility to all teachers who would continue the 
 drilling of their classes, after they have recited the explana- 
 tory parts of the preceding chapters, or to any pupils, who 
 may have ambition enough to pursue the improvement of 
 their voice, with real ardor. 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 1. Tables for practice on the Vocal Elements. 
 1. The 8 long tonic elements. 
 
 1 CO, as in the words 
 
 2oOj 
 
 3 a, 
 
 4a\ 
 
 5 a^\ 
 
 6o, 
 
 7 ou, 
 
 8i, 
 
 ee-1, m-e, eo-t, bel-ie-ve 
 
 oo-ze, m-o-ve, ii-ue, l-w-te 
 
 o-le, ai-r, pr-ay 
 
 a-11, \-au-d, 1-o-rd, aw-fal 
 
 o-rm, 1-aw-nch, a-fter 
 
 o-ld, n-o, oa-k, ow-n 
 
 ow-r, Y-ow [st-ye 
 
 t-sle, 1-ie, th-y-me, beautif-^i 
 
i' l>l 
 
 
 li 
 
 I 
 
 r 
 
 ll 
 
 m 
 
 ASPIKDIX* 
 
 1. The liz Bhort tonio elfimentB. 
 1 i', Bfi in the wof ds i-t, w-^-U, beauty 
 
 2u, 
 
 4o', 
 5 a 
 
 /// 
 
 6e', 
 
 p-^^ll, f-oo-t, w-o-lf 
 
 c-dge, m-e-t, h-ea-d 
 
 o-bject, n-o-t, o-live 
 
 a-t, m-a-n [u-nder, mann-a 
 
 h-e-r, h-ea-rd, f-i-rm, w-o-rd, 
 
 3. The fifteen subtonio elements. 
 
 1 b, as in the words 
 
 2d, 
 
 3g, 
 
 41, 
 
 5 m, 
 
 6n, 
 7ng, 
 8r, 
 9r', 
 
 10 V, . 
 
 11 w, 
 
 12 y, 
 
 13 z, 
 
 14 th, 
 
 15 zh, 
 
 6-old, &-ul-6, E1.6e 
 cUoie hn-d 
 ^-ive, ha-^ 
 
 ^0W, Srll 
 
 m-ine, ai-m 
 ?H)t, ow-w 
 siwjr 
 ai-r, oa-r 
 
 r-ow, r-uin, b-r-ow 
 
 v-ow, sa-vc, ]i'Ve,phridl 
 
 w-ot, w-ent 
 
 y-et [X-erxes 
 
 »-one, ha-ze, Bong-9, rai-«e, 
 
 th-en, 800-the, smoo-^^ 
 
 a-»-ure, preci-si-on 
 
 4. The nine atonic elements. 
 
 I 
 
 1 p,* as in the words 
 
 2t, 
 
 3 k, 
 
 4f, 
 5 wh, 
 
 p-uU, ha^, Si-pe 
 t-akOf ssi-t, la-te 
 A^ind, loo-A;, c-ow, a-cAe, lo-ck 
 /-ace, i-f, o-ffy ^A-ysic, lau-^A 
 M?A-at, wh-en 
 
 * See page 26 — the Note. 
 
mann-a 
 w-o-rd, 
 
 ▲PPSNDIX. flic 
 
 6 h, as in the words ^it k-one 
 
 7 8, «.aw, hi-f*, era-«e 
 
 8 th\ tJirink, ear-th [ous, na-li-on 
 
 9 ah, ihrike, har-«A, oce-an, gra^ 
 
 5. Words to bo divided into their elements and repeated 
 correctly, in order to improve articulation. 
 
 " " f^ 
 
 God 
 
 g-o-d 
 
 
 Lord 
 
 ki'.r-d 
 
 
 wants 
 
 w-o'-n-t-s 
 
 
 orbs 
 
 «'-r-b-z 
 
 
 offal 
 
 o'-f-l 
 
 
 awful 
 
 a'^f-u.l 
 
 
 nostril 
 
 n^'-s-«-/-i'-l 
 
 
 whelmed 
 
 wh-e-^m-d 
 
 
 delft 
 
 d-e-lf't 
 
 
 bulb'd 
 
 M-lb-d 
 
 
 bulbs 
 
 h^'-l-h-z 
 
 a 
 
 strength 
 
 t-t-r^-Q-ng-th' 
 
 stretch 
 
 s-t-r'-e-sh-t 
 
 T^ 
 
 stretche'd 
 
 s-i-r'-e-t-sTi-t 
 
 A-erxes 
 
 • 
 
 offering 
 
 o'-f-eV-i'-ng 
 
 i-«e, 
 
 thumbscrew 
 
 th'-e'-m-«-A:V-oo 
 
 
 whisps 
 
 whrV-8-p-s 
 
 1 
 
 rythm 
 
 x'M-tV'Vrm 
 
 1 
 
 Christmas 
 
 A;-/-i'-s-m-e'-s 
 
 
 terrible 
 
 irQ-i'-i'-b-l 
 
 
 impossible 
 
 i'-m-p-o'-s-i'-6.Z 
 
 
 wafts 
 
 yr-a^'f-t-s 
 
 B, lo-ck 
 hvL-ffh 
 
 attempts 
 
 a'"-t-e-mrt-8 
 
 * The elements marked in 
 
 italics are those which are mosi 
 
 likely to be left out or mistaken. 
 
IMAGE EVALUATION 
 TEST TARGET (MT-3) 
 
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 — 1 = 
 
 IllllJi^ 
 
 
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 6" - 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 <^ 
 
 
 
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 Hiotographic 
 
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 Corporation 
 
 23 WEST MAIN STREET 
 
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 (716) 872-4503 
 

 <;. c^ 
 
 2^ 
 
92 
 
 APPBfSXZ. 
 
 isniiiot 
 
 iV-a-W-r 
 
 pray 
 
 Jh/'tk 
 
 wreath'd v ^^ 
 
 - r^-ee-«W 
 
 wreathi 
 
 %,. r'-ee-eA-« 
 
 sprightly 
 
 «:py.i-t-l-i' 
 
 through ' ^ 
 
 ' ' thV-oo 
 
 filch 
 
 f-i'-l-f A 
 
 amiable 
 
 arm-i'-e'-^i 
 
 brow 
 
 5-r'-ou 
 
 £01*68111 
 
 t'k^-ee-m 
 
 screechowl 
 
 •-*-r'-ee-f-«A-ou-l 
 
 breadths 
 
 W-e-d-th'-t 
 
 hedged 
 
 h-e-d-zhrd 
 
 bulge 
 
 < snail 
 
 fall'st 
 
 urged 
 
 false 
 
 Humphrey 
 
 entomb'd 
 
 capable 
 
 hang'd 
 
 respectable 
 
 songs 
 
 example 
 
 harp'd 
 
 apple 
 
 bursts 
 
 trumpet 
 
 search'd 
 
 triumph 
 
 thistle 
 
 burnt 
 
 thorough 
 
 mierule 
 
 swerved 
 
 sub-prior 
 
 swivel 
 
 thanksgiving 
 
 travels 
 
 uproar 
 
 muzzle 
 
 , drawler 
 
 spasms 
 
 swamps 
 
 fetched 
 
 ^ vex'd 
 
 masks 
 
 
▲FPIMDIZ. 
 
 93 
 
 ({. Sentonoeci to be repeated for the same pnipofle. 
 
 Whilst* bloody treAion flourished o'er us. ^ ■^' 
 
 The breadth thereof was ten cubits. 
 
 Then ruth^d the steed to battle driven. 
 
 Thou looks^t from thy ^rone in the clouds, and UmgVu 
 at the storm. . *^v - 
 
 Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide. 
 
 When shall toe venture to tell what voas loAupered to 
 us? 
 
 Whence and loAat art thou, execrable shape ? 
 
 The short and simple annals of the poor. 
 
 Hold off your ^nd«, gentlemen. *; 
 
 His attempts were fruitless. 
 
 Overwhelmed with ioA{rZi0{n(29. 
 
 Up the hiffh hill he heaves the huge round stone. 
 
 The dogs barh'd and howVd. 
 
 The word//c^ i8 of doubtful derivation. 
 
 He was hedged in on every side. 
 
 The acts of the Apostles. 
 
 Can you say crackers, crime, cruelty, crutches t 
 
 The heights, d^ths, and breadths of the subject. 
 
 Search ^e Scriptures, _. . ; 
 
 Can you whet a io«< raior ? 
 
 We saw on the road large droves of cattle. 
 
 It was the aM, of all the acts of government, the most 
 ohjectionctble 
 
 A frame of adamant. 
 
 The a^tomp^, aiid xiOt-the deed, confounds Ud. : 
 
 Do you mean plain or playing cards ? 
 
 Of man's miraculous mistsJces, this beahi the palm. 
 
 ' *Tho8e words are printed in italief which are most flreqaently 
 mlipronottnofdi 
 
rM 
 
 IKRMDfDIK. 
 
 I 
 
 Ill 
 
 She swore, in faith, Uioas ttrcmgty 'twas to^n^out 
 utrangef 'twas piU/ul, 'twas wondrous pitiful. 
 Boundless f endless^ and ivhlimt 1 
 JlfarA;'«« thou ? 
 Your ^l6aZ^A«, gentlemen. 
 
 Bound the ru(ie n'ny the ragged rascal ran, . , 
 
 And on their hinges grate harsh thunder. 
 It is more/ormuZa&Ze than the most clamorous oj^si- 
 tion. 
 
 What cm acknowledgement of the superiority of yirtue 1 
 The strength of hia nost'i'ils ia terrible, , 
 
 He snarls, but does not bite. 
 
 Where the wt7(Z beasts Jind shelter, but I can find none 
 Have you a copy of Smithes Thucgdidetf 
 I thrust three thausamd thistles through the ihieJccimj 
 thumh, , , I 
 
 Peter Pijper picked & peek of pepper.- 
 
 11. Tables for practice On thie iSifnple JSiideSt 
 
 1. ee, 00, a, a', a", b, ou, i. 
 
 2. i, u, e, o', a'", e'. 
 
 3. all, hold, fair, heal, dare, siit^, hail) thine, you, I) he, 
 
 houndi 
 44 gone, will, sit) out, ice, otight, past, dmie> tiik, Mte. 
 
 III. Tables for practice on t%e WaveSk 
 
 1. ee, 00, a,' a", 6, ou, i. 
 
 2, saye, idl, old, fair, praise, Wd, ihdVe, aito, fol!* 
 
 - ( 
 
 L_ 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 95 
 
 w^db'out 
 
 « opposi- 
 P virtue I 
 
 id none 
 hofmj 
 
 I, he, 
 »te« 
 
 IV. Tables for practice on Radical Stress^ or Abrupt" 
 
 ness. 
 
 1. i', u, e, o', a"', e'. 
 
 2. ee, 00, a, a', a'', o, ou, i. 
 
 3. it, end, edge, odd, at, np, eat, ask, art, all, ought, oaf, 
 old, out, ioe, e-ver, of-£er, act-ive, und-er, oth-ety ar^ful, 
 ov-er, ousted, ic-j. 
 
 V. Tables /or practice on Vanishing and Compound 
 
 Stress, 
 
 li ee, 00, a, a , a", o, ou, i. 
 
 2. he, you, may, dare^ past, ^11, hound, bite, go&e, lihall. 
 
 VI. Tab'ks for practice on Medium iS^ess^ >i^■ 
 
 1. ee, 00, a, a', a", o, ou, i» 
 
 2. aid, save, all, heal, old, fair, praise, wo, move, lEnow, 
 arm, hail, hear, roll, lord, thine, 2one^l^, roi/'tl, fflo-Tjf un^ 
 knownj oon-ceal, -,: 
 
 VIL Exercises on Quantity, 
 
 1. Repeat the exercises given on the Vocfal l^lements; 
 in order tb acquire command over very short quantity. 
 
 2* Bepeat thoBe given on Median Stress, and, if ne- 
 cessai^, those on Vamshiug and Compotind stress also, to 
 acquire command oter long quantity. 
 
 3. h, d, g, 1. m, n, ng, r, v, z, th. - - 
 
 4. i^ob, sad, dog, tell, him, son, song, her, or, live, his. 
 
 5. oM, ai<^ all, heal, hound, end, known^ aim, fair^ our, 
 «ave, raise, soothe, AoZ-y. ■ , 
 
rm ■'■,,!«^WL;^ !■? -u .T.- 'J,.^". pS , 
 
 I 
 
 If 
 
 
 -uii lyi jU Hj ji mn i i l w 
 
 (.,' 
 
 EXERCISES. 
 
 EXERCISE I. . 
 
 BEPLT OF MR. PITT, 
 (The late earl of Chatham.) 
 
 T The a | trocious | crime | 7 of | being a | young 
 man, | 7 which the | honorable | gentlemen | has, with 
 such I spirit and | decency, | charged up | on me, | | 7 I 
 shall I neither at | tempt to | palliate, | nor dc | ny ; | | 7 
 but con I tent myself with | wishing | 7 that | I may be 
 I one of I those | 7 whose | follies | cease with their | 
 youth; | | 7 and | not of | that | number | 7 who are | 
 ignorant | 7 in | spite of ex | perience. | | | 
 
 Whether | youth | 7 can be im | puted to | any man | 
 7 as a re | proach, | 7 I | will not as | sume { 7 the | pro 
 ^vince of de | termining ; | | 7 but | surely, | age | may be- 
 eome | justly con | temptible, | | if the oppor | tunities | 
 7 which it | brings | 7 have | passed a | way | 7 with | out 
 im I provement, | 7 and | vice | 7 ap | pears to pre | vail 
 I 7 when the | passions | 7 have sub | sided. | | | 7 The 
 -wretch | 7 that, | after having | seen the | consequences 
 7of a I thousand | errors, | 7 con | tinues | still to | blun- 
 der, I I 7 and whose | age | 7 has | only | added | obstin- 
 acy I 7 to stu I pidity, | 7 is | surely the | object | 7 of | 
 ei^er ab | horrence | 7 or con | tempt ; | | 7 and de j 
 serves not | 7 that his | grey | head | 7 should se | cure 
 him from | insults. | | | Much | more | 7 is | he to be ab | 
 honed | who, | as he has ad | vanced in | age, | 7 has re | 
 
I I young 
 I hoBf with 
 me, I I 7 I 
 |ny;||7 
 I I may be 
 ith their | 
 who are | 
 
 any man { 
 J the I pro 
 e I may be- 
 
 tunities | 
 with I out 
 pre I vail 
 
 I 7 The I 
 sequences | 
 Ito I blun- 
 I obstin- 
 ct I 7 of I 
 
 and de | 
 se I cure 
 
 to be ab | 
 
 7 has re I 
 
 id 
 
 JSXER0ISE8. 
 
 97 
 
 ceded from | Tirtue, | 7 and be | comes | more | wicked I 
 7 with I less temp | tation : | | 7 who | prostitutes him | 
 self for I money | 7 which he | cannot en | joy, | 7 and 
 I spends the re | mains of his | life | 7 in the | ruin of his 
 I country. | | | 
 
 7 But I youth | 7 is | not my | only | crime. | | | I 
 have been ac | cused, | 7 of | acting a the | atrical | 
 part. I I I 
 
 7 A the I atrical | part, | may | either im | ply | some 
 pe I ouli I arities of | gesture, | 7 or a | dissimu | lation 
 of my I real | sentiments, | 7 and an a | doption of the 
 I opinions and | language | 7 of an | other | man. | | 
 
 7 In the I first | sense, | 7 the | charge is | too | trifling 
 I to be con | futed : | | 7 and de | serves | only to be | 
 mentioned, | | that it | may be de | spised. | { | I am at 
 I liberty | 7 (like | every | other | man) | 7 to | use my ( 
 own I language: | 7 and | though I | may | 7 per | haps, 
 I 7 have | some | 7 am | bition, | yet, to | please | this | 
 gentleman, | I shall | not | lay myself | 7 under | any re | 
 straint, | 7 or | very | 7 so | licitously | copy | his | dic- 
 tion, I 7 or his I mien; | 7 how | ever | 7 ma | tured by | 
 age, I 7 or I modelled by ex | perience. | | | 7 If | any 
 man | shall, | 7 by | charging me | 7 with the | atrical be 
 I havior, | 7 im | ply | 7 that I | utter | any | sentiments 
 I but my I own, | 7 I shall | treat | him | as a ca | lumni- 
 ator I 7 and a [ villain : | | nor shall | any pro | tection 
 shelter him | 7 from the | treatment | which he de | serves 
 I I I 7 I I shall, I 7 on I such an oc | casion, | 7 with | 
 out I scruple | trample upon | all | those | forms | 7 with 
 which I wealth and | dignity | 7 en | trench themselves ; 
 I I nor shall | any thing | but | age | 7 re | strain my re 
 I sentment: | | age, | 7 which | always | brings | one | 
 
 o 
 
88 
 
 EXERCISES. 
 
 t 
 
 privilege; | | that | 7 of [ being | insolent | 7 and | super 
 I oilious I 7 with | out | punishment. | | | 
 
 But with re | gard to | those | whom I have of | fend- 
 ed, | I am of o I pinion J 7 that | if I had | acted a | bor- 
 rowed I part, I I should have a | voided their | censure. | | 
 
 I 7 The I heat that of | fended them | 7 is the | ardor of 
 con I viotion, | 7 and that | zeal for the | service of my | 
 country, | 7 which | neither | hope, | 7 nor | fear, | 7 
 shall I influence me | 7 to sup | press. | | | 7 I | will not 
 I sit I uncon | cerned | while my | liberty | 7 is in | vad- 
 ed : I 7 nor | bok in 1 silence | 7 upon | public | robbery. 
 I I I I will ex I ert my en | deavors | 7 (at what | ever | 
 hazard) | 7 to re | pel the ag | gressor, J 7 and | drag the 
 I thief to I justice, | | what | poorer | so | ever | 7 may 
 pro I tect the | villainy, | 7 and | who | ever | 7 may par | 
 take I 7 of th« I plunder. | | | 
 
 mtu i uMi 
 
 £X£BOISE n. 
 
 iSt, MtJL'S 1>ECBN0E B£$*OR£ AGBIFPA. 
 Acts nxri. 1. 
 
 iBEm A I grippa | said unto | Paul, | | Thou art per | 
 mittedto | speak for thy | self. | | | Then | Paul | stretch- 
 ed forth the I hand, | 7 and | answered | 7 for him | 
 
 self, j H 
 ^ 1 1 think myself | happy, | | Bang A | grippa, | 7 be 
 
 I cause i shall | answer f&r kny | self | this | day | 7 be | 
 
 fore I thee, | touching | all ihe \ things | 7 where | of | 7 
 
 I am ac j cused | 7 of the | JewS : | | wherefbre | 7 I be | 
 
 seech thee | 7 to | hear me | patiently. | | | 
 
 7 My I manner of | life | 7 from my | youth, | | which 
 
EXERCISES. 
 
 9* 
 
 id I roper 
 
 of I fend- 
 ed a I bor- 
 ensure. | | 
 I ardor of 
 oe of my | 
 I fear, 1 7 
 : I will not 
 is in I vad- 
 ) I roW)ery. 
 hat I ever | 
 L I drag the 
 rer \ 7 may 
 7 may par | 
 
 PA. 
 
 louftrtper | 
 [ul I Btretch- 
 for him | 
 
 f^fpa, I 7 he 
 lay I 7 he 1 
 lere | of | 7 
 pe|7lhe| 
 
 I, I I which 
 
 was at the | first | 7 a | mong mine { own { nation | 7 at 
 Je I rusalem, | know { all the | Jews ; | | 7 which | knew 
 me I from the he | ginning, | if they wonld | testify ; | 7 
 that I after the | most | straitest | sect | 7 of our re | ligion 
 I 7 I I lived a | Pharisee. | | | 
 
 7 And I now | 7 I | stand | 7 and am | judged | 7 for 
 the I hope of the | promise | made of | God | unto our 
 fathers: | | 7 unto | which | promise | 7 our | twelve 
 tribes, | instantly | serving | God | day and | nighfc, 
 hope to I come. | | | 7 For | which | hope's | sake, | King 
 A I grippa, | | I am ac | cused | 7 of the | Jews. | | | 
 Why I should it be | thought | 7 a | thing in | credible | 
 7 with I you, | 7 that | God | 7 should | raise the | dead ? 
 I I I I I verily | thought with my | self, | 7 that I | ought 
 to I do I many | things | contrary | 7 to the | name of | 
 Jesus of I Nazareth. | | | 7 Which | thing | 7 I | also | 
 did I 7 in Je I rusalem : | 7 and | many of the | saints | 7 
 did I I shut up in | prison, | | having re | ceived au | 
 thority | 7 from the | chief | priests; | | 7 and | when 
 they were | put to | death, | 7 I | gave | my | voice | 7 a 
 I gainst them. | | | 7 And I | punished them | 7 oft | 7 
 in I every | synagogue, | 7 and com | pelled them | 'i to 
 bias I pheme; | | 7 and | being ex | ceedingly | mad a | 
 gainst them, | 7 I | persecuted them | even unto | strange 
 cities. I I I Whereup | on as I | went to Ba | mascus, 
 I 7 with au | thority, | 7 and com | mission | 7 from the 
 chief I priests, | 7 at | mid | day, | | king, | 7 1 | saw 
 in the | way | 7 a | light from | heaven, | 7 a | hove the 
 brightness | 7 of the | sun, | | shining | round a | bout | me, 
 I 7 and I them which | journeyed | with me. | | | 7 And j 
 when we were | all ] fallen to the | earth, | 7 1 | heard a 
 I voice I speaking unto me, | 7 and | saying | 7 in the { 
 Hebrew | tongue, | | Saul, | | Saul, \ why | perseoutest 
 
100 
 
 EXXE0I8E8. 
 
 thou I mo? I I 7 it is I hard | for thee | 7 to | kick a | 
 gainst the | pricks. | | | 7 >.iid I | said, | Who | art thou 
 I Lord? I, J I 7 And he | said, | 7 I am | Jesus, | { whom 
 thou I persecutest. | | | 7 But | rise | 7 and | stand upon 
 thy I feet ; | | 7 for | I have ap | peared unto thee | 7 for 
 I this I purpose, | 7 to | make thee a | minister | 7 and a 
 I witness | | both of | these | things | which thou hast | 
 seen, | 7 and of | those | things | 7 in the | which | 7 I 
 will ap I pear unto thee ; | | 7 de | livering thee | 7 from 
 the I people, | and from the | Gentiles, | 7 unto | whom | 
 now I I send thee ; | 7 to | open their | eyes, | 7 and to | 
 turn them | 7 from | darkness | 7 to | light, | 7 and from 
 the I power of | Satan | 7 unto | God ; | | 7 that | they 
 may re | ceive | 7 for | giveness of | sins, | 7 and in | heri- 
 tance | 7 among | them which are | sanctified, | 7 by | 
 faith I 7 that is in | me. | { | Whereup | on, | | king 
 A I grippa, | | I was | not diso | bedient | 7 unto the | 
 heavenly | vision : | | 7 but | showed | first | 7 unto | them 
 of Da I mascus, | | 7 and at J6 | rusalem, | 7 and through 
 I out I all the | coasts of Ju | dea, | 7 and | then | 7 to 
 the I Gentiles, | | that they should re | pent | 7 and | turn 
 to I God, I 7 and | do | works | meet for re | pentance. 
 I I I 7 For I these | causes | 7 .the | Jews | caught me in 
 the I temple, | | 7 and | went a | bout | 7 to | kill me. 
 I I I Having | therefore | 7 ob | tained | help of | God, | 
 7 I con I tinue | 7 unto | this | day, | witnessing | both 
 to I small and | great, | | saying | none | other | things | 
 7 than | those | 7 which the | prophets | 7 and j Moses | 
 7 did I say, I 7 should | come, | | | 7 that | Christ | 7 
 should I suffer, | 7 and that | he should be the | first | 
 7 that should | rise from the | dead, | 7 and should | show 
 I light I 7 unto the | people, | and to the | Gentiles. | | | 7 
 Andaehe | thus | spake for himself, | | Festus | said with 
 
IXtBOIStd. 
 
 101 
 
 a I loud I Toioe, | | Paul, | thon art be | side thyself; | | 
 much I learning j 7 doth | make thee | mad. | | | But he 
 I said, I 7 I am I not I mad, | 7 most | noble | Festus, | 7 
 but I speak forth the | words of | troth | 7 and | sober- 
 ness. I I I 7 For the | king | knoweth of | those | things, 
 I 7 be I fore I whom | also | 7 I | speak | freely; | | 7 for 
 I I am per I suaded | 7 that | none of | these | things | 7 
 are | hidden from | him ; | | 7 for | this | thing | 7 was 
 I not I done in a | corner. | | | King A | grippa, | 7 be | 
 lievest thou the | prophets ? | | | 7 I | know | 7 that thou 
 be I lievest, | | | Then | 7 A | grippa | said unto |, Paul, 
 I AJ I most I thou per | suadest | me | 7 to be a | Ohris- 
 tian. I I I And I Paul | said, | 7 I | would to | God, | 7 
 that I not only | thou, | 7 but | also | all that | hear mo 
 I this I day, | 7 were | both | al | most, | 7 and | alto | 
 gether | such ad | 1 1 am, | 7 ez | cept | these | bonds.[ | 
 
 EXBRGISE III. 
 
 BONO OF MOSBS* 
 
 Exodus XT. 1. 
 
 Tben I sang | Moses | 7 and the | children of | Israel 
 I this I song I 7 unto the | Lord, | 7 and | spake, | say- 
 ing, I 7 I will I sing unto the | Lord, | 7 for he hath | 
 triumphed | gloriously : | { 7 the | horse | 7 and his | rider 
 I hath he | thrown into the | sea. | | | 7 The | Lord | 7 is 
 my I strength and | song, | 7 and | he is be | come my 
 sal I yation ; | | he is | my | God, | 7 and | I will pre | 
 pare him an | habi | tation ; | | 7 my | father's | God, | 7 
 and I I will ex I althim. | | | 7 The | Lord | 7isa | man 
 of I war: | 7 Je | hovah | 7 is his | name. | | | Phanoh's 
 
•*' 
 
 ( 
 
 h 
 
 102 
 
 EXERCISES. 
 
 I chariots | 7 and bis { host | 7 hath ho | oast into the 
 sea : I | | 7 his | ohoson | captains | also | 7 are | drowned 
 in the j Red | Sea. | | | 7 The | depths | 7 have | covered 
 them : I I 7 they { sank into the | bottom | 7 as a | stone. 
 Ill Thy I right I band, | O | Lord, | 7 is be | come | 
 glorious in | power: | | thy | right | hand, | | Lord, | 
 7 hath I dashed in | pieces | 7 the | enemy. | | | 7 And 
 in the | greatness of thine | excellency | thou hast | over 
 I thrown | them | 7 that | rose up a | gainst thee ; j | 7 
 thou I sentest forth thy | wrath, j 7 which | con | sumed 
 them I 7 as I stubble. | j j And with the j blast of thy | 
 nostrils | 7 the | waters j 7 were | gathered to | gether, | | 
 7 the I floods | stood | upright |. 7 as an | 7 heap, | 7 and 
 the I depths | 7 were con | gealed j 7 in the j heart of the 
 I sea. I I I 7 The j enemy | said, | I will pur | sue, | I 
 will I over | take, | I will di | vide the | spoil ; | 7 my j 
 lust I 7 shall be | satisfied | 7 up | on them : | | 7 I will | 
 draw my | sword, | 7 my | hand shall des | troy them. | | | 
 Thou didst j blow with thy j wind, | 7 the | sea | covered 
 them: | | 7 they | sank as | lead | 7 in the | mighty | 
 waters, f | | Who is | like unto | thee. | | 7 Je | hovah. 
 I 7 a I mong the | gods? | | Who is | like | thee, | | glori- 
 ous in I holiness, | j fearful in | praises, | | doing | won- 
 ders? I I I 7 Thou I stretchedstoutthy | right | hand, | 7 
 the I earth | swallowed them. | | j Thou | 7 in thy j mercy 
 I 7 hast I led forth the | people | 7 which | thou hast re | 
 deemed : | | thou hast | guided them | 7 in thy j strength 
 I 7 unto tiiy | holy | habi j tation. j | | 7 The | people 
 shall I hear, | 7 and be a | fraid : | | sorrow | 7 shall take 
 I hold I 7 on the in | habitants of | Pales | tina. | | | 
 Then the | Dukes of | Edon | 7 shall be a | mazed ; | | 7 
 the I mighty | men of | Moah, | | trembling | 7 shall take 
 \ hold up I on them: | | all the in j habitants | 7 of €a | 
 
 •j ! 
 
IXEBOISES. 
 
 103 
 
 naan | 7 shall | melt a | way. | | | Fear and | dread | T 
 shall I fkll up I on them ; | | 7 by the | greatness of thine 
 I arm | they shall be as | still | 7 as a | stone; | 7 till | 
 thy I people | pass | over, | 7 which | thou hast | purchas- 
 ed. Ill Thou shalt j bring them | in, j 7 and | plant 
 them I 7 in the j mountain j 7 of thine in | heritanoe, j 7 
 in the | place, j j Lord, | 7 which | thou hast | made | 
 7 for I thee to | dwell in ; | 7 in the ] sanctuary, | 
 Lord, I 7 which j thy j hands | 7 have es j tablished. | j 
 7 Je I hovah j 7 shall j reign | 7 for | ever | 7 and | 
 ever. | | | 
 
 EXERCISE IV. 
 
 THE EXILE OF EBIN. 
 T. Gampbell. 
 
 7There j came to the | beach j 7 a poor | exile of j Erin, j 
 7 The I dew on his | thin | robe | 7 was | heavy and j 
 
 chill; I I 
 7 For his | country he | sighed, | 7 when at | twilight 
 
 re I pairing, j 
 7 To I wander a | lone | 7 by the | wind-beaten | hill. | | j 
 7 But the I day-star j 7 at | tractecl his j eye's sad de | 
 
 votion; | 
 7 For it I rose | 7 on his | own native | isle of the j 
 
 ocean, | 
 7 Where | once | 7 in the | fervor of j youth's warm e | 
 
 motion | 
 7 He I sung the bold j anthem | 7 of | Erin go j bragh. 
 
I 
 
 It 
 
 f 
 
 104 
 
 fiJCEftOISSd. 
 
 Sad is my | fate I | 7 (said the | heart- | broken | stran 
 
 ger) I 
 7 The I wild-deer and | wolf | 7 to a | covert can | flee, 
 7 But I I have no | refuge | 7 from | famine and | dan- 
 
 7 A I home, and a | countiy | 7re | main not to | me: 1 1 1 
 
 Never a | gain | 7 in the | green | sunny | bowers | 
 
 7 Wher3 my | forefathers | liv'd | 7 shall I | spend the | 
 
 sweet I hours | 
 7 Or I cover my | harp | 7 with the | wild woven | 
 
 flowers I 
 7 And I strike to the | numbers | 7 of | Erin go 
 
 bragh. | | | 
 Erin I | 7my | country! | 7 though | sad and for | saken, 
 7 In I dreams | 7 I re | visit thy | sea-beaten | shore : | 
 7 But a I las I I 7 in a I fair foreign | land I a | waken, | 
 7 And I sigh for the | friends | 7 that can | meet me no | 
 
 more. I | | 
 Oh ! I cruel | fate t | 7 wilt thou | never re | place me | 
 7 In a I mansion of | peace, | 7 where no | perils can | 
 
 chase me? | 
 I Kever a | gain shall my | brothers em | brace me, | | 
 7 They | died to de | fend me, | 7 or | live to de | plore. 
 
 Ml : , ■ . 
 
 Where is my | cabin | door, f fast by the | wild | wood ? | 
 I Sisters and | sire, | 7 did ye | weep for its | fall ? | | | 
 Where is the | mother that | looked on my | childhood ? 
 
 Ml . " 
 
 7 And I where is the | bosom* | friend, | dearer than | 
 
 aU?||| 
 Ah I I 7 my I sad I soul, | long a | bandoned by | plea- 
 
 sure, I I 
 Why did it | doat on a | fast-fading | treasure ? | | | 
 
cen I stran- 
 
 ; fittu; 
 
 can I flee, 
 and I dan* 
 
 bo I me: 1 1 1 
 rers | 
 spend the 
 
 ftXSBLOiaiA. 
 
 105 
 
 Id woven | 
 
 Erin go ] 
 
 for I saken, | 
 I shore: | 
 i I waken, | 
 aeet me no | 
 
 place me | 
 perils can | 
 
 56 me, I I 
 de I plore. 
 
 Id I wood? I 
 
 faU? I I I 
 [ childhood? 
 
 earer than | 
 id by I plea- 
 re?! I I '^ 
 
 Tears, | 7 like the | rain-drops, | 7 may | fall without | 
 
 measure, | 
 T But I rapture and | beauty | 7 they | cannot re | call. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Yet 7 I all its I fond | 7 recol | lections sup | pressing | 
 I One I dying j wish | 7 my lone | bosom shall | draw. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Erin! I 7 an I exile | 7 be | queaths thee his | blessing | 
 I Land of my | forefathers ! | | Erin go | bragh. | | | 
 ' Buried and | cold, | 7 when my | heart | stills her | mo- 
 tion, I 
 * I Green be thy | fields | sweetest | isle of the | ocean | 
 7 And thy | harp-striking | bards | sing a | loud with de { 
 
 yotion | 
 Erin I 7 ma I yournin t | Erin | go | bragh. | | | 
 
 ii ..I 
 
 C . ' *.\ ■ 
 
 EXERCISE V. 
 
 LUCY . — Wordsworth. 
 
 Three | years | 7 she | grew, | 7in | sun and | shower, 
 Then | nature | said, j 7 'a.| lovelier | flower | 
 
 7 On I earth | 7 was | never | sown : | { 
 This I child I I to my I self I 7 will I take; | 
 I She shall be | mine, | | and I will | make 
 
 7 A I lady | 7 of my | own. ] | | 
 
 * 7 My I self | will to my | darling | | be, 
 
 7 Both I law and | impulse : | | 7 and with | me | 
 
 7 The I giri I 7 in I rock | 7 and | plain, | 
 7 In I earth and | heaven, | 7 in | glade and | bower, | 
 ^Shall I feel | 7 an | over | seeing | power | 
 
 7 To I kindle | 7 and ro | strain. | | | 
 
106 
 
 SXBROiSBS. 
 
 7 *She shall be | sportive | 7 as the | fawn | 
 7 That I wild with | glee | 7 a | cross the | lawn 
 
 7 Or I up the I mountain | | springs ; | | _ , 
 
 7 And I hers | 7 shall | be the | breathing | balm, | 
 7 And I hers | 7 the | silence | 7 and the | cahn | 
 
 7 Of I mute in | sensate | things. | | | 
 
 ' 7 The I floating | clouds | 7 their | state shall | lend ] 
 7 To I her; | | 7Tor | her | 7the | willow | bend; | 
 
 I Nor shall she | faU to | see, | 
 Even in the | motions | 7 of the | storm [ 
 Grace | 7 that shall | mould | 7 the ] maiden's | form, | 
 
 7 By I silent | sympathy, j | 
 
 I 7 < The I stars of | midnight | 7 shall be | dear | 
 7 To I her ; I I and she shall | lean her | ear | 
 
 7 In I many a | secret | place, | 
 7 Where | rivulets | dance their | wayward | round ; | | 
 7 And I beauty, | | bom of | murmuring | sound, | 
 
 7 Shall I pass | into her | face. | | | 
 
 7 * And I vital I feelings of de | light | 
 
 7 Shall I rear her | form | 7 to | stately | height; | | 
 
 7 Her | virgin | bosom | swell ; | | 
 Such I thoughts I 7 to I Lucy | 7 I will | give, | 
 7 While I she and I I I 7 to I gether | live | 
 
 Here | 7 in this | happy | dell.' | | | 
 
 Thus I Nature | spake. | | 7 The | work | 7 was | done. 
 
 IN 
 
 7 How I soon | 7 my | Lucy's | race | 7 was | run 1 | | 
 
 7 She I died, | | 7 and | left to | me | 
 7 This I heath, | 7 this | calm and | quiet | scene ; | 
 I 7 The I memory of | what | has | been, | 
 
 7 And I never | more | will | be. | | | 
 
B3(fiROI8S8. 
 
 1^? 
 
 EXBECISB VI. ' 
 
 1 ■ f ' 
 
 ELKGY IN A COUNTRY CHURCH YARD. 
 
 J ■ ■ 4 
 
 Gray* 
 
 , 
 
 7 The I Curfew | tolls the | knell of | parting | day, | 
 7 The I bwing | herd | wind | slowly | 7 o'er Uie | 
 
 lea; || 
 7 The I ploughman | homeward | plods his | weary | 
 
 way, I 
 7 And I leaves the | world | 7 to | darkness | and to | 
 
 me. I I I 
 
 Now I fades the | glimmering | landscape | 7,on the 
 
 sight, I 
 7 And I all the | air | 7 a | solemn | stiUness | hoi<Si$, \ 
 Save I 7 where the | beetle | wheels hi0 \ d)roning j 
 
 flight, I 
 7 And I drowsy | tinklings | lull the | distant | 
 
 folds. I I I 
 
 Save that | 7 from | yonder | ivy | mantled | tower, 
 7 The I moping | owl | does to the | moon com | jdain | 
 7 Of I such as | wandering | near her | seeret | Wwer | 
 7 Mo- I lest her | ancient, | | solitary | reign. | { | 
 
 7 Be- I neath | those | roggeid | elms, | that | 
 
 yew tree's | shade, | 
 7 Where | heaves the | turf in | many a | mouldering | 
 
 heap, I 
 Each in his | narrow | cell | 7 for | ever | laid, | 
 7 The I rude | fore- 1 fathers of the | haQ^t | sle^p. | | 
 
m 
 
 SXEROlSESt. 
 
 I Ml 
 
 
 ■5) 
 
 
 I' 
 
 i 
 
 'ill 
 III 
 
 »)) 
 
 H 
 
 7 The I breezy | call of | incense | breathing | mom, | 
 7 The I swallow | twittering | 7 from the | straw-built 
 
 shed, I 
 7 The I cock's shrill | clarion | 7 or the | echoing 
 
 horn I 
 7 No I more shall | rouse them | 7 from their | lowly 
 
 bed. I I I 
 
 7 For I them | no | more | 7 the | blazing | hearth-^ 
 shall I b^rn | 
 
 7 Nor I busy | housewife | ply her | evening | care ; | 
 
 7 No I children | run | 7 to | lisp their | sire's re- 
 turn, I 
 
 7 Or I climb his | knees 7 | 7 the | envy'd | kiss to 
 share. | | | 
 
 Oft did the | harvest | 7 to their | sickle | yield, | | 
 7 Their | fiirrow | oft | 7 the | stubborn | glebe | 7 has 
 
 broke ; | 
 7 How I jocund | 7 did they | drive their | team a 
 
 field, I I 
 How \ bowed the | woods | | 7 be- | neath their 
 
 sturdy | stroke. | | | 
 
 Let not Am- | bition | | mock their | useful | toil, | 
 7 Their | homely | joys | 7 and | destiny ob- | scure, | 
 7 Nor I Grandeur | hear | with a dis- | dainful 
 
 smile I 
 7 The I short and | simple | annals | 7 of the | poor. | | 
 
 7 The I boast of | heraldry, | 7 the | pomp of | power, | 
 7 And I all that | beauty, | | all that | wealth, e'er 
 
 gave, I 
 7 A- I wait, ar | like | 7 the in- | evitable | hour ; | 
 7 The I paths of | glory | | lead | but to the | grave. 1 1 j 
 
EXERCISES. 
 
 109 
 
 lorn, I 
 w-built 
 
 choing 
 
 I lowly 
 
 hearth^ 
 
 3are; | 
 ire's re- 
 kiss to 
 
 ,11 
 
 I 7 has 
 team a 
 their 
 
 oil, I 
 cure, I 
 ainful 
 
 )Oor. I I 
 
 power, 
 di, e'er 
 
 7 Nor I you, | 7 ye | Proud 1 7 | 7 im- ] pute to | these 
 
 the I fault, I 
 7 If I memory | 7 o'er their | tomb | no | trophies | 
 
 raise | | 
 Where thro' the | long-drawn | aisle | 7 and | fretted | 
 
 vault, I 
 7 The I pealing | anthem | swells the | note of | 
 
 praise. | | | 
 
 Can I storied | urn, | 7 or | animated | bust | 
 Back to its | mansion | | call the | fleeted | breath ? | . 
 7 Can I honor's | voice | 7 pro | vokethe | silent dust? | 
 7 Or I flattery | soothe | 7 the | dull | oold | ear of | 
 death ? I I 
 
 i I 
 ^ve.||| 
 
 7 Per- I haps 7 | 7 in | this neg- | lected | spot, | is | 
 
 laid) 
 Some I heart | once | pregnant | 7 with ce- | lestial | 
 
 fire; I I 
 Hands 7 | 7 that the | rod of | empire | 7 might have | 
 
 sway'd | 
 7 Or I waked to | eostacy | 7 the | living lyre. | | | 
 
 7 But I knowledge | 7 to | their | eyes 7 | 7 her | ample | 
 
 page, I 
 Rich with the | spoils of | Time | 7 did | ne'er un- 1 
 
 roU;| 
 
 Chill I Penury | 7 re- | press'd their | noble | rage, | 
 
 7 And I froze the | genial | current | 7 of the | soul. | | | 
 
 Full 7 I many a | gem of | purest | ray se- | rene, | 
 7 The I dark | | un- | fathom'd | caves of | ocean | 
 
 bear ; | 
 Full I many a | flower | 7 is | born | 7 to | blush un- | 
 
 seen, | 
 7 And I waste its | sweetness | 7 on the | desert | air. | | 
 
'rr 
 
 
 it 
 
 il 
 
 110 
 
 EXERCISES. 
 
 Some I village | Hampden | 7 that with | dauntless | 
 
 breast, | 
 7 The I little | tyrant of Us | fields | 7 with- | stood ; 
 Some I mute in- | glorious | Milton | here may | rest, | 
 Some I Cromwell | | guiltless of his | country's | 
 
 blood. Ill 
 
 ; J 
 
 7 The ap- | plause of | listening | senates | to com- 
 
 I mand ; | 
 7 The I threats of | pain and | ruin | 7 to des j pise ; 7 | 
 7 To I scatter | plenty | 7 o'er a | smiling | land, | 
 7 And I read their | history | 7 in a j nation's | eyes ; | 
 
 i 
 
 III 
 lit 
 
 3 
 
 Their | lotfbr- 1 bade ; | 7 nor | circumscribed a- 1 lone | 
 7 Their | growing | virtues, | 7 but their | crimes | 
 
 Gon- I fined ; | 
 7 For- I bade to | wade thro' | slaughter | 7 to a | 
 
 throne, | 
 7 And I shut the | gates of | mercy | 7 on man- 1 kind; | 
 
 7 The I struggling j pangs of j conscious | Truth to | 
 
 hide ; I 
 7 To f quench the | blushes | 7 of in- j genious j shame; | 
 7 Or I heap the j shrine of | luxury | 7 and | pride j 
 7 With I incense | | ^ndled ai the | Muse's | flame. | 
 
 7 Tet I even j these | bones | 7 from | insult { 7 to 
 
 pro- I tect, I 
 7 Some | frail me- | morial | still, e- | rected | nigh, | 
 7 With I un- | couih | rhymes, 7 | 7 and | shapeless | 
 
 sculpture | decked, | 
 7 Im- 1 plores the | paflsin^ \ tribute | 7 of .« J sij^. J 
 
EXSR0ISE8. 
 
 Ill 
 
 ntless I 
 
 od ; I ' 
 ■est, I 
 itry's I 
 
 to oom- 
 
 ise; 7 | 
 
 I 
 es; I 
 
 [one I 
 crimes | 
 
 toa I 
 
 and J I 
 
 nth to I 
 
 lame; 
 pride | 
 e.| 
 
 I 7to 
 
 .1 
 
 3le86 I 
 
 ill 
 
 7 Their | names, | 7 their | years, | spelt by the uu- 1 
 
 lettered | Muse, | « 
 
 7 The I plaee of | fame and | elegy | 7 sup- [ ply ; | 
 7 And I many a | holy | text | 7 a | round she | strews | 
 7 That I teaeh the | rustio | moralist | 7 to | die. | J | 
 
 7 For I who | 7 to | dumb for- | getfulness a | prey, | 
 7 This I pleasing | anxious | being \ e'er re- 1 signed, | 
 Left the | warm | precincts | 7 of the | cheerful | day, | 
 7 Nor I cast | one | longing | lingering | look be- | 
 hind. I I I 
 
 On I some | fond | breast | 7 the | parting | soul re- | 
 
 lies, I 
 I Some I pious | drops | 7 the | closing | eye re- | 
 
 quires, | 
 Even from the | tomb | 7 the | voice of | Nature | 
 
 cries j | 
 Even in our | ashes, | live their | wonted | fires. | | | 
 
 7 For I thee | 7iwho | mindful | 7 of the un | honor'd | 
 
 dead; | 
 Dost in these | lines, | 7 their | artless | tale re | late, | 
 7 By I chance and | lonely { oontemp- | lation | led, | 
 7 To I wander | 7 in the | gloomy | walks of | fetej | 
 
 Hark ! | | how <ihe | saered | cahn | 7 that | breathes a- j 
 round ' 
 
 Bids I every | fierce tu- | multuous ( passion | cease ; | 
 7 In j still I small | accents | whispering | 7 from the 1 
 ground, | '■ ' ' " 
 
 7 A I grateful | earnest | 7 of e- 1 temal peace. | | | 
 
 < j 
 
 I, 
 
 t) 
 
1 
 
 112 
 
 EXEROI8E0. 
 
 7 No I more with | Nature | and thy- | self | 7 at | 
 
 strife, I , 
 7 Give I anxious | cares and | endless { wishes | room, | 
 7 Butthro'^the | qoo17 | se- | quester'd | valeof | life, 7 | 
 7 Pur- 1 sue the | noiseless | tenor | 7 of thy | doom. | | | 
 
 ■•^^ 
 
 EXERCISE VII. 
 
 PAPER. — A CONVERSATIONAL PLEAIANTRT 
 
 Dr. Franklin, 
 
 Some I wit of I old, | | such | wits of | old there | were, | 
 7 Whose I hints | 7 showed | meaning, | 7 whose al | 
 
 lusions I care, | | 
 7 By I one | braye | stroke | 7 to j mark all | human | 
 
 kind, I 
 Called I clear | blank | paper | every | infant | mind ; | | 
 Where | still, | 7 as | opening | sense | 7 her | dictates | 
 
 wrote, I 
 Fair | Virtue | put a | seal, | 7 or | Vice, | 7 a | blot. 
 
 Ill 
 7 The I thought was | happy, | pertinent, and | true ! | | 
 
 7 Me I thinks a | genius | 7 might the | plan pur | sue. 
 
 Ill 
 
 I, I 7 (can you | pardon my pre | sumption ?) | | I | 
 No I wit, I no I genius, | yet for | once, | 7 will | try. | | | 
 Various the | paper, | various | wants pro | duoe; | | 
 7 The I wants of | fashion | elegance | 7 and | use. j | | 
 Men I 7 are aa I various; | 7 and if | right I j scan, | 
 Each I sort of j paper | |^repre | sents | some | man. j | | 
 
I Tat I 
 
 FOOIDi I 
 
 M life, 7 I 
 loom. I I I 
 
 EY 
 
 e I were, | 
 vhose al | 
 
 hTunan | 
 
 aind; | | 
 dictates 
 
 ' a I blot. 
 
 true ! I I 
 pur I sue. 
 
 |I| 
 
 try. I I I 
 
 I; 1 1 
 
 Mil 
 
 m,| 
 ^an. I I I 
 
 BZBROISIB. 
 
 113 
 
 Pray | note the | fop ; | { half | powder | 7 and | half | 
 
 lace ! I I 
 Nice as a | bandbox | 7 were | his | dwelling | place. | | | 
 He*s the | gilt | paper, | 7 which a | part you | store, | 
 7 And I look from | vulgar | hands | 7 in the scru [ toire. 
 
 Ill 
 
 7 Me I chanics, | servants, | farmers, | 7 and | so forth | 
 
 7 Are | copy | paper, | 7 of in | ferior | worth ; | 
 
 Less I prized, | { more | useful ; | 7 for your | desk de | 
 
 creed; | 
 I Free to | all | pens, | 7 and | prompt at | every | need. 
 
 Ill 
 
 7 The I wretch | 7 whom | avarice | | bids to | pinch and 
 
 I spare, I 
 I Starve, | cheat | 7 and | pilfer, | 7 to en | rich an | heir, | 
 
 7 Is I coarse | brown | paper ; | | such as | pedlars j 
 
 choose I 
 7 To I wrap up | wares | 7 which | better | men | 7 will | 
 
 use. I I I 
 Take | next | 7 the | miser's | contrast; { | 7 who de | 
 
 stroys I 
 Health, | fame and | fortune | 7 in a | round of | joys. 
 
 Ill 
 7 Will I any | paper | match | him ? | | Yes, | 7 through 
 
 I out; I I 
 He's a I true | sinking | paper, | | past | all | doubt. ( | | 
 7 The I retail | poli | tician's | anxious | thought | 
 Deems | this side | always | right, | 7 and | that | stark | 
 
 naught: | 
 7 He I foams with | censure ; | 7 with ap | plause he | 
 
 raves; | { | 
 7 A I dupe to I rumors, | | 7 and a | tool to | knaves ; | | 
 
114 
 
 1X1B0I81B. 
 
 He'll I want | no | type | 7 his | weakness | 7 to pro | 
 
 claim, I 
 7 While I such a | thing as | fools-cap | 7 has a | name. 
 
 7 The I hasty | gentleman, | 7 whose | blood rans | high ; | 
 
 7 Who I picks a | quarrel | 7 if you | step a | wry ; | 
 
 7 Who I can't a | jest, | 7 a | hint, | 7 or | look en | 
 
 dure ! I 
 I What is I he ? I What ! | | Touch-paper | 7 to be | sure. 
 
 Ill 
 What are our | poets ? | | take them | 7 as they | fall, | 
 
 Good, I bad, | rich, | poor; | much read, | not read at | 
 
 all! I I 
 Them | 7 and their | works | 7 in the | same | class | 7 
 
 you'll I find: | 
 I They are the | mere | waste-paper | 7 of man | kind. 
 
 7 Ob I serve the | maiden, | | (innocently | sweet) I | 
 She's I fair { white | paper ! | 7 an un | sullied | sheet; | | 
 7 On I which | 7 the | happy | man | 7 whom | fate or- 
 
 I dains | 
 7 May | write his | name, | 7 and | take her for his | 
 
 pains. I I I 
 One I instance | more, { 7 and | only | one | 7 I'll | 
 
 bring! | 
 'Tis the I great | man | 7 who | scorns a | little | thing • 
 
 7 Whose I thought, | 7 whose | deeds, | 7 whose | maxims 
 
 I 7 are his | own ; | 
 I Formed | on the | feelings | 7 of his | heart a | lone: 
 
 True, I genuine, | royal | paper, | 7 is | his | breast ; | { 
 7 Of I all the I kinds | | most | precious, | | purest, | | 
 best! I I I 
 
1Z1B0I81S. 
 
 115 
 
 EXERCISE VIII. 
 
 ON SINCERITY. 
 FROM ARCHBISHOP TILLOTSON (ABRIDGED). 
 
 Truth | 7 and sin | cerity | 7 have | all the ad | 
 vantages | 7 of ap | pearance, | 7 and | many | more. 
 I I I 7 If the I show of | anything | 7 be | good for | 
 anything, | | 7 I am | sure | 7 the re | ality | 7 is | 
 better : | | 7 for | why j 7 does | any man | 7 dis | sem- 
 ble, I 7 or I seem to be | that which he | is | not, | | 
 but be I cause | 7 he | thinks it | good to | have | 7 
 the I qualities 1 7 he pre | tends to ? | | | Now the | 
 best I way | 7 for a | man to | seem to be | any thing, | 
 is to I be in re | ality, | | what he would | seem to be : 
 I I 7 be I sides, | 7 it is | often as | troublesome | 7 to 
 sup I port the pre | tence of a | good | quality, | 7 as 
 to I have it ; | 7 and | if a | man | have it not, | 7 it is 
 I most I likely | he will be dis | covered to | want it • 
 j I 7 and | then, | all his { labor to | seem to | have it, 
 { 7 is I lost. I I I 7 There is | something | un | natural 
 I 7 in I painting, | 7 which a | skilful | eye | 7 will | 
 easily dis | cern | 7 from | native | beauty | 7 and 
 com I plexion. | | | 
 
 Therefore, | 7 if | any man | think it con | venient 
 to I seem | good, | let him | be so in | deed : | | 7 and 
 I then I 7 his I goodness will ap | pear | 7 to | every 
 one's I 7 satis | faction | | | 7 Par | ticularly, | | as 
 to the af I fairs of | this | world, | 7 in | tegrity | 7 
 hath I many ad | vantages | over | all the arti | ficial { 
 modes | 7 of | dissimu | lation | 7 and de | ceit. | | { 
 7 It is I much the | plainer | 7 and | easier, | | much 
 the I safer, | 7 and | more se | cure j way of | dteHag 
 
116 
 
 XXI&0U18. 
 
 in the | world ; | | 7 it has | less of | trouble and 
 I difficulty, I 7 of en | tanglement | 7 and per | plex- 
 ity, I 7 of I danger and | hazard | 7 in it. | | | 7 The 
 I arts of do | ceit and | cunning | 7 con | tinually | 
 grow I weaker, | 7 and | less | serviceable | 7 to 
 those that | practise them ; | | 7 where | as | 7 in 
 tegrity | | gains | strength by | use; | | 7 and the 
 I more and | longer | any man | practiseth it, | 7 
 the I greater | service | 7 it | does him : | | 7 by con 
 I firming his | repu | tation, { 7 and en | couraging | 
 those I 7 with | whom he | hath to | do, { 7 to re | 
 pose the | greatest | confidence | 7 in him; | | which 
 is an un | speakable ad | vantage | 7 in | business, | 7 
 and the af | fairs of | life. | | | ,, 
 
 7 But I insin { cerity | 7 is | very | troublesome to 
 I manage. | | | 7 A | hypocrite | 7 hath | so many | 
 things I 7 to at I tend to, | 7 as | make his | life | 7 
 a I very per | plexed and | intricate | thing. | | | 7 A 
 I liar I 7 hath | need of a | good | memory, { | lest 
 he I contra | diet | 7 at | one | time | 7 what he | said 
 at an | other: | | 7 but | truth | 7 is | always con | 
 sistent, | 7 and { needs | nothing to | help it | out: { 
 I 7 it is I always | near at | hand, | 7 and | sits upon 
 our I lips; | | where | as a | lie | 7 is | troublesome, 
 I 7 and | needs a | great | many | more | 7 to | make 
 it I good. Ill 
 
 7 In a I word, | whatso | ever con | vcnience | 7 
 may be | thought | 7 to | be in | falsehood | 7 and dis 
 I simu I lasion, | 7 it is | soon | over : | | but the | 
 incon | venience of it | 7 is per | petual; | | 7 be | 
 cause I 7 it I brings a | man | under an j ever | lasting 
 I jealousy | 7 and sus | picion ; | | so that he is | not 
 be I lieved j 7 when he j speaks the | truth ; | | 7 nor 
 
KXiBrTsn* 
 
 117 
 
 I tnisted I 7 when, per | haps, | 7 he | means | honest- 
 ly. | | | When a | man hath | once | forfeited | 7 the 
 repn | tation | 7 of his in { tegriiy, | | nothing | 7 
 will I then | servo his | turn, | | neither | truth | nor | 
 falsehood, | | | 
 
 7 In I deed, | 7 if a | man wore | only to | deal in 
 the I world | 7 for a | day, | 7 and should \ never 
 have 00 | casion | 7 to con | verse | moie with man | 
 kind, I I it were | then | 7 no | great | matter | 7 (as 
 I far as res { pects the af | fairs of | this | world) | 7 
 if he I spent his | repu | tation | all at | once; | 7 or 
 I ventured it { 7 at | one | throw. | | | But if he | he 
 to con I tinue | 7 in the | world, | 7 and would | have 
 the ad | vantage of | repu | tation | whilst he is | in 
 it, I I let him { make | use of | truth | 7 and sin | cer 
 ity I 7 in | all his | words and | actions ; | | 7 for | 
 nothing hut | this | 7 will { hold | out | 7 to the | end/ 
 I I I All I other | arts | 7 may | fail; | 7 hut | truth | 7 
 and in | tegrity | 7 will | carry a | man | through, ( 7 
 and I hear him | out | 7 to the | last. | | | 
 
 EXERCISE IX. 
 
 ON HAPPINESS OF TEMPER. 
 
 GOLDSMITH. 
 
 "Writers | 7 of | every | age | 7 have en | deav- 
 ored to | show | 7 that | pleasure | 7 is in { us, | 7 
 and I not in the | ohjects | | offered | 7 for our a | 
 musement. | | | 7 If the | soul he | happily dis | 
 posed, I I every thing | 7 he | comes | capable | 7 
 

 "^ 
 
 118 
 
 EXEBOISIS. 
 
 li'.' .J 
 
 of af I fording | 7 enter | tainment ; | | 7 and dis 
 tress I 7 will | almost | want a | name. | | | Every 
 oc I currence | | passes in re | view | 7 like the | 
 figures I 7 of a pro I cession ; | | some | 7 may be 
 I awkward, | | others | ill | dressed; | 7 but | none 
 but a I fool I 7 is, for | this, | 7 en | raged with the | 
 master of the | ceremonies. | | | 
 
 7 I re I member | 7 to have | once | seen a | slave, 
 I 7 in a I fortifi | cation | 7 in | Flanders, | 7 who 
 ap I peared | no way | touched | 7 with his | situ | 
 ation. I I I 7 He was | maimed, | 7 de | formed | 7 
 and I chained : | | 7 o | bliged to | toil | 7 from the 
 ap I pearance of | day | 7 till | night-fall, | | 7 and 
 con I demned to | this | 7 for | life ; | | yet with | all 
 I these I circumstances | 7 of ap | parent j wretched- 
 ness, I 7 he I sung, | | would have | danced, | 7 but 
 that he | wanted a | leg, | 7 and ap | peared the | 
 merriest, | | happiest | man | 7 of | all the | garri- 
 son. I I I 
 
 7 What a | practical | 7 phi | losopher | 7 was | 
 here, | ( 7 a | happy consti | tution | 7 sup | plied 
 phi I losophy; | 7 and though | seemingly | destitute 
 of I wisdom, | 7 he was | really | wise. | | | No | 
 reading | 7 or | study | 7 had con | tributed | 7 to 
 disen j chant | 7 the | fairy | land | 7 a | round him. 
 I I I Every thing | furnished him | 7 with an | oppor 
 I tunity I 7 of I mirth, | | 7 and though | some | 
 thought him, | 7 from his | insensi | bility, | 7 a 
 fool, I 7 he was | such an | idiot | 7 as phi | losophers 
 7 should I wish to | imitate : | | 7 for | all phi | losophy 
 I 7 is I only | forcing the | trade of | happiness, j 7 when 
 I Nature | seems to de j ny the | means. | { 
 
EXEROISSS. 
 
 119 
 
 They, | 7 who | like our | slave, | 7 can | place them 
 selves I 7 on I that | side of the | world | 7 in | which 
 every thing | 7 ap | pears in a | pleasing { light, | 7 will 
 find I something | 7 in ! every oc | currence | 7 to ex | 
 cite their | good | humor. | | | 7 The | most ca | lamitous 
 e I vents, | | either to them | selves | 7 or | others, | 7 
 can I bring | no | new | 7 af | fliction ; | | 7 the | whole 
 I world I 7 is, to I them, | 7 a | theatre, | 7 on which | 
 comedies | only | 7 are | acted. | | | All the | bustle of { 
 heroism, | 7 or the | rants of am | bition | | serve | only 
 to I heighten { 7 the ab | surdity { 7 of the | scene | 7 and 
 I make the | humor | 7 more | poignant. | | | 7 They 
 feel, I 7 in I short, | 7 as | little | anguish | 7 at their 
 own dis I tress, | 7 or the com | plaints of | others, | 7 as 
 the I under | taker, | 7 though | dressed in | black, | feels 
 I sorrow | 7 at a | funeral. | | | 
 
 7 Of I all the | men | 7 I | ever | read of, | 7 the | 
 famous I Cardinal de | Eetz | 7 pos | sessed this | happi- 
 ness of I temper | 7 in the | highest de | gree. | | | As he 
 was a I man of | gallantry, | 7 and des | pised | 7 all that 
 I wore the pe | dantic ap | pearance | 7 of philosophy, | 7 
 wher I ever | pleasure | 7 was to be | sold | lie was | gene- 
 rally I foremost | 7 to | raise the | auction. | | | Being a 
 I uni I versal | 7 ad | mirer of the | fair | sex, | | 7 
 when he | found | one | lady | cruel, | 7 he | generally 
 fell in I love | 7 with an | other, | 7 from | whom he ex 
 pected I 7 a more | favorable | 7 re | ception. | | | 7 If 
 she, I too, I 7 re I jected his ad | dresses, | | 7 he ] never 
 I thought of re | tiring into | deserts, 1 7 or | pining in | 
 hopeless dis | tress; | | he per | suaded himself, | 7 that 
 in I stead of | loving the | lady, | 7 he had | only | fancied 
 I 7 that he had | loved her ; | | 7 and | so | all was | well 
 again. | | | 
 
120 
 
 EXSB0I8E8. 
 
 
 : 7 When | fortune | wore her | angriest | look, | | 7 
 and he at | last | fell into the | power | 7 of his most | 
 deadly | enemy, | | Cardinal | Maza | rine, | | (being 
 con I fined a | close | prisoner, | 7 in the | castle of | 
 Yalcn I ciennes), | 7 he | never at | tempted { 7 to sup | 
 port his dis | tress | 7 by | wisdom | 7 or phi | losophy ; | 
 I 7 for he pre | tended to | neither. | | i 7 He | only | 
 laughed | 7 at him | self | 7 and his | persecutor ; | | 7 
 and I seemed | infinitely | pleased | 7 at his | new situ | 
 ation. I I I 7 In this | mansion of dis | tress, { | though 
 se I eluded from his | friends, | | 7 though de | nied | all 
 the a I musements, | 7 and | even the con | veniences of | 
 life, I 7 he I still re | tained his | good] | humor ; | | 
 laughed at | all the | little | spite of his | enemies : | | 7 
 and I carried the { jest | so | far | as to be re | venged, | 7 
 by I writing the | life | 7 of his | gaoler. | | | 
 
 All that the | wisdom of the | proud | 7 can | teach, | 7 
 is to be I stubborn, | 7 or | sullen, | 7 under mis | for- 
 tunes. I I I 7 The I Cardinal's ex | ample | 7 will in | 
 struct us to be | merry, | 7 in | circumstances | 7 of the 
 I highest af | fliction. | | | 7 It | matters not | 7 whether 
 our I good I humor | 7 be | construed, | 7 by | others, | 7 
 into I insensi | bility ; | 7 or | even | idiotism : | | 7 it is 
 I happiness | 7 to our | selves ; | | 7 and | none but a | 
 fool, I 7 would I measure his | satis | faction | 7 by | what 
 the I world | thinks of it. | | | 
 
 7 The I happiest | silly | fellow | 7 I | ever | knew, | 7 
 was of the | number of those | good natured | creatures | 7 
 that are | said to do | no | harm | 7 to { any but them | 
 selves. I I I 7 When | ever he | fell into | any | misery, j 
 I 7 he I usually | called it | | ' Seeing | life.' | | | 7 If 
 his I head | 7 was | broke by a | chairman, | 7 or his | 
 pocket I picked by a | sharper, | 7 he | comforted himself 
 
xxsRonss. 
 
 121 
 
 I 7 by I imitating | 7 the Hi | bernian | dialect | 7 of the 
 I one, I or the more | fashionable | cant | 7 of the | other. 
 I I I Nothing I came a | miss to him. | | | 
 
 7 His I inat | tention to | money matters | 7 had in | 
 censed his | father | 7 to | such a de | gree, | 7 that | all 
 inter | cession of | friends, | 7 in his | favor | 7 was 
 fruitless. | | | 
 
 7 The I old | gentleman | 7 was on his | death bed. | | 
 7 The I whole | family, | 7 and j Dick | 7 a | mong the 
 number, | | gathered a j round him. | | | 
 
 7 ' I I leave my | second | son | Andrew,' | 7 said the 
 ex I piring | miser, | 7 * my | whole es | tate ; | | 7 and 
 de I sire him | 7 to be | frugal.' | | | 
 
 Andrew, | 7 in a | sorrowful | tone | 7 (as is | usual | 
 7 on I those oc | casions), | | prayed | Heaven | 7 to pro | 
 long his I life and | health | 7 to en | joy it him | 
 self I I I I 
 
 7 * I I recom | mend | Simon, | 7 my | third | son, | 7 
 to the I care of his | elder | brother ; | | 7 and | leave 
 him, I 7 be I side, | four | thousand | pounds.' | | | 
 
 * Ah ! father,' | 7 cried | Simon | 7 (in great af | flic- 
 tion, I 7 to be sure), | 7 'may | Heaven | give you | life 
 and I health | 7 to en | joy it your | self ! | | | 
 
 7 At I last I turning to | poor | Dick, | j ' as for | you, 
 I you have | always | 7 been a | sad | dog ; | | you'll | 
 never | come to | good ; | | you'll | never be | rich ; | | 7 
 I I leave | you | 7 a | shilling, | 7 to | buy a | halter.' | | | 
 
 ' Ah ! I father,' | 7 cries | Dick, | 7 without | any e | 
 motion, | 7 * may | Heaven | give you | life and | health 
 
 7 to en I joy it your | self 1 ' | | | 
 
tS2 
 
 lZ«EOIip». 
 
 I H 
 I * 
 
 ._..'., t-r-:,; .;';", EXERCISE X> ^ . 
 
 , ; BATTLE OP HASTINGS. — Liftgard. 
 
 The spot which Harold had selected for this important 
 contest, was called Senlac, nine miles from Hastings, an 
 eminence opening to the south, and covered on the back 
 by an extensive wood. As his troops arrived, he posted 
 them on tlie declivity, in one compact and immense mass. 
 In the centre, waved the royal standard, the figure of a 
 warrior in the act of fighting, worked in thread of gold, 
 and ornamented with precious stones. By its side, stood 
 Harold and his two brothers Gurth and Leofwin ; and, 
 around them, the rest of the army, every man on foot. In 
 this arrangement the king seems to have adopted, as far as 
 circumstances would permit, the plan which had lately 
 proved so fatal to the Norwegians, and which now, from the 
 same causes, was productive of a similar result. 
 
 Probably he feared the shock of the numerous cavalry 
 of the Normans. Both men and horses were completely 
 cased in armor, whi<$h gave to their charge an irresistible 
 weight, and rendered them almost invulnerable by ordinary 
 weapons. For the purpose of opposing them with more 
 chance of success, Harold had brought with him engines 
 to discharge stones into their ranks, and had recommended 
 to his soldiers to confine themselves, in close fight, to the 
 use of the battle-axe, a heavy and murderous weapon. 
 
 On the opposite hill, William was employed in marshal- 
 ling his host. In the front, he placed the archers and 
 bowmen : the second line was composed of heavy infantry, 
 clothed in coats of mail ; and, behind these, the duke ar- 
 ranged, in five divisions, the hope and the pride of the 
 
SX1E0I8S8. 
 
 ti3 
 
 mportant 
 tings, an 
 
 the back 
 le posted 
 Qse mass, 
 jure of a 
 
 of gold, 
 le, stood 
 in; and, 
 foot. In 
 , as far as 
 a,d lately 
 from the 
 
 cavalry 
 mpletely 
 resistible 
 ordinary 
 th more 
 engines 
 amended 
 to the 
 on. 
 
 narshal- 
 
 ers and 
 
 fantry, 
 
 uke ar- 
 
 of the 
 
 Norman force, the knights and men at arms. About nine 
 in the morning, the army began to move, crossed the in- 
 terval between the two hills, and slowly ascended the wni- 
 nence on which the English were posted. The papal 
 banner, as an omen of victory, was carried in the front, 
 by Toustain, the fair, a dangerous honor, which two of the 
 Norman barotis had successively declined. 
 
 At the moment when the armies were ready to engage, 
 the Normans raised the national shout of ' Qod will be our 
 help,' which was as loudly answered by the adverse cry of 
 * Christ's rood, the holy rood.' The archers, after the dis- 
 charge of their arrows, retired to the infantry, whose weak 
 and extended line was unable to make any impression on 
 their more numerous opponents. William ordered the 
 cavalry to charge. The shock was dreadful : but the 
 English, in every point, opposed a solid and impenetrable 
 mass. Neither buckler nor corslet would withstand the 
 stroke of the battle-axe, wielded by a powerful arm and 
 with unerring aim ; and the confidence of the Normans 
 melted away at the view of their own loss, and the bold 
 countenance of their enemies. 
 
 After a short pause the horse and foot of the left wing 
 betook themselves to flight : their opponents eagerly pur- 
 sued ; and a report was spread that William himself had 
 fallen. The whole army began to waver ; when the duke, 
 with his helmet in his hand, rode along the line exclaiming, 
 ' I am still alive, and with the help of God, I shall still 
 conquer.' The presence and confidence of their commander 
 revived the hopes of the Normans ; and the speedy destruc- 
 tion of the Engliph, who had pursued the fugitives, was 
 fondly magnified into an assurance of victory. These brave 
 but incautious men had, on their return, been intercepted 
 by a numerous body of cavalry ; and, on foot and in con. 
 
iM 
 
 KXIROISSS. 
 
 fusion, they quickly disappeared beneath the swords, or 
 rather the horses, of the enemy. Not a man survived the 
 carnage. 
 
 William led his troops again to the attack : but the 
 English column, dense and immovable as a rock amidst 
 the waves, resisted every assault. Disappointed and per- 
 plexed, the Norman had recourse to stratagem, suggested 
 by his success in the earlier part of the day. He ordered 
 a division of horse to flee : they were pursued ; and the 
 temerity of the pursuers was punished with instant destruc- 
 tion. The same feint was tried with equal success in 
 another part of the field. These losses might diminish the 
 numbers of the English ; but the main body obstinately 
 maintained its position, and bade defiance to every effort of 
 the Normans. 
 
 During the engagement, William had given the most 
 signal proofs of personal bravery. Three horses had been 
 killed under him, and he had been compelled to grapple on 
 foot with his adversaries. Harold had also animated his 
 followers, both by word and example, and had displayed a 
 courage worthy of the crown for which he was fighting. 
 His brothers Gurth and Leofwin had perished already; 
 but as long as he survived, no man entertained the appre- 
 hension of defeat or admitted the idea of flight. A little 
 before sunset an arrow, shot at random entered his eye. 
 He instantly fell ; and the knowledge of his fall relaxed 
 the efforts of the English. 
 
 Twenty Normans undertook to seize the royal banner ; 
 and effected their purpose^ but with the loss of half their 
 number. One of them, who maimed with his sword tL ? 
 dead body of the king, was afterwards disgraced by Wil- 
 liam, for his brutality. At dusk, the English broke up, 
 and dispersed through the wood. 
 
EXEBOI810. 
 
 126 
 
 iner; 
 their 
 tL? 
 IWil- 
 
 As William, attracted by the cries of the combatants, 
 was hastening to the place, he met Eustace of Boulogne 
 and fifty knights, fleeing with all their speed. He called 
 on them to stop ; but the earl, while he was in the act of 
 whispering into the ear of the duke, received a stroke on 
 the back, which forced the blood out of his mouth and nos- 
 trils. He was carried in a state of insensibility to his tent. 
 William's intrepidity hurried him forward to the scene of 
 danger ; his presence encouraged his men ; succors arrived ; 
 and the English, after an obstinate resistance, were repulsed. 
 
 On the side of the victors, almost sixty thousand men 
 had been engaged, and more than one-fourth were left on 
 the field. The number of the vanquished, and the amount 
 of their loss, are unknown. By the vanity of the Norman 
 historians, the English army has been exaggerated beyond 
 the limits of credibility : by that of the native writers it 
 has been reduced to a handful of resolute warriors : but 
 both agree, that with Harold and his brothers perished all 
 the nobility of the south of England ; a loss which could 
 not be repaired. 
 
 The king's mother begged as a boon the dea3 body of 
 her son, and offered as a ransom its weight in gold ; but 
 the resentment of William had rendered him callous to pity, 
 and insensible to all interested considerations. He order- 
 ed the corpse of the fallen monarch to be buried on the 
 beach , adding, with a sneer, ' He guarded the coast while 
 he was alive ; let him continue to guard it after death.' 
 By stealth, however, or by purchase, the royal remains 
 were removed from this unhallowed site, and deposited in 
 the church at Waltham, which Harold had founded before 
 he ascended the throne. , ., ,. 
 
126 
 
 BX1B0I8I8. 
 
 ^.fv, 
 
 .-■■VV 
 
 Si ii 
 1 
 
 'i • 
 L 
 
 f I 
 • - 
 I 
 
 It 
 
 EXERCISE XL 
 
 DISCOVERY OP AMERICA BY COLUMBUS. — HohertSOn. 
 
 On Friday, the third day of August, in the year one 
 thousand four hundred and ninety-two, Columbus set sail 
 from Palos, in Spain, a little before sunrise, in presence of 
 a vast crowd of spectators, who sent up their supplications 
 to 5eaven for the prosperous issue of the voyage ; which 
 they wished, rather than expected. 
 
 His squadron, if it merit that name, consisted of no 
 more than three small vessels — the Santa Maria, the Pinta, 
 and the Nigna — ^having on board ninety men, mostly sailors, 
 together with a few adventurers, who followed the fortune 
 of Columbus, and some gentlemen of the Spanish court, 
 whom the queen appointed to acccompany him. 
 
 He steered directly for the Canary Islands ; from which, 
 after refitting his ships, and supplying himself with fresh 
 provisions, he took his departure on the sixth day of Sep- 
 tember. Here the voyage of discovery may properly be 
 said to have begun ; for Columbus, holding his course due 
 west, left immediately the usual track of navigation, and 
 stretched into unfrequented and unknown seas. 
 
 The first day, as it was very calm, he made but little 
 way ; but, on the second, he lost sight of the Canaries ; and 
 many of the sailors, already dejected and dismayed, when 
 they contemplated the boldness of the undertaking, began 
 to beat their breasts, and to shed tears, as if they were 
 never more to behold land. Columbus comforted them 
 with afisurances of success, and the prospect of vast wealth 
 in those opulent regions, whither he was conducting them. 
 
 This early discovery of the spirit of his followers taught 
 Columbus that he must prepare to struggle not only with the 
 
XXlftOISIB. 
 
 127 
 
 \}bert8on. 
 
 year one 
 s set sail 
 •esence of 
 plications 
 i; which 
 
 ed of no 
 le Pinta, 
 y sailors, 
 J fortune 
 h court, 
 
 n which, 
 th fresh 
 of Sep- 
 erly be 
 rse due 
 )n, and 
 
 It little 
 3s; and 
 f, when 
 
 began 
 
 were 
 
 them 
 
 Iwealth 
 
 them. 
 
 iught 
 
 Uhthe 
 
 ttnavoidable difficulties which might be expected Arom the 
 nature of his undertaking, but with such as were likely to 
 arise from the ignorance and timidity of the people under 
 his command; and he perceived, that the art of governing 
 the minds of men would be no less requisite for accomplish- 
 ing the discoveries which he had in view, than naval skill 
 and an enterprizing courage. 
 
 Happily for himself, and for the country by which he 
 was employed, he joined to the ardent temper and inven- 
 tive genius of a projector, virtues of another species, which 
 are rarely united with them. He possessed a thorough 
 knowledge of mankind, an insinuating address, a patient 
 perseverance in executing any plan, the perfect government 
 of his own passions, and the talent of acquiring the direct- 
 ion of those of other men. 
 
 All these qualities, which formed him for command, 
 were accompanied with that superior knowledge of his pro 
 f^ion which b^ts confidence in times of difficulty and 
 danger. To unskilful Spanish sailors, accustomed only to 
 coasting voyages in the Mediterranean, the maritime science 
 of Columbus, the fruit of thirty years' experience, appeared 
 immense. As soon as they put to sea, he regulated every 
 thing by his sole authority ; he superintended the execution 
 of every order, and, allowing himself only a few hours for 
 sleep, he was, at all other times, upon deck. 
 
 As his course lay through seas which had not been visited 
 before, tiie sounding line, or instruments for observation, 
 were continually in his hands. He attended to the motion 
 of the tides and currents, watched the flight of birds, the 
 a^)earaBee of fishes, of seaweeds, and of every thing that 
 floated on the waves, and accurately noted every occurrence 
 ia « journal that he kept. 
 
 Bjt the fourteenth day of September, the fleet was above 
 
, I 
 
 128 
 
 BXXBOIBBB. 
 
 two hundred leagues to the west of the Canary lales, * 
 greater distance from land than any Spaniard had ever 
 heen before that time. Here the sailors were struck with 
 an appearance no less astonishing than new. They observed 
 that the magnetic needle, in their compasses, did not point 
 exactly to the north star, but varied towards the west. 
 
 This appearance, which is now familiar, filled the com- 
 panions of Columbus with terror. They were in an ocean 
 boundless and unknown : nature itself seemed to be altered, 
 and the only guide which, they had left, was about to fail 
 them. Columbus, with no less quickness than ingenuity, 
 invented a reason for this appearance, which, though it did 
 not satisfy himself, seemed so plausible to them, that it 
 dispelled their fears, and silenced their murmurs. 
 
 On the first of October, they were about seven hundred 
 and seventy leagues west of the Canaries. They had now 
 been above three weeks at sea, all their prognostics of dis- 
 covery, drawn from the flight of birds, and other circum- 
 stances, had proved fallacious, and their prospect of success 
 seemed now to be as distant as ever. The spirit of dis- 
 content and of mutiny began to manifest itself among the 
 sailors, and, by degrees, ^the contagion spread from ship to 
 ship. 
 
 All agreed, that Columbus should be compelled, by force, 
 to return, while their crazy vessels were yet in a condition 
 to keep the sea ; and some even proposed to throw him 
 overboard, as the most expeditious method of getting rid of 
 his remonstrances, and of securing a seasonable return to 
 their native land. 
 
 Columbus was fully sensible of his perilous situation. 
 He perceived that it would be of no avail to have recourse 
 to any of his former expedients to lead on the hopes of his 
 companions, and that it was impossible to rekindle any zeal 
 
xxiBonns. 
 
 129 
 
 ^ Isles, * 
 had ever 
 truck with 
 y observed 
 1 not point 
 3 west. 
 d the com- 
 n an ocean 
 be altered, 
 out to fail 
 ingenuity, 
 loughitdid 
 >m, that M 
 
 PS. 
 
 en hundred 
 
 ey had now 
 
 tics of dis* 
 
 [her circum- 
 
 of success 
 
 it of dis- 
 
 among the 
 
 om ship to 
 
 I, by force, 
 
 condition 
 
 Ihrow him 
 
 ping rid of 
 
 return to 
 
 1 situation. 
 
 recourse 
 
 [pes of his 
 
 le any zeal 
 
 ^ the suooess of the expedition, among men, in whose 
 breasts fear had extinguished every generous sentiment. 
 
 He found it necessary to soothe passions, which he could 
 no longer command, and to give way to a torrent too impe- 
 tuous to be checked. He accordingly promised his men, 
 that he would comply with their request, provided they 
 would accompany him, and obey his commands, for three 
 days longer ; and if, during that time, land were not dis- 
 covered, he would then abandon the enterprize, and direct 
 his course towards Spain. 
 
 Enraged as the sailors were, and impatient as they were 
 of returning to their native country, this proposition did 
 not appear to them unreasonable : nor did Columbus hazard 
 much in confining himself to a time so short ; for the pres- 
 ages of discovering land had become so numerous and pro- 
 mising, that he deemed them infallible. 
 
 For some days, the sounding line had reached the bottom ; 
 and the soil, which it brought up, indicated land to be at 
 no great distance. The flocks of birds increased, and were 
 composed not only of sea-fowl, but of such land-birds as 
 could not be supposed to fly far from the shore. 
 
 The crew of the Pinta observed a cane floating, which 
 seemed to have been newly cut, and likewise a piece of 
 timber, artificially carved. The sailors aboard the i^igna 
 took up the branch of a tree, with red berries, perfectly 
 fresh. The clouds around the setting sun assumed a new 
 appearance ; the air was more mild and warm ; and, during 
 night, the wind became unequal and variable. 
 
 From all these symptoms, Columbus was so confident of 
 being near land, that, on the evening of the eleventh of 
 October, after public prayers for success, he ordered the 
 sails to be f^led, and strict watch to be kept, lest the ship 
 shotdd be driven ashoife in the night During this interval 
 
 X 
 
f 
 
 1 II 
 
 J i 
 
 1 t 
 
 
 1 
 
 i 
 
 1 
 
 1 1 
 
 130 
 
 BX1B0I818. 
 
 of suspense and ezpeotation, no man shut his eyes ; all kept 
 upon deck, gazing intently towards that quarter where they 
 expected to discover the land, which had been so long the 
 object of their wishes. '^.• : 
 
 About two hours before midnight, Columbus, standing 
 on the forecastle, observed a light at a distance, and pri- 
 vately pointed it out to two of his people. All three saw 
 it in motion, as if it were carried from place to place. A 
 little after midnight, the joyful sound of Land I land I was 
 heard from the Pinta. But, having been so often deceived 
 by fallacious appearances, they had now become slow of 
 belief, and waited, in all the anguish of uncertainty and 
 impatience, for the return of day. 
 
 As soon as morning dawned, their doubts and fears were 
 dispelled. They beheld an island about two leagues to the 
 north, whose flat and verdant fields, well stored with wood 
 and watered with many rivulets, presented to them the 
 aspect of a delightful country. The crew of the Pinta 
 instantly began a hymn of thanksgiving to God, and were 
 joined, by those of the other ships, with tears of joy, and 
 transports of congratulation. s. > 
 
 This office of gratitude to Heaven was followed by an 
 act of justice to their commander. They threw themselves 
 at the feet of Columbus, with feelings of self-condemnation 
 mingled with reverence. They implored him to pardon 
 their ignorance, incredulity, and insolence, which had 
 created him so much unnecessary disquiet, and had so often 
 obstructed the prosecution of his well-concerted plan ; and 
 passing, in the warmth of their admiration, from one ex- 
 treme to another, they now pronounced the man, whom 
 they had so lately reviled and threatened, to be a person 
 inspired by Heaven with sagacity and fortitude more than 
 human, in order to accomplish a design so far beyond the 
 ideas and conceptions of all former ages. 
 
ixnonii. 
 
 181 
 
 jea ; all kept 
 r where tbey 
 80 long the 
 
 '■■f. 
 
 as, standing 
 oe, and pri- 
 ll three saw 
 to place. A 
 1 1 land I was 
 )ften deceived 
 some slow of 
 certMnty and 
 
 and fears were 
 leagues to the 
 red with wood^ 
 to them the 
 of the Pinta 
 od, and were 
 of joy, and 
 
 As soon as the snn arose, all the boats were manned and 
 armed. They rowed towards the island with their colors 
 displayed, warlike music, and other martial pomp; and, as 
 they approached the coast, they saw it covered with a mul- 
 titude of people, whom the novelty of the spectacle had 
 drawn together, and whose attitudes and gestures expressed 
 wonder and astonishment at the strange objects which pre- 
 sented themselves to their view. 
 
 Columbus was the first European who set foot in the 
 New World, which ho had discovered. He landed in a 
 rich dress, and with a naked sword in his hand. His men 
 followed, and kneeling down, they all kissed the ground 
 which they had long desired to see. 
 
 They next erected a crucifix, and, prostrating themselves 
 before it, returned thanks to God for conducting their 
 voyage to such a happy issue. They then took solemn 
 possession of the country for the crown of Castile and 
 Leon, with all the formalities with which the Portuguese 
 were accustomed to take possession of their new discoveries. 
 
 The Spaniards, while thus employed, were surrounded 
 by many of the natives, who gazed, in silent admiration, 
 upon actions which they could not comprehend, and of 
 which they did not foresee the consequences. The dress 
 of the Spaniards, the whiteness of their skins, their beards, 
 their arms, appeared strange and surprising. 
 
 Th*^ vast machines, in which they had traversed the 
 ocean, v'hat seemed to move upon the water with wings, 
 and uttered a dreadful sound, resembling thunder, accom- 
 panied with lightning and smoke, stnick them with such 
 terror, that they began to respect their new guests as a 
 superior order of beings, and concluded that they were 
 children of the sun, who had descended to visit the earth. 
 
 The Europeans were hardly less amazed at the scene 
 

 'If 
 
 f 
 
 T 
 
 It I 
 
 « 
 
 \9$ iXBRoxflsa. 
 
 now hafiffe them. Everj herb, and shrub, and tree, was 
 different from those which flourished in Europe. The soil 
 seemed to be rich, but bore few marks of cultivation. The 
 olimate, even to Spaniards, felt warm, thou^ extremely 
 delightful. 
 
 The inhabitants were entirely naked : their black hair, 
 long and uncurled,floated upon their shoulders, or was bound 
 in tresses around their heads ; they had no beards ; their 
 complexion was of a dusky copper color ; their features 
 singuiciT, rather than disagreeable ; their aspect gentle and 
 timid. 
 
 Though not tall, they were well shaped and active. 
 Their faces, and other parts of their body, were fantastically 
 painted with glaring colors. They were shy at first, 
 through fear, but soon became familiar with the Spaniards, 
 and, with transports of joy, received from them hawks' bells, 
 glass beads, and other baubles ; in return for which they 
 gave such provisions as they had, and some cotton yarn, 
 the only commodity of value which they could produce. 
 
 Towards evening, Columbus returned to his ships, ac' 
 companied by many of the islanders in their boats, which 
 they called canoes ; and, thoiJ^h rudely formed out of the 
 trunk of a single tree, they rowed them with surprising 
 dexterity. Thus, in the first interview between the inha* 
 bitantsof the Old World and those of the New, every thing 
 was conducted amicably, and to their mutual satisfaction. 
 The former, enlightened and ambitious, formed already vast 
 ideas with respect to the advantages which they might 
 derive from those regions that began to open to their view. 
 The latter, simple and undisoeming, had no foresight of 
 the oalamitiea and desolation, which were now approaching 
 their country* . i. . .^ , 
 
 j.i- 
 
 
tree, was 
 
 The soil 
 
 ion. The 
 
 extremely 
 
 black hair, 
 was bound 
 ufds; their 
 ir features 
 gentle and 
 
 and active, 
 fantastically 
 [ly at first, 
 3 Spaniards, 
 iiawks' bells, 
 which they 
 jotton yam, 
 produce. 
 3 ships, ac- 
 )oats, which 
 out of the 
 1 surprising 
 sn the inha- 
 every thing 
 iatisfaction. 
 ilready vast 
 ihey might 
 their view, 
 foresight of 
 Lpproaching 
 
 SXBB0I8S8. 
 
 138 
 
 • ■ - ,. ...... - -? ...;^. ' ;;: ;-: ,., „.'• 
 
 '.••?'<*-■•.''* > •■( 
 
 EXERCISE XII. w 
 
 
 CHARACTER OF OROMWELJi. 
 
 .( ; 
 
 In the general spirit and character of his administration, 
 we think Cromwell far superior to Napoleon. * In civil 
 government,* says a recent historian,* * there can be no 
 adequate parallel between one who had sucked only the 
 dregs of a besotted fanaticism, and one to whom the stores 
 of reason and philosophy were open.' These expressions, 
 it seems to us, convey the highest eulogium on our great 
 countryman. Eeason and philosophy did not teach the 
 conqueror of Europe to command his passions, or to pur- 
 sue, as a first object, the happiness of his people. They 
 did not prevent him from risking his fame and his power 
 in a frantic contest against the principles of human nature 
 and the laws of the physical world, against the rage of 
 the winter and the liberty of the sea. They did not ex- 
 empt him from the influence of that most pernicious, of 
 superstitions, a presumptuous fatalism. They did not pre- 
 serve him from the inebriation of prosperity, or restrain 
 him from indecent querulousness and violence in adversity. 
 
 On the other hand, the fanaticism of Cromwell never 
 urged him on to impracticable undertakings, or confused 
 his perception of the public good. Inferior to Bonaparte 
 in invention, he was far superior to him in wisdom. The 
 French Emperor is among conquerors what Voltaire is 
 among writers, a miraculous child. His splended genius 
 was frequently clouded by fits of humor as absurdly per- 
 verse as those of the pet of the nursery, who quarrels with 
 his food, and dashes his playthings to pieces. Cromwell 
 
 i>\^ 
 
 « f i' 
 
 *Mr. Hallam. 
 
II, 
 
 i ! 
 
 
 i 
 
 t 
 
 134 
 
 IXEBOISIB. 
 
 was empliatioally a man. He possessed, in an eminent 
 d^ree, that masculine and full grown robustness of mind, 
 that equally diffused intellectual health, which, if our na- 
 tional partiality does not mislead us, has peculiarly char- 
 acterized the great men of England. Never was any ruler 
 so conspicuously bom for sovereignty. The cup which 
 has intoxicated almost all others, sobered him. His spirit, 
 restless from its buoyancy in a lower sphere, reposed in 
 majestic placidity, as soon as it had* reached the level con- 
 genial to it. He had nothing in common with that large 
 class of then who distinguish themselves in lower posts, 
 and whose incapacity becomes obvious as soon as the pub- 
 lic voice summons them to take the lead. Rapidly as his 
 fortunes grew, his mind expanded more rapidly still. In- 
 significant, as a private citizen, he was a great general ; he 
 was a still greater prince. 
 
 The manner of Napoleon was a theatrical compound, in 
 which the coarseness of a revolutionary guard-room was 
 blended with the ceremony of the old court of Versailles. 
 Cromwell, by the confession even of his enemies, exhibited 
 in his demeanor the simple and natural nobleness of a 
 man neither ashamed of his origin, nor vain of his eleva- 
 tion ; of a man who had found his proper place in society, 
 and who felt secure that he was competent to fill it. Easy, 
 even to familiarity, where his own dignity was concerned, 
 he was punctilious only for his country. His own charac- 
 ter he left to take care of itself; he left it to be defended 
 by his victories in war, and his reforms in peace. But he 
 was a jealous and inplacable guardian of the public honour. 
 He sufiered a crazy Quaker to insult him in the midst 
 of Whitehall, and revenged himself only by liberating 
 him and giving him a dinner. But he was prepared to 
 risk the chances of war to avenge the blood of a private 
 Bngli^bman^ 
 
EXIE0I8I8. 
 
 135 
 
 in eminent 
 3SB of mind, 
 I, if our na- 
 aliarly char- 
 as any ruler 
 I cup which 
 
 His spirit, 
 B, reposed in 
 he level con- 
 th that large 
 
 lower post>3, 
 ft as the pub- 
 ,apidly as his 
 lly still. In- 
 t general ; he 
 
 sompound, in 
 ard-room was 
 of Versailles, 
 ies, exhibited 
 Dbleness of a 
 of his eleva- 
 cc in society, 
 ill it. Easy, 
 ls concerned, 
 own charao- 
 be defended 
 tce. But he 
 iblic honour. 
 In the midst 
 ►y liberating 
 prepared to 
 of a private 
 
 No sovereign ever carried to the throne so large a portion 
 of the best qualities of the middling orders — so strong a 
 sympathy with the feelings and in terests of his people. He 
 W.8 «ometimeB driven to arbitrary measures, bnt he had a 
 high, stout, honest, English heart. Hence it was that he 
 loved to surround his throne with such men as Hale and 
 Blake. Hence it was that he allowed so large a share of 
 political liberty to his subjects, and that, even when an op- 
 position dangerous to his power and to his person, almost 
 compelled him to govern by the sword, he was still anxious 
 to leave a germ from which, at a more favourable season, 
 free institutions might spring. 
 
 We firmly believe, that if his first Parliament had not 
 commenced its debates by disputing his title, his govern- 
 ment would have been as mild at home as it was energetic 
 and able abroad. He was a soldier; — he had risen by 
 war. Had his ambition been of an impure or selfish 
 kind, it would have been easy for him to plunge his coun- 
 try into continental hostilities on a large scale, and to daz- 
 zle the restless factions which he ruled by the splendor of 
 his victories. Some of his enemies have sneeringly remark- 
 ed, that in the successes obtained under his administration, 
 he had no personal share ; as if a man, who had raised 
 himself from obscurity to empire solely by his military 
 talents, could have any unworthy reason for shrinking 
 from military enterprise. This reproach is his highest 
 glory. In the success of the English navy he could have 
 no selfish interest. Its triumphs added nothing to his 
 fame ; its increase added nothing to his means of overaw- 
 ing his enemies ; its great leader was not his friend. Yet 
 he took a peculiar pleasure in encouraging that noble ser- 
 vice, which, of all the instruments employed by an English 
 Qovemment, is the most impotent for mischief and the 
 most powerful for good, 
 
.1--1L-1 1- 
 
 136 
 
 1XEBCI8E8. 
 
 His administration was glorious^ but with no Tulgar 
 glory. It was not one of those periods of over strained 
 and convalsive exertion, which necessarily produce debility 
 and languor. Its energy was natural, healthful, and tem- 
 perate. He placed England at the head of the Protestant 
 interest, and in the first rank of Christian powers, fie 
 taught every nation to value her friendship, and to dread 
 her enmity. But he did not squander her resources in 
 a vain attempt to invest her with that supremacy which no 
 power, in the modern system of Europe, can safely aflfect, 
 or can long retain. > 
 
 This noble and sober wisdom had its reward. If he 
 did not carry the banners of the Commonwealth in triumph 
 to distant capitals ; if he did not adorn Whitehall with 
 the spoils of the Stadthouse and the Louvre ; if he did not 
 portion out Flanders and Germany into principalities for 
 his kinsmen and his Generals ; he did not on the other 
 hand see his country overrun by the armies of nations, 
 which his ambition had provoked. He did not drag out 
 the last years of his life an exile and prisoner, in an un- 
 healthy climate and under an ungenerous gaoler^ raging 
 with the Impotent desire of vengeance, and brooding over 
 visions of departed glory. He went down to his grave 
 in the fulness of his power and fame ; and left to his son 
 an authority^ which any man of ordinary firmness and pru- 
 dence would have retained. 
 
 EXERCISE XIII. r ': 
 
 CONCLUSION OP DR. RUSH'S CHAPTER ON THE MODE OP 
 INSTRUCTION IN ELOCUTION. 
 
 The various uses of the elements, enumerated throughout 
 this essay, contribute largely to the force and elegance of 
 
no Tulgar 
 rer strained 
 ace debility 
 l1, and tem- 
 Protestant 
 jwers. He 
 nd to dread 
 resources in 
 cy which no 
 afely aJSect, 
 
 ard. If he 
 I in triumph 
 itehall with 
 Ifhedidnot 
 npalities for 
 )n the other 
 
 of nations, 
 lot drag out 
 r, in an un- 
 )ler^ raging 
 
 oding over 
 his grave 
 \i to his son 
 
 iss and pru- 
 
 BXBROIBIB. 
 
 137 
 
 MODE OF 
 
 jthroughout 
 leganoe of 
 
 uttennoe. They mtist be ^nployed. The question is, 
 whether they should be learned from an assemblage, in 
 current discourse, or from a separate and iterated practice on 
 their individual forms. ' 
 
 I need not propose arguments in favour of the analytic 
 and elementary system to those, who, from the habit of 
 acquiring the sciences, have formed for themselves econom< 
 ical and effective plans of education. It is well for all 
 others to take opinion in this matter, for a while at least, 
 upon faith ; and to know that the only reason why elocu- 
 tionists have never employed this mode, is because they 
 have been ignorant of the subdivided functions of speech. 
 There are too many examples in science, of the useful ap- 
 plication of analysis to the purpose of rudimental instruc- 
 tion, to suppose that the same means would not have been 
 adopted in elocution, if they had been within reach of the 
 master. 
 
 I look for no more, from a well-devised practical system 
 of elocution, than we are every day receiving from establish- 
 ed arts. All men speak and reason ; for these acts, as far 
 as we know, are as natural as passion : but the arts of 
 grammar, rhetoric and logic, teach us to do these things in 
 the best manner. In short, doing them in the best man- 
 ner, is signified by the name of these arts. When the 
 voice is prepared by elementary trial, the feeling which 
 prompts the expression will find the pliant and strength- 
 ened organs ready to furnish a satisfactory and elegant 
 accomplishment of its designs. 
 
 If the high accomplishments of elocution are an object 
 of ambition, the system of instruction offered in this essay, 
 will furnish the easiest and shortest means for success. 
 Afbw all that has been said, the best contrived scheme will 
 be of little avail, without the utmost zeal and perseverance 
 
138 
 
 EXXB0IBI8. 
 
 on the part of Uie learner. It is an impressive saying, by 
 an elegant genius of the Augustan age in Borne, and he 
 drew the maxim from his own life and fame, that ' nothing 
 is given to mortals without indefatigable labor:' by whioh 
 he meant to insinuate that those works which, from their 
 rare and surpassing merits, are supposed to proceed from a 
 peculiar endowment by Heaven, are, in reality, but iho 
 product of hard and unremitting industry. 
 
 It is pitiable to witness the wishes and conceits of am- 
 bition, without the accompaniment of its requisite exertions. 
 The art of reading well, is one of those accomplishments 
 which all wish to possess, many think they have already, 
 and some set about to acquire. These after a few lessons 
 with an elocutionist, and no toil of their own, are disap- 
 pointed at not becoming themselves at once masters of the 
 art, and abandon the study for the purpose of entering on 
 some new subject of trial and failure. Such cases of infir- 
 mity are partly the consequence of the inconstancy of hu- 
 man nature ; but they chiefly arise from defects in the 
 usual course of instruction. 
 
 Go to some, may I say all, of our colics and universi- 
 ties, and observe how the art of speaking, is not taught 
 there. See a boy of but fifteen years, sent upon a stage, 
 pale and choking with apprehension, in an attempt to do 
 that, without instruction, which he came purposely to learn; 
 and to furnish amusement to his class-mates, by a pardon- 
 able awkwardness, which should be punished in the person 
 of his pretending and neglectful preceptors, with little less 
 than scourging. 
 
 Then visit a conservatorio of music— see the orderly 
 tasks, the masterly discipline, the unwearied superintend- 
 ence, and the incessant toil to produce accomplishment of 
 Yoioe ] and af^rwards do not b^ surprised that the pulpit, 
 
), and he 
 ' nothing 
 by whioh 
 rom their 
 ed from a 
 , but the 
 
 ts of am- 
 exertions, 
 lishments 
 ) already, 
 w lessons 
 ire disap- 
 Brs of the 
 tering on 
 ^ of infir- 
 T of hu- 
 s in the 
 
 universi. 
 
 )t taught 
 a stage, 
 
 )t to do 
 to learn; 
 pardon- 
 e person 
 ittle less 
 
 orderly 
 
 rintend- 
 
 lent of 
 
 pulpit, 
 
 EX1R0I8I8. 
 
 139 
 
 the senate, the bar, and the chair of medical professorship 
 are filled with such abominable drawlers, mouthers, mumb- 
 lers, dutterers, squeakers, chanters, and mongers in mono- 
 tony ; nor that the schools of singing are constantly sending 
 abroad those great instances of vocal wonder, who sound 
 along the high places of the world ; who are bidden to the 
 halls of fashion and wealth; who sometimes quell the pride 
 of rank, by its momentary sensation of envy ; and who 
 draw forth the intelligent curiosity, and produce the crown- 
 ing delight and approbation of the Prince and the Sage. 
 
 EXERCISE XIV. 
 
 INDUSTEY NECESSARY TO THE ATTAINMENT OP ELO- 
 QUENCE. — Ware. 
 
 Tiie history of the world is full of testimony to prove 
 how much depends upon industry ; not an eminent orator 
 has lived, but is an example of it. Yet, in contradiction 
 to all this, the almost universal feeling appears to be, that 
 industry can. effect nothing, that eminence is the result of 
 accident, and that every one must be content to remain 
 just what he may happen to be. Thus multitudes, who 
 come forward as teachers and guides, suffer themselves to 
 be satisfied with the most indifferent attainments, and a 
 miserable mediocrity, without so much as inquiring how 
 they may rise higher, much less making any attempt to 
 rise. 
 
 For any other art they would have served an appren- 
 ticeship, and wou'd be ashamed to practise it in public 
 before they had learned it. If any one would sing, he 
 attends a master, and is drilled in the very elementary 
 
 '■L 
 I 
 
140 
 
 EXBROISBB. 
 
 principles ; and only after the most laborious process, dares 
 to exercise his voice in public. This he does, though he 
 has Roaroe any thing to learn but the mechanical execution 
 of what lies in sensible forms before the eye. But the ex- 
 tempore speaker, who is to invent as well as to utter, to 
 carry on an operation of the mind as well as to produce 
 sound, enters upon the work without preparatory discipline 
 and then wonders that he fails ! 
 
 If he were learning to play on the flute for public exhi- 
 bition, what hours and days would he spend in giving 
 facility to his fingers, and attaining the power of the sweet- 
 est and most expressive execution ! If he were devoting 
 himself to the organ, what months and years would he la- 
 bor, that he might know its compass, and be master of its 
 keys, and be able to draw out, at will, all its various com- 
 binations of harmonious sound, and its full richness and 
 delicacy of expression ! And yet, he will fancy that the 
 grandest, the most various and most expressive of all in- 
 struments, which the infinite Creator has fashioned by the 
 union of an intellectual soul with the powers of speech, 
 may be played upon without study or practice ; he comes 
 to it a mere uninstructed tyro, and thinks to manage all 
 its stops, and command the whole compass of its varied and 
 comprehensive power ! He finds himself a bungler in the 
 attempt, is mortified at his failure, and settles it in his 
 mind for ever, that the attempt is vain. 
 
 Success in every art, whatever may be the natural 
 talent, is always the reward of industry and pains. But 
 the instances are many, of men of the finest natural genius, 
 whose beginning has promised much, but who have de- 
 generated wretchedly as they advanced, because they 
 trusted to their gifts, and made bo efforts to improve. 
 That iheie have never been other men of equal endowments 
 
)ce88,clarefl 
 though he 
 i execution 
 {ut the ex- 
 utter, to 
 to produce 
 r discipline 
 
 iiblic exhi- 
 in giving 
 the sweet- 
 3 devoting 
 )uld he la- 
 ster of its 
 rious com- 
 hness and 
 
 that the 
 of all in- 
 ed by the 
 if speech, 
 he comes 
 
 anage all 
 iried and 
 
 r in the 
 in his 
 
 natural 
 
 But 
 
 genius, 
 
 lave de- 
 
 30 they 
 
 iprove. 
 
 Iwments 
 
 BXUKW90* 
 
 t^ 
 
 with Demosthenes and Cicero, none would venture to 
 suppose ; but who have so devoted themselves to their art, 
 or become equal in excellence ? If those great men had 
 been content,' like others, to continue as they began, and 
 had never made their persevering efforts for improvement, 
 what would their countries have benefitted from their 
 genius, or the world have known of their fame ? They 
 would have been lost in the undistinguished crowd that 
 sunk to oblivion around them. ! ^ 
 
 Of how many more will the same remark prove true I 
 What encouragement is thus given to the industrious I 
 With such encouragement, how inexcusable is the negli- 
 gence, which suffers the most interesting and important 
 truths to seem heavy and dull, and fall ineffectual to the 
 ground, through mere sluggishness in their delivery I 
 How unworthy of one, who performs the high functions of 
 a religious instructor, upon whom depend, in a great 
 measure, the religious knowledge and devotional sentiments, 
 and final character of many fellow-beings — to imagine that 
 he can worthily discharge this great concern, by occasionally 
 talking for an hour, he knows not how, and in a manner 
 which he has taken no pains to render correct, impressive, 
 and attractive ; and which, simply through want of that 
 command ovei himself which study would give, is im^ 
 methodical, verbose, inaccurate, feeble, trifling. - ^ 
 
 It has b II said of the good preacher, that 'truths 
 divine convo mended from his tongue.' Alas 1 they come 
 ruined and worthless from such a man as this. They lose 
 that holy energy, by which they are to convert the soul and 
 purify man for heaven, and sink, in interest and ef&cacy, 
 below the level of those principles, which govern th© 
 or4iiif^y affairs of this lower world* / ,,;; -mi 
 
 
 
148 
 
 SX1R0X818. 
 
 
 \\\\v\^ 
 
 ij 
 
 , , EXERCISE XV. 
 ON DUELLINa— J^?ip/ta7c< Nott, 
 
 -[♦-,«/. 
 
 Life is the gift of God, and it never was bestowed to be 
 sported with. To each, the Sovereign of the universe has 
 marked out a sphere to move in, and assigned a part to act. 
 This part respects ourselves not only, but others also. 
 Each lives for the benefit of all. " " " 
 
 As in the system of nature the sun shines, not to dis- 
 play his own brightness and answer its own convenience, 
 but to warm, enlighten, and bless the world ; so in the sys- 
 tem of animated beings, there is a dependence, a correspon- 
 dence, and a relation, through an infinitely extended, dying 
 and reviving universe — * in which no man liveth to himself, 
 and no man dieth to himself.' Friend is related to friend; 
 the father to his family ; the inoividual to the community. 
 To every member of which, having fixed his station and 
 assigned his duty, the God of nature says, ' Keep this trust 
 — defend this post;' For whom ? For thy friends, thy 
 family, thy country. And having received such a charge, 
 and for such a purpose, to desert it is rashness and temer- 
 ity. ' ■■' •'■ ■• ' '' '' - 
 
 'tfmcethe opinions of men are as they are, do you ask, 
 how you shall avoid the imputation of cowardice, if you 
 do not fight when you are injured ? Ask your family how 
 you will avoid tho imputation of cruelty : ask your con- 
 science how you will avoid the imputation of guilt : ask 
 God how you will avoid his malediction, if you do ? 
 These are previous questions. Let these first be ans- 
 wered, and it will be easy to reply to any which may fol- 
 low them. If you only accept a challenge, when you be- 
 lieve in your conscience, that duelling is wrong, you act 
 
1X1R0I8I8. 
 
 143 
 
 
 Ned to be 
 iverse has 
 art to act. 
 lers also. 
 
 iOt to dis- 
 venience, 
 n the sys- 
 lorrespon- 
 led, dying 
 himself, 
 to friend; 
 nmunity. 
 ition and 
 
 ;his trust 
 |nds, thy 
 charge, 
 
 d temer- 
 
 ^ou ask, 
 \, if you 
 lily how 
 )ur con- 
 lilt: ask 
 )u do? 
 )e ans- 
 lay fol- 
 rou be- 
 rou act 
 
 the coward. The dastardly fear of the world governs you. 
 Awed by its menaces, you' conceal your sentiments, ap 
 pear in disguise, and act in guilty conformity to prin- 
 ciples not your own, and that too in the most solemn 
 moment, and when engaged in an act which exposes you to 
 death. 
 
 But if it be rashness to accept, how passing rashness is it 
 in a sinner to give a challenge ? Does it become him, 
 whose life is measured out by crimes, to be extreme to 
 mark, and punctilioud to resent whatever is amiss in others ? 
 Must the duellist, who, now disdaining to forgive, so im- 
 periously demands satisfac'iion to the uttermost — must 
 this man himself, trembling at the recollection of his of- 
 fences, presently appear a suppliant before the mercy-seat 
 of God ? Imagine this — and the case is not imaginary — 
 and you c. nnot conceive an instance of greater inconsis- 
 tency, or of more presumptuous arrogance. Therefore, 
 * avenge not yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath : 
 for vengeance is mine, I will repay it, saith the Lord.' 
 Do you ask, then, how you shall conduct towards your ene- 
 my, who hath lightly done you wrong ? If he be hungry, 
 feed him ; if naked, clothe him ; if thirsty, give him drink. 
 
 Such, had you jireferred your question to Jesus Christ, 
 is the answer he had given you. By observing which, 
 you will usually subdue, and always act more honorably 
 than your enemy. 
 
 EXERCISE XVI. 
 
 THE RAISING OP LAZARUS. 
 
 Now a certain man was sick, named Lazarus, of Beth- 
 any, the town of Mary and her sister Martha. (It waa 
 
 // 
 
r 
 
 144. 
 
 ^imwmiB. 
 
 that Marj which anointed the Lord with ointment, and 
 wiped his feet with her hair, whose brother Latarus wai 
 slok.) Therefore his sisters sent unto him saying, Lord, 
 behold him whom thou lovest is sick. 
 
 When Jesus heard that, he said. This sickness is not 
 unto death, but for the glory of God, and that the Son of 
 God might be glorified thereby. Now Jesus loved Martha, 
 and her sister and Lazarus. When he had heard, there- 
 fore, that he was sick, he abode two days still in the same 
 place where he was. Then after that, saith he to his dis- 
 ciples, Let us go into Judoa again. > 
 
 His disciples say unto him. Master, the Jews of late 
 sought to stone thee; and goest thou thither again ? 
 Jk'^^s answered. Are there not twelve hours in the day ? 
 If any man walk in the day he stumbleth not, because he 
 seeth the light of this world. But if a man walk in the 
 night he stumbleth, because there is no light in him. 
 These things said he : and after that he saith unto them, 
 Our friend Lazarus sleepeth ; but I go that I may awake 
 him out of sleep. 
 
 Then said his disciples. Lord, if he sleep he shall do well. 
 Howbeit, Jesus spake of his death : but they thought 
 that he had spoken of taking of rest in sleep. Then said 
 Jesus unto them plainly, Lazarus is dead. And I am 
 glad for your sakes that I was not there, to the intent ye 
 may believe : nevertheless let us go unto him. 
 
 Then said Thomas, which is called Didymus, unto his 
 fellow-disciples, Let us also go, that we may die with him. 
 Then when Jesus came, he found that he had lain in the 
 grave four days already. (Now Bethany was nigh unto 
 Jerusalem about fifteen furlongs o£f.) And many of the 
 Jews oame to Martha and Mary, to comfort them concern^ 
 log their brother^ ' 
 
)nt, tad 
 trus wtf 
 5, Lord, 
 
 9S is not 
 le Son of 
 Martha, 
 d, there- 
 ^he same 
 his dU- 
 
 s of late 
 again ? 
 ihe day ? 
 canse he 
 ik in the 
 in him. 
 to them, 
 y awake 
 
 do well. 
 
 thought 
 en said 
 d I am 
 tent ye 
 
 into his 
 
 Ith him« 
 
 in the 
 
 i^h unto 
 
 of the 
 
 )iicern* 
 
 EXEBOISES. 
 
 145 
 
 . Then Martha, as soon as she heard that Jesus was com- 
 ing, went and met him : but Mary sat still in the house. 
 Then said Martha unto Jesus, Lord, if thou hadst been 
 hero my brother had not died. But I know, that oven 
 now, whatsoever thou wilt ask of God, God will give it 
 thee. Jesus said unto her, thy brother shall rise again. 
 Martha said unto him, I know that he shall rise again in 
 the resurrection at the last day. 
 
 Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection and the life : 
 he that believcth in me, though he were dead, yet shall lie 
 live ; and whoso liveth and believeth in me shall never die. 
 Believest thou this? She saith unto him. Yea, Lord, I 
 believe that thou art the Christ, the Son of God, which 
 should come into the world. And Mh n she had so said 
 she went her way, and called Mary h. r sister, secretly, say- 
 ing, the Master is come and calleth for thee. As soon as 
 she heard that, she arose quickly, and came unto him. 
 
 Now Jesus was not yet come into the town, but was in 
 that place where Martha met him. The Jews then, which 
 were with her in the house, and comforted her, when they 
 saw Mary that she rose up hastily, and went out, followed 
 her, saying. She goeth unto the grave to weep there. 
 Then when Mary was come where Jesus was, and saw h 
 she fell down at his feet, saying unto him. Lord, if thou 
 hadst been here my brother had not died. 
 
 When Jesus, therefore, saw her weeping, and the Jews 
 also weeping which came with her, he groaned in the spirit, 
 and was troubled ; and said. Where have ye laid him ? 
 They say unto him. Lord, come and see. Jesus wept. 
 Then said the Jews, Behold how he loved him I And 
 some of them said. Could not this man, which opened the 
 eyes of the blind, have caused that even this man should 
 not have died ? Jesus, therefore, again groaning in himself 
 
 K 
 
 / 
 
r^ 
 
 \ . , 
 
 146 
 
 EXEROISES. 
 
 cometh to the grave. It was a cave, and a stone lay upon 
 
 > -f-: 
 
 Jesus said, Take ye away the stone. Martha, the sister of 
 him that was dead, saith unto him, Lord, by this time he 
 stinketh ; for he hath been dead four days. Jesus saith 
 unto her. Said I not unto thee, that, if thou wouldst believe, 
 thou shouldst see the glory of God ? Then they took 
 away the stone from the place where the dead was laid. 
 And Jesus lifted up his eyes, and said, Father, I thank 
 thee that thou hast heard me ; and I knew that thou hear- 
 est me always ; but because of the people which stand 
 by I said it, that they may believe that thou has sent me. 
 
 And when he thus had spoken he cried with a loud voice, 
 Lazarus, come forth. And he that was dead came forth, 
 bound hand and foot with grave clothes ; and his face was 
 bound about with a napkin. Jesus saith unto them. Loose 
 him and let him go. Then many of the Jews which 
 came to Mary, and had seen the things which Jesus did, 
 believed on him. _ 
 
 EXERCISE XVII. 
 
 DEATH OP ELI. 
 
 And the Word of Samuel came to all Istaeh Now Israel 
 Went out against the Philistines to battle, and pitched be- 
 side Eben-ezer ; nnd the Philistines pitched in Aphek* 
 And the Philistines put themselves in array against Israel ; 
 and, When they joined battle, Israel was smitten before 
 the Philistines } and they slew of the army in the field 
 about four thousand meui 
 
 And when the people were come into the camp, the 
 elders of Israel said, Wherefbre has the Lord smitten us 
 
£XEROISES. 
 
 ul 
 
 ay upon 
 
 ittster of 
 \ time he 
 sua s^th 
 it believe, 
 ihey took 
 was laid. 
 r, I thank 
 hou hear- 
 aich stand 
 ; sent me. 
 loud voice, 
 lame forth, 
 is face was 
 bem, Loose 
 ews which 
 Jesus did, 
 
 Kow Israel 
 
 pitched be^ 
 
 in Aphekk 
 
 linst Israel; 
 
 fitten before 
 
 lin the field 
 
 iQ camp, 
 
 thd 
 
 smitten us 
 
 to-day before the Philistines ? Let us fetch the ark of the 
 covenant of the Lord out of Shiloh unto us, that when it 
 oometh among us, it may save us out of the hands of our 
 enemies. So the people sent to Shiloh, that they might 
 bring from thence the ark of the covenant of the Lord of 
 hosts, which dwelleth between the Cherubim : and the two 
 sons of Eli, Hophni and Phinehas, were there, with the 
 ark of the covenant of God. 
 
 And when the ark of the covenant of the Lord came 
 into the camp, all Israel shouted with a great shout, so that 
 the earth rang again. And when the Philistines heard 
 the noise of the shout, they said, What means the noise 
 of this great shout in the camp of the Hebrews ? And they 
 understood that the ark of the Lord was come into the 
 camp. 
 
 And the Philistines were afraid ; for they said, God is 
 come into the (?amp. And they said. Woe unto us I for 
 there hath not been such a thing heretofore. Woe unto 
 us 1 who shall deliver us out of the hand of these mighty 
 Gods ? these are the Gods that smote the Egyptians with 
 all the plagues in the wilderness. Be strong, and quit 
 yourselves like men, ye Philistines, that ye bo not 
 servants unto the Hebrews, as they have been to you : 
 quit yourselves like men, and fight. 
 
 And the Philistines fought, and Israel was smitten and 
 they fled every man into his tent j and there was a very 
 great slaughter ; for there fell of Israel thirty thousand 
 footmen. And the ark of God was taken j and the two 
 sons of Eli, Hophni and Phinehas, were slain. And 
 there ran a man of Benjamin out of the army, and came 
 to Shiloh the same day, with his clothes rent, and with 
 earth upon his head. 
 , And when he came, lo, Eli sat upon a seat by the way- 
 
148 
 
 EXERCISES^ 
 
 side, watching ; for his heart trembled for the ark of God. 
 And when the man came into the city and told it, all the 
 city cried out. And when Eli heard the noise of the 
 crying, he said, What meaneth the noise of this tumult ? 
 And the man came in hastily, and told Eli. Now Eli 
 was ninety and eight years old ; and his eyes were dim, 
 that he could not see. ' 
 
 And the man said unto Eli, I am he that came out of 
 the army, and I fled to-day out of the army. And he 
 said, What is there done, my son? And the messenger 
 answered and said, Israel is fled before the Philistines, 
 and there hath been also a great slaughter among the 
 people ; and thy two sons also, Hophni and Phinehas are 
 dead ; and the ark of God is taken. And it came to pass, 
 when he made mention of the ark of God, that he fell 
 from oflf the seat backward, by the side of the gate, and 
 his neck brake, and he died : for he was an old man, and 
 heavy. And had judged Israel forty years. 
 
 \l 
 
 EXERCISE XVIII. 
 
 ' »i 
 
 M |) 
 
 EXTRACT FROM ERSKINE'S SPEECH ON PAINE'S AGE 
 
 OP REASON. 
 
 But it seems this is an age of reason, and the time and 
 the person are at last arrived, that are to dissipate the 
 errors that have overspread the past generations of ignor- 
 ance I The believers in Christianity are many, but it 
 belongs to the few that are wise to correct their credulity ! 
 
 Belief is an act of reason ; and superior reason may 
 therefore dictate to the weak. In running the mind 
 along the pumerous list of sincere and devout Christians, 
 
EXERCISES. 
 
 149 
 
 of God. 
 b, all the 
 B of the 
 tumult ? 
 Now Eli 
 rere dim, 
 
 luc out of 
 And he 
 [nessenger 
 hilistines, 
 mong the 
 inehas are 
 le to pass, 
 lat he fell 
 gate, and 
 man, and 
 
 Ie's age 
 
 time and 
 tsipate the 
 \b of ignor- 
 Iny, but it 
 •credulity! 
 leason may 
 
 the mind 
 IChristians, 
 
 I cannot help lamenting that Newton had not lived to this 
 day, to have had his shallowness filled up with this new 
 flood of light. But the subject is too awful for irony. I 
 will speak plainly and directly^ Newton was a Christian ! 
 Newton, whose mind burst forth from the fetters cast by 
 nature upon our finite conception : Newton, whose science 
 was truth, and the foundation of whose knowledge of it 
 was philosophy. Not those' visionary and arrogant assump- 
 tions which too often usurp its name, but philosophy 
 resting upon the basis of mathematics, which, like figures, 
 cannot lie. Newton, who carried the line and rule to the 
 utmost barriers of creation, and explored the principles by 
 which, no doubt, all created matter is held together and 
 eiacl ■ ;: ■ -" .■•-• 
 
 1 it I s extraordinary man, in the mighty reach of his 
 mind, overlooked, perhaps, the errors which a minuter 
 investigation of the created things on this earth might 
 have taught him, of the essence of his Creator. What 
 shall then be said of the great Mr. Boyle, who looked into 
 the organic structure of all matter, even to the brute in- 
 animate substances which the foot treads on. Such a man 
 may be supposed to have been equally qualified with Mr. 
 Paine, to ' look through nature up to nature's God.' Yet 
 the result of all his contemplation was the most confirmed 
 and devout belief in all which the other holds in contempt, 
 as despicable and drivelling superstition. But this error 
 might, perhaps, arise from a want of due attention to the 
 foundations of human judgment, and the structure of that 
 understanding which God has given us for the investiga- 
 tion of truth. 
 
 Let that question be answered by Mr. Locke, who was 
 to the highest pitch of devotion and adoration, a Christian. 
 Mr. Locke, whose office was to detect the errors of think: 
 
150 
 
 EXERCTSES. 
 
 '< 
 
 ing, by going up to the fountain of thought, and to direct 
 into the proper track of reasoning the devious mind of 
 man, by showing him its whole process, from the first per- 
 ceptions of sense, to the last conclusions of ratiocination ; 
 putting a rein besides upon false opinion, by practical rules 
 for the conduct of human judgment. 
 
 But these men were only deep thinkers, and lived in 
 their closets, unaccustomed to the traffic of the world, and 
 to the laws which partially regulate mankind. Gentle- 
 men, in the place where you now sit to administer the 
 justice of this great country, above a century ago, the 
 never to be forgotten Sir Matthew Hale presided, whose 
 faith in Christianity is an exalted commentary upon its 
 truth and reason, and whose life was a glorious example 
 of its fruits in man ; administering human justice with a 
 wisdom and purity drawn from the pure fountain of the 
 Christian dispensation, which has been, and will be, in all 
 ages, a subject of the highest reverence and admiration. 
 But it is said, by Mr. Paine, that the Christian fable is 
 but the tale of the more ancient superstitions of the world, 
 and may be easily detected by a proper understanding of 
 the mythologies of the heathens. 
 
 Did Milton understand those mythologies ? Was he 
 less versed than Mr. Paine in the superstitions of the 
 world ? No : they were the subject of his immortal song ; 
 and, though shut out from all recurrence to them, he 
 poured them forth from the stores of a memory rich with 
 all that man ever knew, and laid them in their order, as 
 the illustration of that real and exalted faith, the unques- 
 tionable source of that fervid genius, which cast a sort of 
 shade upon all the other works of man. Thus you find all 
 that is great, or wise, or splendid, or illustrious, amongst 
 created beings, all the minds gifted beyond ordinary 
 
EXERCISES. 
 
 151 
 
 I to direct 
 } mind of 
 J first per- 
 ocination ; 
 jtical rules 
 
 d lived in 
 ii7orld, and 
 Gentle- 
 inister the 
 r ago, the 
 led, whose 
 y upon its 
 s example 
 ice with a 
 ain of the 
 1 be, in all 
 dmiration. 
 .n fable is 
 the world, 
 landing of 
 
 Was he 
 )ns of the 
 »rtal song ; 
 
 them, he 
 
 rich with 
 • order, as 
 le unques- 
 t a sort of 
 ou find all 
 
 , amongst 
 ordinary 
 
 nature, if not inspired by their Universal Author for the 
 advancement and dignity of the world, though divided by 
 distant ages, and by the clashing opinions distinguishing 
 them from one another, yet joining, as it wore, in one 
 sublime chorus, to celebrate the truths of Christianity, 
 and laying upon its holy altars the never-fading offerings of 
 their immortal wisdom. 
 
 EXBKCISE XIX, 
 
 EXTRACT PROM A SUPPOSED SPFECH OF JOHN ADAMS, 
 IN SUPPORT OF AMERICAN INDEPENDNCE. — DanUl 
 Webster, 
 
 Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give my 
 hand, and my heart, to this vote. It is true, indeed, that 
 in the beginning, we aimed not at Independence. But 
 there's a Divinity which shapes our end. The injustice 
 of England has driven us to arms ; and, blinded to her 
 own interest for our good, she has obstinately persisted, 
 till Independence is now within our gra^. We have but 
 to reach forth to it, and it is ours. Why then should we 
 defer the Declaration ? Is any man so weak as now to 
 hope for a reconciliation with England ? Do we mean to 
 submit to the measures of Parliament, Boston port-bill 
 and all ? I know we do not mean to submit. We never 
 shall submit. 
 
 The war, then, must go on. We must fight it through. 
 And if the war must go on, why put off longer the 
 Declaration of Independence ? That measure will streng- 
 then us. It will give us character abroad. The nations 
 will then treat with us, which they never can do while we 
 acknowledge ourselves subjects, in arms against our sove- 
 
152 
 
 EXERCISES. 
 
 reign. 
 
 Nay, I maintain that England herself, will sooner 
 treat for peace with us on the footing of Independence, 
 than consent, hy repealing her acts, to acknowledge that 
 her whole conduct towards us has been a course of injustice 
 and oppression. 
 
 Sir, the Declaration will inspire the people with in- 
 creased courage. Instead of a long and bloody war, for 
 restoration of privileges, for redress of grievances, for 
 chartered immunities held under a British king, — set 
 before them the glorious object of entire Independence, 
 and it will breathe into them anew the breath of life. 
 Read this Declaration at the head of the army : every 
 sword will be drawn from its scabbard, and the solemn 
 vow uttered to maintain it, or to perish on the bed of 
 honor. Publish it from the pulpit ; religion will approve 
 it, and the love of religious liberty will cling round it, 
 resolved to stand with it, or fall with it. Send it to the 
 public halls ; proclaim it there ; let them hear it, who 
 heard the first roar of the enemy's cannon : let them see 
 it, who saw their brothers and their sons fall on the field 
 of Bunker Hill, and in the streets of Lexington and Con- 
 cord, — and the very walls will cry out in its support. 
 
 Sir, before God, I believe the hour is come. My judg- 
 ment approves this measure, and my whole heart is in it. 
 All that I have, and all that I am, and all that I hope, in 
 this life, I am now ready here to stake upon it ; and I 
 ?eave off as I begun that, live or die, survive or perish, I 
 am for the Declaration. It is my living sentiment, and, 
 by the blessing of God it shall be my dying sentiment ; — 
 Independence now'-^ and independence forever. 
 
EXER0ISE8. 
 
 163 
 
 EXERCISE XX. 
 
 EXTRACT FROM MR. WEBSTER'S SPEECH ON THE 
 GREEK REVOLUTION, 
 
 Sir, — It may, perhaps, be asked, what can we do ? 
 Are we to go to war ? Are we to interfere in the Greek 
 oause, or any other European cause ? Are \ <- n endanger 
 our pacific relations ? — No ; certainly not. What then> 
 the question recurs, remains for us? If we will not 
 endanger our own peace ; if we will neither furnish armies, 
 nor navies, to the cause which we think the just one, what 
 is there within our power ? 
 
 Sir, this reasoning mistakes the age. The time has 
 been, indeed, when fleets, and armies, and subsidies, were 
 the principal reliances, even in the best cause. But, 
 happily for mankind, there has come a great change in 
 this respect. Moral causes come into consideration, in 
 proportion as the progress of knowledge is advanced ; and 
 the public opinion of the civilized word is rapidly gaining 
 an ascendancy over mere brutal force. It is already able 
 to oppose the most formidable obstruction to the progress 
 of injustice and oppression ; and, as it grows more intelli- 
 gent and more intense, it will be more and more formid- 
 able. It may be silenced by military power, but it cannot 
 be conquered. It is elastic, irrepressible, and invulnerable 
 to the weapons of ordinary warfare. It is that impassable, 
 unextinguishable enemy of mere violence and arbitrary 
 rule, which like Milton's angels. 
 
 * Vital in every part, 
 
 Cannot, but by annihilating, die.' 
 
 Until this be propitiated or satisfied, it is in vain for 
 power to talk either of triumphs, or of repose. No matter 
 
154 
 
 EXEROIBES. 
 
 what fields arc desolated, whul fortresses surrendered, 
 what armies subdued, or what provinces overrun. In the 
 history of the year that has passed by us, and in the in- 
 stance of unhappy Spain, we have seen the "anity of all 
 triumphs, in a cause which viola 3 the general sense of 
 justice of the civilized world. It is nothing, that the 
 troops of France have passed from the Pyrenees to Cadiz ; 
 it is nothing that an unhappy and prostrate nation has 
 fallen before them ; it is nothing, that arrests, and con 
 fiscation, and execution sweep away the little remnant of 
 national resistance. 
 
 There is an enemy that still exists to check the glory of 
 these triumphs. It follows the conqueror back t/o the very 
 scene of his ovations j* it calls upon him to take not* 
 that Europe, though silent, is yet indignant. It shows 
 him that the sceptre of his victory is a barren eoeptre ; 
 that it shall confer neither joy nor honor, but' shall moulder 
 to dry ashes in his grasp. In the midst of his exultation, 
 it pierces his ear with theory of injured justice, it denoun- 
 ces against him the indignation of an enlightened and 
 civilized age ; it turns to bitterness the cup of his rejoicing, 
 and wounds him with the sting which belongs to the con- 
 sciousness of having outraged the opinion of mankind. 
 
 EXERCISE XXI. 
 
 SPEECH OP MR. PLUNKET, ON THE COMPETENCY OF THE 
 
 IRISH PARLIAMENT TO PASS THE MEASURE OP UNION 
 
 BETWEEN IRELAND AND ENGLAND. 
 
 Sir —I, in the most express terms, deny the competency 
 of parliament to abolish the legislature of Ireland. I 
 
 * Ovation, a lesser triumph amon^ the RomaiB, 
 
EXEBOISES. 
 
 155 
 
 rendered, 
 . In the 
 in the in- 
 lity of all 
 il sense of 
 
 that the 
 to Cadiz ; 
 ation has 
 
 and con 
 smnant of 
 
 LO glory of 
 
 the very 
 ike not* 
 
 It shows 
 
 1 tfoeptre; 
 11 moulder 
 ixultation, 
 it denoun- 
 tened and 
 rejoicing, 
 the con- 
 ikind. 
 
 Y OP THE 
 P UNION 
 
 rnipetency 
 eland. I 
 
 warn you, do not dare to lay your hand on the constitution 
 — I tell you, that if, circumstanced as you are, you ptos 
 an act which surrenders the government of Ireland to the 
 English parliament, it will be a nullity, and that no man in 
 Ireland will be bound to obey it. I make the assertion 
 deliberately — I repeat it, and call on any man who heara 
 mo, to take down my words j — ^you have not been elected for 
 this purpose — ^you are appointed to make laws and not 
 legislatures^ — ^you are appointed to act under the constitu- 
 tion, not to alter it — you are appointed to exercise the func- 
 tions of l^islature, and not to transfer them — and if you 
 do so, your act is a dissolution of the government — ^you 
 resolve society into its original elements, and no man 
 in the land is bound to obey you. , ^ 
 
 Sir, I state doctrines which are not merely founded in 
 the immutable laws of justice and of truth. I state pot 
 merely the opinions of the ablest men who have written 
 on the science of government ; but I state the practice of 
 our constitution, as settled at the era of the revolution, 
 and I state the doctrine under which the house of Hanover 
 derives its title to the throne. Has the king a right to 
 transfer his crown ? Is he competent to annex it to the 
 crown of Spain, or any other country ? No — but he may 
 abdicate it ; and every man who knows the constitution 
 knows the consequence — the right reverts to the next in 
 succession — if they all abdicate, it reverts to the people* 
 The man who questions this doctrine, in the same breath 
 must arraign the sovereign on the throne as an usurper. 
 Are you competent to transfer your legislative rights to the 
 French council of five hundred ? Are you competent to 
 transfer them to the British parliament ? I answer. No. 
 
 When yon transfer, you abdicate, and the great original 
 trust results to the people from whom it issued. Your- 
 
156 
 
 EXERCISES. 
 
 i I 
 
 selves you may extinguish, but parliament you cannot ex- 
 tinguish — it is enthroned in the hearts of the people — 
 — it is enshrined in the sanctuary of the constitution — it is 
 as immortal as the island which it protects. As well might 
 the frantic suicide hope that the act which destroys his mis- 
 erable body should extinguish his eternal soul. Again, I 
 therefore warn you, do not dare to lay your hand on the con" 
 stitution; it is above your power. Sir, I do not say that the 
 the parliament and the people, by mutual consent and co-op- 
 eration, may not change the form of the constitution. 
 Whenever such a case arises it must bo decided on its own 
 merits — but that is not this case. If government considers 
 this a season peculiarly fitted for experiments on the consti- 
 tution, they may call on the people. I ask arc you ready to do 
 so ? Are you ready to abide the event of such an appeal ? 
 What is it you must, in that event submit to the people ? 
 Not this particular project ; for if you dissolve the present 
 form of government, they become free to choose any other 
 — ^you fling them to the fuiy of the tempest — you must 
 call on them to unhouse themselves of the established con- 
 stitution, and to fashion to themselves another. I ask 
 again, is this the time for an experiment of that nature ? 
 . Thank God the people have manifested no such wish — 
 so far as they have spoken, their voice is decidedly against 
 this daring innovation. You know that no voice has been 
 uttered in its favour, and you cannot be infatuated enough 
 to take confidence from the silence which prevails in some 
 parts of the kingdom ; if you know how to appreciate that 
 silence it is more formidable than the most clamorous op- 
 position — ^you may be rived and shivered by the lighten- 
 ing before you hear the peal of the thunder ! But, Sir, 
 we are told we should discuss this question with calmness 
 aijd composure, I ani called on to snrrender my birth- 
 
EXEROISfiS. 
 
 167 
 
 an not ex- 
 
 people — 
 
 ion — it is 
 
 ell might 
 
 s his mis< 
 
 Again, I 
 
 I the con" 
 
 J that the 
 
 ,nd co-op- 
 
 stitution. 
 
 1 its own 
 
 considers 
 
 le consti- 
 
 ady to do 
 
 1 appeal ? 
 
 I people ? 
 
 J present 
 
 ny other 
 
 ou must 
 
 hed con- 
 
 I ask 
 
 nature ? 
 
 wish — 
 
 against 
 
 as been 
 
 enough 
 
 n some 
 
 ite that 
 
 ous op- 
 
 ighten- 
 
 it, Sir, 
 
 Imness 
 
 birth- 
 
 right and my honour; and I am told I should be calm, 
 composed. 
 
 National pride I Independence of our country ! 
 These, we are told by the minister, are only ^'ulgar topics, 
 fitted for the meridian of the mob, but unworthy to be 
 mentioned in such an enlightened assembly as this ; they 
 are trinkets and gewgaws fit to catch the fancy of childish 
 and unthinking people like you, sir, or like your predeces- 
 sor in that chair, but utterly unworthy the considerar 
 ♦ion of this house, or of the mature understanding of the 
 noble lord who condescends to instruct it ! Gracious God 1 
 we see a Perry reascending from the tomb, and raising 
 his awful voice to warn us against the surrender of our 
 freedom ; and we see that the proud and virtuous feelings, 
 which warmed the breast of that aged and venerable man, 
 are only calculated to excite the contempt of this young 
 philosopher, who has been transplanted from the nursery 
 to the cabinet, to outrage the feelings and understanding of 
 the country. 
 
 Let me ask you, how was the rebellion of 1798 put 
 down ? By the zeal and loyalty of the gentlemen of Ire- 
 land rallying around — what ? a reed shaken by the winds^ 
 a wretched apology for a minister who neither knew how to 
 give or where to seek protection ? No — but round the lawa 
 and constitution and independence of the country. 
 What were the affections and motives that called us into 
 action ? To protect our families, our properties, and our 
 liberties. 
 
 What were the antipathies by which we were excited ? 
 Our abhorrence of French principles and French ambition. 
 — ^What was it to us that France was a republic? — I 
 rather rc/mccdJ when I saw the ancient despotism of Franco 
 put down. What was it to us that she dethroned her 
 
158 
 
 £XGaOISEFl. 
 
 I 
 
 monarch ? I admired tho virtuo and wopt for the suffer- 
 ings of the man ; but as a nation it affected us not. The 
 reason I took up arms, and am still ready to bear them 
 against France, is because she intruded herself upon our 
 domestic concerns — ^because, with the rights of man and 
 the love of freedom on her tongue, I see that she has the 
 lust of dominion in her heart — because wherever she has 
 placed her foot, she has erected her throne, and that to be 
 her friend or her ally is to be her tributary or her slave. 
 Let me ask, is the present conduct of the British min- 
 ister calculated to augment or to transfer the antipathy wo 
 have felt against that country. Sir, I will be bold to say, 
 that licentious and impious Franco, in all the unrestrained 
 excesses which anarchy and atheism have given birth to, has 
 not committed a more insidious act against her enemy than 
 is now attempted by the professed champion of civilized 
 Europe against a friend and ally in the hour of her calam- 
 ity and distress — at a moment when our country is filled 
 with British troops — when the loyal men of Ireland 
 are fatigued with their exertions to put down rebel- 
 lion—efforts in which they had succeeded before these 
 troops arrived — whilst our Habeas Corpus Act is sus- 
 suspended — whilst trials by court-martial are carrying on 
 in many parts of the kingdom — ^whilst the people are 
 taught to think that they have no right to meet or delib- 
 erate, and whilst the great body of them are so palsied by 
 their fears and worn down by their exertions, that even 
 the vital question is scarcely able to rouse them from their 
 lethargy— at a moment when we are distracted by domes 
 tic dissensions — dissensions artfally kept alive as the pre- 
 text for our present subjugation and the instrument of our 
 future thraldom ! I These are the circumstances in which 
 the English government seeks to merge the national legis- 
 dture of Ireland in her owu» 
 
feXEROIBlBS. 
 
 159 
 
 the suiFcr- 
 not. The 
 boar them 
 f upon our 
 f man and 
 ho has the 
 cr she has 
 that to bo 
 r her slave, 
 ritish min- 
 itipathy we 
 )old to say, 
 nrestrained 
 (irth to, has 
 jnemy than 
 of civilized 
 [ her calam- 
 try is filled 
 of Ireland 
 own rebcl- 
 )efore these 
 ^ct is sus- 
 arrying on 
 people are 
 et or delib- 
 ) palsied by 
 that even 
 from their 
 by domes 
 as the pre- 
 eut of our 
 )S in which 
 lional legis- 
 
 Sir, I thank the administration for attempting this mea« 
 sure. They are without intending it, putting an end to 
 our dissensions, through this black cloud which they have 
 collected over us. I see the light breaking in upon this 
 unfortunate country. They have composed our dissension, 
 not by fomenting the embers of a lingering and subdued 
 rebellion — not by hallooing the Protestant against the 
 Oatholic, and the Catholic against the Protestant ; not by 
 committing the north against the south ; not by inconsis- 
 tent appeals to local or to party prejudices — io — but by 
 the avowal of this atrocious conspiracy against the libcrtic!^ 
 of Ireland, they have subdued every petty and suboiUinato 
 distinction. They have united every rank and description 
 of men by the pressure of this grand and momentous sub- 
 ject; and I tell them, that they will see every honest r.d 
 independent man in Ireland rally round \dr constitu ion, 
 and merge every consideration in his opposition to this un- 
 generous and odious measure. 
 
 For my own part, I will resist it to the last gasp of my 
 existence, and with the last drop of my blood, and when I 
 feel the hour of my dissolution approaching, I will, like the 
 father of Hannibal, take my children to the altar, and 
 swear them to eternal hostility against the invaders of their 
 country's freedom. Sir, I shall not detain y . :i by pursuing 
 this question through the topics which it so a^iundantly of- 
 fers. I should be proud to think my name might be 
 handed to posterity in the same roll with those disinter- 
 ested patriots, who have successfully resisted the enemies 
 of their country — -successfully, I trust it will be ; in all 
 events I have my * exceeding great reward ' — I shall bear 
 in my heart the consciousness of having done my duty, and 
 in the hour of death I shall not be haunted by the reflection 
 of having basely sold, ot meanly abandoned, the liberties of 
 
leo 
 
 EXERCISES. 
 
 my native land. Can every man who gives his vote on the 
 other side, this night lay his hand upon his heart, and 
 make the same declaration ? / hope so — It will he well 
 for his own peace.— the indignation and abhorrence of his 
 countrymen will not accompany him through life, and the 
 curses of his children will not follow him to his grave. 
 
 EXERCISE XXII. 
 
 I } 
 
 EXTRACT FROM A SPEECH OF MR. FOX IN THE BRITISH 
 
 . PARLIAMENT. 
 
 I will, for a moment, put out of consideration all ques- 
 tion of danger to ourselves. I will suppose Bonaparte to 
 feel the truth of what he himself has declared, namely, that 
 he despaired of success in attempting a descent. I will 
 suppose that all parts of our empire are at present secure 
 and that even in a protracted war, there will be no proba- 
 bility, no possibility (if gentlemen will take it so) of af- 
 fecting us in any quarter by invasion. Even in this 
 state of security, however, what is our situation ? Have 
 we forgotten the last two years of the last war ? Have we 
 forgotten the condition of the middle classes of society in 
 this island ; of every country gentleman of a limited income; 
 of every tradesman ; indeed, of every man in it who did 
 not possess a very large fortune ; — ^have we already forgot- 
 ten how the late war pressed upon them ? 
 
 Let us recollect these things ; let us recollect the cir- 
 cumstances which occurred in the course of that war ; 
 what we all suffered by the immense loads that were laid 
 upon us to g-ipport it — their grievous and most intolerable 
 weight, and the cruel and grinding measures of every descrip- 
 
>te on the 
 leart, and 
 ill be well 
 nee of his 
 }, and the 
 grave. 
 
 BXERi; j£S. 
 
 161 
 
 B BRITISH 
 
 Q all ques- 
 naparte to 
 imely, that 
 it. I will 
 3nt secure^ 
 1 no proba- 
 
 so) of af- 
 
 en in this 
 
 n ? Have 
 
 Have we 
 
 society in 
 ed income; 
 it who did 
 ady forgot- 
 
 ect the cir- 
 that war ; 
 ,t were laid 
 intolerable 
 jry descrip- 
 
 tion, under which this coautry has groaned during so many 
 years. Can ministers with these recollections in their 
 minds, bring themselves again to precipitate their country 
 into miseries, which after all, might so easily be avoided? 
 What have we now to expect ? I have heard, indeed, some 
 talk of an economical war. But even this economy (dif- 
 ficult as the word is at all times to understand, when so ap- 
 plied) it is now explained to consist in the adoption of 
 measures leading to an immense and immediate enlarge- 
 ment of our expenses. We are told that we must make 
 great exertions And what exertions ? Exertions beyond 
 anything we have ever yet known ; far beyond what were 
 found necessary during the glorious war of Queen Anne ; 
 far beyond those by which we obtained that pre-eminence, 
 which has immortalized the memory of the late Earl of 
 Chatham ; far beyond even those of the late war itself. 
 
 And by whom are we told all this ? If by some gentle- 
 men who have had no experience in politics, and under 
 whose guidance we had not already su£fered ; if by some 
 orator as a mere figure of speech, without a meaning, and 
 by way of flourish in debate, — for such a purpose it might 
 do well ; but we are told this, not by a novice in the art of 
 extortion, but by an artist ! If a man without experience 
 or reputation examines my case when I am ill, and tells 
 me, * You musC have a limb cut off, to save your life,' I 
 might still hope for a cure, without having recourse to so 
 dreadful a remedy ; but if the skilful practitioner, the re- 
 gular doctor himself tells me so, after consultation, — if the 
 experienced operator under whose prescriptions and direc- 
 tions I have already suffered, tell me so, I know what I 
 must endure. If he tells me, ' I must pull out all your 
 teeth; I must cut off part of the extremities, or you w.ll 
 die, ' I have only to prepare for the operation. I know 
 
 h 
 
•mrrmF*/mmm9m>mfmm 
 
 162 
 
 EXERCISES. 
 
 i' 
 
 the alternative is death or torture. This great artist, this 
 eminent doctor (Mr. I'itt) has told us, that, much as we 
 have already been distinguished for exertion, what we have 
 hitherto done is nothing. We have hitherto only been 
 fighting for morality and religion, for the law of nations, 
 for the rights of civil society, and in the cause of God. 
 Resources fully adequate to such minor objects, the right 
 honorable gentleman assures us, we have already employed ; 
 but now, we have a contest to sustain of a higher order — 
 a contest which will compel us to strain every remaining 
 nerve, and to call for sacrifices new and extraordinary, 
 such as have never before been heard of in this country. 
 We are told, that within a month, within a fortnight, per- 
 haps, a plan must be formed* for raising many millions of 
 money, in a mode different from any that has hitherto 
 been attempted. It is not to be a pitiful expedient for a 
 single year ; it is not to be an expedient similar to those 
 adopted bp Lord North, during the American war ; or by 
 the right honorable gentleman himself for nearly the whole 
 of the last war ; but it is to be a plan which will last for- 
 ever, or at least, until two or three hundred millions bo 
 raised by it. Severe measures for general defence too are 
 announced to us, as necessary within a fortnight ; plans of 
 which no man can as yet form a conception, but which 
 minsters are to reveal to us in due time, and when they 
 shall have reached their full maturity of wisdom. 
 
 The income tax was felt heavily by most of the members 
 of this house : heavily, indeed by all descriptions, of per- 
 sons in the country. I am speaking of the poor old in- 
 come tax, not the tax now about to be imposed. — I speak 
 of that mild and gentle operation, which seized only one- 
 tenth of a man's income, and not of a measure which may 
 exact a fifth and possibly a half 5 a measure, too, which 
 
EXEROISES. 
 
 163 
 
 itist, this 
 
 uch as we 
 
 at we have 
 
 only been 
 
 )f nations, 
 
 se of God. 
 
 J, the riglit 
 
 employed *, 
 
 ler order — ■ 
 
 y remaining 
 
 traordinary, 
 
 bis country. 
 
 rbnight, per- 
 
 j millions of 
 
 has hitherto 
 
 pedient for a 
 
 ailar to those 
 
 a war ; or by 
 
 rly the whole 
 will last for- 
 d millions be 
 fence too are 
 c^ht ; plans of 
 1, but which 
 id when they 
 
 |lom. 
 
 1 the members 
 
 |tions, of per- 
 poor old in- 
 Led.— I speat 
 |zed only one- 
 re which may 
 L too, which 
 
 must be improved in the mode of its execution, since the 
 greater the sum to be raised by it, the more rigorous 
 must be the inquisition. Let no man now look to his 
 holding a pound without giving possibly fifteen shillings 
 of it to government towards the support of the war ; let 
 no man be too confident that an inquisitor may not be im- 
 powered to break open his desk, in order to search for the 
 other five. 
 
 And all this for what ? For Malta ! Malta ! plain, 
 bare, naked Malta, unconnected with any other interest ! 
 What point of honor can the retention of Malta be to you ? 
 Something of that nature may be felt by France ; but to 
 you, I aver, it is, as a point of honour, nothing. ' But it 
 maybe prudent to keep it.' Is the keeping it worth a con- 
 test ? Does the noble Lord think it so ? On the contrary, 
 is he not of opinion that it is not ? * Oh ! but we are to 
 oppose the aggrandizement of France, the ambition of 
 Buonaparte, which will destroy us like a liquid fire.' We 
 have, indeed, heard some splendid phillippics on this sub- 
 ject; philippics which Demosthenes himself, were he 
 among us, might hear with pleasure, and possibly with 
 envy ; phillipics which would lead us directly to battle, 
 without regard to what may follow : but then comes the 
 question. — What shall we have to pay for them ? What 
 is the amount of the bill ? I remember an old French 
 proverb, and I am not afraid of being deemed too much of 
 a Frenchman if I should quote it ; the proverb seems al- 
 most an answer to one in English, which says tliat * things 
 are good, because they are dear.' The author of the 
 French one, however, tells us that, let things be ever so 
 good, yet if they are dear, he has no pleasure in eating 
 them. Now so is it with me, when I hear the harangues 
 of the right honorable gentleman in favour of war, I 
 
'! ' 
 
 164 
 
 EXEROISES. 
 
 think the articles drest up are exquisite, but that ' the 
 cost spoils the relish.' While I listen to all these fine and 
 eloquent philippics, I cannot help recollecting what fruits 
 such speeches have generally produced, and dreading the 
 devastation and carnage which usually attend them. 
 
 The right honorable gentleman, when he appears before 
 us in all the gorgeous attire of his eloquence, reminds me 
 of a story which is told of a barbarous prince of Morocco, 
 a Muley Molock, or a Muley Ishmael, who never put on 
 his gayest garments, or appeared in extraordinary pomp, 
 but as a prelude to the murder of thousands of his sub- 
 jects. Now, when I behold splendor more bright — when I 
 perceive the labours of an elegant and accomplished mind 
 — when I listen to words so choice, and contemplate the 
 the charms of his polished elocution, —it is well enough 
 for me, sitting in this house, to enjoy the scene ; but it 
 gives me most gloomy tidings to convey to my constitu- 
 ents in the lobby. For these reasons. Sir, I wish previous- 
 ly to our entering* into this war, to be told what event it is 
 that will put an end to it 
 
 EXERCISE XXIII. 
 
 THE CONFESSION — FROM THE EPISCOPAL SERVICE. 
 
 Almighty and most merciful Father — we have erred 
 and strayed from thy ways like lost sheep. We have fol- 
 lowed too much the devices and desires of our own hearts. 
 We have left undone those things which we ought to have 
 done ; and we have done thosa thini^s which we ought not to 
 have done : and there is no health in us. But thou, Lord, 
 have mercy upon us, miserable offenders. Spare thou those, 
 
that ' the 
 le fine and 
 hat fruits 
 ading the 
 em. 
 
 ars before 
 minds me 
 
 Morocco, 
 ^er put on 
 ary pomp, 
 if his sub- 
 b — ^when I 
 shed mind 
 mplate the 
 ell enough 
 ne ; but it 
 constitu- 
 previous- 
 
 event it is 
 
 EX£ROIS£S. 
 
 165 
 
 IVICE. 
 
 tave erred 
 
 have fol- 
 
 m hearts. 
 
 it to have 
 
 yht not to 
 
 [, Lord, 
 
 lou those, 
 
 O Crod, who confess their faults. Restore thou those 
 who are penitent; according to thy promises declared unto 
 mankind, in Christ Jesus our Lord. And grant, most 
 merciful Father, fjr his sake, that we may hereafter live a 
 godly, righteous, and sober life, to the glory of thy holy 
 name. Amen. 
 
 EXERCISE XXIV. 
 GERTRUDE. — Mi's. Hemans. 
 
 The Baron Von der Wart, accused, though it is believed, unjust- 
 ly as an accomplice in the assasination of the Emperor 
 Albert, was bound alive on the wheel, and attended bj his 
 wife Gertrude, throughout his last agonizing moments, with 
 the most heroic fidelity. Her own sufferings and those of her 
 unfortunate husband, are most affectinglj described in a letter, 
 which she afterwards addressed to a female friend, and which 
 was published some years ago at Haaerlem, in a book '■ entitled 
 Gertrude Vou der Wart, or Fidelity uuto Death. 
 
 Her hands were clasped, her dark eye raised, 
 
 The breeze threw back her hair ; 
 Up to the fearful wheel she gazed, 
 
 All that she loved was there. 
 The night was round her clear and cold. 
 
 The ho'y heaven above ; 
 Its pnle stars watching to behold 
 
 The night of earthly love. 
 
 * And bid me not depart, ' she cried, 
 
 * My Rudolph ! say not so I 
 This is no time to quit thy side : 
 
 Peace, peace ! I cannot go. 
 
166 
 
 EXEROISES. 
 
 i \ 
 
 Hath the world aught for me to fear, 
 
 When death is on thy brow ? 
 The world ! what means it ? — mine is liere- 
 
 I will not leave thee now I 
 
 * I hive boon with thee in thine hour 
 
 Of glory and of bliss ; 
 Doubt not its memory's living power 
 
 To strengthen me through this ! 
 
 And thou, mine honored love and true, 
 Bear on, bear nobly on ! 
 
 We have the blessed Heaven in view, 
 
 Whose rest shall soon be won.' 
 
 And were not these high words to flow 
 
 From woman's breaking heart ? 
 -Through all that night of bitterest wo 
 
 She bore her lofty part : 
 But oh ! with such a freezing eye. 
 
 With such a curdling cheek — 
 -Love, love 1 of mortal agony. 
 
 Thou, only thou^ shouldst speak ! 
 
 The winds rose high — ^but with them rose 
 
 Her voice that he might hear; — 
 Perchance that dark hour brought repose 
 
 To happy bosoms near : 
 While she sat striving with despair 
 
 Beside his tortured form, 
 And pouring her deep soul in prayer 
 
 Forth on the rushing storm. 
 
 She wiped the death damp from his brow, 
 With her pale hands and soft, 
 
EXEBOIUES. 
 
 Whose touch upon the lute chords low, 
 
 Had stilled his heart so ofb. 
 She spread her mantle o'er his bretist. 
 
 She bathed his lips with dew, 
 And on his check such kisses pressed, 
 
 As Joy and Hope ne'er knew. 
 
 Oh 1 lovely are ye Love and Faith, 
 
 Enduring to the last ! 
 She had her meed — one smile in Death — 
 
 And his worn spirit passed. 
 While even as o'er a martyr's grave, 
 
 She knelt on that sad spot, 
 And, weeping, blessed the God who gave 
 
 Strength to forsake it not ! 
 
 167 
 
 EXERCISE XXV. 
 
 MEETING OP SATAN AND DEATH AT THE GATE OP 
 
 HELL. — Milton. 
 
 Meanwhile the adversary of God and man, 
 Satan, with thoughts inflamed of highest design,^ 
 Puts on swift wings and towaids the gates of Hell 
 Explores his solitary flight ; sometimes 
 He scours the right hand coast, sometimes the left ; 
 Now shaves with level wing the deep, then soars 
 Up to the flery concave towering high. 
 
 As when far off at sea a fleet descried 
 Hangs in the clouds, by equinoctial winds 
 Close sailing from Bengala, or the isles 
 Or Ternate and Tidore, whence merchants bring 
 
F 
 
 > ' I 
 
 168 
 
 EXER0I8SS. 
 
 Their spicy drugs ; they, on the trading flood, 
 Through the wide Ethiopian to the Gape, 
 Ply stemming nightly toward the pole ; so seemed 
 Far oflF the flying fiend. 
 
 At last appear 
 Hell bounds, high reaching to the horrid roof, 
 And thrice three fold the gates : three folds were brass, 
 Three iron, three of adamantine rock 
 Impenetrable, impaled with circling fire, 
 Yet unconsumed. Before the gates there sat 
 On either side a formidable shape ; 
 The one sotmed woman to the waist, and fair, 
 But ended foul in many a scaly fold 
 Voluminous and vast, a serpent armed 
 With mortal sting ; about her middle round 
 A cry of hell-hounds, never ceasing, barked 
 With wide Cerberean mouths full loud, and rung 
 A hideous peal ! ^ 
 
 Far less abhorred than these 
 Vexed Scylla, bathing in the sea that parts 
 Calabria from the hoarse Tiinacrian shore : 
 Nor uglier follow the night hag, when calleJ 
 In secret, riding through the air she comes, 
 Lured with the smell of infant blood, to dance 
 With Lapland witches, while the labouring moon 
 Eclipses at their charms. 
 
 The other shape, 
 If shape it might be called that shape had none 
 Distinguishable in member, joint or limb ; 
 Or substance might be called that shadow seemeil : 
 
EXEROIBEB. 
 
 169 
 
 For each socmed cither ; black it stood as night, 
 Fierce as ten furies, terrible as Hell, 
 And shook a dreadful dart ; vhat seemed his head 
 The likeness of a kingly crown had on. 
 
 Satan was now at hand ; and from his seat 
 The monster moving, onward came as fast 
 With horrid strides ; Hell trembled as he strode. 
 The undaunted fiend what this might be, admired, — 
 Admired, not feared : God and his Son except 
 Created thing naught valued he, nor shunned. 
 And with disdainful look thus first began. 
 
 ' 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 pasH, 
 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 ! ' 
 
 To whom the goblin, full of wrath, replied. 
 " Art thou that traitor angel — art thou he, 
 Who first broke peace in heaven, and faith, till then 
 Unbroken, and in proud rebellious arms 
 Brew after him the third part of Heaven's sons 
 Conjured against the Highest, for which both thou 
 And they, outcast from God, are here condemned 
 To waste eternal days in woe and pain ? 
 
 * And reckonest thou thyself with spirits of Heaven, 
 Hell-doomed ! and breath's defiance here and scorn. 
 Where I reign king, and, to enrage thee more, 
 Thy king, and lord ? Back to thy punishment, 
 
170 
 
 ISkEftCtSlISi 
 
 fl 
 
 False fugitive ! and td thy spe^ add wingd) 
 Lest with a whip of scorpions I pursucl 
 Thy lingering, or with oiie stroke of this dart 
 Strange horror seize thee, and pangs unfelt before. * 
 
 So spake the grisly terror, and in shape, 
 So speaking and so threat'ning, grew tenfold 
 More dreadful and deformed. On the other side. 
 Incensed with indignation, Satan stood 
 Unterrified, and like a comet burned, 
 That fires the length of Ophiucus huge 
 In the arctic sky, and from his horrid hair 
 Shakes pestilence and war. 
 
 Each at the head 
 Levelled his deadly aim : their fatal hands 
 No second stroke intend ; and such a frown 
 * Each oast at the other, as when two black clouds 
 With heaven's artillery fraught, come rattling on 
 Over the Caspian, then stand front to front 
 Hovering a space, till winds the signal blow 
 To join their dark encounter in mid air, — > 
 
 So frowned the mighty combatants, that Hell 
 Grew darker at their frown ; so matched they stood ; 
 For never, but once more, was either like 
 To meet so great a foe : and now great deeds 
 Had been achieved, whereof all Hell had rung, 
 Had not the snaky sorceress that sat 
 Fast by Hell gate, and kept the fatal key, 
 Kisen, and with hideous outcry rushed between. 
 
EXERCISES. 
 
 171 
 
 EXERCISE XXVI. 
 
 lod; 
 
 INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST. 
 
 Op man's first disobedience, and the fruit 
 
 Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste 
 
 Brought death into the world, and all our v i e. 
 
 With loss of Eden, till one greater Man 
 
 Restore us, and regain the blissful seat, 
 
 Sing, heavenly miiso, that on the secret top 
 
 Of Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspire 
 
 That Shepherd, who first taught the chosen seed, 
 
 In the beginning, how the Heavens and Earth 
 
 Rose out of chaos : or if Sion hill 
 
 Delight thee more, and Siloa's brook, that flowed 
 
 Fast by the oracle of God ; I thence 
 
 Invoke thy aid to my advent'rous song, 
 
 That with no middle flight intends to soar 
 
 Above the Aonian mount, while it pursues 
 
 Things unattempted, yet in prose or rhyme. 
 
 And chiefly Thou, Spirit, that dost prefer 
 
 Before all temples the upright heart and pure, 
 
 Instruct me, for thou knowest ; Thou from the first 
 
 Was present, and with mighty wings outspread, 
 
 Dove like, sat'st brooding on the vast abyss, 
 
 And mad'st it pregnant : what in me is dark 
 
 Illumine ; what is low raise and support ; 
 
 That to the height of this great argument 
 
 I may assert eternal Providence, 
 
 And justify the ways of God to men. 
 
^- / 
 
 :i 
 
 [| 
 
 172 
 
 EXERCISES. 
 
 KXERCISE XXVII. 
 
 KPISTLB TO JOSEPH IIILTi, K8Q. — Cowper. 
 
 Dear Joseph — five and twenty years ago — 
 Alas ! how time escapes ! — 'tis even so — 
 With frequent intercourse, and always sweet, 
 And always* friendly, we were wont to cheat 
 A tedious hour — and now we never meet ! 
 As some grave gentleman in Terence says, 
 (Twas therefore much the same in ancient days,) 
 Good lack, we know not what to-morrow brings — 
 Strange fluctuations of all human things ! 
 True. Changes will befall, and friends may part, 
 But distance only cannot change the heart ; 
 And, were I called to prove the assertion true, 
 One proof should serve — a reference to you. 
 
 Whence comes it, then, that, in the wane of life. 
 Though nothing have occurred to kindle strife. 
 We find the friends we fancied we had won. 
 Though numerous ohce, reduced to few or none ; 
 Can gold grow worthless, that has stood the touch ? 
 No ; gold they seemed; but they were never such. 
 
 Horatio's servant, once, with bow and cringe, 
 Swinging the parlor door upon its hinge, 
 Dreading a negative, and overawed 
 Lest he should trespass, begged to go abroad. 
 Go, fellow I whither ? turning short about — 
 Nay, stay at home — ^you're always going out. 
 'Tis but a step, sir, just at the street's end — 
 For what ? An please you sir, to see a friend — 
 
r. 
 
 EXERCISES. 
 
 173 
 
 A friend ! Horatio cried, and seemed to start — 
 Yea, marry shalt thou, and with all my heart — 
 And fetch my clouk ; for, though the night be raw, 
 I'll see him toti^— the first I over saw. 
 
 I knew the man, and knew his nature mild, 
 
 And was his plaything often when a child ; 
 
 But sotnewhat at that moment pinched him close, 
 
 Else he was seldom bitter or morose. 
 
 Perhaps his confidencj just then betrayed. 
 
 His grief might prompt him with the speech he made 
 
 Perhaps 'twas mere good humour gave it birth, 
 
 The harmless play of pleasantry and mirth. 
 
 Howe'er it was, his language in my mind. 
 
 Bespoke at least, a man that knew mankind. 
 
 But not to moralize too much and strain. 
 To prove an evil of which all complain, 
 (I hate all arguments verbosely spun,) 
 One story more, dear Hill, and I have done. 
 Once on a time an Emperor, a wise man, 
 No matter where in China or Japan. 
 Decreed that whosoever should oflFend 
 Against the well-known duties of a friend, 
 Convicted once, should ever after wear 
 But half a coat ind shew his bosom bare. 
 The punishment importing this, no doubt. 
 That all was naught within, and idl found out. 
 
 happy Britain, we have not to fear 
 Such hard and arbitrary measure here ; 
 Else, could a law, like that which I relate, 
 Once have the sanction of pur triple state. 
 
174 
 
 EXEROISES. 
 
 Some few that I have known of old, 
 
 Would run most dreadful risk of catching cold ; 
 
 While you, my friend, whatever wind should blow, 
 
 Might traverse England safely to and fro; 
 
 An honest man, close buttoned to the chin, 
 
 Broad'Cloth without, and a warm heart within. 
 
 ! 
 
 i 
 
 EXERCISE XXVIII. 
 
 THE COUNTRY BUMPKIN AND THE RAZOR SELLER 
 
 P. Pindar 
 
 A fellow, in a market-town 
 
 Most musical cried razors up and down. 
 And oflfered twelve for eighteen pence ; 
 
 Which certainly seem'd wondrous cheap, 
 
 And for the money quite a heap. 
 That every man would buy with cash and sense. 
 
 A country bumpkin the great oflfer heard ; 
 
 Poor Hodge, — who suffered by a broad black beard, 
 That seemed a shoe-brush stuck beneath his nose. 
 
 With cheerfulness the eighteen pence he paid. 
 
 And, proudly, to himself, in whispers said — 
 * This rascal stole the razors I suppose. 
 
 * No matter if the fellow be a knave, 
 
 Provided that the razors shave ; 
 It certainly will be a monstrous prize,' 
 
 So home the clown with his good fortune went, — 
 
 Smiling, — in heart and soul content. 
 And quickly soaped himself to ears and eyes. 
 
LtR 
 
 )eard, 
 
 EXEROISES. 175 
 
 Being well lathered from a dish or tub, 
 Hodge now began, with grinning pain, to grub- 
 Just like a hedger cutting furze : 
 
 ' Twas a vile razor ! — then the rest he try'd ;— 
 AH were impostors. * Ah ! * Hodge sighed, 
 * I wish my eighteen pence was in my purse,' 
 
 In vain to chase his beard, and bring the graces, 
 
 H'e cut and dug and whined and stamped and swore ; 
 Brought blood and danced, blasphemed and made wry 
 faces, 
 
 And cursed each razor's body , o'er and o'er. 
 
 His muzzle formed of opposition stuff. 
 
 Firm as a Foxite would not lose its ruff; 
 So kept it — laughing at the steel and suds. 
 
 Hodge, in a passion, stretched his angry jaws. 
 Vowing the direst vengeance, with clenched claws, 
 On that vile cheat that sold the goods. 
 ' Razors a vile confounded dog ! — 
 Not fit to scrape a hog ! ' 
 
 Hodge sought the fellow — found him — and be^au— 
 
 * P'rhaps, Master Razor-Rogue, to you 'tis fuq 
 That people flay themselves out of their lives. 
 
 You rascal ! for an hour have I been grubbing 
 Giving my crying whiskers here a scrubbing 
 With razors just like Oyster-knives. 
 Sirrah ! I tell you you're a knave 
 To cry up razors that can't shave. 
 
 * Friend,' quoth the razor man, * I'm not a knave :. 
 As for the razors you have bought, — . 
 
 Upon my soul I never thought 
 That they would sTiave,' 
 
r 
 
 176 
 
 EXERCISES. 
 
 < Not think they'd shave ? ' quoth Hodge, with won- 
 d'ring eyes, 
 
 And voice not much unlike an Indian yell, 
 What were they made for, then, you dog ? ' he cries. 
 Made ! ' quoth the fellow, with a smile—' to sell,^ 
 
 SCI^NE FROM THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 
 BASSANIO, SHYLOCK, ANTONIO. 
 
 Shy. Three thousand ducats — well. 
 
 Bass. Ay, Sir, for three months; 
 
 Shy. For three months, — well. 
 
 Bass. For the which as I told you, Antonio shall be 
 bound. 
 
 Shy. Antonio shall be bound, — well. 
 
 Bass. May you stead me ? Will you pleasure me ? Shall 
 I know your answer ? 
 
 Shy. Three thousand ducats, for three months, and 
 Antonio bound. 
 
 Bass. Your answer to that. 
 
 Shy. Antonio is a good man. 
 
 Bass. Have you heard any imputations to the contrary ? 
 
 Shy. Ho, no, no, no, no ; — my meaning in saying he 
 is a good man, is to have you understand "me he is suffi- 
 cient ; yet his means are in supposition : he hath an ar- 
 gosy bound to Tripolis, another to the Indies ; I under- 
 stand, morever, upon the Rialto, he hath a third at 
 Mexico, a fourth for England, — and other ventures hath 
 he, squandered ibi'oad : But ships are but boards, sailors 
 but men : tliere be land-rats and water-rats, water thieves, 
 and land thieves ; I mean pirates ; and then tJiere is tl-^e peril 
 
EXERCISES. 
 
 177 
 
 h wou- 
 
 'les. 
 
 ENICE. 
 
 of waters, winds and rocks : The man is, notwithstanding, 
 sufficient ; — three thousand ducats ; — I think, I may take 
 his bond. 
 
 Bass. Be assured you may. 
 
 Shy. I will be assured, I may ; and, that I may be as- 
 sured, I will bethink me : May I speak with Antonio ? »i^^ 
 
 Bass, If it please you to dine with us. 
 
 Shy. Yes, to smell pork ; to eat of the habitation 
 which your prophet, the Nazarite, conjured the devil into : 
 I will buy with you, sell with you, talk with you, walk 
 with you and so following ; but I will not eat with you, 
 drink with you, nor pray with you. What news on the 
 Eialto ? Who is he comes here ? 
 
 
 shall be 
 
 Enter antonio. 
 
 e? Shall 
 ths. and 
 
 )ntrary ? 
 
 lying he 
 
 is suffi- 
 Ith an ar- 
 ll under- 
 
 third at 
 hres hath 
 
 [gi, sailorH 
 thieves, 
 the peril 
 
 Bass. This is Siguier Antonio. 
 
 Shy. (aside). How like a fawning publican he looks 1 
 I hate him, for he is a Christian : 
 But more, for that, in low simplicity. 
 He lends out money gratis, and brings dv>^P. 
 The rate of usance here with us in Yeince, 
 If I can catch him once upon the hip, 
 I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear nim. 
 He hates our sacred nation ; and he rtitiU, 
 Even there where merchants most do congi'egate. 
 On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift, 
 Which he calls interest : Cursed be mj tribe, 
 If I forgive him 1 
 
 Ba^s. ,]hylock do you hear ? 
 
 Shy. I am debating of my present store ; 
 And, by the near guess of my memory, 
 I cannot instantly raise up the gross 
 
 M 
 
178 
 
 EXERCISES. 
 
 Of full three thousand ducats : What of that ? 
 Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe, 
 Will furnish me : But soft ; How many months 
 Do you desire ? — Rest you fair, good Signior ; 
 Your worship was the last man in our mouths, 
 
 Ant. Shylock, albeit I neither lend not borrow, 
 By tstking, nor by giving of excess. 
 Yet, to supply the ripe wants of my friend 
 I'll break a custom : — Is he yet possessed, 
 How much you would ? 
 
 Shi/. Ay, ay, three thousand ducats. 
 
 Ant. And for three months. 
 
 Shy. 1 had forgot, — ^three months you told me so, 
 Three thousand ducats, — 'tis a good round sum. 
 Three months from twelve, then let me see the rate. 
 
 Ant. Well, Shylock, shall we be beholden to you ? 
 
 Shi/. Signior Antonio, many a time, and oft 
 In the Bialto, you have rated me 
 About my monies, and my usances : 
 Still I have borne it with a patient shrug : 
 For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe : 
 You call me — misbeliever, cut-throat, dog. 
 And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine. 
 And all for use of that which is mine own, 
 Well then, it now appears, you need my help : 
 Go to then ; you come to me, and you say, 
 " Shylock, we would have monies ;" You say so ; 
 You that did void your rheum upon my beard 
 And foot me as you would spurn a stranger our 
 Over your threshold ; monies is your suit. 
 What should I say to you ? should I not say, 
 ^^ Hath a dog money ? is it possible 
 A cur can lend three thousand ducats ? " Or 
 
EXIROISES. 
 
 179 
 
 Shall I bend low, and in a bondsman's key. 
 With bated breath, and whispering humbleness, 
 Say this, 
 
 " Fair Sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last ; 
 You spumed me such a day ; another time 
 You call'd me — dog ; and for these courtesies 
 I'll lend you thus much monies. " 
 
 Ant I am as like to call thee so again, 
 To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too, 
 If thou wilt lend this money ; lend it not 
 As to thy friends ; (for when did friendship take 
 A breed of barren metal of his friend ?) 
 But lend it rather to thine enemy ; 
 Who if he break, thou may'st with better face 
 Exact the penalty. 
 
 iSAy. Why, look you, how you storm I 
 
 I would be friends with you, and have your love. 
 Forget the shames that you have stained me with, 
 Supply your present wants, and take no doit 
 Of usance for my monies, and you'll not hear me ; 
 This is kind I offer. 
 
 Ant, This were kindness. 
 
 Shy, Thi« kindness will I shew 
 
 Go witli me to a notary, seal me there 
 Your single bond ; and in a merry sport, 
 If you repay me not on such a day, 
 In such a place, such sum, or pums as are 
 Ezpress'd in the condition, let the forfeit 
 Be nominated for an equal pound 
 Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken 
 In what part of your body pleaseth me. 
 
 Ant. Content, in faith ; I'll seal to such a bond, 
 And say there is much kindnfss in the Jew. 
 
180 
 
 EXEEOISBS. 
 
 Bass. You will not seal to such a bond for me, 
 
 Ate. ' 
 
 n 
 
 'j!k-<f 
 
 'U rather dwell in my necessity. 
 
 Ant. Why, fear not, man ; I will not forfeit it ; 
 Within the^e two months, that's a month before 
 This bond expires, I do except return 
 Of thrice three times the value of this bond 
 
 Shy. father Abraham, what these Christians are 
 Whose own hard dealings teaches them suspect ■ . ' 
 The thoughts of others ! Pray you tell me this ; <■ -. 
 If he should break his day, what should I gain 
 By the exaction of the forfeiture ? 
 A pound of man's flesh, taken from a man. 
 Is not so estimable, profitable neither. 
 As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say, 
 To bay his favour, I extend this friendship : 
 If he will take it, so ; if not, adieu ; 
 And for my love, I ^ray you, wrong me not. 
 
 Ant. Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond. 
 
 Shi/. Then meet me forthwith at the notary's ; 
 Give him direction for this merry b©nd. 
 And I will go and parse the ducats straight ; 
 See to my house, left in the fearful guard 
 Of an unthrifty knave ; and presently 
 I will be with you. .. 
 
 
 
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