: THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES r ^ TESTIMONIALS. THE FIRST AND SECOND EDITIONS OF VANDENHOFF'S SYSTEM OF ELOCUTION having been exhausted, a Third Edition is now published, considera- bly enlarged, under the title of " The Art of Elocution." The Pub- lisher is happy in presenting, from among many others, the following high testimonials to the merits of the work : F^om the Rev. R. T. Huddart, {Classical Academy, Houston street.') It affords me much pleasure to add my testimony to the value, im- portance, and advantage of Mr. George Vandenhoff's Work on Elocu- tion. He has aptly styled it "a plain System :" such it truly is to those who will pursue the instruction given, step by step; and cannot fail of producing a beneficial and much wished for result in one of the depart- ments of education so sadly neglected — correct reading — devoid of vul- garities, and errors in articulation and pronunciation. 1 hope the book will have a wide circulation, in order that the good which it is capable of effecting may be thus more extensively diffused, and a better system of instruction be afforded to the rising generation, in that which con- stitutes a most agreeable accomplishment in every gentleman's educa- tion, namely, " Logical and Musical Declamation." (Signed) R. Townsend Huddart. New- York, March 14, 1845. From Mrs. Lawrence, (Academy, Stuyvcsanl Place.) I have great pleasure in stating, that Mr. G. Vandenhoff's Work on Elocution has been used with so much success in my school, that I can safely recommend it to all, who may desire improvement in that elegant branch of education ; as the most simple, clear, and concise treatise an the subject; and well adapted to the comprehension of any mind. (Signed) Julia Lawrence March 8th, 1815. ii TESTIMONIALS » To the Author, from John Vandenhoff, Esq., Professor of Elocution in the Royal Academy of Music, London. In reference to your System of Elocution, published in New-York, I am proud to recognise it as the best practical work I know on the subject. I have made satisfactory experiments of it in my own practice ; and shall make it a Text-Book, both with my private pupils, and my Classes at the Royal Academy of Music; for which purpose send me two hun- dred copies. I shall recommend it also to the Elocutionary Professors of our seve- ral Colleges. (Signed) J. Vandenhoff. 34 North Bank, 30th Sept. 1845. From C. S. Henry, D. D., Professor of Philosophy and History in the University of New- York. I have the highest opinion of Mr. Vandenhoff's System of Elocution. I know of no book so well fitted for the use of learner or teacher. It possesses in an eminent degree the combination of good qualities most of all to be desired in a work of instruction— correctness of theory, sim- plicity and clearness of exposition, and ease of practice. (Signed) C. S. Henry, D. D. Professor of Philosophy and History in the University of New-York. From A. Richardson, Esq., Principal of the Freehold Young Ladies' Seminary. I have introduced Vandenhoff's Elocution into our Seminary, and am highly pleased with the trial which we have thus far made of its merits, viz: the great interest which a large class of young ladies manifest in the subject of Elocution since we have introduced this work. This branch of education, hitherto one of the most uninteresting to my pupils, is now regarded as entirely the reverse. (Signed) A. Richardson. From the Annual Report of the Board of Direction of the New- York Mercantile Library Association — (1844.) Elocution. — Attempts have been made, in former years, to form classes in this department of education, which have proved unsuccessful. The Board, during the past year, have been enabled to interest a sufficient number of the members in the subject, to form a class which is now in operation. The class in Reading and Oratory is under the instruction of Mr. George Vandenhoff, whose eminent qualifications are too well known to need a word of recommendation from us. TESTIMONIALS. iii The book has also been used in Classes of Ladies in several private families, as will be seen by the following testimonials : From Jacob Leroy, Esa., {Lafayette Place.) Mr. Vandenhoff ; s Treatise on Elocution has been used by a Class of Ladies at my house, and has been found in every way adapted to produce its intended effect. (Signed) Jacob Leroy. From George Gibbs, Esq., (768 Broadway.) I take pleasure in expressing the highly favorable opinion of many friends who have seen Mr. Vandenhoff 's work on Elocution, under his thoroughly analytical method of teaching. (Signed) George Gibbs. 18th March, 1845. Notices ot tftc $ress. " It is admirably calculated for the purpose which it is designed." — Boston Evening Gazette. "This is a capital work, thoroughly practical, and in every sense a good book. The exercises are very judiciously selected, and exhibit great tact and judgment. It will be found of great service to the student, in the acquisition of an art which is daily gaining ground as an essen- tial part of the education of a gentleman. We think it will even add to the already distinguished reputation of the author." — News-Letter. " This is an excellent work, and written by one who is fully compe- tent to the task he has undertaken. To those who are studying Elocu- tion, it is invaluable. To all who would acquire a good knowledge of language, and correct manner of reading and speaking, we would warmly recommend this work." — Crystal Fount. " The directions in Mr. Vandenhoff's book are so simple, so easy of comprehension, and may be so readily practised, that there should be no mercy shown hereafter to any slovenly or negligent reader who has the means to possess himself of a copy of this excellent system." — Broadway Journal. " This book went to a second edition within six months of the first appearance. The author is a Professor of Elocution in the city of New- York, and any one will be convinced by reading a few pages of his work, that experience has shown him the defects which usually impair Elocution. Elocution properly embraces the subjects of articulation, IV TESTIMONIALS. punctuation, pauses, and modulation of voice in pitch and emphasis, all of which are treated in this book, intelligibly, and we should judge from a slight examination, to good purpose. Half the volume is de- voted to the developement of the system and exercises, and the other part to selections of prose and poetry for reading, recitation, and de- clamation." — Utica Daily Gazette. " The author of this work is well known as one of the most ac- complished elocutionists in America. The volume before us is pro- nounced by the. best of judges to be simple and clear in its teach- ings, and admirably adapted for the use of Schools. The reading is of the first order, and the book appears to have been got. up with great care." — Onondaga Standard. " Very many books have been written for the purpose of teaching the principles of good reading and speaking; some of much merit. We have examined a work by G. Vandenhoff, teacher of Elocution in the city of New- York, entitled 'A Plain System of Elocution,' with which we are much pleased. It explains the principles of the art in a clear and forcible manner, and illustrates them by ingenious characters, well calculated to assist the learner. Its selections of examples in prose and verse are excellent, and the arrangement very good." — Rochester Daily American. "A second edition of Mr. VandenhofT's admirable work on this im- portant branch of education. The present edition is greatly improved and enlarged, and takes in the various branches of the subject; — logical and musical reading and declamation ; oratorical, poetical and dramatic reading and recitation. As now published, the work forms a complete ' speaker,' and is well adapted for private or school use. The rapid sale of the first edition shows that Mr. VandenhofT's labors in this de- partment are not unappreciated." — Commercial Advertiser. " This second edition of Mr. VandenhofT's Elocution proves that it is appreciated by those for whom it is chiefly intended. Teachers and parents are indebted to the author for this aid to their labors. The re- marks on articulation and pronunciation are very judicious, and the se- lections of exercises, both in prose and poetry, show good taste. In- deed, the book may be studied with profit by many who imagine them- selves out of the ranks of learners, for its views on many subjects con- nected with this science are quite original." — Evening Gazette. "The second edition of a work which we noticed when it first ap- peared. Mr. Vandenhoff is one of the most accomplished practical elocutionists in the country. He is also a scholar, thoroughly ac- quainted with the rules of the science which he has made it his pro- fession to teach." — Freeman's Journal. THE ART OF ELOCUTION. THE ART OF ELOCUTION: OR, LOGICAL AND MUSICAL READING AND DECLAMATION WITH AN APPENDIX, CONTAINING A COPIOUS PRACTICE IN ORATORICAL, POETICAL, AND DRAMATIC READING AND RECITATION; THE WHOLE FORMING A COMPLETE SPEAKER. WELL ADAPTED TO PRIVATE POPILS, CLASSES, AND THE USE OF SCHOOLS. BY G. YANDENHOFF, THIRD EDITION. NEW-YORK : C. SHEPARD, 191 BROADWAY. PHILADELPHIA : THOMAS, COWPERTHTVAIT & CO. CINCINNATI : H. "W. DERBY & CO. BOSTON : GOULD, KENDALL & LINCOLN. 18 47. Entered according to an act of Congress, in the year 1846, by C. SHEPARD, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Southern District of New- York. Whioht, Typog. et Imp. 74 Fulton at. PREFACE. The work now offered to the Public is an enlargement and improvement, by the addition of much original matter, of the Author's previous publication, entitled " A Plain System of Elocution," which ran through two editions, but which is now so much improved upon as to induce the Author to change its name. The alterations and additions made to that System are the result of reflection, study, and of the experience gathered from an extensive practice as an instructor. The Author has great pleasure in acknow- ledging the valuable suggestions which he has received and adopted, from his father, John Vandenhoff, Esq., Pro- fessor of Elocution at the Royal Academy of Music in London. To Dr. Rush's Treatise on the Voice, the Author has had recourse for light on many of the niceties of the elementary sounds of our language ; and gladly takes this opportunity of offering his humble tribute to the masterly analysis of the voice, its functions and capabilities, contain- ed in that philosophical and eloquent work. He takes this occasion also to renew his acknowledg- A* 1268411 X PREFACE. ments to those families and heads of academies who have encouraged his attempt to awaken greater attention to this essential branch of education, and who do him the honor to approve of his system of instruction.* The numerous classes of elegant and accomplished ladies who have read with him, in the houses of families of the highest standing and respectability, prove that a just appreciation is entertained of this art as an indispensable female acquirement : and the attention and improvement of his pupils have made his task one of pleasure and self- gratulation. The correct and elegant enunciation of her native tongue, and a graceful style of reading the language of its prose writers and poets, cannot be too assiduously cultivated by a lady : the accomplishment is peculiarly feminine, and its possession is a distinctive mark of high breeding and good education. If the Author's exertions shall be deemed to have facilitated its acquirement, he will be proud indeed. .-, v New- York, May, 1846. * See Testimonials. ART OF ELOCUTION. INTRODUCTION. The value of Elocution ; particularly to the Orator — Elocution a necessary part of Oratory— Sketch of an Orator — " Can Elocution be taught?" — Answer to the Right Reverend Dr. Whately's (Archbishop of Dublin) objections to a System of Elocution— the arguments in his Elements of Rhetoric com- batted by his arguments in his Elements of Logic — Advice to the Student. Elocution, as its derivation (cloquor) indicates, is the art of speaking, or delivering language ; and it embraces every principle and constituent of utterance, from the arti- culation of the simplest elementary sounds of language, up to the highest expression of which the human voice is capa- ble in speech. Of the importance, if not the necessity, of such an art to a perfect system of education, one would think there could not be two opinions. We must all speak ; it must therefore be desirable to speak with propriety and force ; as much so as regards the utterance of our language as its grammatical accuracy. And though any language, however meagre and 12 ART OF ELOCUTION. however mean, and any utterance, however imperfect and inelegant, (so that it be barely intelligible,) are sufficient for any of the commonest purposes of speech, yet something higher is surely necessary even to the ordinary conversa- tion of the gentleman and the man of education. But most of us are called upon occasionally in public, even though we may not belong to any of the learned pro- fessions, to express our opinions, to state our views, to offer our advice, or to justify some course we may have pursued in relation to affairs in which others beside ourselves are interested ; and on such occasions, the advantage of a natural, elegant, and easy delivery cannot but be felt in se- curing the ready attention and favor of the audience. To him who desires to make a figure in the Pulpit, in the Senate, or at the Bar, a good delivery, a nervous and elegant style of Elocution, are as essential, almost, as force of argument and grace of language. How many a good story is marred in the telling : how many a good sermon is lost in the preaching : how many a good speech, excellent in matter, argument, arrangement, language, falls listless on the ear, from the apathetic, inelegant, and powerless manner of the speaker ! Elocution is indeed a part of ora- tory, essential to its perfection. He who would touch the heart, " and wield at will the fierce democracie," must have ' ; wit. and words, and worth, Action and utterance, and the power of speech, To stir men's blood !" INTRODUCTION. 13 Thus, " doubly armed," the orator rises calm in the confi- dence of his strength. In vain the angry shout, in vain the discordant tumult of a hostile and prejudiced assembly: " ilium Non civium ardor prava jubentium Mente quatit solida." He stands unmoved amid the storm. He speaks, and "his big manly voice" goes forth, like the trumpet's sound, above all the tumult. He is by turns patient or indignant, bold or yielding, as it suits his purpose : he exhorts, he threat- ens, he supplicates, he persuades. The storm is hushed — the waves subside ; he has stretched his wand over the troubled waters, and the tempest is at rest. And now all hang breathless on his lips ; — he warms, he glows, he is on fire : his hearers are carried away with him ; they follow him in all his windings, through every change of feeling and passion. He bears down every obstacle ; his friends he animates with his enthusiasm, he lashes his opponents with his satire, — he withers them with his scorn, he crush- es, he annihilates them with his terrible, his resistless pow- er. And now "Io ! Io ! Triumphe ! " Acclamations of delight rend the air ; he is crowned with garlands, he is borne in triumph to his home, the hero of the day ; achiev- ing a bloodless victory, a stainless triumph — nobler than was ever won by conquest and the sword — the victory of mind over mind, the triumph of the intellect of one man over the understandings and the hearts of thousands. 14 ART OF ELOCUTION. Such is the triumph of the -perfect orator ; — a triumph due as much to the power and grace of delivery, as to the force of argument or the eloquence of diction. And how is this power and grace of delivery to be ac- quired ? — for acquired it must be — it is born with no man : it is indeed to this part of oratory that the maxim " orator Jit" is peculiarly applicable. It is an art ; and is to be at- tained by rule, by training and discipline, by constant and well regulated exercise, by using the mental faculties to a quick power of analysis of thought, and the cultivation of the ear and vocal organs for a ready appreciation and exe- cution of tone. And that system that furnishes the best and readiest means of attaining these objects, is the best system of Elocution : the one that fails of this is worth nothing. And here I will take the opportunity of answering the objections of those who are in the habit of promulgating the opmion that Elocution cannot be taught — that is, that it is not an art ; for to deny that it admits of rules, and princi- ples, is to deny it the place of an art. The name of the Rt. Revd. Dr. Whately, Archbishop of Dublin, is the greatest that I find among the list of these objectors ; and in an- swering his objections to all or any System of Elocution, I shall be able, I think, to dispose of the whole question — " Can Elocution be taught?" Dr. Whately, in his Elements of Rhetoric, (Part IV. c. 2,) while he admits, and indeed insists on, the importance of a good Elocution, emphatically protests against any sys- INTRODUCTION. 15 tern for its attainment : his own directions being that every person should read and speak in a natural manner; and he says (§ 3, p. 356,*) " that in reading the Bible, for example, or anything which is not intended to appear as his own composition, it is desirable that he should deliver it as if he were reporting another's sentiments, which were both fully understood and felt in all their force by the reporter." Admitted ; this is the very object of Elocution : and how is it to be attained ? He tells us — " the only way to do this effectually, with such modulations of voice, SfC. as are suitable to each word and passage, is to fix the mind earnestly on the meaning, and leave nature and habit to suggest the utterance : and for this plan " he lays claim to some originality of his own" (Part IV. c. i, §1) ; though he says, (c. ii., § 2,) that " it is not enough that the reader should himself actually understand a composition ; it is possible, notwithstanding, to read it as if he did not : and in the same manner, it is not sufficient that he should himself feel and be impressed with the force of what he utters ; he may, notwithstanding, de- liver it as if he were unimpressed." Now can anything be so vague and so contradictory as such directions as these : " Don't use any system of Elocution : it will give you a false style; but read and speak naturally, as if you understood and felt what you are reading and speaking ; nature and habit will show you how ; though, at the same time, hoivever clearly you may understand, and however deeply you may feel what * London edition. 16 ART OF ELOCUTION. you are delivering, it is quite possible that that you may, not- withstanding, deliver it with an utter absence of understand- ing and feeling." And why ? Clearly for the want of a system, which by rules and principles of art shall render such a contradiction next to impossible. The right reverend and learned Doctor (c. ii., § 2,) lays it down that, " To the adoption of any such artificial scheme of Elocution — (that is, by a peculiar set of marks for deno- ting the pauses, emphases, &c.) — there are three weighty objections" : and the reverend and learned logician states the objections to be, " 1st. That the proposed system must necessarily be im- perfect ; " 2dly. That if it icere perfect, it would be a circuitous path to the object in view ; and, " 3dly. That even if both these objections were removed, the object would not be effectually obtained." That is, even if the system were perfect, and not only per- fect, but direct, still it would not be effectual ! To the learned Doctor, who is a master of the syllogism, and of every form of argument, this may be clear ; but, I confess, it puzzles my duller apprehension to understand how ineffi- ciency can follow from the perfection of means working di- rectly to their end. However, let us examine how the learned and reverend Doctor proceeds to prove the validity of his objections to this artificial system of Elocution. He says in the same section, " First, such a system must ne- INTJRODUCTlOrW 17 cessarily be imperfect, because, tbough the emphatic word in each sentence may easily be pointed out in writing, no variety of marks would suffice to indicate the different tones in which the different emphatic words should be pro- nounced : though on this depends frequently the whole force, and even sense of the expression." As an instance, he gives the following passage, (Mark, iv., 21) : " Is a candle brought to be put under a bushel or under a bed ?" And he adds, " I have heard this so pro- nounced as to imply that there was no other alternative, and yet the emphasis was laid on the right words ?" What emphasis ? The Doctor (with respect I speak it) clearly is not versed in the distinction between infection and empliasis, or in the difference between one species of emphasis and another. I reply to him, that a pupil who had had three lessons only in Elocution, on a good analyti- cal system, could not have been guilty of the gross perver- sion of sense, by false reading, instanced above ; for he would have learnt very early in his course, the inflection due to a simple interrogative sense, — that apposition of meaning requires apposition of inflection, — and that, to make antithetical inflections and emphasis on words having apposition of meaning, is such a total subversion of every rule of Elocution and common sense, as to excite wonder at the possibility of any rational being falling into so absurd an error. And the same pupil, if called upon to mark to the eye the correct reading of the above sentence, could imme- diately do it, (certainly, any pupil of mine could,) so as to 18 ART OF ELOCUTION. preclude the commission of so gross an error — equal, in its absurdity, to that of the aspiring youth, who, reckless of pause, inflection, or emphasis, stated that " His name was Norval on the Grampian hills," — leaving the hearer to imagine that in the lowlands he went under another cognomen. But, really, the whole course of the right reverend prelate against a system of Elocution, is so weak and illogi- cal that it is painful to follow him step by step. He proceeds to say, that such a system, if perfect, must be circuitous, because it professes to teach the tones, empha- ses, &c. which nature, or custom, which is a second nature, suggests — that is, because its principles must be founded on nature. And he asks triumphantly — " Then, if this be the case, why not leave nature to do her own work?" The answer is obvious: because were we to leave na- ture to do her own work, we should never emerge from a rude state of nature ; her work would be " ferox, dura, aspera." It is natural to man to walk erect ; but the infant is as- sisted in its earliest efforts : and though every person can walk, it is not every person, by any means, who carries himself firmly, easily, and gracefully. We see a stooping carriage, rounded shoulders, a shuffling gait, an uneven uncertain step ; yet all walk, and walk as their nature, or custom, (which, as Dr. Whately says, is second nature,) leads them ; and every time they indulge this their nature, INTRODUCTION. 19 they confirm themselves in the practice of a vicious habit. Hence, it is not thought preposterous, or unworthy of a gen- tleman, to learn to walk, or at least to improve his personal carriage, under the directions of a drill-serjeant and a fen- cing master; and to acquire by art and exercise the bearing and manly step which distinguish the gentleman from the uncultivated hind. Thus, it is clear, that it is not always enough to leave nature to herself: when so left, she fre- quently degenerates and becomes vitiated ; and we are obliged to go back to certain principles, drawn even from herself, to restore her to her perfect form, complexion, and condition. " Lastly," says the right reverend Doctor, " if a person could learn thus to read and speak, as it were by note, with the same fluency and accuracy as are attainable in the case of singing, still the desired object of a perfectly natural as well as correct elocution, would never be in this way at- tained. The reader's attention being fixed, on his own voice, the inevitable consequence would be, that he would betray more or less his studied and artificial delivery ; and would, in the same degree, manifest an offensive affectation." Now, the very object of a system of Elocution, such as the right reverend Doctor so strenuously condemns, is to give, by practice on just principles, an habitual power of vocal intonation, inflection, and expression, suited to every condition of sense, every style of composition, every variety of feeling, every vicissitude of passion : and the Elocution- ist who is thoroughly master of his art, no move fixes his at- 20 ART OF ELOCUTION. tention, while speaking, on his own voice, or on the rules by which he is producing his effects, than the Rhetorician, in the course of a composition or an oration, is thinking mi- nutely of every rule of grammar, logic or rhetoric, by which to construct his sentences, to round his periods, to divide his discourse, or to conduct his argument. The skilful fencer, whom practice has made master of his weapon, uses it ra- pidly and with effect, without thinking of the names of the guards or parades that he is executing. " When one is learning a language, he attends to the sounds ; but when he is master of it, he attends only to the sense of what he would express." — (Reid on the Mind.) So, in pursuing a system of Elocution, the pupil acquires an easy habit, or style of delivery, by exercising himself, on rule, in giving voice and expression to the language of oth- ers, or to his own premeditated and pre-written effusions, — till, from practice, what he has done continually, by rule and art, in set and studied speech, he comes at last to exe- cute easily and naturally, and without thought of the means, in spontaneous and original effusions. I shall conclude my answer to Dr. Whately's objections by an extract from his preface to his own Elements of Logic : the remarks in which, in defence of a System of Logic, are, mutatis mutandis, exactly applicable to his own objections to a System of Elocution ; so that I am happy to have it in my power to be able to bring against him a much higher authority than myself — his own ; and to let the just reasoning contained in his " Elements of Logic," refute the INTRODUCTION. 21 false positions put forth in his " Elements of Rhetoric.''' 1 He thus ably and happily maintains the utility of Logic, and shows the importance and necessity of a system for its attainment : " One preliminary observation it may be worth while to offer in this place. If it were inquired, what is to be re- garded as the most appropriate intellectual occupation of man, as man, what would be the answer ? The statesman is engaged with political affairs ; the soldier, with military ; the mathematician, with the properties of numbers and mag- nitudes ; the merchant, with commercial concerns, &c. ; but in what are all and each of these employed ? — em- ployed, I mean, as men. Evidently, in reasoning. They are all occupied in deducing, well or ill, conclusions from premises ; each concerning the subject of his own particu- lar business. If, therefore, it be found that the process going on daily, in each of so many different minds, is, in any respect, the same, and if the principles on which it is conducted can be reduced to a regular system, and if rules can be deduced from that system, for the better conducting of the process, then, it can hardly be denied, that such a system and such rules must be especially worthy the atten- tion, — not of the members of this or that profession merely, but— of every one who is desirous of possessing a cultivated mind. To understand the theory of that which is the appropriate intellectual occupation of Man in general, and to learn to do that well, which every one will and must do, whether well or ill, may surely 22 ART OF ELOCUTION. be considered as an essential part of a liberal educa- tion." This is most true, apt, clear, and conclusive ; and it is as applicable to Elocution as to Logic. Speech, as much as reason, distinguishes man from the brute ; all men must use it, whether well or ill, in the daily concerns of their lives, or in more public affairs, and in a more extensive arena : and the advantages of a system for doing it well are equally apparent. The following passage from the same preface is a di- rect answer to the right reverend Doctor's own objections to an artificial system of Elocution : " It has usually been assumed, however, in the case of the present subject, that a theory which does not tend to the improvement of practice is utterly unworthy of regard ; and then, it is contended that Logic (Elocution) has no such tendency, on the plea that men may and do reason (speak) correctly without it : an objection which would equally ap- ply in the case of Grammar, Music, Chemistry, Mechanics, &c, in all of which systems the practice must have existed previously to the theory." How alive the right reverend Doctor is to the weakness of the argument against a system for his favorite science, and yet with what triumph he uses the same defeated argu- ment against my art, — exclaiming, " Then why not leave nature, or custom, which is second nature, to do her own work ?" INTRODUCTION. 23 He proceeds, and I go with him heartily : " But many who allow the use of systematic principles in other things, are accustomed to cry up common sense as the sufficient and only safe guide in reasoning." (This is exactly what the reverend Doctor himself does in the case of Elocution, — and therefore let him give the coup de grace to his own position.) " Now, by common sense is meant, I apprehend, (when the term is used with any distinct meaning,) an exercise of the judgment unaided by any art or system of rules ; such an exercise as we must necessarily employ in numberless cases of daily occurrence ; in which, having no established principles to guide us, — no line of procedure, as it were, distinctly chalked out, — we must needs act on the best ex- temporaneous conjectures we can form. But that common sense is only our second best guide, — that the rules of art, if judiciously framed, are always desirable when they can be had, is an assertion for the truth of which I may appeal to the testimony of mankind in general ; which is so much the more valuable, inasmuch as it may be accounted the testimony of adversaries. For the generality have a strong predilection in favor of common sense, except in those points in which they, respectively, possess the knowledge of a sys- tem of rules ; but, in these points, they deride any one who trusts to unaided common sense. A sailor, e. g., will perhaps despise the pretensions of medical men, and prefer treating a disease by common sense ; but he would 24 ART OF ELOCUTION. ridicule the proposal of navigating a ship by common sense, without regard to the maxims of nautical art. A physician, again, will perhaps contemn systems of political economy, of logic, or metaphysics, and insist on the superior wisdom of trusting to common sense in such matters ; but he would never approve of trusting to common sense in the treatment of diseases. Neither, again, would the architect recom- mend a reliance on common sense alone in building, nor the musician in music, to the neglect of those systems of rules, which, in their respective arts, have been deduced from scientific reasoning, aided by experience. And the induction might be extended to every department of prac- tice. Since, therefore, each gives the preference to unassisted common sense only in those cases where he himself has nothing else to trust to, and invariably resorts to the rules of art wher- ever he possesses the knowledge of them, it is plain that man- kind universally bear their testimony, though unconsciously, and often unwillingly, to the preferableness of systematic knowledge to conjectural judgments." Now, could any one have furnished a clearer, more lo- gical, or more satisfying answer than the above, to the learned and right reverend Doctor's own objections to a system of Elocution ; and to his doctrine, in his Elements of Rhetoric, in favor of " unaided common sense," against " the rules of art" in delivery, viz. : "The practical rule to be adopted, is not only to pay no studied attention to the voice, but studiously to withdraw the thoughts from it, and to dwell as intently as possible on the sense ; trusting to na- INTRODUCTION. 25 ture, (i. e., common sense,) to suggest spontaneously the proper emphases and tones" ! I am contented that the learned prelate's doctrine should be adjudged on his own arguments, and that his objections to a system of Elocution (which he does not possess) should be answered by his able defence of a system of Logic, of the rules of which he is master. I have dwelt thus long on the right reverend prelate's opposition to Elocution as an art, because I have fre- quently felt that his testimony was of great weight with many, in deterring them from a study pronounced useless or impracticable by so high an authority, — and one deserv- ing great consideration and respect, from the station, erudi- tion, general clearness of reasoning, and the attainments of its author : and it is therefore a source of great satisfaction to me, to find that he has himself (in his Elements of Logic) furnished arguments against himself, (in his Elements of Rhetoric,) of a clearness and force that no effort of mine could have attained to. I will once more take advantage of the same admirable preface, to adopt for my own purpose the language of the right reverend Doctor : " I am not so weak as to imagine that any system can ensure great proficiency in any pursuit whatever, either in all students, or in a very large proportion of them : ' We sow many seeds to obtain a few flowers.' " But I am happy to be able to add, that I have been gra- tified by finding my efforts rewarded by the marked im- B 26 AET OF ELOCUTION. provement in voice, delivery, expression and gesture, of many pupils who have attended my course of instruction for but a short period ; and in the still greater advance of those who have patiently, and steadily, and laboriously car- ried out the system that I have laid down. That system has no pretension to profundity, but it is simple and intelli- gible, and, I think I may venture to add, (as far as it goes,) correct in theory, and easy of practice. It will, therefore, I trust, be found of service to the student in the acquisition of an art which is daily gaining ground, as an essential part of the education of a gentleman. I have added to the system a full practice in reading and declamation, extracted from the works of the best authors in prose and verse, and in every variety of style. The mere reading aloud of these extracts, as practice in reading and declamation, (after an understanding of the rules and prin- ciples laid down in the system,) even without an instructor, will be of great advantage to the student. He will reap at least the benefit of accustoming his ear to the flow of the language, and so, insensibly, catching something of the strength and spirit of their diction. If he go a step further, and read them under the direc- tion of a guide who can point out to him the peculiar merits of each, and show him, analytically, how every beauty may be heightened and brought out into strong relief, — if he will practise himself with such an instructor, on such models, disciplining his ear, his action, and his voice, he INTRODUCTION. 27 may hope to attain a style of Composition, Declamation, and Gesture, clear, manly, forcible and graceful. With these acquirements united, he may go forth with confidence to address any assembly in the world : his basis will be sure ; practice will give ease and confidence to his efforts ; and exercise and perseverance amid the "forensis strepitus," or whatever other public arena he may choose as the scene of his exertions, will make him a valuable ally, a safe defender, a dangerous antagonist, a skilful debater, a PERFECT ORATOR ! Wwww>^W i M«>^ < MW . «^*MwMwwwy»w» ART OF ELOCUTION. FIRST DIVISION. ELEMENTS. Articulation. — Pronunciation. " The end of oratory is to persuade. We cannot persuade without being first clearly understood ; we cannot be clearly understood without distinct utter- ance, — that is, a clear ARTICULATION. This is the first requisite in the reading both of prose and poetrv. Without it, the metre and rhythm of verse are destroyed ; many words are not distin- guishable in sound from others of somewhat similar form, though of widely different signification ; and the whole delivery is confused and inelegant. With a distinct articulation, a speaker of only moderate power of voice is heard in any place or assembly, much more easily, and with less effort to himself, than one of much greater power of organ, whose articulation is imperfect : for it has been observed, that loud, con- fused noise, even though much greater in degree, does not travel as far as pure and musical sound. 30 ART OF ELO^XniON. Hence the necessity, before all other things, of a clear, pure articulation. To acquire this perfectly, it is necessary to recur to the first principia, — that is, the elementary sounds of our language. Speech is articulate vocal sound. That sound is represented to the eye by signs : these signs are let- ters, — combined into syllables, which syllables are combined into words — the perfect signs of things ; and the vocal utterance of these signs is speech. Brutes have vocal sounds, but not speech : for the sounds they utter are not articulate. It is given to Man alone to shape his voice into intelligible articu- late somid, which can communicate thought, desire, passion, to his fellow-men. Perfect articulation, then, depends on the clear enunciation of certain elementary sounds, whose com- bination forms words. The signs or letters representing these sounds, and forming the alphabet of our language, have been clas- sified by grammarians, principally as voioels and con- sonants ; and they define a vowel as a simple sound, perfect in itself, — and a consonant, as a sound that cannot be uttered without the addition or help of a vowel. But this nomenclature and definition is imperfect as a guide and mark of the articulate sounds, whatever may be its value as a classification of the alphabetical signs of our language. It is true, indeed, that a con- sonant (so called from its supposed dependence for its sound on an attendant vowel,) cannot be individually SIGNS AND SOUNDS. 31 named without the help of a vowel : that is to say, the sign or letter B is named be, C se, D de, and so on ; but these consonants, in their combination with other signs, do not require for their perfect utterance the aid of a vowel at all ; so that their names as signs are as distinct from their power as sounds, as the names alpha, beta, theta, of the Greek alphabet, are distinct from the value or power of the sounds of a, /3, 6, when combined into syllables and words. For, if a consonant required, of necessity, an atten- dant vowel before it could be uttered, we never could enunciate at all such words as black, brandy, claim, draw, flow, grow, throw, strike^ and other words com- mencing with two or three successive consonants without the interposition of any vowel : for it will be clear to any one who will commence the utterance of any such word, and break off before arriving at the vowel, that he can and must complete the sounds of the consonants without its assistance. Thus, let any one begin to utter the word brandy, (6r-andy,) and suddenly arrest his voice upon br, and he will perceive that he has uttered a sound and tone without the aid of a vowel ; and so of cl-ose, th-row, fl-ow, cr-owd, sh-ame, p-ray, &c. ; and it is really the same with words commencing with a single consonant only, as 6-ad, c-old. r-ide, w-ake, &c. Each sign, whether a vowel or a consonant, has its proper ele- mentary sound or sounds, however different in quality or degree of tone those sounds may be. Again, the seven vowel signs in our language, A, E, I, 0, U, W, Y, 32 ART OF ELOCUTION. represent many more sounds, monothongal and diph- thongal, as will be found in the utterance of the fol- lowing common words : -4-11, a-rm, a-X, a-le, e-ve, e-nd, i-n, i-sle, o-ld, o-n, d-o, us, u-mon, in which the sign A, alone, represents four distinct sounds. And there are many consonant sounds which are not represented by any single sign or letter, but re- quire the combination of several letters to represent their power : as the sounds ch in church, th (soft) in truth, thin, and th (hard) in that, ad, t in £-ime, s in s-igh, /"invade; the utterance of which is in the nature of an explo- sive whisper. * Mr. Knowles, in his Grammar, talks of '■ voice without breathP as the distinctive mark of the pure semi-vowels. Voice Avithout breath ! This is an organic impossibility. Voice cannot be produced without breath, though breath alone does not, without the assistance of the vocal organs, produce voice : as, in uttering the letter S, a mere sibilation of the breath takes place without vocality : for the hissing of a serpent is not a vo- cal sound ; though the word hiss cannot be uttered without the T,* 34 ART OF ELOCUTION. TONICS. The following is a list of the pure Tonics : their sound is given in the separated Italic of each word, according to its or- dinary pronunciation. 1 . * . 9 ? A i-11 O-n A-rm A-t A-\e 5 6 -A . A_ Th-e-re i?-nd E-ve 7-11 O-ld 8 9 D-o B-ft-\\ U-vn Us 1. The tonic sound of a in a-U, and of o in o-n. is organically the same ; with this difference in quantity, that in a-11 it is long, in o-n it is short ; they are accordingly here marked under the same numeral, with the distinctive mark -, long, or u , short. 6. So the tonic of e in e-ve, and oft in 2-11, is organically the same, differing only in quantity ; numbered and marked ac- cordingly. 5. The same of e in there, and e in end. 8. The same of o in d-o. and u in b-w-11. 9. And of u in w-rn, and u in us. We have in the above scheme nine distinct pure tonic ele- ments, whose sound is monothongal; that is, capable of being produced by one simple process of articulation, and of being prolonged to an indefinite time, without any change of tone, or serpent-like sibilation. Voice without breath is flame without fire! DIPHTHONGAL SOUNDS. 35 alteration of the vocal organs, from the commencement to the close of its sound. The term monothongal is used in contradistinction to which are Ai-1* Isle, Ou-t, Oi-\, U-nion. The above two lists of pure and mixed tonics contain all the tonic sounds, monothongal and diphthongal, that are found in our language.f Of course, in speaking here of diphthongal tonics. I discard the grammatical definition of a diphthong: for, according to that, the sound of oo, as in ooze, is called diphthongal, whereas it is really a pure tonic element ; it is the sound of o in d-o. In articulation, a diphthong is the union of two tonics, in which the actual utterance of each takes place : the radical, or com- 4 * ^4-le. Ai-l. — The authority of Dr. Rush is in favor of con • 4 sidering these sounds identical ; that is, he classes the a in a-le as diphthongal ; but after a very nice examination by a good ear. I think a distinct sound may be traced in ai-d, from that which is found in fa-de — in pai-n, from pa-ne. For this reason I have classed them as separate tonic sounds ; the one pure, the other mixed. t It is necessary to observe, that in adopting the nomen- clature of the elementary sounds, propounded by Dr. Rush, I have thought it advisable to depart in some instances from his arrangement and definition of those sounds, and also to make additions thereto. I mention this, that that learned and philo- sophical writer may not, by any chance, have to bear the impu- tation of any errors which may appear in my arrangement or definition of those elementary sounds, or of their power and value in speech. 36 ART OF ELOCUTION. mencing sound, being different from that winch is heard at its close or vanish; thus, the sound of the name of the letter u, (as 6 heard in the word zt-nion,) is compounded of the e in e-ve and 8 6 8 the o in d-o : that is, its radical (or root) is e, its vanish is o, 68 making eo, or ii, as in w-nion. The following table shows at one view the whole system of Tonic Elements, pure or monothongal, and mixed or diph- thongal. TABLE OF TONIC ELEIE9TTS. a-ll o-n 6 e-ve Ml 2 a-rm 7 o-ld 3 a-t 4 a-le th-e-re e-nd do b-u-\l u-m u-s. VOWEL SIGNS. NO. for reference to the above. EXAMPLES. has four pure tonics, proper to itself, and one borrowed or com- mon E has three tonics — two pure and proper, one*} borrowed or common (. has three tonics — two J borroiced, pure ; one •{ mixed ot diphth.(m) ^ O has four tonics — one pure and proper, and' three borrowed. . has £Aree tonics — one I pure and proper, one < borrowed, one mixed or diphthongal (6.8.) I" 3 4 5(") J(-) 6(-) all — -war — call — pall. arm — father — rather — card. at — ask — cat — apple — lap. ale — cane — ace. care — lair — mare — dare. ^ ere — there — ne'er. \ end — bet — mess — ever, eve — me — fee — leave. err — learn — fern — mercy. 6 ( - ) : ^ fiend — field — wield. 6 ( w ) I s ill — in — it — list. 9 ( o ) fir — first — thirst. diph. 9.6. I — sigh — mine — lie. 7 old — no — bold — go. 1 ( w ) on — rot — for — lord — cough. 8 ( - ) do — whom — boot — fool. 9 ( w ) son — none — come — other. 9(- 9(w) S(") 8(wJ diph. 6.8. 1 has two tonics, both borrowed — one pure, f one diphth. (9.6) . . J W has one tonic sound. borrowed am — Iwrn — c*trd — pztrse. us — b*m — cut — blush. tn«e — rade. b?dl — bnsh. U — itnion — tune — duke. 6 pity — army — nymph. diph. 9.6. Y — by — my — dye. 8 ( - ) nmc — coir — how. 38 ART OF ELOCUTION. NOTES ON THE MIXED OR DIPHTHONGAL TONICS. if . — The diphthongal sound of i has been by some writers re* 1 6 1 solved into the tonic sounds of a and e ; a being given as the 6 radical or opening, and e as the vanish or close of the sound. 1 6 But this combination (a e) would produce the diphthongal sound oi, as in voice ; which is, in fact, a provincial pronuncia- tion of the diphthongal sound of i (in such words ■as, find, mind, &c.) prevalent among the vulgar in some of the northern coun- 16 16 ties in England, where we may hear fo ind for find, koi'nd for 9 6 kind, dec. The true radical of i is u, as in us, and its vanish e, as in eve. This will be manifest by articulating these two sounds, separately and slowly at first, and gradually blending them by a closer and more rapid utterance, till the two tonics run together, and are lost in each other, thus : 9 69 6969696 96 u e ; u e ; u — e ; u-e ; u-e ; ue, or i'. U. — The diphthongal sound of u, as in iinion, time, has for its 6 8 radical, e, and for its vanish, o ; that is. is produced by the 6 8 blending of the e, in eve, with the o, in do, thus : 6 86 8 686868 e o ; e o ; e — o ; e-o ; eo ; ii. Y. — The diphthongal sound of y, as in by, try, is resolvable into the same elements as that of i, as above given. W. — The character of the sound of this sign, as in the above examples, is clearly diphthongal, though its elements are difficult 1 8 to trace with exactitude ; perhaps its radical is a, its vanish o. This sign is also frequently //"'/' in its diphthongal figure, as in awe : here are three vowel signs with one elementary sound, viz. EXERCISE ON THE TONICS. 39 1 7 the tonic sound heard in all. Again, in low, the w is mute, and 7 1 8 also in bow (arcus), though heard in the verb to bow. We shall see hereafter the sub-tonic character of W and Y. , 4 6 AI. — This diphthong is composed of a and i, as in pain, ail, which are distinguishable to a fine ear from the pure tonic in 4 4 ale, pane. &c. ; but the distinction is really very slight — still it exists. I 6 01 — as in boy. voice, is ai. OU — as in o?ir, out, &c, is of a complex nature, and appears to be triph-thongal. It seems to my ear to be compounded of 2 18 aou ; but I am not quite clear as to its elements. For reference to the eye, I shall distinguish it thus, ou, (to denote its triph- thongal character,) in the following EXERCISE ON THE TONICS. 12 3 4 5 9 All art as nature better understood. 3 3 561 4 3 i"ti 1*11 And that there is all nature cries aloud through all 9 9 her works. 14 6.. .. 8 4 All pale with pain he fainted in the place. 3.8 6 59365 And Eve in Eden ever happy there. 666 669 66 If infidelity first victims find. 7 7 8 1 8 Oh holy hope, to live beyond the tomb. 9 9 9 The wonder and the worship of the world. 40 ART OF ELOCUTION. 11 .-.8 l.l 11 For fortune frowned upon his cause forlorn. 1 7 7 The torrent roared impetuous in its course. 7 7 1 My hoarseness forces me to stop my horse. 7 7 The doors are open, And the surfeited grooms do mock then charge with snores. 8 9 t Full often underrates the future good. .•. 8 1 .'. 8 .•. 8 Now law shall bow f efore the power of arms. a Our wounds cry out for help. 9 9 7 And burning blushes spread o'er all her cheek. Let the pupil now go through the Table of Tonic Sounds, giving to every element its perfect sound, in a full, loud tone of voice, but without strain or painful effort. This, more than any practice, will tend to strengthen and bring out his voice (see " Vocal Gymnastics") ; and next, let him go carefully through the Exercise on tlie Tonics, until he shall read them with per- fect purity of tonic sound. The careful doing of this at the outset, will save the pupil much after-trouble in the matter of articulation. We now pass to the SUB TONICS (15) — ATONICS (10.) ELEMENTARY SOUNDS. 41 TABLE OF SUBTONICS AND ATONICS. 1 Subt. At. Organic Formation. Examples. B — P Pure labial B-ad. P-ay. 2 D — T Lingua-dental {teeth closed) D-ash. T-ask. 3 G — K Palatine G-um. K-ill. 4 V — F Labia-dental V-at. F-ight. 5 Z — S Dental sibilants (teeth open) Z-eal. S-ame. 6 J — Ch Lingua-palatine sibilant J-udge. Cb-urch. 7 Zsh— Sh Palatine sibilant A-z-ure. Sh-ame. j 8 Th — Th (hard) (soft) Lingua-dental (teeth open) Th-en. Th-in : <> Y — H Palatine aspirates Y-et. H-it. in W — Wh Labial aspirates W-ild. Wh-en. 11 R — — Lingua-palatine (vibraCg) R-ome. R-ide. 12 L — — Lingua-palatine L-ull. L-ily. 13 M — — Nasal-labial M-um. M-ind. 14 N — — Nasal — lingua-palatine N-u-n. N-o-w. 15 Ng _\asal — palatine E-ng-land. Thi-ne. OBSERVATIONS. It will be observed that the yi-tonics have each their appro- priate rotntde, . protroode. ruminate, 7-oominate. truce, abstruse, sure, . . insure, . assurance, troose. abstroose. shoor. inshoor. ashoorance, &c. [See Table of Exceptions.] DOUBLE VOWEL SOUNDS. must be carefully distinguished from diphthongal sounds, and the sound of each vowel be duly given, as ea, as in area (nir-y-a.) ies, as in species (speeshy-es,) series (seery-es.) io, as in violate (n'-o-late.) vi-o-lence, &c. Having gone through the Tables of Practice in the above sounds, let the reader practise the Contrast Tables, to make the distinction between them clearer to the car. The above terminations and syllables are those on which the greatest carelessness exists in the articula- tion of the tonic sounds, and therefore I have selected them for practice ; but it is equally necessary to ob- serve the due sounds of the tonics, whether they occur in commencing, middle, or terminating syllables. In reading the tables, be particular first to get the correct tonic sound of the vowel, as given in the key- word, and bear in mind that articulation of a sound PRONUNCIATION. 51 does not imply accentuation of the syllable ; that is part of PRONUNCIATION. Pronunciation distinguishes the educated gentleman from the vulgar and unpolished man. Pronunciation is made up of articulation and ac- centuation ; when both are perfect, the individual has a correct and elegant pronunciation. Custom, as Horace has truly said, ' : arbitrium est et jus et norma loquendi" — custom is the arbiter and criterion of what is correct in speech ; but then it is the custom of the polite and elegant part of the world, (not of the mere vulgar.) that must guide us ; and of which the Roman poet, writing, as he did, to the cultivated intellects of the Augustan age, must be understood to speak. The custom of vulgar thousands cannot sanctify their errors ; nor can the daily practice of thousands change folly into wisdom, any more than it can cor- rupt mischievous to mischiev'-ous, or ev'-ious, horrible to horrable, yellow to yallow, wounds (woonds) to wounds, * swoon to swow?id, or give authority to any similar improprieties. The pulpit, the senate, and the bar, ought, from the advantages of education generally possessed by their members, and from their social position, to be the 52 ART OF ELOCUTION. standard authorities to which we might appeal with certainty, (for our language is continually undergo- ing change, addition, and improvement ;) but, unfor- tunately, the gentlemen of the learned professions are frequently so careless in their own pronunciation as rather to require admonition, (medice, sana te ipsum.) than to be looked to as authorities ; so that they may, (from their own inaccuracies) be considered a Court of Errors, but not of Appeal. We must, therefore, rely upon such lights as we have, and the assistance of those who, well educated in other respects, make their own language their particidar study. The following are a few very common examples, (which it is absolutely necessary to correct,) of ERRONEOUS PRONUNCIATION by mal-articulation or false accentuation. OMISSION OF SUB-TONICS OR ATONICS. g in ing, as in com?V for comi'R^. speakin' for speaking - , &c. ts in sts, as insis' for insiste, persis' for persists, &c. OMISSION OF A MIDDLE OR DOUBLE SUB-TONIC. m in mm, as imaculate for im-maculate. &c. n in nen, as prowess, for prone-ness, &c. FALSE ACCENTUATION. ar'-o-ma . for a-ro'-ma in'-vite . . Jbr in-vite' en'-quiry . for m-qui'-ry as pir-ant for as-pi'-rant adver'-tis . for ad'-ver-twe ab'-domen. for abdo'-men en-gi'ne . for en'-gine fi'-nance . for fi-nan'ce i'-dea . . for i-de'-a opp'onent . for op-po'-nent ERRONEOUS PRONUNCIATION. 53 per'-fume (v.) for per-fu'me per-fu'me (n.)for per'-fume pre-ce'-dent(n.)ybA'pre'-ce-dent pre'-ce-dent(adj.) " pre-ce'-dent mischie'v-ousybr mis'-chiev-ous adverti'se-ment K adver'-tisment se-rees(series)/o/" see-ry-es, &c. REFINEMENTS IN PRONUNCIATION. The syllables car, gar, and guar, are, in polite and refined pronunciation, softened thus : car is made kya'r, as kyart (cart.) kyar-pet (carpet.) gar and guar, gya'r, as gya'rd (guard.) gya'r&en (garden,)&c. Also, before a long and accented i or y, the letter A: makes key, as keyi'nd (kind.) skey-i' (sky,) &c. Such are a few points which I particularly notice, because it is in them that errors most prevail. The nature of this book does not pretend to go into the whole theory of pronunciation : my object is, practi- cally to correct certain prevalent faults of articulation and pronunciation. [See Practice on Pronunciation.'] 54 ART OF ELOCUTION. PRACTICE.— FIRST DIVISION. TABLES OF ARTICULATION. TONIC SOUNDS. 112 34 556« a-11 — 6-n — a-rm — a-t — a-ie — th-e-re — e-nd — e-ve — «-Il- o-ld- 8 S 9 -d-0 — b-w-11 — u-m- 9 -us. TABLE I. 3 , 3 a. — The tonic sound of a, as in at, in the TERMINATIONS al fk-tal na-taZ mor-tal pas-caZ his-to-ri-caZ pas-to-rai mus-i-caJ su-i-ci-daZ hom-i-ci-da< pic-to-ri-ai ar asat — aaice ,. ^ n«nt dis-so- ^ I nance $ nant con-so- < ( nance gant gance gant gance tol-er- I ( ance tem-per-a??ce re-li-ance de-fi-ance va-ri-ance -ro- < el-e- ar ur-tic-u-lar o-rac.-u-lar au-ric-u-lar par-tic-u-lar per-pen-dic- u-lar joc-u-lar mus-cu-lar ve-hic-u-lar con-su-Iar m-su-lar TABLES OF ARTICULATION. 55 a-Sive a-cy im-per-a-tive in-dic-a-tive pal-li-a-tive purg-a-tive pre-rog-a-tive res-tor-a-tive lax-a-tive pro-vo-ca-tive pi-ra-cy con-spir-a-cy a-fole a-mi-a-ble ]ion-or-a-ble res-pect-a-ble in-val-u-a-ble nav-ig-a-ble reas-on-a-ble a-vail-a-ble sale-a-ble re-mar k-a-ble ter-min-a-ble TABLE II. 5 S e. — The short sound of e, as in met, in the pru-dent-ence em-i-nent-e?ice TERMINATIONS eiai — ence in-con-ti-ne?it - ence som-no-lent - ence dif-fi-de»t- ence im-per-ti-nent- ence. ess prone-ness bless-ed-ness cost-li-ness laz-i-ness con-tent-ed-ness su-pine-ness ety pi-ety so-bri-ety sa-ti-ety so-ci-ety con-tra-ri -ety va-ri-ety et par-a-pe<; vi-o-\et mar-ti-nef sar-ce-nei tab-i-ne£ cor-o-ne£ 56 ART OF ELOCUTION. TABLE III. 6 .06 i. — The short sound of i, as in sin, city. itj ami-a-bil-ity res-pon-si-bil-ity afia-bil-ity hos-til-ity du-pli-city di-vin-ity TERMINATIONS. ifoSe feas-i-ble plau-si-ble di-vis-i-ble ris-i-ble in-com-pat-i-ble ter-ri-ble i-tive len-i-tive in-fin-i-tive sen-si-tive de-fin-i-tive in-qui-si-tive. TABLE IV. er-ir. — The borrowed sounds of e and i, joined to r, mak- '.i r < n ing er and ir, as in her. sir. distinct from the sound of ur, as in cur, curl. Read the following table across in triple column. er ir ur verse, first, curst. mercy, thirsty, durst. per-verted, vir-tue, b?«*sting. revert, shirt, pursed. pert, dirty, nurseling hea/'d, bird, word. early, firmly, burly. preferred, third, sturdy. Note. — This distinction is easily made by making the er and ir shorter and lighter, (by dwelling less upon them in utter- ance, and accenting them more rapidly,) than ?tr, which has a broader and more open sound. TABLES OF ARTICULATION. 57 TABLE V. 7 7 o-ow. — The full and round sound of the vowel o, (as in low,) in the vowel o and diphthong ow, unaccented. potato, foll'oic, wiU'o-w, foll'ow-ing, o-pinion, fall'010, bill'ow, bell'ow-ing, o-vation, fell'oMJ, pill'ow, mell'ow-ing, in-no-vate, mell'ow. holl'ow. pill'oiced, per-o-ration. hollowed. TABLE VI. 68 n. — The diphthongal sound of w, (eu,) as in pure. uce use uke pro-d?«ce. ab-i(se. duke. re'f-?«se. ob-twse. re-dwce. dif-fwse. re-bwke. SYLLABLES AND TERMINATIONS. ume line ure presmne. time. en-dure. al-lwre. for'-titne. con-sz^me. im-por-tzme. re-h *1 i s F Sir the a- tro- cious crime of be- ing a in f r 1 F 5 5 i is a^ 9 / ! / young man which the hon- or - a- ble gen-tle-man J • 1 1 F F F & 1 F F / / has with such spi- t rit and de- cen- cy 1 F • i i i F F 1 F F charged up- on me I shall neith- er at- 1 - 1* 1 # 1 9 F F 9 p" F P 'IJ . i / tempt to pal- Li- ate nor de- ny ; r F F V j but con- tent my- self with wish- ing r i- 5 R / ft that I may be one of those whose J i 1 F F J r fol- lies may cease with their youth, r i r 1 F F k 1* I 11 r and i not of that num- ber who are # EMPHASIS. 89 9 •' ' ' lg- no- rant m spite ot ex- pe- ri- ence. In this example I have marked the accented or heavy sylla- bles which require pulsation of voice ; and it will be observed that the first note oi' the bar is always accented, or its place is supplied by a rest, or pause, which, with the other notes, fills up the cadence, and completes the bar ; for j^ests, or pauses, are as essential, a part of the rhythm as the notes themselves, and, in verse especially, it is on their due and proportionate observ- ance, as well as of the heavy and light syllables, that rhythm depends. All this is more fully explained hereafter: but I thought thus much, on the subject of quantity and stress, (or accent,) necessary to be remarked before proceeding with Em- phasis, of which stress is an essential constituent. The power of emphasis to strengthen or change the meaning of any sentence is very great ; and its proper use in delivery adds greatly to the point and power of a discourse : hence some orators are called emphatic speakers, when it is intended that their style is pointed and forcible. But Emphasis is not merely stress or weight of voice : it is made up of stress and inflection ; accordingly, Emphasis is stress and inflection of voice. There are two principal kinds of Emphasis — 1. Emphasis of sense. 2. Emphasis of force. 1. Emphasis of sense is that emphasis which marks and indicates the meaning or sense of the sentence ; and which being transferred from word to word, has 90 AUT OF ELOCUTION. power to change and vary the particular meaning of such sentence. In other words, it is the placing on the particular word which carries the main point of the sentence, or member of the sentence, the inflection due to such sentence or member, and giving weight or emphasis to such inflection : — the word so marked and distinguished is called the emphatic word. RULE. To make the emphasis of sense, throw the inflection proper to the sentence, or member of it, on the emphatic word ; and give weight or stress on that inflection. Thus— The following interrogative sentence requires the rising in- flection. Now, by placing that inflection on any one word, and at the same time giving weight or stress to that inflection — the sense will be emphasized on that particular word ; and as the emphasis of sense is changed from word to word, the point of the sense will be varied accordingly. Did you walk home to-day 1 or Did you walk home to-day'? or Did you walk home to-day ? or Did you walk home to-day? or Did you walk home to-day? The emphasis of sense therefore points the inflec- E.UrHASIS. 91 tion and meaning of a sentence, or member of it, on some particular word : and the inflection is rising or falling according to the rule applicable to the particu- lar sentence, or member of it, in which that word occurs. There are branches of the emphasis of sense, inci- dental to particular rules of inflection, as Antithetical Emphasis — Emphasis with pronominal phrase, &c. of which I shall speak under the proper heads. 2. Emphasis of force (or it might be called Empha- sis of feeling,) is that emphasis or stress which a speaker uses arbitrarily to add force to some particu- lar idea or expression ; not because the sense or mean- ing intended to be conveyed requires it, — but because the force of his own feeling dictates it. RULE. The emphasis of force is always made with the falling in- fection; whatever maybe the inflection proper to the sentence, vrithout such emphasis. EXAMPLES. Could you be so cruel ? Could you be so cruel 1 I did not say so. These sentences — interrogative and negative — by ordinary Rule, would have the rising inflection ; ; but the emphasis of force being placed on the word could, or cruel, and not, gives 92 ART OF ELOCUTION. them the falling inflection : without at all affecting the sense. — though it gives force to the idea conveyed by the words. Bear in mind, therefore, that this emphasis of force, when it is made, is independent of and paramount to all general rule of inflection ; which it controls and over-rules. Emphasis of force is sometimes doubled, as — Could you be so cruel ? In which, the force is thrown on two words, and expresses aa much as if the speaker said, Can it be possible that you are what I consider so shock- ingly cruel ! There is also cumulative or accumulated empha- sis of force ; that is, when the emphasis is heaped or accumulated on several words in succession, as I tell you. I will not do it ; nothing on earth shall p ersuade me. This is the strongest expression of force. I shall have occasion to illustrate it more fully hereafter. — (Part 3d of this Division.) Let the Student now practise aimed — as an exercise on the foregoing rules — the following extract, until he can read it per- fectly, as it is marked for Pause, Inflection, Emphasis; and till he have ascertained each particular rule under which it ia bo marked. EXERCISE. 93 PORTIA'S SPEECH ON MERCY. {Marked with Pause, Inflection, and Emphasis.) The quality of Mercys is not strain'd" 1 - lt droppeth" as the gentle rain from heav'n" Upon the place beneath— It is twice" 1 bless'd" 1 - It blesseth him that gives"" and him that takes"- 'Tis mightiest' in the mightiest '- it becomes The throned monarch * better than liis crown" 1 - His sceptre" 1 shows the force" of temporal power" 1 - The attribute ' to awe and majesty ^ Wherein doth sit ' the dread and fear of kings**- But mercy* is above"" this sceptred sway- It is enthroned" in the hearts of kings" 1 - It is an attribute*" 1 to God himself " 1 - And earthly power" doth then" show likest God's" 1 When mercy" seasons justice. I Therefore*" Jew" 1 - Tho' justice be thy plea" 1 consider this" 1 - That" in the course of justice" 1 none of us Should see s alvation "- we do pray" 1 for mercy *"- And that same prayer" 1 doth teach us" 1 all" to render The deeds of Mercy. I Shaksp. 94 ART OF ELOCUTION. A PRACTICE ON PART I. OF THE SECOND DIVISION. "PRESS ON." This is a speech, brief, but full of inspiration and opening the way to all victory. The mystery of Na- poleon's career was this, — under all difficulties and discouragements, " press on I" It solves the problem of all heroes, it is the rule by which to weigh, rightly, all wonderful successes and triumphal marches to for- tune and genius. It should be the motto of all, old and young, high and low, fortunate and unfortunate, so called. " Press on !" Never despair ; never be discour- aged, however stormy the heavens, however dark the way ; however great the difficulties, and repeated the failures, " Press on !" If fortune has played false with thee to-day, do thou play true for thyself to-morrow. If thy riches have taken wings and left thee, do not weep thy life away ; but be up and ing, and retrieve the loss by new energies and action. If an unfortunate bargain has deranged thy business, do not fold thy arms, and PRACTICE. 95 give up all as lost : but stir thyself and work the more vigorously. If those whom thou hast trusted have betrayed thee, do not be discouraged, do not idly weep, but " press on ! ; ' find others ; or, what is better, learn to live within thyself. Let the foolishness of yesterday make thee wise to-day. If thy affections have been poured out like water in the desert, do not sit down and perish of thirst, but press on ; a beautiful oasis is before thee, and thou mayst reach it if thou wilt. If another has been false to thee, do not thou increase the evil by being false to thyself. Do not say the world hath lost its poetry and beauty ; 'tis not so ; and even if it be so, make thine own poetry and beauty by a brave, a true, and, above alL a religious life. STORM AT SEA. The storm increased with the night. The sea was lashed into tremendous confusion. There was a fear- ful, sullen sound of rushing waves and broken surges. Deep called unto deep. At times, the black volume of clouds over-head seemed rent asunder by flashes of lightning that quivered along the foaming billows, and made the succeeding darkness doubly terrible. The thunders bellowed over the wide waste of waters, and were echoed and prolonged by the mountain waves. As I saw the ship staggering and plunging among these roaring caverns, it seemed miraculous that she regained her balance, or preserved her buoy- 96 ART OF ELOCUTION. ancy. Her yards would dip in the water ; her bow was almost buried beneath the waves. Sometimes, an impending surge appeared ready to overwhelm her, and nothing but a dexterous movement of the helm preserved her from the shock. When I retired to my cabin, the awful scene still followed me. The whistling of the wind through the rigging sounded like funeral wailings. The creaking of the masts, the straining and groaning of bulk-heads, as the ship labored in the weltering sea, were frightful. As I heard the waves rushing along the side of the ship, and roaring in my very ear, it seemed as if Death were raging round this floating prison, seeking for his prey ; the mere starting of a nail, the yawning of a seam, might give him entrance. W. Irving. DANTE— MILTON. The character of Milton was peculiarly distin- guished by loftiness of thought ; that of Dante by in- tensity of feeling. In every line of the Divine Comedy we discern the asperity which is produced by pride struggling with misery. There is perhaps no work in the world so deeply and uniformly sorrowful. The melancholy of Dante was no fantastic caprice. It was not, as far as at this distance of time can be judged, the effect of external circumstances. It was from within. Neither love nor glory, neither the con- flicts of the earth, nor the hope of heaven, could dispel it. It twined every consolation and every pleasure PRACTICE. 97 into its own nature. It resembled that noxious Sardi- nian soil of which the intense bitterness is said to have been perceptible even in its honey. His mind was, in the noble language of the Hebrew poet, " a land of darkness, as darkness itself, and where the light was as darkness !" The gloom of his character discolors all the passions of men, and all the face of nature, and tinges with its own livid hue the flowers of paradise and the Glories of the Eternal Throne. All the por- traits of him are singularly characteristic. No person can look on the features, noble even to ruggedness, the dark furrows of the cheek, the haggard and woeful stare of the eye, the sullen and contemptuous curve of the lip, and doubt that they belonged to a man too proud and too sensitive to be happy. Milton was, like Dante, a statesman and a lover ; and, like Dante, he had been unfortunate in ambition and in love. He had survived his health and his sight, the comforts of his home and the prosperity of his party. Of the great men by whom he had been distinguished on his entrance into life, some had been taken away from the evil to come ; some had carried into foreign climates their unconquerable hatred of op- pression ; some were pining in dungeons ; and some had poured forth their blood on scaffolds. That hate- ful proscription — facetiously termed the act of indem- nity and oblivion— had set a mark on the poor, blind, deserted poet, and held him up by name to the hatred of a profligate Court and an inconstant people. Ve- nal and licentious scribblers, with just sufficient talent to clothe the thoughts of a pander in the style of a E 98 ART OF ELOCUTION. bellman, were now the favorite writers of the sove- reign and the public. It was a loathsome herd — which could be compared to nothing, so fitly, as to the rabble of Comus — grotesque monsters, half bestial, half human, — dropping with wine, bloated with glut- tony, and reeling in obscene dances. Amidst these his Muse was placed, like the chaste lady of the Masque, lofty, spotless and serene — to be chatted at, and point- ed at, and grinned at, by the whole tribe of Satyrs and Goblins. If ever despondency could be excused in any man, it might have been excused in Milton. But the strength of his mind overcame every calamity. Neither blind- ness, nor gout, nor penury, nor age, nor domestic af- flictions, nor political disappointments, nor abuse, nor proscription, nor neglect, bad power to disturb his se- date and majestic patience. His spirits do not seem to have been high, but they were singularly equable. His temper was serious, perhaps stern ; but it was a temper which no sufferings could render sullen or fret- ful. Such as it was, when on the eve of great events he returned from his travels, in the prime of health and manly beauty, loaded with literary distinctions and glowing with patriotic hopes, such it continued to be — when, after having experienced every calamity which is incident to our nature, old, poor, sightless, and disgraced, he retired to his hovel to die ! Macauley. END OF PART I. OF SECOND DIVISION. INFLECTION. 99 SECOND DIVISION PART II. inflection (continued). We have hitherto considered the inflections proper to simple sentences only. We now proceed to some SPECIAL RULES OF INFLECTION, proper to periods of peculiar form and more elaborate construction ; and to the different members or branches of which they may be composed. 1. APPOSITIOxN.— 2. ANTITHESIS. 1. Apposition in meaning and construction requires the apposition to be marked by inflection ; that is — RULE. Words, or phrases, in apposition with each other, take the same respective inflections ; — unless any of them be made em- phatic for force. EXAMPLES. I reside in New York — a magnificent city. And now abideth faith, hope, charity — these three. 100 ART OF ELOCCTIO.X. 2. Antithesis, or opposition of meaning, requires antithesis of inflection ; that is, RULE. Words or phrases in antithesis to each other take opposite inflections. EXAMPLES. He spoke for, not against peace. As fire is opposed to water, so is vice to virtue. We seek not peace, but war ; and we shall fight, not pray ; for we had rather die than live. The above are examples of siiigle antithesis. DOUBLE ANTITHESIS. In the following, the antithesis is double ; that is, of several opposite ideas, and consequently opposite inflections. EXAMPLE. Rational liberty is directly opposed to the wildness of anarchy. (Here rational is in antithesis to wildness, and liberty to anarchy : the inflections on each respectively are therefore also opposed.) FURTHER EXAMPLES. If you seek to make one rich, study not to increase his stores, but to diminish his desires. — Seneca. ANTITHESIS. 101 The peasant complains aloud ; the courtier in secret repines. In want, what distress ! in affluence, what satiety 1 The ignorant, through ill-grounded hope, are disappointed; the knowing, through knowledge, despond. — Young. All flesh is not the same flesh ; but there is one kind of flesh of men. another flesh of beasts.* 1 - another of fishes, and another of birds. There are also celestial bodies, and bodies terrestrial : but the glory of the celestial is one, and the glory of the terrestrial is another. — 1 Cor. c. 15. Note also the melody that is produced to the ear by this anti- thetical alternation of inflection ; which thus has the effect, not only of logically increasing the force and power of the contrast of ideas, by contrast of pitch, but, at the same time, of pleasing the ear by an agreeable variety of tone. IMPLIED ANTITHESIS. Antithesis may be implied, when not expressed ; in which case the sense is left unfinished, (as it were,) and, consequently, is marked with the rising inflection. EXAMPLES. He is a good boy, James. {Implying that some other boy is a bad one.) You ask too much money ; I'll give you a dollar. [Implying, " but not any more.") I'd give a hundred dollars for such a horse as that. (Implying, " but not for an inferior one.") 102 ART OF ELOCUTION. Presumptuous man ! the Gods take care of Cato I {Implying, " more immediately than of other men.") THE APPOSITION OF ANTITHESIS. Words in antithesis to each other, mav form an an- tithetical member in apposition with a succeeding an- tithesis ; in which case both the preceding rules of in- flection apply : that is, RULE. The words in antithesis have opposite inflections ; the anti- thetical members in apposition have respectively the same in- flections. EXAMPLE. Fire and uatef* are not more opposed* than vice and virtue {Here, fire and water are in antithesis, — so are vice and virtue ; but the antithetical phrase fire and water is clearly in apposition with the phrase vice and vir- tue ; the above rule applies.) EMPHASIS OF ANTITHESIS. (See ante, Emphasis of Sense.) Words and members in antithesis are (as a general rule) marked by the emphasis of sense ; that is, the inflections are marked with additional weight ; — this emphasis may be desig- nated as Antithetical Emphasis. But the emphasis of force is sometimes used in one member of the antithesis to give additional strength to it. The antithesis is so frequent, and at the same time INVERTED SENTENCES. 103 so powerful a form of Rhetoric, that it deserves the best attention of the Elocutionist; and he should therefore make himself thoroughly master of this branch of our subject. (See Series — Antithetical Series.) INVERTED SENTENCES. RULE. In an inverted sentence, the inverted members take the inflec- tions respectively proper, in the direct sentence, to the mem- bers in whose place they stand. EXAMPLE. Direct. He strictly enforces'" both by precept and example M - the laws of religion and morality" inculcated in the Gospel. Inverted. The laws of religion and morality"" 1 inculcated in the Gospel'- he strictly enforces" both by precept and example. EXCEPTION. The only exception to this rule is made by the Emphasis of force, the inflection of which is paramount, and never changeg, however much the position of the word on which it falls, may be changed by inversion. EXAMPLE. Direct Our sight" 1 is the most perfect of all our senses. 104 ART OF ELOCUTION. Inverted. Of all our senses our sight"" 1 is the most perfect. Or, ^ ^ ^ The most perfect of all our senses is our sight. Here, by throwing the Emphasis of force upon the word sight, we mark it strongly on the hearer's mind ; and supposing that to be the speaker's object, no transposition of the word will relieve it from that Emphasis. But if it be merely an indiffer- ent and abstract remark, it would be subject to the above rule as to inversion, and be thus marked : Our sight is the most perfect of all our senses. Of all our senses, our sight is the most perfect. The most perfect of all our senses is our sight. CONDITIONAL SENTENCES. The addition of a condition to an affirmative, re- quires the rising inflection ; which marks the uncer- tainty raised by the condition attached, as — He said he would call if you would consent to see him. He shall live, if I have power to save him.. Doctrines must be embodied, before tliey can excite strong public feeling. Observe that the simple affirmative in this form of sentence retains the falling infection; it is the condition that receives the rise. EXCLAB1ATI0N. 105 EXCLAMATION. INTERACTIONAL PHRASES Of Exclamation — as': Oh Rome ! how art thou fallen ! Apostrophe — as : Sweet sleep ! how have 1 frighted thee ! Daughter of Jove ! relentless power ! Pity and son^ow — as : Alas ! my friend ! woe is me ! and the like — are marked with the rising inflection. (Except always when under the Emphasis of force.) But Entire EXCLAMATORY SENTENCES are closed with the falling inflection. EXAMPLES. Oh ! Rome ! how art thou fallen ! Thanks to the Gods ! my boy has done his duty ! Woe is me ! my heart is broken ! Alas, my friend ! how much I pity you ! How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank ! PARENTHESIS. PARENTHETICAL MEMBERS. Strictly speaking, a parenthesis is an interruption 106 ART OF ELOCUTION. or suspension of the sense of the main sentence, (as is manifest from the derivation — tfa^a-sv-ndrj/xi) ; and therefore members which are added to the sentence after the sense is completed, are not parenthetical (although they may be marked in parenthesis), but rather cata-thetical — if such a word may be used — The very sentence I have just written furnishes an illustration of the distinction I wish to make ; in which, the first passage marked in parenthesis is not (strictly) a parenthesis, for it does not suspend or in- terrupt — though it confirms and explains the preceding part of the main sentence ; but the second passage marked in parenthesis is correctly so marked, for it interrupts and suspends the sense of the main sen- tence. Again, the last phrase in the same sentence — marked between two dashes — occurring at the close of the main sense, is not parenthetical (though it might be marked ordinarily in parenthesis), but rather cata-thetical — that is, lacked to the main sentence. But in common use and acceptation, all the above phrases would be called parenthetical, — without re- ference to their being an interruption of : or merely an addition to, the sense ; and therefore I shall arrange the Elocutionary rules for reading parenthesis accord- ing to the common and popular definition of the term. Hence the following RULES. 1. A parenthesis must, have its commencement and continu- ance indicated by a change to a somewhat lower tone of voice PARENTHESIS. 107 and a quicker movement ; and the close of the parenthesis is marked by a return to the same time, pitch and inflection of voice as the sense had at the point immediately preceding the parenthesis: so that, 2. If the sense of the main sentence be suspended and inter- rupted by parenthesis, its close shall be marked with the rising inflection : if the sense of the main sentence be complete, the parenthesis shall be closed with the falling inflection. Note. — The more logical form of these rules would be thus — If the parenthetical members suspend the sense, they shall be read with suspension : if they do not, they shall be read as in- dependent members. EXAMPLES. 1. Parenthesis suspendi?ig the sense. Gentlemen, if I make out this case by evidence, (and if 1 do not, forget every thing you have heard, and reproach me for having abused your honest feelings,) I have established a claim for damages that has no parallel. — Erskine. If there's a Power above, (and that there is All nature cries aloud in all her works,) He must delight in virtue. 2. Parenthesis — in addition without a suspension. Now the works of the flesh are manifest, — which are these, &c. I hope to be pardoned for yielding to this high authority, in preference to submitting my judgment to the opinion of those who now deny the power (however respectable that opinion may be.) 108 ART OF ELOCUTION. EXCEPTION. This rule is (like all others) subject to be varied by the in- flection of the Emphasis of force — which, occurring in the pa- renthesis, over-rules the inflection proper to suspension ; as in the following passage from Mr. Burke's speech on the impeach- ment of Warren Hastings : EXAMPLE. Growing from crime to crime, ripened by cruelty for cruelty, these fiends, at length, outraging sex, decency, nature, applied lighted torches and slow fire — (I cannot proceed for shame and horro r !) — these infernal furies planted death in the source of life, &c. Here, though the sense is suddenly broken and suspended by the introduction of the parenthesis, yet, as the closing phrase of that parenthesis is marked with the emphasis of force, it is an exception to the general rule, which would otherwise require a rising inflection to mark the suspension of the sense. PRONOUNS PRONOMINAL PHRASE. We are taught in Grammar that a pronoun is used to avoid the repetition of a noun. In Elocution, when the noun is repeated, and the use of the pronoun rejected, we call the word so repeated j)ronominal ; that is, of the nature, or in place of a jtronoun ; as, He advanced the doctrine ; he maintained the doctrine ; he propagated the doctrine. In this example, " the doctrine" in every instance PRONOMINAL PHRASE. 109" of its repetition, is clearly 'pronominal ; standing in place of the pronoun " it? For, according to the usual construction of such a sentence, it would have stood — He advanced the doctrine ; he maintained it ; he propagated it. Hence, being so nearly of the same nature, they fol- low the same rule of Elocution : viz. RULE. Pronouns and pronominal phrases have no proper inflection ; but merge in that of the inflected word with which they stand. EXAMPLES. ( The pronouns and pronominal phrases are in brackets.) Henry told [me] the truth [about it]. I asked [him] if he had finished [it]. [It] struck [me] that I had seen [him] before. In these sentences ? the pronouns have no inflection ; but are subjected to, and over-ridden by the inflection of the word which governs them, or to which they are immediately allied. So of a pronominal phrase. EXAMPLES. As you have shown mercy, you shall receive [mercy]. Your cruelty merits [cruelty]. Your goodness deserves [goodness]. He repaid your kindness with [kindness]. We observe that the pronominal phrase in each in- 110 ART OF ELOCUTION. stance follows the rule on the pronoun ; and is sub- jected to the inflection of the verb or preposition by which it is governed. Except Demonstrative and interrogative pronouns ;* and pronouns or pronominal phrases when emphatic : as, Tins is my book, not that. Who said so ? What did he say ? Henry told me the truth. I warned him : he_ saved me. He is a good boy"' James. common phrase {quasi pronominal.) The same rule applies to the repetition of any phrase which is common to two or more verbs, adverbs, &c. Such repeated common phrase is read as pronominal. EXAMPLES. He speaks truly, and [lie speaks] wisely. It was truly said, and wisely [said]. If we live in the spirit, let us also walk [in the spirit]. pronominal phrase in reply. The rule holds, also, on repetition of a common phrase in re- ply, in dialogue, — or in reference to previously spoken words by another party. * Pronouns of these two classes are generally empJiatic, and therefore the exception. PRONOMINAL PHRASE EMPHASIS. Ill EXAMPLE. Question. Is that your firm opinion ? Reply. It is ' [my firm opinion.] Nor need the repetition be literal ; if the idea or sense be re- peated, the phrase is read as pronominal. EXAMPLE. The gentleman boasts that he is actuated by motives the most pure and honorable. Sir, the boast is needless ; Who q uestione d '• [his integrity and honor] ? emphasis with pronominal phrase. It will be observed that the verb or other word governing, or in conjunction with, the pronominal phrase, becomes emphatic : this is made still more clear in the case of a negative with such phrase. EXAMPLES. To be, or not"' to be 1 Question. Why do you express yourself so angrily ? Reply. I did not' [express myself angrily]. The gentleman insinuates that I have acted a double part, and therefore forfeited the confidence of the house. Sir, if I had [done so] 1 should d eserv e [to lose your confidence], but I shall prove that I have not [acted as he says] ; and therefore I expect to retain [your good opinion], (or) to retain your good opinion. 112 ART CF ELOCTTIUN. This Emphasis belongs to " The Emphasis of Sense, (see ante, Emphasis,) and may be distin- guished as the •' Emphasis with pronominal phrase." fSee Series — Pronominal Series.'] SERIAL SENTENCES. The Series, in rhetoric, (a succession of words or phrases linked together in construction,) constantly occurs ; its delivery puzzles the reader who has no certain rule to guide him, — and his, consequently, confused and unconnected manner, in turn, puzzles his hearers. There are, therefore, Rules in Elocution for the de- livery of serial sentences, — certain and easy. FORM OF SERIES. The Series is — (first), 1. SIMPLE. 2. COMPOUND. 1. Simple, when it consists of single words (or sin- gle ideas) in succession. 2. Compound, when it is composed of members in succession, each composed of several words — convey- ing several ideas. These, again, are — (second,) 1. COMMENCING. — 2. CONCLUDING. 1. Commencing, when they commence a sentence, or where the sense is unfinished at their close. FORM OF SEKIES. 113 2. Concluding, when they conclude or perfect the sense. EXAMPLES. Simple, commencing, Series. Faith, hope, and charity, are cardinal virtues. May faith, hope, charity, peace, and patience possess our soula. Simple, concluding. The cardinal virtues are faith, hope, and charity. May our souls be possessed with faith, hope, charity, peace, and patience. Compound, commencing Series. An amiable disposition, virtuous principles, a liberal educa- tion, and industrious habits, lead to contentment, happiness, and honor. Compound, concluding. Contentment happiness, and honor, are the reward of an amiable disposition, virtuous principles, a liberal ed- ucation, and industrious habits. We have also the Negative Series, Interrogative Series, Antithetical Series, and other variations on the regular series, which we shall take in their proper order. So much for the rhetorical form of the Series ; now we proceed to the Elocutionary 114 ART OF ELOCUTION* Role 3 for Inflection qftJie Series. 1. A simple, commencing Series takes a rising inflection on every member of the Series except the penultimate {or last but one), which has a Jailing inflection-. EXAMPLES. E*aith,^ (1) hope." (2) and charity," 1 (3) are cardinal virtues. May faith," 1 (1) hopV (2) cHarity,"" (3) peace,"" (4) and patience,* 1 (5) possess our souls. \Vor tlte pause proper to Series, see ante, Pause.] 2. A simple, concluding Series takes a rising inflection on every member of the series but the last. EXAMPLES. The cardinal virtues are, faith," 1 (1) «nd charity. (3) INFLECTION ON SERIES. Il§ May our souls be possessed with faith; 1 (1) hopV (2) charity,* 1 (3) peace,** (4) and patience ! (5) COMPOUND SERIES. 1. Commencing, takes a falling inflection on every member but the last EXAMPLE. A good disposition,* 1 - (1) virtuous principles,* 1 - (2) a liberal education,* 1 - (3) and industrious habits,* 1 - (4) are passports to happiness and honor. 2. Concluding, takes the falling inflection on every member but the penultimate. EXAMPLE. "Contentment,* 1 happiness,* 1 and honor,*" reward a good disposition,* 1 - (1) virtuous principles,* 1 - (2) a liberal education,* 1 - (3) ■and industrious habits. (4) 116 ART OF ELOCUTION. DIVISION OF A LONG SIMPLE SERIES. RULE. When a simple series exceeds five members, aiviae the whole into two or more shorter series ; and read the divisions accord- ing to rule, — marking each division with the middle pause. EXAMPLE. The works of the flesh are manifest ; which are these : Adultery,* 1 fornication," 1 uncleanness," 1 lasciviousness," 1 - idolatry," 1 witchcraft," 1 hatred," 1 variance,*! emulations," 1 wrath," 1 strife," 1 seditions," 1 heresies," 1 - envyings," 1 murders," 1 drunkenness," 1 revellings," 1 and such like. — Gal. In a series of so many members as this 7 the division (as above) prevents that unpleasing and catalogue- like monotony, which is produced by reading the whole as one series, with an unbroken succession of rising inflections. The division is of course arbitrary, as to the number of members which may be allotted to each division ; but the object to be aimed at in the separation of the members is a distinct classification ; so that things, objects or ideas, resembling or allied to each other in quality or degree, shall be kept together, and not be thrown in confusedly with others of a dif- ferent nature. Now, in the above example, such a distinct classi- fication is rendered difficult, if not impossible, to the reader, by the absence of order and classification in the passage itself. It may indeed be remarked, with INFLECTION ON SERIES. 117 the greatest respect, that great confusion is caused to the mind by the indiscriminately throwing together a series of offences very widely differing from each other in quality and degree ; and the climax of the whole is enfeebled, if not destroyed, by the addition of " drunkenness and revellings," after the high crime of murder. As that crime is the climax of the works of the flesh, what follows weakens the effect, and is, in fact, an anti-climax. I am now analyzing it merely as a piece of composition.; and for the purpose of making my meaning more clear, suppose the passage to have stood as follows : The works of the flesh are manifest ; which are these : Fornication," 1 adultery," uncleanness," 1 lasciviousness,'" L - witchcraft" 1 heresy" 1 idolatry" 1 - emulations" 1 envy" 1 variance" hatreds- wrath" 1 strife" 1 seditions" 1 revellings" 1 drunkenness" 1 murders^- sud such like. By this arrangement, the classification of crime would have been clear and perfect, gradually growing and increasing in power up to the climax — murder, — the last dread work &f the flesh. And it is to aid this lo- gical arrangement, classification and progression, that the rules for reading the series are given. In the fol- lowing series the classification is distinct and perfect as it is written, and it will be felt that the elocution- ary arrangement and inflections verv much aid it : 118 ART OF ELOCUTION. For I am persuaded that neither death" 1 nor life" 1 - nor angels" 1 nor principalities" 1 nor powers"'- nor things present" 1 nor things to corae" L nor height* nor depth" 1 nor any other creatures- shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord. Romans, c. viii. IRREGULAR SERIES. A series is frequently irregular, — that is, in part simple, and in part compound. In such cases : RULE. Separate and class the simple and compound members, — and read them in series according to their respective rules. EXAMPLES. All the circumstances and ages of men,"- poverty," 1 riches,"' youth," 1 old age,"'- all the dispositions and passions," 1 melancholy," 1 love," 1 grief" 1 contentment," 1 - are capable of being personified in poetry, with great pro- priety. — Blair. 2. Neither blindness," 1 nor gout," 1 nor age," 1 nor penury ,"'- nor domestic afflictions," 1 nor political disappointments,"'- nor abuse," 1 nor proscription," 1 nor neglects- had power" 1 to disturb his sedate and majestic patience. Macauley EXERCISES ON SERIES. 119 Besides the inflections proper to a series, increasing force should be given to the delivery of each addition- al member ; so that the sound and volume of voice shall swell and increase in the same proportion as the sense grows and is amplified, — until both reach the climax together. This will be more fully explained and illustrated in the Third Division, under the head of Intonation. The reader may now practise the following EXERCISE ON SERIES. 1. If you look about you, and consider the lives of others aa well as your own ; if you think how few are born with honor, and how many die without name or children ; how little beauty we see, and how few friends we hear of; how many diseases and how much poverty there is in the world ; you will fall down upon your knees ; and, instead of repining at one infliction, will admire so many blessings you have received at the hand of God ! 2. It was a loathsome herd, — which could be compared to nothing so fitly as to the rabble of Comus, — Grotesque monsters, — half human, half bestial, — dropping with wine, bloated with gluttony, and reeling in obscene dances. 3. This decency, this grace, this propriety of manners to character, is so essential to princes in particular, that, whenever it is neglected, their virtues lose a great degree of lustre, and their defects acquire much aggravation. Nay, more ; by neg- 120 ART OF ELOCUTION. Jecting this decency, and this grace, and for want of a suffici- ent regard to appearances, even their virtues may betray them into failings, their failings into vices, and their vices into habits unworthy of princes and of men. Negative series : (as a simple concluding series.) RULE. A series of negative members is read with a rising inflection: on every member but the last : (note, that the inflection falls on the word or thing negatived.) EXAMPLE. Charity envieth not x charity vaunteth not itself* 1 is not puffed up;"- Doth not behave itself unseemly" 1 seekethnot her own" 1 is not easily provoked" thinketh no evil. — 1 Cor. c. xiii. INTERROGATIVE SERIES. A series of interrogations may be read either 1. Under the rule for single Questions, see p. 81 ; or. 2. With the same inflections as simple concluding series ; or, 3. As the compound concluding series. It is well, in delivery, to vary them, when they occur fre- quently, or when several series follow closely on each other. For example, the following, from Romans, c. viii., admits of being read under either of the three rules : \. As single interrogations: Who shall separate us from the cross of Christ 7" 1 - Shall ANTITHETICAL SERIES. 121 tribulation"- or distress*- or persecution"- or famine^- or nakedness^- or the sword"-? Thus read, great and equal force is given to each interroga- tion ; but there is no climax. 2. With the same inflections as the simple concluding Series : Shall tribulation"- or distress"- or persecution"- or famine"- or nakedness"- or the sword 1 Thus read, the climax is made, by the falling' inflection, on the sword; as if he said, or even the sword itself; that is. the fiercest and bloodiest violence and persecution. 3. As the compound concluding Series : Shall tribulation"- or distress"- or persecution"- or famine"- or nakedness"- or the sword ? So read, it amounts to a declaration. — put interrogatively, — that none of the evils enumerated are of power to separate the Christian from the Cross ; — and there is much force in this reading. I should, myself, prefer the second reading given, as convey- ing the most forcible contempt for persecution. But the choice is a matter of taste. ANTITHETICAL SERIES. [See ante, " Antithesis."] An Antithetical Series — that is, a series of members in An- tithesis — commencing or concludingr — is read under the same rules of inflection as the Compound Series; each perfect anti- thesis — and not each branch of it— forming a member of the series. F 122 ART OF ELOCUTION. EXAMPLES. Antithetical Series — (single Antithesis) Commencing and Concluding. Commencing. Fire and water" 1 oil and vinegar" heat and cold"" light and darkness" 1 - are not more opposed to each other, than ia Concluding, honesty to fraud" 1 or vice to virtue. Double Antithetical Series — (double Antithesis.) Commencing. Prudent in debate^ but rash in actions- moderate in peace"* vindictive in war" 1 - patient in adversity"" overbearing in prosperity~- his character was a compound of singular contradictions. Concluding. He presented the contradictory character of a man prudent in debate" 1 but rash in actions- moderate in peace" 1 vindictive in war~- patient in adversity" 1 overbearing in prosperity. Note. — In this last species of Series, the middle pause has place after each member ; that is, after each perfect antithesis. PRONOMINAL SERIES. [See ante, Pronominal Phrase.] A series of verbs or other parts of speech having, in con- cordance, the same pronoun or pronominal phrase (or quasi PEONOMINAL SERIES. 123 pronominal phrase ) in Series is read with the inflections proper to simple series (for the pronouns and pronominal phrases have ?io inflection.) EXAMPLES. I told [him], I warned [him] I advised [him] I implored [him] to act with [you] near [you] through [you] under [you]. He speaks clearly [he speaks] truly [he speaks] boldly. Charity beareth all things, believeth [all things] hopeth [all things] endureth [all things]. When I was a child, I spake [as a child] I understood [as a child] I thought [as a child]. 124 ART OF ELOCUTION. PRACTICE ON PART II. OF THE SECOND DIVISION. EXTRACT FROM A SPEECH OF THE HON. HENRY CLAY, ON THE EMANCIPATION OF SOUTH AMERICA. Thus, upon the ground of strict right, upon the footing of a mere legal question governed by forensic rules, the Colonies, being absolved by the acts of the parent country from the duty of subjection to it, had an indisputable right to set up for themselves. But, sir, I take a broader and a bolder position. I maintain that an oppressed people are authorized, whenever they can, to rise and break their fetters. This was the great principle of the English revolu- tion ; it was the great principle of our own. We must pass sentence of condemnation upon the founders of our liberty — say that they were rebels, traitors — and that we are, this moment, legislating without compe- tent powers, before we can condemn the cause of Spanish America. Our revolution was mainly direct- ed against the mere theory of tyranny. Our intrepid and intelligent fathers saw, in the usurpation of the PRACTICE PART II. 125 power to levy an inconsiderable tax, the long train of oppressive acts that were to follow. They rose — they breasted the storm — they achieved our freedom ! Spanish America, for centuries, has been doomed to the practical effects of an odious tyranny. If we were justified, she is more than justified. I am no propagandist. I would not seek to force upon other nations our principles and our liberty, if they do not want them. I would not disturb the re- pose even of a detestable despotism. But if an abused and oppressed people will their freedom ; if they seek to establish it ; if, in truth, they have established it, we have a right, as a sovereign power, to notice the fact, and to act as circumstances and our interest re- cmire. I will say, in the language of the venerated father of my country, " Born in a land of liberty, my anxious recollections, my sympathetic feelings, and my best wishes, are irresistibly excited, whensoever, in any country, I see an oppressed nation unfurl the ban- ners of freedom." Whenever I think of Spanish America, the image irresistibly forces itself upon my mind of an elder brother whose education has been neglected, whose person has been abused and mal- treated, and who has been disinherited by the unkind- ness of an unnatural parent. And when I contemplate the glorious struggle which that, country is now making, I think I behold that brother rising by the power and energy of his fine native genius to the manly rank which nature and nature's God intended for him. 126 ART OF ELOCUTION. THE MATERIAL AND SPIRITUAL IN POETRY. Of all the poets who have introduced into their works the agency of supernatural beings, Milton has succeeded best. Here Dante decidedly yields to him. And, as this is a point on which many rash and ill- considered judgments have been pronounced, we feel inclined to dwell on it a little longer. The most fatal error which a poet can possibly commit in the man- agement of his machinery, is that of attempting to philosophize too much. Milton has been often cen- sured for ascribing to spirits many functions of which spirits must be incapable. But these objections, though sanctioned by eminent names, originate (we venture to say) in profound ignorance of the art of poetry. What is spirit ? What are our own minds — the portion of spirit with which we are best acquainted ? We ob- serve certain phenomena. We cannot explain them into material causes : we, therefore, infer that there exists something which is not material. But of this something we have no idea. We can define it only by negatives. We can reason about it only by sym- bols. We use the word, but we have no image of the thing : and the business of poetry is with images, and not with words. The poet uses words, indeed ; but they are merely instruments of his art, not its objects. They are the materials which he is to dispose in such a manner as to present a picture to the mental eye. And if they are not so disposed, they are no more en- PRACTICE PART II. 127 titled to be called poetry, than a bale of canvas and a box of colors are to be called a painting. Logicians may reason about abstractions, but the great mass of mankind can never feel an interest in them. They must have images. The strong tendency of the multitude, in all ages and nations, to idolatry, can be explained on no other principle. The first in- habitants of Greece, there is every reason to believe, worshipped an invisible Deity. But the necessity of having something more definite to adore, produced, in a few centuries, the innumerable crowd of gods and goddesses. The history of the Jews is the record of a continual struggle between pure Theism, supported by the most terrible sanctions, and the strangely fas- cinating desire of having some visible and tangible object of adoration. Perhaps none of the secondary causes which Gibbon has assigned for the rapidity with which Christianity spread over the world — while Judaism scarcely ever acquired a proselyte — operated more powerfully than this feeling. God, the uncreated, the incomprehensible, the invisible, attract- ed few worshippers. A philosopher might admire so noble a conception ; but the crowd turned away in disgust from words which presented no image to their minds. It was before Deity, embodied in a human form, walking among men, partaking of their infirmi- ties, leaning on their bosoms, weeping over their graves, slumbering in the manger, bleeding on the Cross, that the prejudices of the synagogue, and the doubts of the academy, and the pride of the portico, and the fasces of the lictor, and the swords of thirty 123 ART OF ELOCUTION. legions, were humbled in the dust !* Soon after Christianity had achieved its triumph, the principles which had assisted it began to corrupt. It became a new Paganism. Patron saints assumed the offices of household gods. St. George took the place of Mars. St. Elmo consoled the mariner for the loss of Castor and Pollux. The Virgin Mother and Cecilia succeed- ed to Venus and the Muses. The fascination of sex and loveliness was again joined to that of celestial dig- nity ; and the homage of chivalry was blended with that of religion. Reformers have often made a stand against these feelings ; but never with more than ap- parent and partial success. The men who demolished the images in cathedrals have not always been able to demolish those which were enshrined in their minds. It would not be difficult to show that in poli- tics the same rule holds good. Doctrines, we are afraid, must be embodied before they can excite strong public feeling. The multitude is more easily interest- * The members of the compound series contained in this sentence, should be thus classified and inflected : It was before Deity, embodied in a human form"- walking among men r partaking of their infirmities"- leaning on their bosoms^ weeping over their gravest- slumbering in the manger" bleeding on the cross^- that the prejudices of the synagogue'" and the doubts of the academy^ and the pride of the portico"- and the fasces of the lictor" and the swords of thirty legions"- were humbled in the dust. PRACTICE PART II. 129 ed for the most unmeaning badge, or the most insig- nificant name, than for the most important principle. From these considerations, we infer, that no poet who should affect that metaphysical accuracy for the want of which Milton has been blamed, would escape a disgraceful failure. — Macauley. EVIDENCE AND PRECEDENTS IN LAW. Before you can adjudge a fact, you must believe it ; — not suspect it, or imagine it, or fancy it, — but be- lieve it : and it is impossible to impress the human mind with such a reasonable and certain belief, as is necessary to be impressed, before a Christian man can adjudge his neighbor to the smallest penalty, much less to the pains of death, without having such evi- dence as a reasonable mind will accept of as the in- fallible test of truth. And what is that evidence ? — Neither more nor less than that which the Constitu- tion has established in the courts for the general administration of justice : namely, that the evidence convince the jury, beyond all reasonable doubt, that the criminal intention, constituting the crime, existed in the mind of the man upon trial, and was the main- spring of his conduct. The rules of evidence, as they are settled by law, and adopted in its general adminis- tration, are not to be overruled or tampered with. They are founded in the charities of religion — in the philosophy of nature — in the truths of history — and in the experience of common life ; and whoever ventures 130 ART OF ELOCUTION. rashly to depart from them, let him remember that it will be meted to him in the same measure, and that both God and man will judge him accordingly. These are arguments addressed to your reasons and your consciences ; not to be shaken in upright minds by any precedent, — for no precedents can sanctify in- justice : if they could, every human right would long ago have been extinct upon the earth. If the State Trials, in bad times, are to be searched for precedents, what murders may you not commit — what law of hu- manity may you not trample upon — what rule of jus- tice may you not violate — and what maxim of wise policy may you not abrogate and confound ? If pre- cedents in bad times are to be implicitly followed, why should we have heard any evidence at all? You might have convicted without any evidence ; for many have been so convicted — and, in this manner, murdered — even by acts of Parliament. If precedents in bad times are to be followed, why should the Lords and Commons have investigated these charges, and the Crown have put them into this course of judicial trial? — since, without such a trial, and even after an acquittal upon one, they might have attainted all the prisoners by act of Parliament: — they did so in the case of Lord Strafford. There are precedents, therefore, for all such things ; but such precedents as could not for a moment sur- vive the times of madness and distraction which gave them birth ; but which, as soon as the spurs of the oc- casions were blunted, were repealed and execrated even by Parliaments which (little as I may think of PRACTICE— PART II. 131 the present) ought not be compared with it : Parlia- ments — sitting in the darkness of former times — in the night of freedom — before the principles of govern- ment were developed, and before the constitution be- came fixed. The last of these precedents, and all the proceedings upon it, were ordered to be taken off the file and burnt, to the intent that the same might no longer be visible to after-ages ; an order dictated, no doubt, by a pious tenderness for national honor, and meant as a charitable covering for the crimes of our fathers. But it was a sin against posterity — it was a treason against society ; for, instead of commanding them to be burnt, they should rather have directed them to be blazoned in large letters upon the walls of our Courts of Justice, that, like the characters deci- phered by the prophet of God to the Eastern tyrant, they might enlarge and blacken in your sights, to ter- rify you from acts of injustice. — Erskine. SKETCH OF LORD CHATHAM'S ADMINISTRATION. Another scene was opened, and other actors appeared upon the stage. The state, in the condition I have described it, was delivered into the hands of Lord Chatham — a great and celebrated name ; a name that keeps the name of this country respectable in every other on the globe. It may truly be called, Clarum et venerabile nomen Gentibus, et multum nostrse qviod proderat urbi. Sir, the venerable age of this great man, his merited 132 ART OF ELOCUTION. rank, his superior eloquence, his splendid qualities, his eminent services, the vast space he fills in the world's eye, and — more than all the rest — his fall from power (which, like death, canonizes and sanctifies a great character,) will not suffer me to censure any part of his conduct. I am afraid to flatter him ; I am sure I am not disposed to blame him. Let those who have betrayed him by their adulation, insult him with their malevolence. But, what I do not presume to censure, I may have leave to lament. For a wise man, he seemed to me, at that time, to be governed too much by general maxims. I speak with the freedom of history, and I hope without of- fence. One or two of these maxims, flowing from an opinion not the most indulgent to our unhappy spe- cies, (and surely a little too general.) led him into measures that were greatly mischievous to himself, — and, for that reason (among others) perhaps, fatal to his country, — measures, the effects of which, I am afraid, are for ever incurable. He made an adminis- tration so checkered and speckled ; he put together a piece of joinery so crossly indented and whimsically dove-tailed — a cabinet so variously inlaid — snch a piece of diversified mosaic — such a tesselated pave- ment without cement ; here a bit of black stone, and there a bit of white ; patriots and courtiers, king's friends and republicans ; whigs and tories ; treache- rous friends and open enemies ; — that it was, indeed, a very curious show, but utterly unsafe to touch, and unsure to stand on. The colleagues whom he had assorted at the same boards stared at each other, and PRACTICE — PART II. 133 were obliged to ask, " Sir, your name ?" — " Sir, you have the advantage of me." — " Mr. Such-a-one, I beg a thousand pardons !" I venture to say, it did so hap- pen, that persons had a single office divided between them who had never spoke to each other in their lives ; until they found themselves — they knew not how — pigging together, heads and points, in the same truckle-bed. — Burke, END OF PART II. OF SECOND DIVISION. 134 ART OF ELOCUTION. SECOND DIVISION. PART III. 1. Compound Inflections. 2. Pause of Force, or Expression. 3. Cumulative Emphasis. compound inflections. I have previously mentioned compound inflections^ and it is now time to explain their force and use. They are distinguished from the simple rise and fall, by a greater range of ascent and descent, compre- hending tones, double tones, and half tones, (carrying the voice over an interval of Jive tones, and sometimes even of an octave.) The compound inflections are — 1. The compound rising — thus marked w 2. The compound falling — thus <-~> The curved line is chosen to indicate them, because in mak- ing them, the voice does not rise or fall directly, but in a sort of curve, taking in (or slurring over) intermediate half-tones in its ascent or descent to the extreme point of inflection. The use of these inflections does not set aside the rules for inflection, so far as to the point whether the COMPOUND INFLECTIONS. 135 inflection shall be rising or falling ; but it increases the pitch, and power of the inflection. Thus, if I ask you — Did you say yes ? with the simple rising inflection, the question is an indifferent one. — in fact, a simple interrogation : it might be thus marked on a diagram, indicating the descent and ascent of the voice, and the extreme point of inflection. Or, in music, it might be thus scored- a ■**■ 3S E#~ '&'- Did you say yes Here the ascent or rise is of three tones, — or, as it is called, in tliirds. But, if I am anxiously desirous to know what your answer was — and in my question wish to express that I shall be very much surprised if you have said " Yes," my question would be in- flected with the compound (or curved) inflection, thus: or in musical score : 136 ART OF ELOCUTION. Did you say ye-s? Y-e--s. in which there is on the word yes both a descent and an ascent — (that is, a double or compound inflection), the ascent being two tones higher than that of the simple inflection in the sim- ple question ; and the curved line denotes the slur of the voice in passing from the low tone to the high one. In the same manner, the simple falling is changed, for ex- pression and force, to the compound falling inflection. Thus, in reply to the above question, if you give a simple answer, you will say— No — with the simple falling inflection-, but if (in answer to my compound inflection) you desire to imply ' ; by no means j nothing could be further from my thoughts ; and I am surprised you should ask such a question;" — then you will re- ply with the compound falling inflection, No commencing on a high pitch of voice, and making a sweep or curve of descent equal and corresponding to the curve of as- cent in the compound rising inflection of my question. That ascent and descent are usually in fifths, as above ; but when the speaker is under strong passion, his voice will ascend a full octave. Such, for example, should be the range of the inflec- tion on the questions by Hamlet to Laertes at Ophelia's grave: " Dost thou come here to whine 1 To outface me with leaping in her grave ?" Hamlet, act iv., sc. 1. COMPOUND INFLECTIONS. 137 Dost thou come here to whine. And, unless the voice reach the octave in these lines, the pas- sionate contempt intended to be conveyed will be lost ; and the scornful question will be changed into a common interrogation, expecting a serious answer. Such is the distinction between the compound and simple inflections. Now let us see when and for what they are used. RULE. The compound inflections are used in strong and vehement interrogation, — and for wonder, contempt, scornful indignation. ridicule, and (especially) in Irony. EXAMPLES. When, in t; The Merchant of Venice," (Act iv., sc. 1.) Portia, understanding that the merchant's bond to Shylock is forfeited, says — Then must the Jew be merciful ; and Shylock asks — On what compulsion must I ? tell me that ; her reply — The quality of mercy is not strain'd— must be marked with the compound rising inflection ; which will give the expression of uonder that such a question could be asked, and contempt for the sordid feeling that dictated it. So, in the following examples, for ridicule and irony : 138 ART OF ELOCUTION. You must take me for a fool, to think I could do that. For mine own part, I shall be glad to learn of noble men. For Brutus is an honorable man. You meant no harm ; oh no ! your thoughts are innocent ; you have nothing to hide ; your breast is pure, stainless, all truth. And in that reply of Brutus to Cassius, (Julius Caesar. Act iv.,) the scorn implied in his indignant interrogations, must be marked with the compound inflection, reaching a full octave. Cos. — Ye gods ! ye gods ! must I endure all this 1 Br. — All this ? Aye, more ! — Fret till your proud heartbreak: Go show your slaves how choleric you are, And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge ? Must I observe you ? Must I stand and crouch Under your testy humour 1 — It is. in fact, ibis pitch, (the octave.) that lends the scornful expression to the words ; and it is the degree of expression re- quired that is to regulate the pitch. IN ANTITHESIS. These inflections are also used to give increased force to an- tithesis ; and follow each other, sometimes, in double antithesis so closely, that the voice is kept in a continual wave of ascent and descent, by alternate rising and falling compound inflec- tions. PAUSE OF FORCE. 139 EXAMPLES. If you said so. then I said so. Let the gall'd jade wince, our withers are unwrung ! In all the above examples, there is a certain degree of jeer- ing or irony conveyed ; and it is in the ironical expression that these compound inflections, (with high pitch.) have the great- est power. An exceedingly good practice on these inflections is Marc Antony's speech to the populace, over the dead body of Caesar ; in which it will be perceived what effect may be added to the oft-repeated epithet, " honorable men." (which the orator ironically applies to Brutus and the rest.) by the adop- tion of these compound inflections. But, in the practice of this speech, remark that the irony is not immediately displayed by Marc Antony. He dares not, in the first instance, cast a doubt, by ironical expression, upon the motives of Brutus and the rest: and it is only when he feels that he is making a favorable im- pression upon the multitude, and " stealing away their hearts," that he ventures to unveil his thoughts, and to speak with irony, and finally in utter contempt, of the ■•honorable men who have stabb'd Caesar." Bearing this hint in mind, the student may, at this point of his progress, exercise himself with advantage on that celebrated piece of oratory.* 2. PAUSE OF FORCE, OR EXPRESSION. Great expression and force may be imparted to an idea by the introduction of the short pause, with a suspension of the voice immediately before the word conveying the idea, or embodying emotion. This pause, so introduced and suspending the sense, is called the Pause of Force. * See Appendix. 140 ART OF ELOCUTION. Like the Emphasis of Force (with which it is fre- quently allied), it is arbitrary in its use, and depends on the will and judgment of the speaker for its em- ployment. RULE. The pause of force or expression is made by arresting and suspending the voice, immediately before the word or member on which the speaker wishes to concentrate his power. EXAMPLE. In Marc Antony's apostrophe to Caesar's body, — when Bru- tus and the rest, after the murder of Caesar, having shaken hands with Antony in pledge of amity, have left him alone in the Senate house, — he exclaims, Oh ! pardon me, — thou bleeding piece of earth. — That I am meek and gentle with these butchers ! The force and expression of this passage, in de- livery, is wonderfully increased, if, besides the usual pauses, we introduce the pause of feeling before — with the emphasis of force on — the word " butchers :" the passage will then be marked thus — Oh ! pardon me* 1 thou piece of bleeding earth" 1 -* That I am meek and gentle" 1 with these M butchers ! The effect of this is at once felt : it is as if the speaker paused to find a word strong enough for his feeling of abhorrence ; and, at length, hitting on the '- The reading of the text of this line is received either " bleeding piece of earth," or " piece of bleeding earth :" the former appears to me the better reading. PAUSE OF FORCE. 141 word butcher, he pours it out with the force and ex- pression of execration. This pause arrests the attention of the hearer in an extraordinary manner ; and therefore it may be used for that effect, before the word of particular force and importance in the most solemn and least-excited passages ; as in Saint Paul, And now abideth faith, hope, charity; these three: but the greatest of these is" 1 c harit y. And in Portia's speech on mercy, And earthly power doth then shew likest M God's, When mercy seasons justice. In excited passages of highly-wrought feeling, it also gives the orator an opportunity of gathering full power of voice to concentrate it on the one word or phrase — as, in the well-known burst of Othello's pas- sion : If thou dost slander her, and" 1 t ortur e me, Never pray more ! Great power and expression may be added to the phrase " torture me" by the introduction of this pause, with the emphasis of force, on the words " tor- ture me? The strength of the passage is further increased by the addition of the same pause before the words " never pray more ;" in which case, the pause will be doubled in time ; (as there is already a pause of sense required after torture me.) 142 ART OF ELOCUTION. The passage will then stand marked — with pause, inflection (of antithesis.) and emphasis offeree. If thou dost slander her, and r torture me" 1 Never pray more ! We shall presently see that the power of this pas- sage may be still further augmented — under the force of CUMULATIVE EMPHASIS. The emphasis of sense goes to meaning only ; the emphasis of force is expressive of intensity and energy. That expression is augmented by doubling the emphasis, — and is brought to its climax of power, by applying it to several words in succession ; which is called accumulated or Cumulative Emphasis. This emphasis, when judiciously used, adds great power to passages of strength : but it must not be fre- quently employed, or it will lose its effect by the repeti- tion, and give a disagreeable jerking to the delivery. It is introduced properly, to add increased force to climax, — either of powerful argument, or of highly- wrought passion. In both these cases it crowns the excitement and energy of the speaker; it is the " top- most round" of the ladder, beyond which he cannot step. It should therefore be reserved for great occa- sions. Thus, — EXAMPLES. 1. In an important reply, in which the orator feels that he has triumphantly refuted the arguments of his opponent, he may, with effect, close the climax of his triumph with the cu- mulative emphasis of force : CUMULATIVE EMPHASIS. 143 1 have thus shown, from the gentleman's own arguments, that the doctrine advanced by him is not at present received : —that it never was" 1 received: that it never can r by any possibility" 1 be" 1 received : and that,* 1 if" admitted," 1 it must be" by the total subversion of liberty itself! 2. Again, on the climax of intense passion, as in the former example of Othello's speech, read with cumulative emphasis, the articulation of the passage becomes almost syllabic, and it acquires tremendous power. If thou dost slander her* 1 and" 1 to rture rae"- Never pray more : abandon all remorse ■ On horror's head horrors accumulate ; Do deeds" to make heav'n weep, all earth " 1 a maze d — For nothing canst thou to d amnatio n add" 1 Greater than this ! Such is the power of Cumulative Emphasis. Expression of feeling and passion is achieved, not by inflection or emphasis, but by pitch of voice ; which will be treated of in the next division. END OF PART III. OP SECOND DIVISION. 144 ART OF ELOCUTION * THIRD DIVISION. The principles developed in the preceding Division have taught us to read and speak with meaning, force, and ease. But Elocution has a higher aim. She fol- lows the human voice in its natural and unrestrained expression of intense feeling, — she accompanies it " in the very torrent, tempest, and whirlwind of its passion ;" she knows it in its joy and in its sorrow j she catches, and treasures up its intonations of love and hate, persuasion and command, scorn, pity, ten- derness and rage ; and by the power of her " so potent art," she holds them like familiar spirits, to be let loose at will. Under her teaching, he who will, may learn their mastery ; subdue them to his power ; and call them to his aid, when he would cast a spell over the minds and hearts of his fellow-men. This is the highest triumph of Elocution ; — the truth' ful utterance of intense and passionate feeling. This is to be attained by the power of Intonation, Expression, Energy j the Crowning Graces of Elocution- INTONATION. 145 INTONATION. Intonation is the art of imparting true and perfect tone to the organ of the voice : its practice forms the Education of the Voice, and gives it fulness and volume. The human voice (as I have before observed) must be regarded as a musical instrument — an Organ. To produce its tones, its bellows — the lungs — must be kept duly inflated, or supplied with breath ; the pipe — the throat — must have full play, — the orifice of the mouth must be well opened, and the sound must be poured through it in a copious, swelling stream ; interrupted, momentarily, by pause or rests, — on which it gathers fresh impetus for its onward course. Many a voice is called weak, not because it is really deficient in natural power, but because its pos- sessor is ignorant of or unpractised in, the mechanical means of eliciting, improving, and displaying its strength. For the means are mechanical, and consist of the following PROCESS OF INTONATION. 1. Inflation of the Lungs, (to begin.) and regularly sup- plying what they expend in respiration — by an imperceptible inspiration, or catch of the breath, at each pause: — (and here the rhetorical pause is of great service.) 2. Opening the Mouth well — not speaking through the teeth — or, as it is called, '• eating your words," — (which nine speakers out often do.) 3. Pouring out the Voice regularly, with an even and continuous flow and swell; not in irregular jerks and starts. G 146 ART OF ELOCUTION. This process is perfectly simple, and merely requires exercise to make it easy. It is, in fact, the same art as that which every one has observed in public singers ; who, however, display the mechanical means too manifestly, (and in some instances painful- ly,) by distortion of visage and heaving of chest. This exhibition of the physical effort must be avoided by the Elocutionist : Ars est celare artem. The machinery must be worked, but the springs and wheels must be kept out of sight. SWELL OF VOICE. The swell of voice is called in music crescendo, or increas- ing, and is denoted by this mark. " r== - ; and the diminishing of the sound is called diminuendo, thus denoted, :=== ". The whole swell and decrease is therefore thus denoted ~< ::== ~. I shall adopt the same respective marks ; — to denote the in- creasing of the volume of voice — and its diminution. INSPIRATION. Observe that the pauses afford the opportunity for regular inspiration, to supply expended breath ; a resort absolutely ne- cessary in order to powerful enunciation and perfect intonation ; for there can be no command of voice without a perfect com- mand of breath. I have previously laid it down, that in the delivery of serial sentences — where the sense goes on increas- ing by amplification — the volume of voice or sound should also increase {crescendo) up to the climax ; but remember, that shouting is not Intonation.* * There is a marked distinction between noise and musical sound. Noise is a confused mixture of sounds produced by the EXERCISE ON INTONATION. 147 Observing this, and also the rules of pause and inflection on Series, let the reader practise himself on the following EXERCISE ON INTONATION. 1. In times, when the whole habitahle earth" 1 is in a state of change and fluctuation""- when deserts are starting up"" 1 into civilized empires around you,^- and when men," no longer the slaves of particular countries,"' much less of particular governments,^- enlist themselves," 1 like the citizens of an enlightened world," 1 into whatever communities"^ where their civil liberties may be best protected, r - it never can be r for the advantage of tins country" to prove" 1 - that the strict letter of the laws" 1 is no security to its inhabitants. 2. The following exordium of Brutus' speech to the populace, also affords an excellent exercise for the concussion of non-elastic bodies ; whereas musical sound is a pure harmonious effect emanating from a simple elastic body, as the tone of a bell. It is a curious fact, that musical sounds fly farther, and are heard at a greater distance, than those which are more loud and noisy. If we go on the outside of a town during a fair, at the distance of a mile, we hear the musi- cal instruments ; but the din of the multitude, which is over- powering in the place, can scarcely be heard, the noise dying upon the spot. — Gardiner's Music of Nature. 148 ART OF ELOCUTION. student ; who will remember that Brutus is supposed to be addressing a large and turbulent popular assem- bly in the open air ; and therefore requires a powerful intonation, in order to obtain even a hearing. Romans'" countrymen"" and lovers ! Hear me" for my cause" 1 - and be silent" 1 that you may hear. Believe me" 1 for mine honor" 1 - and have respect to mine honor" 1 that you may believe. Censure me in your wisdom""- and awake your senses" 1 that you may the better judge. I If there be any' 1 in this assembly any dear friend of Caesar"'- to him I say" 1 that Brutus' love for Caasar" 1 was no less than his. If then" 1 that friend demand " why Brutus rose against Caesar* 1 - this is my answer" 1 - Not" that I loved Caesar" 1 less"- but r that I loved Rome" 1 more ! If the pupil will exercise himself in this last passage aloud, commencing on a low lone — inspiring on the pauses (so as to keep his lungs filled with breath) — and increasing- the volume of his voice on the ■< crescendo, — he will make considerable advance in the practice of Intonation. As he proceeds, he will find that his voice will ascend and take a higher pitch. The use of the long pause (as at the word "judge") will serve to resume the tone on which he commenced. (See Pause — Long Pause. Second Div. Part I.) INTONATION OF POETRY. We have hitherto confined our exercises to Prose readings ; — on the principle that we must learn to POETICAL ELOCUTION. 149 walk before we run. But Intonation is so connected with, and necessary to the reading and delivery of verse and poetic language, that it is now a proper time and place to introduce some observations on POETICAL ELOCUTION. It is first to be observed, that the general style of reading or reciting verse and poetic language, should be higher and more exalted than that of prose : for poetry is a more exalted style of composition than prose ; and the elocution must keep pace with the subject or matter. The voice must flow more softly ; must undulate gently, and not jump or jerk on the in- flections ; so that the verse may run smoothly and without jar upon the ear. Intonation must be particu- larly attended to in poetical delivery ; so that the mu- sic of the voice being fully brought out, it may aid and give echo to the music of the language. This style I call the imaginative style of Elocution : because it is the style to be adopted in the delivery of all imaginative composition, whether in prose or verse. For, I need not remark that there is poetical prose, which must be delivered in the imaginative or poetical style ; and we all painfully know that there is poetry — or rather verse — so irredeemably prosaic, that no reading or Elocution could possibly invest it with the attributes of poetry : the best way is not to read it at all. As an example of poetic prose, take the following EXTRACT FROM OSSIAN. As Autumn's dark storms pour from two echoing hills, so to- 150 ART OF ELOCUTION. ward each other approached the heroes. As two dark streams from high rocks meet and mix, and roar on the plain ; loud, rough and dark, in battle met Lochlin and Innisfail ; chief mixed his strokes with chief, and man with man. Steel clanging sounded on steel. Helmets are cleft on high ; blood bursts and smokes around. As the troubled noise of the ocean when roll the waves on high ; as the last peal of the thunder of heaven ; such is the noise of battle. The groan of the people spreads over the hills. It was like the thunder of night when the cloud bursts on Cona, and a thousand ghosts shriek at once on the hollow wind. Such language as this must not be delivered as common prose ; but the speaker's Elocution must be swelling, exalted, dignified ; in fine, elevated to the level of the composition. In the same manner, in the delivery of any figurative passage in an ordinary dis- course or oration, — where the orator, borne aloft on the wings of his imagination, quits the common track of language and soars in the regions of fancy,— the Elocution must also rise, and sustain a flight equal in loftiness and ambition to the elevation of the orator's diction and style. As in the following EXTRACT FROM BURKE.* In the course of all this proceeding, your lordships will not fail to observe, he is never corrupt but he is cruel : he never dines with comfort, but where he is sure to create a famine. He never robs from the loose superfluity of standing greatness ; he devours the fallen, the indigent, the necessitous. His extor- tion is not like the generous rapacity of the princely eagle, who snatches away the living straggling prey ; lie is a vulture who feeds upon the prostrate, the dying and the dead. As his cru- Impeachment of Warren Hastings. OROTUND. 151 elty is more shocking than his corruption, so his hypocrisy has something more frightful than his cruelty. For whilst his bloody and rapacious hand signs proscriptions, and sweeps away the food of the widow and the orphan, his eyes overflow with tears ; and he converts the healing balm, that bleeds from wounded humanity, into a rancorous and deadly poison to the race of man. Every one feels how much this passage rises above the ordinary diction of prose, — that it is, in fact, a flight of oratory. The Elocution must keep pace with it ; that is, the imaginative style must be adopted. One of the main characteristics of this lofty style is what is called the orotund voice ; that is, that full and swelling tone which is produced by the same or- ganic form and action of the mouth as are necessary 7,77 perfectly to enunciate the tonic o, as in o-ld, c-o-l-d, 3 clergyman, whose voice is required to fill a large building, not only so as to be audible, but with a deep and solemn effect that shall secure the attention, respect and sympathy of his auditors. The figurative and sublime language of the Old Testament must not be uttered, (as it too frequently is,) in the familiar and undignified tone in which we would deliver an ordi- nary lecture, or make a statement of finance ; and even the beautiful simplicity of the New Testament must not be vulgarised and degraded to the familiar tone of common-place conversation or narration. The dignity of his subject, his office, its high aim, the place, the occasion, all demand from the clergyman, dignity of style and manner ; and the orotund voice, with its full swelling stream of sound, is the one adapt- ed to that end. It should, therefore, be a great and constant object of the clergyman to educate his voice and utterance upon this point. More than these few hints on Scriptural reading I cannot give here ; it is a style of itself, which requires considerable practice, and cultivation of voice, so as to avoid, on the one hand, meanness, and familiarity in aiming at sim- plicity : and on the other, to escape bombast and tur- gidity, while aspiring to dignity and power. READING OF VERSE. The previous observations apply to the general style of poetical Elocution, whether in prose or verse. In the reading of verse, we must, moreover, be careful to preserve Rhythm and Melody, g* 154 ART OF ELOCUTION. 1. Rhythm is musical order of arrangement : it is as pleasing, and indeed necessary to the satisfaction of the ear, as symmetry and regularity of form are to the eye. In music, rhythm governs the leaping or gush- ing of the sound ; in dance, it regulates the beating of the feet ; in language, it directs or arranges the pulsa- tions or strokes of the voice upon words or syllables ; or, as it is called, in music, the accentuation. I have before observed, that there is a rhythm even in prose ; but it is uncertain, irregular and fickle. Verse is the music of language ; rhythm is its essential quality ; the regularity and perfection of which distinguish it from prose. Verse is addressed to the ear ; its music is not received through the eye, (although a regular marginal blank may seem to mark the versification on paper,) and therefore, it is as requisite, in reading verse, to mark the rhythmical accentuation of the line, as that, in playing or singing, we should observe due time. That is, we must regulate the pulsation and movement of sound by the voice, to the regulated metrical accentuation (or rhythm) of the verse. English verse consists of the arrangement, at regu- lar intervals, of accented and tmaccented, — or, more properly speaking, of heavy and light syllables. This regular arrangement, or order, constitutes the rhythm of the verse, — whether that verse be blank or in rhyme ; — rhyme is the coincidence of sound in the closing cadence of one line with that of another ; it has no reference to or influence upon the rhythm, from which it is perfectly distinct, nor is it an essen- tial constituent of English poetry. MEASURE OF VERSE. 155 Latin and Greek Verse is measured, by prosodians, by certain adjustments of syllables, long and short, called feet : of these feet there is a great variety, of which the principal are the Spondee — two long syllables, as undone, _ <-» Trochee — one long and one short syllable, as mercy, w Iambus — one short and one long, as elate, Dactyl — one long and two short, as merciful, Anapcest — two short and one long, as lemonade. But, of that style of scanning our English verse is quite independent, and indeed incapable. The syllables in our language cannot be classed as long or short, for the same syllables vary in quantity, as they occur in different verses, according to the amount of feeling or force that may be given to them, and other circum- stances governing their quantity. English verse is regulated by the arrangement of heavy and light syl- lables, and depends for its musical effect upon time and accentuation ; or, pulsation and remission of sound, on the heavy and light syllables, respectively. English verse may be divided into common time and triple time : the first being the pace of a man's walk ; the second of a horse's canter. The accentua- tion is, as in music, always on the bar ; that is, the accented note, or heavy syllable, must commence the bar, or its place must be supplied by a rest, which counts for it ; for rests are as essential to rhythm as the notes themselves. 15G ART OF ELOCUTION. Thus we can divide or bar for accentuation, all English verse. Take the following three examples, as timed, barred, and ac- cented : the two first are in common time, the third is in triple time: 2 / / / -j | ^ ~> A | present | deity | •" they | shout a | round ^ | | '""'A | present | deity | -"'the | vaulted| roofs re | bound.'" | 2 / / / . — Softly | sweet in | Lydian | measures | Soon he | soothed his | soul to | pleasures. 3 / / / ./ jg- | ^ The | princes ap | plaud with a | furious | joy '"' | r / t | ^ And the | king seized a j flambeau with | zeal to des- | troy.^ | The pulsation of voice, and the classification or division of the syllables as accented and arranged in the preceding coup- lets, distinctly mark their different rhythm. — To illustrate this further, read the second line of the third couplet, as if it were thus divided and accented : And the king | seized a flambeau | with zeal | to destroy. Thus read, the verse becomes prose ; for. by false accentua- tion, its musical movement is last, and the rhythm is destroyed. This must be clear to every ear. At the same time be careful not to fall into that sing-song style of reading verse, which is produced by the accentuation of little and insignificant words. This sing-song style, so common among readers, MEASURE OF VERSE. 157 is the result of the absurd attempt of prosodians to measure English versification by feet, instead of by time and accentuation. The music of a verse is not to be ascertained by counting on the fingers, or scan- ning", (as it is called) ; but by the ear.* English verse consists of a certain number of bars, in the same time ; of which the rests or pauses are constituent parts : and it is therefore as much on the due observance of these rests, as on the accentuation of the notes or syllables, that the rhythm depends. Take the following examples of verses scanned first accord- ing to the feet of the prosodians, counted on their fingers, and then according to the rational prosody which really governs the rhythm of English verse, — that is, time and accentuation. According to the former plan, it will be observed, that the sense is utterly sacrificed to the scanning, for want of rest or pause, however necessary it may be»to the meaning or feeling of the verse ; while, by the latter plan, the rhythm, sense and feeling go hand in hand, and are aided by rests. 1. Prosodial scanning by feet — IAMBICS. On the | bare earth | exposed | he lies, | With not | a friend | to close | his eyes. | A mode of scanning, if adhered to in the reading, which would utterly destroy the sense and power of the lines. They should be thus barred, timed, and accented : 4 * See this subject diffusely and learnedly treated in Steele's Prosodia Rationalis. 158 ART OF ELOCUTION. l > • i 0' i On the | bare | earth * 1 | *" ex | posed he | lies, M | I I I \ 0' I II II ""With | not a | friend* 1 | ""to | close his | eyes.* 1 | By which, we find, that these are verses of six bars, in com- mon time, the rests filling up the bars, exactly where the sense requires a pause. And so in the following examples : in which it will be seen that verses which would be said by the proso- dians to consist of four feet, are, in general, verses of six bars; and that what would, in scanning, be called by prosodians pen- tameters, or five-feet verses, are really lines of six, and some- times even of eight bars. — The time, either triple or common, is denoted in the following examples by the figure 2, (common,) or 3, (triple.) THREE BARS. / / ; 2. I Oh the | sight en | trancing | | '" When the | morning's | beam is | glancing, | | " O'er | files ar | rayed l " | | r With | helm and | blade " \ i ti j ~ And | plumes in the | gay wind | dancing. | 3. | ^ Up | early and | late,* 1 | | ~* To | toil and to | wait,* 1 1 | " To | do as one's | bid,* 1 | | f Yet for | ever be | chid,'*' | | ' — Xll | humor to | bear,* 1 J MEASURE OF VERSE. 159 | " And | yet not to | dare," j | " Tho' with | anger we | burn,*' | i i | - To be | cross in re | turn." | FOUR BARS. / / / / 3. I Place me in | regions of e | ternal" | winter" 1 | | Where not a | blossom to the | breeze can | open" but | I Darkening | tempests" 1 | closing all a | round me* 1 | Chill the ere | ation. | 2. | Sage be | neath a | spreading | oak " j | Sate the j Druid | hoary | chief " { | Every | burning | word he | spoke r | I Full of | rage and | full of | grief. " j SIX AND FOUR BARS. 3. I * i When | he' who a | dores thee | " ■« has | left but the | name " | | " Of his | fault and his | sorrow be | hind " | ii i | Oh ! "| say " | " wilt thou | weep when they | darken the | fame " | / / / | " Of a | life that for | thee was re | signed " ? | six BARS. 2. | "A | chilles' | wrath "to | Greece the | direful | spring" | | ■" Of | woes un | number'd "* | heavenly | Goddess" 1 | sing. 1 " 160 ART OF ELOCUTION. It will be found by reading verse according to this system, — of marking the rhythm by time and accentuation, — that it will flow much more easily than when read by prosodial scan- ning : nor shall we be obliged to make elisions of vowels for the purpose of preserving the apparent regularity of the line, — that is, according to the plan of counting the syllables on the fingers. No poet has suffered more from this pedantic method of measuring English verse, than Shakspeare, whose commen- tators have not scrupled to add syllables to, or deduct syllables from his lines, in order to give them "the right butter-woman's pace to market ;" and this because these learned gentlemen, in- stead of receiving the music of his verse through their ears, measured his lines, like tape, upon their fingers : and if they did not happen exactly to fit the prescribed length, they laid him upon the Procrustes' bed of their prosodial pedantry, and stretched him out, if too short, or cut him down, if too long ! Thus they have succeeded, in some instances, in " curtailing" his verse of its beauty and " fair proportions," by the elision or blending of vowels, whose utterance really forms the music of the lines. For example, of the line | O " | Romeo ! | Romeo ! | wherefore | art thou | Romeo ? | they would make a verse of what they would call five feet, with a redundant syllable ; and, to do this, they are obliged to reduce the melodious name of Ro-me-o to two syllables; and scan it thus : — Oil Ro | myo Ro | myo where | fore art | thou Ro | myol — thus clipping and defacing the language, for the sake of level- ling it to the standard of a false prosody. Again, if we follow this prosodial finger-measuring of verse, what becomes of the force and depth of the heart-wrung ex- clamation of Samson, (Agonistes,) when he exclaims: — Oh ! dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon ! The prosodians would thus measure it : MEASURE OF VERSE. 161 w _, Oh dark | dark dark | amid | the blaze | of noon | and thus destroy all the force and passion of the line : a rational prosody, preserving the feeling, as well as the rhythm of the verse, would thus divide it into eight bars, timing it duly, and marking it with rests that add to its beauty and power. Of 2. | Oh C dark l!ll Ml! #• 'I *•* \ '# J • & dark | dark | a - | mid the &> blaze of | noon. Thus we preserve all the expression of the verse, and dis- tinguish its melody and rhythm from such a verse as the fol- lowing, which has exactly the same number of syllables as the above line, and would, by the prosodians, be scanned exactly in the same manner ; yet it has quite a different movement : A burdenous drone, to visitants a gaze. If we follow the prosodians, we shall thus scan this line : A burd' | nous drone | to vis | itants | a gaze. If we follow good taste, common sense, and rhythmical accen- tuation, we shall thus measure it : 3. | "" ^ A | burdenous | drone" 1 to | visitants a | gaze."" 1 It is thus a line of five bars, in triple time : and the change from common time is in keeping with the expression. The same of the following line, which owes its lightness and beauty to its accentuation and triple time : 3. Love-darting eyes, or tresses like the morn. It is on the variation of time and accentuation that the verse of Milton depends so much for its force and melody. The poet has studiously adapted the time and movement of his verse to the effect intended to be produced ; but the system of scanning re- duces all verse to the same humdrum jog-trot. 182 ART OF ELOCUTION. <: The native wood-notes, wild." says Kemble, '-'• which could delight the cultivated ear of a Milton, are not to be regu- lated by those who measure verses by their fingers." And yet it is recorded of Kemble. (and the anecdote is an excellent satire upon prosodial scanning.) that, in obedience to this finger-measuring of verse, the second of the following lines, in the Tempest, I'll rack thee with old cramps, Fill all thy bones with aches ; make thee roar, That beasts shall tremble at thy din" — was thus read by Kemble: " Fill all thy bones with aitches, make thee roar," — an absurdity really ridiculous, committed in order to make up the full number of ten syllables, or five feet, of which, according to prosodial scanning, the verse is composed. The time, measure, and reading of the line are thus : r i i f i -, r i - i i i #• 9 ' 9 ' 2. "Fill | all thy | bones " with | aches'* | make thee | roar" 1 \ The rest after (: aches" fills up the rhythm, prevents the absurdity of perverting " aches" into a word of two syllables, and adds to the force and expression of the line. Thus we see that, in rhythmical reading, the rests or pauses are as necessary to the measure as the notes or syllables themselves. The Casnral pause, spoken of by Blair and the prosodians, may sometimes suffice, with the rest at the close of the line, to make out the rhythm and sense of the verse; but, for fine, musical, and expressive reading of verse, other rests are ne- cessary, not only in the middle and at the close of the line, but in the first, second, third, fourth, fifth, or whatever bar the rhythm, sense, or feeling demands them. And the accen- tuation of the lines will not run on in the same unvarying RHYTHMICAL READING. 163 Iambic jog-trot, but will change from common to triple time, and back again, just as the poet, (if he have a fine ear.) shall vary his verse, to produce a severe or light and airy effect. The following lines in blank verse and common time, are exceedingly rhythmical and melodious ; but their rhythm will be almost destroyed, and they will become merely poetical prose, if, in delivering them, we neglect to mark the variation, which is occasion- ally made by the poet in the movement of his verse, — by change of time and accentuation. A SABBATH MORN.— Grahame, t / i t How still the morning"' of the hallow'd day !" - ' > it t Mute is the voice" 1 of rural labor,* 1 - hush'd / f 'ii The ploughboy's whistle" 1 and the milkmaid's song. — / / if The scythe lies glittering" 1 - in the dewy wreath" 1 ii i / i Of tedded grass,"- mingled with faded flowers," 1 i i i i i That yestermorn" 1 bloom'd" waving in the breeze. / i i i i Sounds" the most faint" attract the ear" — the hum M iii j Of early bee" the trickling of the dew, / / / The distant bleating^ midway up the hill. — ' . ' ii Calmness sits throned"- on yon unmoving cloud. it ii To him who wanders" o'er the upland leas,"' The blackbird's note" comes mellower from the dale ; And sweeter from the sky" 1 the gladsome lark" 1 / / iii Warbles his heav'n-tuned song ; the lulling brook' 1 i i /ii Murmurs more gently" down the deep-worn glen ; •i 164 ART OF ELOCUTION. / / / / While from yon roof* 1 - whose curling smoke M / / / / O'ermounts the mist* 1 - is heard,* 1 at intervals," The voice of psalms* 1 - the simple song of praise, A rest, or slight suspension of voice, at the end of each line, is essential to the rhythmical reading of all verse : it can never be omitted except in the delivery of DRAMATIC POETRY ) in which, the suspension at the close of each line must not be allowed to interrupt the flow of language and feeling. The great object of dramatic poetry is the natural and powerful expression of passion : this is the grace paramount, to which all others must bend, and which must not be sacrificed to any minor embellish- ments. It is true, the verse in which that passionate expression is clothed lends it dignity and grace, and therefore, even on the stage, rhythm and metre must be preserved in delivery : but it must be done easily and without pedantry or apparent effort. For he would make but a poor impression on the heart, who, in an overwhelming burst of passion, should stop to note a caesural pause, or the rest which, in ordinary poetical reading, marks the close of the line. If he be an artist, a correct ear and good taste will prevent the actor wantonly destroying the poet's rhythm; judgment will guide him in passages where he may, with propriety and grace, linger on the melody of the lines ; while tin- power of truthful feeling and passion- ate enthusiasm, will exalt him above the trammels RHVTIOIICAL READING. CADEN'CE. 165 of ordinary rule which would tame his imagination, and fetter his energies. This much is all that I have thought necessary to remark on the subject of the delivery of dramatic poetry. Its further study, with constant and patient practice, added to a good ear, a cultivated voice, and a taste refined by reading and education, is requisite to the actor. What I have here incidentally observed is sufficient for the orator, the scholar, and the unpro- fessional reader, aiming at an elegant style of Elocu- tion. 2. Melody and Cadence are requisite to give finish to rhythmical Elocution. Melody and Cadence are graces arising from the arrange- ment and variation of pitch by inflection of voice. Read aloud, as marked, the following EXAMPLE. On her white breast"' a sparkling cross she wore w - Which Jews might kiss"' and infidels adore. Experiment will convince the reader that no other arrange- ment of inflections on these lines, can produce a melody equal to that which is here given. That melody pervades both verses: in the closing line of the sense, I call it cadence, for ca- dence is the consummation or close of a melody. This melody is produced by alternation of inflection : the cadence marked in the second fine of the couplet is distinguish- lt>6 ART OF ELOCUTION. ed as the harmonic cadence ;* it is formed by the introduc- tion of two intermediate rising inflections of a third and fifth, between two falling inflections : the melody of the first line is composed of a similar alternation of inflection, with the varia- tion of a rising inflection to mark the suspension of sense, at the termination of the line. The introduction of this melody and cadence, where the sense will admit of it, lends additional music to the rhythm : but they must not be used to supersede just inflection or Em- phasis required by the sense : for the melody must never be permitted to destroy the force of the line. Nor must this ca- dence be too frequently resorted to. or it will give a sing-song sameness to the reading — tiresome and unmeaning. It is to be observed that the inflections of the voice, in the reading of verse, are not to be marked so strongly, or, as I may say, so angularly, as in prose- reading. Smoothness, and an easy, flowing style, are to be cultivated ; and, therefore, the inflections must be, as it were, rounded and polished ; so that the voice shall not leap, but gently undulate from tone to tone, and float along in an unbroken stream of sound. A great fault in the reading of verse, is the too strongly marking, or, as I call it, hammering the rhyme : this is destructive of melody, and has a most unpleasing effect on the ear. To avoid it, we must * The harmonic cadence may be used with grace in prose- declamation, as well as in verse ; when the passage does not demand any particular li>roe, as: I shall content myself with wishing'' that I may be one of those* 1 whose follies may cease with their youth*'- and not of that number" 1 who are ignorant" 1 m spite of experience. — Johns. RHYTHMICAL READOG. SMOOTHNESS. 167 keep the voice suspended, avoiding a frequent re- currence of the falling inflection at the close of the line, except where the close of the sense, too, demands it. Otherwise we shall fall into that methodical, alter- nate, dosing rise and fall, which deprives rhythmical Elocution of all variety and grace. Pope's lines are good practice for melodious read- ing : for he frequently suspends the sense through se- veral successive lines, and, so, affords opportunity for variety of inflection and cadence. I therefore give (marked,) a passage extracted from his Essay on Man, HAPPINESS. Oh Happiness!" our being's end and aim!"- Good,"* pleasure." ease." content I" 1 - whate'er thy name** 5 - That something, still" 1 which prompts th' eternal sigh," 1 - For which we bear to live." or dare to die ;"- Which still so near us,*" yet beyond us lies," 1 - O'erlook'd. seen double" by the fool and wise -,"- Plant of celestial seed!"- if dropp'd below." 1 Say in what mortal soil* thou deign'st to grow?'- Fair op'ning" to some court's propitious shine."- Or deep with diamonds" in the flaming mine ?"- Twiivd w ith the wreaths" Parnassian laurels yield,"'- Or reap'd in iron harvests" of the field ? "- Where grows ? where grows it not ? If vain our toD,"* We ought to blame the culture."* not the soil ; " \ to no spot" is happiness sincere, M - 168 ART OF ELOCUTION. 'Tis nowhere to be found,* or everywhere : 'Tis never to be bought,* 1 but always free,*- And fled from monarchs," 1 dwells, my friend, with thee. It is not within the scope of this work to analyse the differ- ent rhythms and metres used in versification : but for the con- venience of the reader, the Practice at the end of this Division contains extracts in a variety of rhythm ; by exercise on which, in accordance with the preceding rules and directions, he may acquire an elegant and easy style of rhythmical Elocution, We now proceed to EXPRESSION. Expression is the modulating or regulating the organ of the voice to tones of gentleness or force, ac- cording to the nature and degree of feeling, or passion expressed in words. Expression is the natural lan- guage of emotion. It is, in Elocution, to a certain ex- tent, a vocal imitation of passion. But this must be done without " aggravating the voice" (as Bottom has it). It is a grace which requires the nicest manage- ment ; and cannot be achieved but with the best cul- tivation of ear and voice ; in order to catch and re- echo the tones of the heart to the ears and hearts of others. It depends mainly upon pitch of voice, and the expression of each different feeling has its appropri- ate pitch.* * Roger Ascham, tutor to Queen Elizabeth, thus quaintly write-, touching the matter of pitch of voice: ■ Where ;i matter is spoken with an apte voyce for everye affection, the hearers, for the most part, are moved as the EXPRESSION. MONOTONE. 169 Expression therefore is a refinement on Intonation : they go hand in hand : we cannot think of the one without the other. Intonation gives the voice volume and power ; expression uses and adapts it to the feel- ing of the moment. Even monotone has its expression. MONOTONE is intonation without change of pitch : that is, preserving a fullness of tone, without ascent or descent on the scale. THE EXPRESSION OF MONOTONE. It expresses repose of feeling or scene — the calm confidence of power — vastness of thought — veneration — and the over-aw- ing sublimity of grandeur. But it must not be listless, vapid, soulless monotone ; it must be a deep, swelling, crescendo monotone, speak- ing as it were from the recesses of the heart ; as, -r-j- fH-n' — TH-fH-f---: it n ! — . r r~j~r -9- Calm - ness sits throned on yon un - mo- ving cloud. speaker woulde ; but when a man is always in one tone, like a humble-bee, or else now in the top of the church, now downe that no man knoweth where to have him ; or piping like a reede, or roaring like a bull, as some lawyers do, which thinke they do best when they crye loudest ; these shall never move, as I know many well-learned have done, because theyr voyces were not stayed afore, with learninge to singe. For all voyces, great and small, base and shrill, may be holpen and brought to a good point by learninge to singe." H 170 ART OF ELOCUTION. It requires practice ; and the practice of monotone tends essentially to the improvement of intonation. The sign of monotone is an even line or mark (denoting an even tone of voice) over the words to be spoken without inflec- tion : but mark, — the sound must swell and gather volume as it proceeds. EXERCISE ON MONOTONE. Our revels now are ended : these our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, into thin air ; And like the baseless fabric*' of this vision* 1 - The cloud-capp'd towers" 1 the gorgeous palaces* 1 The solemn temples* 1 the great globe itself"" 1 - Yea,* 1 all which it inherit* 1 shall dissolve* 1 - And* 1 lTFe this uTisubstantial pageant" 1 faded" Leave not a rack* 1 behind. Shaks. The following passage from Talfourd's classical tragedy of Ion is also guod practice in the Intonation of Monotone. Commence on a deep, full tone. Ye eldest Gods, Who in no statues of exactest form Are palpable ; who shun the azure heights Of beautiful Olympus, and the sound Of ever-young Apollo's minstrelsy ; Yet* 1 mindful of the empire which ye heTd Oyer dim Chaos.*'- keep revengeful wrath PITCH. 171 On falling nations, and on kingly lines About to sink for ever ; ye, who slietl Into the passions of earth's giant brood" And their fierce usages' 1 the sense of justice ; Who clothe the fated battlements of tyranny 1 With blackness as a funeral pall, and breathe Thro' the proud halls of time-emboldened guilt Portents of ruin," 1 - hear me ! In your presence, For now I feel you nigh, I dedicate This arm to the destruction of the king And of his race ! O keep me pitiless ! Expel all human weakness from my frame, That this keen weapon shake not when his heart Should feel its point ; and if he has a child Whose blood is needful to the sacrifice My country asks, harden my soul to shed it ! PITCH OF VOICE. Expression, as I have said, depends chiefly upon pitch of voice. We all know that the tones of the voice vary con- siderably, according to the affection of mind or passion under which a person speaks. We see this daily in nature — we hear a man give a command in one tone, and make an entreaty or ask a favor in another : his voice grows sharper and shriller in rage, and softer and more liquid in tenderness and affection : the voice 172 ART OF ELOCUTION. is light and rapid in pleasure, — low, moaning, and broken in grief, — dull and heavy in pain, — cracked, wild, and shrieking in despair. The voice of deep passion, — sorrow, love, woe, remorse, pity, &c. — is seated in the chest, (voce di petto,) and its pitch is low : while that of more impulsive passion, as rage, delight, triumph, &c. is high in pitch, and partakes of the qual- ity of the head voice — (voce di testa). It is on our power to command our voice at will to any pitch, that we must rely for vocal expression : that is, the adapta- tion of tone to sentiment and passion. Pitch is quite distinct from force ; by which, how- ever, its effect may be aided and increased. The pitch of the speaking voice may be divided into MIDDLE PITCH, HIGH PITCH, LOW PITCH. By middle, or mean pitch, I intend the ordinary pitch of voice, as used in common conversation, un- marked by passion. That pitch varies according to the quality or character of the individual voice, whether it be soprano, tenor, or bass. Suppose, for example, the natural key of any voice to be B b, and the prevailing tone of its ordinary speech to be \& *~ , the middle pitch of that voice may be considered to extend a third above and a third below that tone : and so of any other prevailing tone of any voice. MIDDLE PITCH. i /3 Above and below the range of the middle pitch, are the high and low pitch respectively. Low pitch may- be said to be a third below the mean pitch ; and high pitch, a third above it : so that where middle pitch as- cending ends, high pitch begins ; Avhere middle pitch descending ends, low pitch begins : the range of each, high or low, depending of course on the compass of the speaker's voice. These are the clearest and most distinct indicia that I am able to give for the regulation of pitch on the speaking voice. Now each of these three pitches, — the middle, the high, and the low, — has its appropriate sphere of use or expression. 1. The Middle is the proper pitch for narration, description, (when not particularly animated,) state- ment, and moral reflection, or calm reasoning. Such a poetical description as the following, for example, re- quires only middle pitch. EXERCISE ON MIDDLE PITCH. Sometime we see a cloud that's dragonish ; A vapor, sometime, like a bear, or lion, A tower'd citadel, or pendant rock, A forked mountain, or blue promontory. With trees upon it. that nod unto the world, And mock our eyes with air ; thou hast seen these signs ; They are black vesper's pageants. That which is now a horse, even with a thought, The rack dislimns ; and makes it indistinct As water is in water. Shaks. 171 ART OF ELOCUTION. Again, such a passage as the following requires, for the most part, with some variation, only middle pitch ; but the delivery should be energetic and forceful : Breathes there the man with soul so dead Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land 1 Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd, As home his foot-steps he hath turn'd From wandering on a foreign strand 1 If such there breathe, go mark him well : For him no minstrel's raptures swell. High tho' his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth, as wish can claim ; Despite these titles, power, and pelf, The wretch concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonored. and unsung ! Scott. In fine, for all passages where there is no passion expressed, or which are not marked by strong excitement, or impetuosity of feeling, — or are not descriptive of stirring action, the middle pitch is in general sufficient. 2. High Pitch is the representative of elevated feeling, and impetuous, impulsive passion : joy, exul- tation, rage, invective, threat, eagerness, all speak naturally in high pitch : it is also proper to stirring description, or animated narration. It is the proper pitch for such a passage .as the following, — the buoyant, joyous feeling of which is best expressed by the light and sparkling tones of high pitch. HIGH PITCH. 175 EXERCISE ON HIGH PITCH. If I may trust the nattering truth of sleep, My dreams presage some joyful news at hand ; My bosom's lord sits lightly on his throne, And all this day an unaccustomed spirit Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts. Sheika. And the following picture of Cheerfulness requires high pitch, and a light and brisk articulation, to harmonise with its airy and elastic effect : But oh ! how altered was its sprightlier tone When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, Her bow across her shoulder flung, Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew, Blew an inspiring air that dale and thicket rung : The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known. The oak-crowned sisters and their chaste-eyed dueen Satyrs and sylvan boys were seen, Peeping from forth their allies green ; Brown Exercise rejoie'd to hear, And Sport leap'd up, and seiz'd his beechen spear. Collins. The lofty enthusiasm of the aspiring Hotspur, in the well- known speech which follows, is also best expressed in the high pitch, (with a variation, for effect, to low pitch in the fourth line.) By heavens ! mcthinks it were an easy leap To pluck bright honor from the pale-fac'd moon ; Or dive into the bottom of the deep Where fathom line could never touch the ground, And pluck up drowned honor by the locks ; So he that doth redeem her thence might weai Without corrival all her dignities ; — But out upon this half-fac'd fellowship ! Shake. 176 ART OF ELOCUTION. 3. Low Pitch is the natural expression of deep- seated feeling and concentrated passion, nursed dark- ly in the inmost recesses of the heart : it is the tone of grief, — suppressed rage, — brooding thought, — very solemn reflection, — melancholy, — hate, — re- morse; and also, in its softest and deepest expression, of love and veneration. EXERCISE ON LOW PITCH. With woful measures" 1 wan Despair, — Low" 1 sullen sounds" 1 his grief beguiled" 1 - A solemn" 1 strange" 1 and mingled" 1 air. — Collins. Now o'er the one half world Nature seems dead, aud wicked dreams Abuse the curtain'd sleep : now witchcraft celebrates Pale Hecate's offerings ; and wither'd murder, Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf, Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace, With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design Moves like a ghost. Shaks. Oh ! now, for ever, Farewell the tranquil mind ! farewell content ! Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars That make ambition virtue ! O, farewell ! Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump, The spirit-stirring dram, the ear-piercing fife, The royal banner, and all quality, Pride, pomp, and rircumstanrr of irlorious war ! And oh. you mortal engines, whose rude throats The immortal Jove's dread clamors counterfeit, Farewell ! Othello's occupation's gone ! Shaks. FORCE. 177 Now it is on the change and variation of these se- veral pitches that an orator or an actor must depend for power of expression ; and the greater the facility with which he can make his transitions from pitch to pitch, the greater will be his effect on his audience. For there are many passages in vehement oratory, poetry, and especially dramatic poetry, that require rapid and frequent transitions from high pitch to low, and run through every variety of tone. ENERGY, OR FORCE. Intimately allied to expression, is energy, or force. As Expression is variety of Intonation, Energy may be called the Emphasis of Expression. It is the life, the soul, the animating spirit. Without it, the speaker may be correct, and even agreeable, by a due observance of rule; but if he lack energy, he will be listened to with- out interest ; his voice will fall powerless on the ear, and neither " awake the senses," nor " stir the blood." Energy, it is true, depends somewhat on individual temperament and constitution. But even where natu- ral or physical energy is deficient, an energetic manner may be acquired by practice and exercise under judi- cious direction ; just as the muscular powers may be improved, and bodily vigor increased, even in a feeble frame, under a course of training and well-regulated exercise. The first requisite, in order to create an interest in others, is to feel, or at least to exhibit, an earnestness ourselves. We must be in earnest. Between the ora- H* 173 ART OF ELOCUTION. tor and his auditory, there is a certain involuntary sympathy communicated from one to the other. If he be himself animated and energetic, his audience soon acknowledge a kindred spirit ; if, on the contrary, he be cold, they catch the infection ; if he be tame, they are apathetic ; if he be spiritless, they are listless : their torpor again re-acts upon him, and both orator and audience sleep together. Energy quickens and infuses life into the style : it warms, it revivifies with its touch. It adds a brisker movement to the voice : it flushes the cheek, it lights the eye, it animates the frame ; and passing like an electric spark from speaker to audience, it enkindles in them a sympathetic spirit, it arouses their enthusiasm, it takes possession of their hearts, and places their feel- ings, their reason, and their will, in the hands of him whose power has agitated the recesses of their souls. Force is, after pitch, the next constituent of Expres- sion : and the increasing or diminishing the amount of force on any passage is a matter requiring nice taste, and artistical execution, in governing the voice to forte (loud), and piano (soft). TIME. The last constituent of Expression is — Time. The time, that is, the rapidity or slowness of our delivery, must accord with the character of the feeling or pas- sion expressed, — whether impetuous or concentrated ; — of the action, or scene described, — whether stirring or tranquil ; — or of the sentiment that pervades the TIME. 179 language, — whether it be elevated, impulsive, glow- ing, or deep, solemn, and enduring. For, different sentiments and passions, as they use different pitch, also speak in different time : the utterance of grief is slow and heavy ; while that of hope and joy is light, bounding, and rapid. Again, the rush of an impetuous torrent, roaring and bursting over the plains, destroying vegetation, tearing up trees, carry- ing away cottages, in its resistless course, must be painted, as it were, to the ear, not only by appropri- ate pitch and force, but by a rapidity of utterance whose time shall be in keeping with the sweeping destruction described : while the placid flow of a gen- tle river, calmly gliding between its flower-spangled banks, amid a landscape of richest verdure, whose un- broken silence, and golden smile, caught from the rays of the setting sun, breathe the quiet happiness of content and peace, — this requires to be painted by a slow and even movement of the voice, — whose time shall accord with the tranquillity of the scene, and allow the hearer to dwell on the placid picture before him. As an illustration, continuing the speech of Brutus, which we have already commenced as an Exercise on Intonation, we pro- ceed thus: As Caesar loved me"- I weep for him ;" as he was fortunate, M I rejoice at it ; as he was valiant." I honor him ; but," 1 as he was ambitious," I slew him. There is" 1 tears for his love ; 180 ART OF ELOCUTION. joy for his fortune ; honor for his valor,*'- and death* 1 for hia ambition. Such is the correct pausing, and such the just, and even for- cible inflection and emphasis on this passage. But it wants much more, before it can be perfectly delivered : it wants ex- pression : for it is clear that " weeping,'''' " rejoicing" and " slaying,'''' result from very different and opposite affections or passions of the mind ; and this change in sentiment must be indicated by a correspondent transition in the pitch, and variation in force and time of delivery. To denote the varieties and changes of these three constitu- ents of Expression, I must employ the following signs and terms : FOR PITCH, — TERM. SIGN. Middle Pitch $8L or nt, Low Pitch 33 or 6, High Pitch. . ^ or S. FOR FORCE, It will be necessary to use terms denoting the following EXPRESSION. MUSICAL TERMS. 181 DYNAMICS, OR POWERS OF SOUND. Term. Sign piano p pianissimo pp forte Explanation, softly very softly. /. loud mezzo forte m.f. fortissimo ff. crescendo «=r diminuendo :> forzando fz. staccato ' ' ' legato leg. (the reverse of staccato.) rather loud. very loud. . . increasing. . diminishing, bursting . . . . beatincr connected or smoothly. . . How, or for what to be used. With a soft tone, expressive of calmness, gentleness, mildness, &c. increased expression of tender- ness, &c. the reverse of the above ; a loud powerful tone. increased expression. swelling the volume of voice. reducing the volume. explosive, with a burst of sound. with short and distinct strokes of sound ; to be used in rapid and energetic delivery. a smooth, even flow of tone, pro- per for the delivery of unim- passioned verse. The following terms denote the character of the expression proper to any passage : affetuoso (affo.). . . .with emotion : expressive of deep feeling. dolce (dol.) sweetly: expressive of tenderness, affection. pity, &c. maestoso with a grand, majestic expression, proper to solemn feeling. con spirito (con sp.)_with spirit; for lively expression. con fuoco (con fu.) .with fire; in an animated, energetic manner. con anima (con an.). with soul; that is, with a thrilling expres- sion of intense feeling. 182 ART OF ELOCUTION. TIME. The following terms denote the time, or degree of rapidity or slowness of movement, to be adopted : adagio very slow — for solemn delivery. allegro (alio.) quick — for brisk, lively delivery. presto still quicker. andante middle time, and distinct. largo slowly, with fullness of tone. moderato in ordinary or middle time. retard slackening the time. accelerando quickening the time. Using these terms and abbreviations, the same passage will be thus marked for expression, in addition to the previous marks of pause, &c. Largo p. p. affo. alio, m, f. £& As Cresar loved me. r - I weep for him ; as he was fortu- nate,* 1 1 rejoice at it; as he was valiant," 1 1 honor him; baf as ff. |j largo V- afro. he was ambitious,*" 1 - I slew him. There is* 1 - tears for his love," m.f. ^modemej Ere yet in earl y Gr eece she sung, The Passions oft, to hear her shell, time, and mid die pitch The tone and time must here change, and be varied to ex- press the diffe- rent emotions described. ^ . Throng'd around her magic cell ; /.a p. m ff. s ^- == _ pp. ^^ 6 Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, m.f. m Possess'd beyond the Muse s painting, By turns they felt the glowing mind, Disturb'd, delighted, raised, refined ; Till once, 'tis said, when all were fir'd, con fuorn. f. -zz^T ,. Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspir'd, This must be , presto. rapid, to ex- | From the supporting myrtles round, press the sudJ lr & J S" ° f lhe I The y snatch her instruments of sound, in ordinary f And, as they oft had heard apart, time - < dalce. t Sweet lessons of her forceful art, vildly fz. 3 Each, — for madness rul'd the hour — Ot mod. Would prove his own expressive power. 1. Fear. Fear deprives the voice of its power ; the tone be- comes thin and feeble, and the utterance (when the 199 ART OF ELOCUTION. passion is highly-wrought) tremulous, indistinct, and broken. Slowly. & with f First Fear,^ his hand," 1 its skill to try, hesitation. -i t Amid the chords* 1 - bewilder'd laid ; prttto. fz. V- retard. And hack recoil'd — he knew not why, — legato p. _ _ - E'en at the sound himself had made I 2. Anger. Anger is high in pitch, loud, and quick in the time of its utterance ; and the words do not flow, but burst out in sudden starts, indicative of the rashness of passion. This is distinct from the expression of dignified anger, just severity, and reproof, which is solemn and measured in its delivery, and low in pitch. f 21 alio, rnn fuoco. J. Loudly & hur- riedly, with im- petuous bursts of sound J** alio, con tuocu. j. -= . Next Anger rush'd.'- his eyes on fire,'"' In lightnings own'd his secret stings ; ff. fz. staccato I » In one rude clash~ he struck the lyre, fz. P' ■' , And swept with hurried hand the strings. 3. Despair. Despair vents itself in a low, moaning tone ; till it reaches its wildest paroxysm, when it is cracked and shrieking. Both shades of expression are beautifully and distinctly individualized by the poet in the des- criptive vers* is. PRACTICE. EXPRESSION. 199 In a " low, sul- len tone ;" mo- notonous, with deep pilch. Contrast. largo e maestoso. S3 With woful measures" wan Despair — Low sullen sounds, his grief beguil'd ; t A solemn, strange, and mingled air, p. iJ presto, f. 3 'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild ! 4. Hope. The expression of Hope is in direct contrast with that of Despair; lively, animated, joyous; in rather a high pitch of voice, but at the same time sweet and flowing. K* alio, eon spirilo. Mark the trans- r But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair, ition from the preceding pas- sion by change of tone- /. And now it courted Love," 1 - now raving" 1 called on Hate ! 8. Melancholy. The voice of Melancholy is low in tone, soft, mel- low, and slow in utterance. Mark the gen- tleness of the passion by a smooth, (low- ing delivery, and rather deep < tone. A lighter tone & movement. J3 largo p. With eyes up-rais'd. as one inspir'd, Pale Melancholy" 1 sat retir'd" 1 - And from her wild, sequester'd seat In notes by distance made more sweet, Pour'd through the mellow horn" her pensive soul: ^» al'o. do're. m. f. And dashing soft from rocks around, Bubbling runnels join'd the sound; i» 202 ART OF ELOCUTION. Change back to deep tone, and slow, flow- ing utterance. i* maestoso. ~=zzZ. Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole, Or o'er some haunted stream with fond delay * l - Round"' a holy calm diffusing, Love of peace and lowly musing, In hollow murmurs^ died away. 9. Cheerfulness. Cheerfulness — which is the direct contrast of the last passion — speaks in a high pitch, briskly and " trippingly on the tongue." The expression is of the same order, but less active or passionate than 10. Joy; whose tone is richer and fuller, and utterance still more lively and animated. Under the influence of joy, the words bound and gush from the lips, and the delivery becomes excited and enthusiastic. The distinction between these two affections of the mind, is, that Cheerfulness is a state or enduring condition of the mind, and therefore has a certain re- pose of expression ; while Joy is an active emotion or passion, temporarily exciting and agitating the mind, and accordingly its expression is of a higher character, and must be more powerfully delineated. Joy usually subsides into the happy tranquillity of cheerfulness ; unless it be dashed by grief, in which case it sometimes changes into the darkest despair. PRACTICE . — EXPRESSION. 203 In the present instance, the passion receives addi- tional force and impulse from its union with 11. Love, — and 12. Mirth ; the expression proper to which, (forming, as does the combination of Love, Joy, and Mirth, the most ex- quisite of all earthly felicity, — that is, the perfect en- joyment of happy love,) must be of the most animated, spiritual, and enthusiastic kind : it must be all soul ! Indicate the transition from Melancholy to Cheerfulness, by a higher pitch arid a brisker utter- C /** alio, m, /. But oh ! how altered was its sprightlier tone,* 1 - When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, Her bow across her shoulder flung, Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew. n_ Express the briskness of the action of Sport & Exercise by < a quicker time, and a stronger utterance. Blew an inspiring air that dale and thicket rung i^r- _ The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known. The oak-crowned sisters and their chaste-eyed Queen, Satyrs and sylvan boys were seen, Peeping from forth their allies green ;"- Brown Exercise rejoic'd to hear, presto, f. f I And Sport leap'd up"" 1 and seiz'd his beechen spear Heighten the C nllo—con ammo— dole* expression of Cheerfulness to a fuller and richer tone.and even more live- ly and enthusi- Last came Joy's ecstatic trials- He, with viny crown advancing, First to the lively pipe his hand address'd,"'- 204 ART OF ELOCUTION. astic delivery, increasing, as the descriptive verses glow, & the picture Is heightened in colouring and effect by the introduction of LovexindMirth, whose appear- ance on the scene must be' marked by still greater expres- sion of tone. eon spirito f. But soon he saw the brisk, awak'ning viol, Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov'd the best. legato. They would have thought, who heard the strain, They saw in Tempe's vale her native maids, Amidst the festal-sounding shades, To some unwearied minstrel dancing,"'- presto f. While as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings, dolce. Love fram'd with Mirth a gay fantastic round ; r - Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound,*"^ con fuoco. And he, amidst his frolic play, As if he would the charming air repay, Shook thousand odors* 1 from his dewy wings ! Energetic Expression. — Threatening. (See Anger, Revenge.) HENRY V. BEFORE THE GATES OF HARFLEUR. Shaks. How yet resolves the Governor of the town ? — This is the latest parle we will admit ; Therefore to our best mercy give yourselves, Or like to men, proud of destruction, Defy us to the worst ! for, as I am a soldier, (A name that in my thoughts becomes me best,) If I begin the battery once again, I will not leave the half-achiev'd Harfleur PRACTICE. EXPRESSION. 205 Till in her ashes she lie buried ! The gates of mercy shall be all shut up ; And the flush'd soldier, rough and hard of heart, In liberty of bloody hand shall range, Mowing; like grass Your fresh, fair virgins, and your flow'ring infants ! Therefore, ye men of Harfleur, Take pity of your town, and of your people, Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command ! If not, why in a moment look to see Tlie blind and bloody soldier with foul hand Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters : Your fathers taken by the silver beards, And their most reverend heads dashed to the walls ! Your naked infants spitted upon pikes : Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confused Do break the clouds ; — as did the wives of Jewry At Herod's bloody-hunting slaughtermen ! — How say you ? will you yield, and this avoid ? THE DYING GLADIATOR.— Byron. This concluding extract from Childe Harold, affords an opportunity, in a short space, for great variety and quick transition of tone, in accordance with the change of Expression from Pity to Indignation, mounting to Revenge. The pupil will find the key to the cor- rect expression of these changing feelings in the re- marks on Collins's Ode to the Passions, — which I de- sign as a key to Expression in general. In the present instance, I have also marked the pauses which are necessary to be observed ; they add much to the effect of the passage. 206 ART OF ELOCUTION. Commence in a deep tone, and sloicly. j3 adagio p. I see before me* 1 the Gladiator lie : j He leans upon his hand,"" 1 - his manly brow Consents to death," but conquers agony," 1 - And his droop'd head" 1 sinks" gradually* 1 low,* 1 retard. And through his side" the last drops," ebbing slow" From the red gash," 1 - fall heavy* 1 one by one," u Like the first of a thunder shower ; and now" 1 The arena swims around him ; M - he is gone, n - & ff. Ere ceas'd the inhuman shout" which hail'd the wretch who won. andante He heard it. but he heeded not — his eyes -1 " . do!. Were with his heart." 1 and that was far away ;" He recFd not of the life he lost, or prize,* 1 - p. But" where his rude hut by the Danube lay," There were his young barbarians"" 1 all at play."- af>} . p. con. an. -=^^ /. There was their Dacian mother — he their sire" 1 jr./*. Butcher'd" to make a Roman holiday ! | '■> P. pTitlO f. All this rush'd with his blood . Shall he expire," Andunaveng'd?" 1 Arise! ye Goths! and glut your ire! GESTURE. 207 GESTURE, AND YOCAL GYMNASTICS. I know of no means of teaching Gesture by written instructions ; nor do I think that much assistance can be gathered from plates of figures representing dif- ferent actions and attitudes. Austin's Chironomia was the first work that attempted this, and the book is not without advantage to a professor, or to one who has made some progress, by practice under good tui- tion, in giving force to an oration by certain well-regu- lated and appropriate gestures, or in the expression of the passions by the action of the face and the attitude of the body. Austin has been followed by a crowd of copyists, who have adopted his plates and figures, but whose instructions appear to me to tend rather to give the pupil a stiff and constrained style of gesti- culation, than to invest him with that easy and grace- ful action, and powerful but unexaggerated attitude, which alone are pleasing and effective in the orator or the actor. The first point to be aimed at, as the foundation of a good style of gesture, is a natural and easy carriage of the body, — erect, not stiff, — but firm, manly, and free. This is a thing, unfortunately, too much ne- glected in education generally : the drill-sergeant will be found of use in helping us to this ; and the dancing-?naster''s assistance is also of service. Not that we are to aim at the stiff and measured profes- sional step of the soldier, or the mincing gait of a 208 ART OF ELOCUTION. maitre-de-danse ; we must avoid the extreme of each ; a manly and graceful carriage lies between the two. An excellent exercise both for voice and health, — one that will both improve the strength of the lungs and the carriage of the body, is to walk and speak aloud at the same time ; a task which at first will ap- pear difficult and tiresome, but by practice, — carefully observing the rules which I have laid down for pause and inspiration, to supply expended breath, — will be- come easy ; and I answer for it, that the voice will be by this means much increased in strength, the carri- age of the body improved, and the health of the lungs greatly promoted. I recommend any person whose profession calls on him to speak loud and long, — either in the Pulpit, the Senate, at the Bar, or in the Lecture-Room, — to make frequent trial of this exer- cise. Let him take Brutus's speech, for example, particularly observing the pauses as I have marked them ; let him commence, the first day, by walking sloioly while he recites aloud with the proper inflec- tions, &c, but not with too great an effort of voice, as much of the speech as is so marked, (p. 148.) Let him continue this exercise daily, gradually increasing in exertion of voice, and rapidity of walk, and I will undertake that, in a very short time, (provided there be no disease in his lungs,) he shall be able not only to execute the whole of that speech while walking in the open air, but that he shall be able at length to speak it clearly, distinctly, and forcibly, while run- ning gently up-hill. This exercise will also, infallibly, tend to the im- GESTURE, AND VOCAL GYMNASTICS. 209 provement of his general carriage ; for, the effort of speaking whilst walking will compel him, instinctive- ly, to hold his body straight and to expand his chest, for the more easy delivery of his voice, which cannot have fair play with a stooping body or rounded shoulders. To speak well, easily, and powerfully, the body must be erect, the chest expanded, the legs firmly set under the hips, to support the body, and form a good fulcrum for the efforts of the voice. And this is the first step towards Gesture. The next is to acquire an easy and free use of the arms ; and a pliancy of wrist. In this, the fencing-master is the best assistant. His practice will correct the prevailing awkwardness of gesture which consists in keeping the elbows glued, (if I may say so,) to the side ; and working the arm in a con- tinued angular movement, most unsightly, and utter- ly irreconcileable with power or grace of action. Next, let the speaker always bear in mind, that the object of gesture is to assist or enforce the words which it accompanies. Gesture is, in fact, the ally of speech. Its province is to second the voice. " Action and utterance" go together : Shakspeare has so placed them ; and the action must be akin to the utterance ; the gesture must be relative to the words. Gesture, therefore, must not be vague, unmeaning, motionless ; or it will be a mere " sawing of the air." It must have purport and force ; it must be, as it were, an animated comment on the text which it accompanies. To effect this, the following hints may be of some service in guiding the young speaker to a correct and 210 ART OF ELOCUTION. pleasing system of action ; at the same time, I must repeat, it is next to impossible to teach gesture by written instructions : three practical lessons with a good and experienced professor will do more towards giving the pupil ease, grace, and force of action, than all the books and plates in the world. My own pupils have found some aid from the following Sketch of a Sgstem of ©feature. ALL GESTURE is Active (or passionate) — i. e. dictated by, and expressing the action, or affection of the speaker's mind; or, Demonstrative (or descriptive) — of some object, action, or scene spoken of or referred to. GESTURE is made up of 1. Position of the Body, which must be properly balanced and firmly fixed, whether advanced (adv.) or retired (ret.) — that is, at rest. 2. The form of the Hand, which defines the nature of the gesture.. 3. The position or direction of the Arm; and, 4. The motion of the Arm — which defines the extent and limit of the gesture. 5. The stroke or beat from the Wrist — which (being made on the emphatic word or expression, or the one to which the gesture, if descriptive, refers,) finishes and perfects the action. EXPRESSION OF FACE. Nor should the face and eye be silent, or idle : they must as- sist the gesture and movement of body, arm, hand, by a corres- pomliiiLT repression, — whether of inquiry or denial, — calmness or excitement, — sorrow, joy. to nu m ]>/i, scorn, defiance, pity , anger, &c. It is the harmonious combination and expression of the WHOLE man that make powerful and graceful gesture. Attitude is the extravagance or exaggeration of gesture, un- der the mot i powerful excitement oI'passion ; its study and prac- tice belong to the Actor, and are therefore not introduced here. TAISL.E OF GESTURE. SIGN 11. S. cl. i. E. B. els. FORM OF THE HAND. Natural — (the form in which the hand is held out to shake hands) . . Prone — the reverse of the natural hand .... Supine — the natural hand in tension Closed, or clenched Index finger, marking or pointing (the other fingers being closed) . Left hand Both hands Clasped. SUsed in addressing, appealing to, exhorting, entreating, repre- senting. C Forbidding, rejecting, denying, 1 abjuring, commanding, crush- l ing, destroying. $ This form is a stronger expres- l sion of the natural hand, for/brce. C Used only in strong passion : or } as a descriptive gesture of ex- ( traordinary force. ( Advising, arguing, instructing, 1 impressing, warning, pointing, I marking, reproving. Used occasionally for variety. ( Used in addressing large assem- 1 blies, or in violent feeling ; or ex- ( tended action (descriptive.) In prayer. POSITION OF THE e. elevated. o. oblique. f. forwards. b. horizontal. d. downwards. v. vertical. u. upwards. x. extended. Note. — The position of the arm is regulated according to the situation (above or below the speaker) of those addressed, — or ele- vation or depression ofthefeeling expressed, or object described. ARM. x. zenith. fo. folded. cr. crossed. b. akimbo. OF THE ARM flourish — " triumph." trembling. spreading. outwards. Note. — The motion of the arm, by its direction and rapidity, expresses the triumph, or depression, or energy of the orator's feelings, or the position of the object described. MOTION a. ascending. fl. d. descending. b. beating. tr. c. circle — sp. " crowning." on. in. w. gr. st. inwards, waving, grasping, striking. REMARKS. The initial letters enable the student or speaker to mark, in a written speech, any gestures he may think appropriate : thus, B. n. Is. f . w. would signify, Both hands natural, horizontal, forwards, waving — the proper gesture for such words as, " Romans, countrymen, and lovers !" B. n. f. e. Both hands natural, forwards, elevated — is the gesture of" supplication." APPENDIX; CONTAINING A COMPLETE COURSE OF PRACTICE IN PROSE-READING, AND IN ORATORICAL, POETICAL, AND DRAMATIC DECLAMATION. APPENDIX, &o. PROSE-READING. DELICACY OF TASTE.— Hume. Nothing is so improving to the temper as the study of the beauties either of poetry, eloquence, music, or painting. They give a certain elegance of sentiment, to which the rest of mankind are strangers. The emotions which they excite are soft and tender. They draw off the mind from the hurry of business and interest ; cherish reflection ; dispose to tranquilli- ty ; and produce an agreeable melancholy, which, of all dispositions of the mind, is the best suited to love and friendship. In the second place, a delicacy of taste is favorable to love and friendship, by confining our choice to few people, and making us indifferent to the company and conversation of the greater part of men. You will seldom find that mere men of the world, whatever strong sense they may be endowed with, are very nice in distinguishing characters, or in marking those insensible differences and gradations 216 PRACTICE IN ELOCUTION. which make one man preferable to another. Any one that has competent sense, is sufficient for their enter- tainment : they talk to him of their pleasures and af- fairs with the same frankness that they would to another ; and finding many who are fit to supply his place, they never feel any vacancy or want in his absence. But, to make use of the allusion of a celebrated French author, the judgment may be compared to a clock or watch, where the most ordinary machine is sufficient to tell the hours, but the most elaborate alone can point at the minutes and seconds, and distinguish the smallest differences of time. One that has well digested his knowledge, both of books and men, has lit- tle enjoyment but in the company of a few select com- panions. He feels too sensibly how much all the rest of mankind fall short of the notions which he has en- tertained ; and his affections being thus confined with- in a narrow circle, no wonder he carries them further than if they were more general and undistinguished. The gaiety and frolic of a bottle companion improve, with him, into a solid friendship ; and the ardors of a youthful appetite become an elegant passion. DESCRIPTION OF THE COLISEUM.— Forsyth. A colossal taste gave rise to the Coliseum. Here, indeed, gigantic dimensions were necessary ; for though hundreds could enter at once, and fifty thou- sand find seats, the space was still insufficient for Rome, and the crowd for the morning games began at PROSE-READING. 217 midnight. Vespasian and Titus, as if presaging their own deaths, hurried the building, and left several marks of their precipitancy behind. In the upper walls, they have inserted stones which were evidently dressed for a different purpose. Some of the arcades are grossly unequal ; no moulding preserves the same level and form round the whole ellipse, and every or- der is full of license. The Doric has no triglyphs nor metopes, and its arch is too low for its columns ; the Ionic repeats the entablature of the Doric ; the third order is but a rough cast of the Corinthian, and its foliage the thickest water-plants ; and the whole is crowned by a heavy Attic. Happily for the Coliseum, the shape necessary to an amphitheatre has given it a stability of construction sufficient to resist fires, and earthquakes, and sieges. Its elliptical form was the hoop which bound and held it entire till barbarians burst that consolidating ring ; popes widened the breach ; and time, not unassisted, continues the work of dilapidation. At this moment, the hermitage is threatened with a dreadful crash, and a generation not very remote must be content, I apprehend, with the picture of this stupendous monument. Of the interi- or elevation, two slopes, by some called meniana, are already demolished ; the arena, the podium, are in- terred. No member runs entire round the whole el- lipse ; but every member made such a circuit, and re- appears so often, that plans, sections, and elevations of the original work are drawn with the precision of a modern fabric. When the whole amphitheatre was entire, a child might comprehend its design in a mo- lt 218 PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. ment, and go direct to his place without straying in the porticos, for each arcade bears its number engrav- ed, and opposite to every fourth arcade was a staircase. This multiplicity of wide, straight, and separate pass- ages, proves the attention which the ancients paid to the safe discharge of a crowd ; it finely illustrates the precept of Vitruvius, and exposes the perplexity of some modern theatres. Every nation has undergone its revolution of vices • and as cruelty is not the present vice of ours, we can all humanely execrate the purpose of amphitheatres now that they lie in ruins. Moralists may tell us that the truly brave are never cruel ; but this monument says ' No.' Here sat the conquerors of the world, coolly to enjoy the tortures and death of men who had never offended them. Two aqueducts were scarcely sufficient to wash off the human blood which a few hours' sport shed in the imperial shambles. Twice in one day came the senators and matrons of Rome to the butchery ; a virgin always gave the signal for slaughter ; and when glutted with bloodshed, those ladies sat down in the wet and streaming arena to a luxurious supper ! Such reflections check our regret for its ruin. As it now stands, the Coliseum is a striking image of Rome itself — decayed, vacant, serious, yet grand — half-gray and half-green — erect on one side, and fallen on the other, with consecrated ground in its bosom ; in- habited by a beadsman, visited by every caste ; for mo- ralists, antiquaries, painters, architects, devotees all meet here to examine, to draw, to measure, and to pray ! PROSE-EEADING. 219 DEATH AND CHARACTER OF QUEEN ELIZABETH. Hume. Some incidents happened which revived her tender- ness for Essex, and filled her with the deepest sorrow for the consent which she had unwarily given for his execution. The Earl of Essex, after his return from the fortu- nate expedition against Cadiz, observing the increase of the Queen's fond attachment towards him, took oc- casion to regret that the necessity of her service re- quired him often to be absent from her person, and exposed him to all those ill offices which his enemies, more assiduous in their attentions, could employ against him. She was moved with this tender jea- lousy ; and making him the present of a ring, desired him to keep that pledge of her affection, and assured him, in whatever disgrace he should fall, whatever prejudices she might be induced to entertain against him, yet, if he sent her that ring, she would immedi- ately, upon sight of it, recall her former tenderness, would afford him a patient hearing, and would lend a favorable ear to his apology. Essex, notwithstand- ing all his misfortunes, reserved this precious gift to the last extremity ; but, after his trial and condemna- tion, he resolved to try the experiment, and he com- mitted the ring to the Countess of Nottingham, whom he desired to deliver it to the Queen. The Countess wns prevailed on by her husband, the mortal enemy of Essex, not to execute the commission ; and Eliza- beth, who still expected that her favorite would make 220 PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. this last appeal to her tenderness, and who ascribed the neglect of it to his invincible obstinacy, was, after much delay and many internal combats, pushed by resentment and policy to sign the warrant for his ex- ecution. The Countess of Nottingham, falling into sickness, and affected with the near approach of death, was seized with remorse for her conduct ; and, having ob- tained a visit from the Queen, she craved her pardon and revealed to her the fatal secret. The Q,ueen, as- tonished with this incident, burst into a furious pas- sion : she shook the dying Countess in her bed ; and crying to her, that God might pardon her, but she never could, she broke from her. and thenceforth re- signed herself over to the deepest and most incurable melancholy. She rejected all consolation ; she even refused food and sustenance ; and, throwing herself on the floor, she remained sullen and immoveable, feed- ing her thoughts on her afflictions, and declaring life and existence an insufferable burden to her. Few words she uttered ; and they were all expressive of some inward grief which she cared not to reveal : but sighs and groans were the chief vent which she gave to her despondency, and which, though they dis- covered her sorrows, were never able to ease or assuage them. Ten days and nights she lay upon the carpet, Leaning upon cushions which her maids brought her; and her physicians could not persuade her to allow herself to be put to bed, still less to make trial of any remedies which they prescribed to her. Her anxious mind at last had so long preyed on her frail body, that PROSE-READING. 221 her end was visibly approaching ; and the Council, being assembled, sent the keeper, admiral and secre- tary to know her will with regard to her successor. She answered with a faint voice, that as she had held a regal sceptre, she desired no other than a royal suc- cessor. Cecil requesting her to explain herself more particularly, she subjoined that she would have a king to succeed her ; and who should that be but her near- est kinsman, the King of Scots ? Being then advised by the Archbishop of Canterbury to fix her thoughts upon God, she replied that she did so, nor did her mind in the least wander from him. Her voice soon after left her ; her senses failed ; she fell into a lethar- gic slumber, which continued some hours, and she ex- pired gently, without struggle or convulsion, in the seventieth year of her age and forty-fifth of her reign. So dark a cloud overcast the evening of that day, which had shone out with a mighty lustre in the eyes of all Europe. There are few great personages in history who have been more exposed to the calumnies of enemies, and the adulation of friends, than Queen Elizabeth ; and yet there is scarcely any whose repu- tation has been more certainly determined by the unanimous consent of posterity. The unusual length of her administration, and the strong features of her character, were able to overcome all prejudices ; and obliging her detractors to abate much of their invec- tives, and her admirers somewhat of their panegyrics, have at last, in spite of political factions, and what is more, of religious animosities, produced a uniform judgment with regard to her conduct. Her vigour, 222 PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. her constancy, her magnanimity, her penetration, vigilance and address, are allowed to merit the highest praises, and appear not to have been surpassed by any person that ever rilled a throne : a conduct less rigor- ous, more sincere, more indulgent to her people would have been requisite to form a perfect character. By the force of her mind she controlled all her more ac- tive and stronger qualities, and prevented them from running into excess : her heroism was exempt from temerity, her frugality from avarice, her friendship from partiality, her active temper from turbulency and a vain ambition : she guarded not herself with equal care or equal success from lesser infirmities ; the rivalship of beauty, the desire of admiration, the jea- lousy of love, and the sallies of anger. Her singular talents for government were founded equally on her temper and on her capacity. Endowed with a great command over herself, she soon obtained an uncontrolled ascendant over her people ; and. while she merited all their esteem by her real virtues, she also engaged their affections by her pretended ones. Few sovereigns of England succeeded to the throne in more difficult circumstances' ; and none ever con- ducted the government with such uniform success and felicity. Though unacquainted with the practice of toleration — the true secret for managing religious fac- tions — she preserved he i people by her superior pru- dence, from those contusions in which theological controversy had involved all the neighboring nations: and though her enemies won' the most powerful prin- ces of Europe, the most active, the most enterprising, PROSE-READING. 223 the least scrupulous, she was able by her vigor to make deep impressions on their states ; her own great- ness meanwhile remained untouched and unimpaired. The wise ministers and brave warriors who flourish- ed under her reign share the praise of her success ; but instead of lessening the applause due to her, they make great addition to it. They owed, all of them, their advancement to her choice ; they were supported by her constancy, and with all their abilities they were never able to acquire any undue ascendant over her. In her family, in her court, in her kingdom, she remained equally mistress ; the force of the tender passions was great over her, but the force of her mind was still superior ; and the combat which her victory visibly cost her, serves only to display the firmness of her resolution, and the loftiness of her ambitious sentiments. The fame of this princess, though it has surmounted the prejudices both of faction and bigotry, yet lies still exposed to another prejudice, which is more durable because more natural, and which, according to the different views in which we survey her, is capable of exalting beyond measure, or diminishing the lustre of her character. This prejudice is founded on the consideration of her sex. When we contemplate her as a woman, we are apt to be struck with the highest admiration of her great qualities and extensive capa- city ; but we are also apt to require some more softness of disposition, some greater lenity of temper, some of those amiable weaknesses by which her sex is distin- guished. But the true method of estimating her merit 224 PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. is to lay aside all these considerations, and consider her merely as a rational being placed in authority, and entrusted with the government of mankind. We may find it difficult to reconcile our fancy to her as a wife or a mistress ; but her qualities as a sovereign, though with some considerable exceptions, are the ob- ject of undisputed applause and approbation. CHARACTER OP MARY QJJEEN OP SCOTS. Robertson. To all the charms of beauty and the utmost ele- gance of external form, she added those accomplish- ments which render their impression irresistible. Po- lite, affable, insinuating, sprightly, and capable of speaking and of writing' with equal ease and dignity. Sudden, however, and violent in all her attachments, because her heart was warm and unsuspicious. Im- patient of contradiction, because she had been accus- tomed from her infancy to be treated as a queen. No stranger, on some occasions, to dissimulation, which, in that perfidious court where she received her educa- tion, was reckoned among the necessary arts of govern- ment. Not insensible of flattery, or unconscious of that pleasure with which almost every woman beholds the influence of her own beauty. Formed with the qualities thai we love, not with the talents that we admire, she was an agreeable woman rather than an illustrious queen. The vivacity of her spirit not suf- ficiently tempered with sound judgment, and the warmth of her heart, which was not always under the PROSE-READING. 225 restraint of discretion, betrayed her both into errors and into crimes. To say that she was always unfor- tunate, will not account for that long and almost unin- terrupted succession of calamities that befel her ; we must likewise add that she was often imprudent. Her passion for Darnley was rash, youthful and excessive : and though the sudden transition to the opposite ex- treme was the natural effect of her ill-requited love, and of his ingratitude, insolence and brutality, yet neither these, nor Both well's artful address and im- portant services, can justify her attachment to that nobleman. Even the manners of the age, licentious as they were, are no apology for this unhappy passion : nor can they induce us to look on that tragical and infamous scene which followed upon it, with less ab- horrence. Humanity will draw a veil over this part of her character which it cannot approve, and may perhaps prompt some to impute her actions to her situ- ation, more than to her disposition, and to lament the unhappiness of the former, rather than accuse the per- verseness of the latter. Mary's sufferings exceed, both in degree and in duration, those tragical distresses which fancy has feigned to excite sorrow and com- miseration ; and while we survey them, we are apt altogether to forget her frailties ; we think of her faults with less indignation, and approve of our tears as if they were shed for a person who had attained much nearer to pure virtue. With regard to the queen's person, a circumstance not to be omitted in writing the history of a female reign, all contemporary authors agree in ascribing to 226 PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. Mary the utmost beauty of countenance and elegance of shape of which the human form is capable. Her hair was black ; though, according to the fashion of that age, she frequently wore borrowed locks, and of different colors. Her eyes were a dark gray, her complexion was exquisitely fine, and her hands and arms remarkably delicate, both as regards shape and color. Her stature was of a height that rose to the majestic. She danced, she walked and rode with equal grace. Her taste for music was just ; and she both sang, and played upon the lute with uncommon skill. Towards the end of her life she began to grow fat ; and her long confinement, and the coldness of the houses in which she had been imprisoned, brought on a rheumatism, which deprived her of the use of her limbs. " No man," says Brantome, " ever beheld her person without admiration and love, or will read her history without sorrow." MARIE ANTOINETTE, QUEEN OF LOUIS XVI. Burke. It is now sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the Queen of France, then the Dauphiuess, at Versailles ; and surely never Lighted on this orb, which she hardly seemed to touch, a more delightful vision. I saw her just above the horizon, decorating and cheering the elevated sphere she just began to move in — glittering like the morning star, full of life, and splendor, and joy. Oh! what a revolution ! and what a heart must PROSE-READING. 227 I have to contemplate, without emotion, that elevation and that fall ! Little did I dream, when she added titles of veneration to that enthusiastic, distant, respect- ful love, that she should ever be obliged to cany the sharp antidote against disgrace concealed in that bo- som ; little did I dream that I should have lived to see such disasters fallen upon her in a nation of gallant men, in a nation of men of honor and of cavaliers. I thought ten thousand swords must have leaped from their scabbards to avenge even a look that threatened her with insult. But the age of chivalry is gone. That of sophisters, economists, and calculators has succeeded ; and the glory of Europe is extinguished for ever ! Never, never more shall we behold that generous loyalty to rank and sex, that proud submis- sion, that dignified obedience, that subordination of the heart, which kept alive, even in servitude itself, the spirit of an exalted freedom. The unbought grace of life, the cheap defence of nations, the nurse of manly sentiment and heroic enterprise is gone ! It is gone, that sensibility of principle, that chastity of honor, which felt a stain like a wound, which inspired cou- rage whilst it mitigated ferocity, and ennobled what- ever it touched, and under which vice itself lost half its evil by losing all its grossness. CONQUEST OF JERUSALEM BY THE CRUSADERS, A. D. 1009— Gibbon. Jerusalem has derived some reputation from the number and importance of her memorable sieges. It 228 PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. was not till after a long and obstinate contest that Babylon and Rome could prevail against the obstina- cy of the people, the craggy ground that might super- sede the necessity of fortifications, and the walls and towers that would have fortified the most accessible plain. These obstacles were diminished in the age of the Crusades. The bulwarks had been complete- ly destroyed, and imperfectly restored ; the Jews, their nation and worship, were forever banished ; but na- ture is less changeable than man, and the site of Je- rusalem, though somewhat softened, and somewhat removed, was still strong against the assaults of an enemy. By the experience of a recent siege, and a three years' possession, the Saracens of Egypt had been taught to discern, and in some degree to remedy, the defects of a place which religion as well as honor forbade them to resign. Aladin, or Iftikhar, the Ca- liph's lieutenant, was entrusted with the defence; his policy strove to restrain the native Christians by the dread of their own ruin and that of the holy sepul- chre ; to animate the Moslems by the assurance of temporal and eternal rewards. His garrison is said to have consisted of forty thousand Turks and Arabi- ans ; and if he could muster twenty thousand of the inhabitants, it must be confessed that the besieged were more numerous than the besieging army. Had the diminished strength and numbers of the Latins allowed them to grasp the whole circumference of lour thousand yards, (aboul two English miles and a half,) to what useful purpose should they have de- Bcended into the valley of Ben Hiimnon and torrent PROSE- READING. 229 of Cedron, or approached the precipices of the south and east, from whence they had nothing either to hope or fear ? Their siege was more reasonably di- rected against the northern and western sides of the city. Godfrey of Bouillon erected his standard on the first swell of Mount Calvary ; to the left, as far as St. Stephen's gate, the line of attack was continued by Tancred and the two Roberts ; and Count Raymond established his quarters from the citadel to the foot of Mount Sinai, which was no longer included within the precincts of the city. On the fifth day, the cru- saders made a general assault, in the fanatic hope of battering down the walls without engines, and of sca- ling them without ladders. By dint of brutal force they burst the first barrier ; but they were driven back with shame and slaughter to the camp : the in- fluence of vision and prophecy was deadened by the too frequent abuse of those pious stratagems, and time and labor were found to be the only means of victory. The time of the siege was indeed fulfilled in forty days, but they were forty days of calamity and anguish. A repetition of the old complaint of famine may be imputed in some degree to the voracious or disorderly appetite of the Franks, but the stony soil of Jerusalem is almost destitute of water ; the scanty springs and hasty torrents were dry in the summer season ; nor was the thirst of the besiegers relieved, as in the city, by the artificial supply of cisterns and aqueducts. The circumjacent country is equally des- titute of trees for the uses of shade or building, but some large beams were discovered in a cave by the 230 PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. crusaders : a wood near Sichem, the enchanted grove of Tasso, was cut down ; the necessary timber was transported to the camp by the vigor and dexterity of Tancred ; and the engines were framed by some Genoese artists, who had fortunately landed in the harbor of Jaffa. Two moveable turrets were constructed at the expense and in the stations of the Duke of Lorraine and the Count of Tholouse, and rolled forwards with devout labor, not to the most accessible, but to the most neglected parts of the fortification. Raymond's tower was reduced to ashes by the fire of the besieged, but his colleague was more vigilant and successful ; the enemies were driv- en by his archers from the rampart ; the drawbridge was let down ; and, on Friday, at three in the after- noon, Godfrey of Bouillon stood victorious on the walls of Jerusalem. His example was followed on every side by the emulation of valor ; and about four hundred and sixty years after the conquest of Omar, the holy city was rescued from the Mahomme- dan yoke. In the pillage of public and private wealth, the ad- venturers had agreed to respect the exclusive property of the first occupant : and ihe spoils of the great mosque — seventy lamps and massy vases of gold and silver — rewarded the diligence and displayed the gen- erosity of Tancred. A bloody sacrifice was offered by his mistaken votaries to the God of the Christians; resistance might provoke, hut neither age nor sex could mollify their implacable rage : they indulged themselves three days in a promiscuous massacre, and PKOSE-READING. 231 the infection of the dead bodies produced an epidem- ical disease. After seventy thousand Moslems had been put to the sword, and the harmless Jews had been burnt in their synagogue, they could still reserve a multitude of captives, whom interest or lassitude persuaded them to spare. Of these savage heroes of the Cross, Tancred alone betrayed some sentiments of compassion ; yet we may praise the more selfish len- ity of Raymond, who granted a capitulation and safe conduct to the garrison of the citadel. The holy sepulchre was now free ; and the bloody victors prepared to accomplish their vow. Barehead- ed and barefoot, with contrite hearts, and in an hum- ble posture, they ascended the hill of Calvary amidst the loud anthems of the clergy ; kissed the stone which had covered the Saviour of the world, and be- dewed with tears of joy and penitence the monument of their redemption. STORY OF LA ROCHE.— Mackenzie.* More than forty years ago, an English philosopher, whose works have since been read and admired by all Europe, resided at a little town in France. Some disappointments in his native country had first driven him abroad, aud he was afterwards induced to remain * Author of « The Man of Feeling." The character of the 'philosopher in this fine story Avas intended for Hume : I have therefore supplied the blank (originally left.) with his name, for the greater convenience of the reader. The tale appeared, in « The Mirror," 1780. 232 PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. there, from having found, in this retreat, where the connexions even of nation and language were avoided, a perfect seclusion and retirement, highly fa- vorable to the developement of abstract subjects, in which he excelled all the writers of his time. Perhaps in the structure of such a mind as Mr. Hume's, the finer and more delicate sensibilities are seldom known to have place ; or, if originally im- planted there, are in a great measure extinguished by the exertions of intense study and profound investiga- tion. Hence the idea of philosophy and unfeelingness being united, has become proverbial, and, in common language, the former word is often used to express the latter. Our philosopher has been censured by some as deficient in warmth and feeling : but the mildness of his manners has been allowed by all ; and it is certain that, if he was not easily melted to compas- sion, it was at least not difficult to awaken his benev- olence. One morning, while he sat busied in those specula- tions which afterwards astonished the world, an old female domestic, who served him for a housekeeper, brought him word that an elderly gentleman and his daughter had arrived in the village the preceding even- ing, on their way to some distant country, and that the father had been suddenly seized in the night with a dangerous disorder, which the people of the inn whore they lodged feared would prove mortal ; that she had been sent for as having some knowledge in medicine, the village surgeon being then absent ; and that it was truly piteous to see the good old man, PROSE-READING. 233 who seemed not so much afflicted by his own distress as that which it caused to his daughter. Her master laid aside the volume in his hand, and broke off the chain of ideas it had inspired. His night gown* was exchanged for a coat, and he followed his gouver- nante to the sick man's apartment. 'Tvvas the best in the little inn where they lay, but a paltry one, notwithstanding. Mr. Hume was obliged to stoop as he entered it. It was floored with earth, and above were the joists not plastered, and hung with cobwebs. On a flock-bed, at one end, lay the old man he came to visit ; at the foot of it, sat his daughter. She was dressed in a clean white bed- gown ; her dark locks hung loosely over it as she bent forward, watching the languid looks of her fa- ther. Mr. Hume and his housekeeper had stood some moments in the room, without the young lady's being sensible of their entering it. " Mademoiselle !" said the old woman at last, in a soft tone. She turned, and showed one of the finest faces in the world. It was touched, not spoiled, with sorrow ; and when she perceived a stranger, whom the old woman now introduced to her, a blush at first, and then the gentle ceremonial of native politeness, which the affliction of the time tempered, but did not extinguish, crossed it for a moment and changed its expression. 'Twas sweetness, all, however, and our philosopher felt it strongly. It Avas not a time * What we. at this day, call a morning-gown, was in the eighteenth century called a night-gown. 234 PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. for words; he offered his services in a few sincere ones. " Monsieur lies miserably ill here," said the gouver- nante ; " if he could possibly be moved anywhere." " If he could be moved to our house," said the mas- ter. He had a spare bed for a friend, and there was a garret-room unoccupied, next to the gouvernante's. It was contrived accordingly. The scruples of the stranger, who could look scruples though he could not speak them, were overcome, and the bashful re- luctance of his daughter gave way to her belief of its use to her father. The sick man was wrapt hi blankets and carried across the streets to the English gentleman's. The old woman helped his daughter to nurse him there. The surgeon, who arrived soon after, prescribed a little, and nature did much for him ; in a week lie was able to thank his benefactor. By this time, his host had learned the name and character of his guest. He was a Protestant clergy- man of Switzerland, called La Roche, a widower, wbo had lately buried his wife after a long and linger- ing illness, for which travelling had been prescribed ; and was now returning home, after an ineffectual and melancholy journey, with his only child, the daugh- ter we have mentioned. 1 fe was a devout man, as became his profession. He possessed devotion with all its warmth, but none of its asperity ; I mean that asperity which men, call- ed devout, sometimes indulge in. Mr. Hume, though he felt no devotion, never quarrelled with it in others. His L r oi i vernante joined the old man and his daughter PROSE-READING. 235 in the prayers and thanksgivings which they put up on his recovery ; for she, too, was a heretic, in the phrase of the village. The philosopher walked out with his long staff and his dog, and left them to their prayers and their thanksgivings. " My master," said the old woman, " alas ! he is not a Christian, hut he is the best of unbelievers." " Not a Christian !" exclaimed Mademoiselle La Roche ; " yet he saved my father ! Heaven bless him for it ! I would he were a Christian !" " There is a pride in human knowledge, my child," said her father, " which often blinds men to the sub- lime truths of revelation ; hence, opposers of Christi- anity are found among men of virtuous lives, as Avell as among those of dissipated and licentious characters. Nay, sometimes I have known the latter more easi- ly converted to the true faith than the former, because the fume of passion is more easily dissipated than the mist of false theory and delusive speculation." " But Mr. Hume," said his daughter ; " alas ! my fa- ther, he shall be a Christian before he dies." She was interrupted by the arrival of their landlord. He took her hand with an air of kindness ; she drew it away from him in silence, threw down her eyes to the ground and left the room. " I have been thanking God," said the good La Roche, " for my recovery." " That is right," replied his landlord. " I would not wish," continued the old man hesitat- ingly, " to think otherwise. Did I not look up with gratitude to that Being, I should barely be satisfied 236 PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. with my recovery as a continuation of life, which, it may be, is not a real good. Alas ! I may live to wish I had died, that you had left me to die, sir, instead of kindly relieving me (he clasped Mr. Hume's hand) ; but when I look on this renovated being as the gift of the Almighty, I feel a far different sentiment : my heart dilates with love and gratitude to him ; it is pre- pared for doing his will, not as a duty, but as a plea- sure ; and regards every breach of it, not with disap- probation, but with horror." " You say right, my dear sir," replied the philoso- pher ; " but you are not yet re-established enough to talk much ; you must take care of your health, and neither study nor preach for some time. I have been thinking over a scheme that struck me to-day when you mentioned your intended departure. I never was in Switzerland ; I have a great mind to accompany your daughter and you into that country. I will help to take care of you by the road ; for, as I was your first physician, I hold myself responsible for your cure." La Roche's eyes glistened at the proposal ; his daughter was called in and told of it. She was equal- ly pleased, with her father ; for they really loved their landlord — not perhaps the less for his infidelity ; at least, that circumstance mixed a sort of pity with their regard for him : their souls were not of a mould for harsher feelings ; hatred never dwelt in them. They travelled by short stages ; for the philosopher was as good as his word, in taking care that the old man should not be fatigued. The party had time to be well acquainted with one another, and their friend- PROSE-KEADIXG. 237 ship was increased by acquaintance. La Roche found a degree of simpleness and gentleness in his companion which is not always annexed to the char- acter of a learned or a wise man. His daughter, who was prepared to be afraid of him, was equally unde- ceived. She found in him nothing of that self-import- ance which superior parts, or great cultivation of them, is apt to confer. He talked of everything but philos- ophy or religion ; he seemed to enjoy every pleasure and amusement of ordinary life, and to be interested in the most common topics of discourse : when his knowledge or learning at any time appeared, it was de- livered with the utmost plainness, and without the least shadow of dogmatism. On his part, he was charmed with the society of the good clergyman and his lovely daughter. He found in them the guileless manner of the earliest times, with the culture and ac- complishment Gf the most refined ones. Every better feeling warm and vivid ; every ungentle one repress- ed or overcome. He was not addicted to love ; but he felt himself happy in being the friend of Mademoi- selle La Roche, and sometimes envied her father the possession of such a child. After a journey of eleven days, they arrived at the dwelling of La Roche. It was situated in one of those valleys of the Canton of Berne, where nature seems to repose, as it were, in quiet, and has enclosed her retreat with mountains inaccessible. A stream, that spent its fury in the hills above, ran in front of the house, and a broken waterfall was seen through the woods that covered its sides ; below, it circled round 238 PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. a tufted plain, and formed a little lake in front of a village, at the end of which appeared the spire of La Roche's church, rising above a clump of beeches. Mr. Hume enjoyed the beauty of the scene ; but to his companions it recalled the memory of a wife and pa- rent they had lost. The old man's sorrow was silent — his daughter sobbed and wept. Her father took her hand, kissed it twice, pressed it to his bosom, threw up his eyes to heaven, and having wiped off a tear that was just about to drop from each, began to point out to his guest some of the most striking objects which the prospect afforded. The philosopher inter- preted all this ; and he could but slightly censure the creed from which it arose. They had not been long arrived, when a number of La Roche's parishioners, who had heard of his re- turn, came to the house to see and welcome him. The honest folks were awkward but sincere in their pro- fessions of regard. They made some attempts at con- dolence ; it was too delicate for their handling, but La Roche took it in good part. " It has pleased God," said he ; and they saw he had settled the matter with himself. Philosophy could not have done so much in a thou- sand words. It was now evening, and the good peasants were about to depart, when the clock was heard to strike seven, and the hour was followed by a particular chime. The country folks who had come to welcome their pastor, turned their looks towards him at the sound : he explained their meaning to his guest. PROSE-READING. 239 " That is the signal," said he, " for our evening exer- cise ; this is one of the nights of the week in which some of my parishioners are wont to join in it ; a little rustic saloon serves for the chapel of our family, and such of the good people as are with us. If you choose rather to walk out, I will furnish you with an attend- ant ; or, here are a few old books that may afford you some entertainment within." " By no means," answered the philosopher. " I will attend Mademoiselle at her devotions." " She is our organist," said La Roche : " our neigh- borhood is the country of musical mechanism, and I have a small organ fitted up to assist our singing." " 'Tis an additional inducement," replied the other ; and they walked into the room together. At the end, stood the organ mentioned by La Roche ; before it was a curtain, which his daughter drew aside, and placing herself on a seat within, and drawing the curtain close, so as to save herself the awkwardness of an exhibition, began a voluntary solemn and beau- tiful in the highest degree. Mr. Hume was no musi- cian, but he was not altogether insensible to music ; this fastened on his mind more strongly, from its beauty being unexpected. The solemn prelude introduced a hymn, in which such of the audience as could sing immediately joined ; the words were mostly taken from holy writ ; it spoke the praises of God and his care of good men. The organ was touched with a hand less firm : it paused, it ceased, and the sobbing of Mademoiselle La Roche was heard in its stead. Her father gave a sign for stopping the psalmody, and 240 PBACflCE OF ELOCUTION. rose to pray. He was discomposed at first, and his voice faltered as he spoke ; but his heart was in hia words, and his warmth overcame his embarrassment. He addressed a Being whom he loved, and he spoke for those he loved. His parishioners caught the ardor of the good old man ; even the philosopher felt him- self moved, and forgot for a moment to think why he should not. La Roche's religion was that of senti- ment, not theory, and his guest was averse to disputa- tion : their discourse, therefore, did not lead to ques* tions concerning the belief of either ; yet would the old man sometimes speak of his from the fulness of a heart impressed with its force, and wishing to spread the pleasure he enjoyed in it. The ideas of his God and his Saviour were so congenial to his mind that every emotion of it naturally awaked them. A phi- losopher might have called him an enthusiast ; but if he possessed the fervor of enthusiasts, he was guilt- less of their bigotry. " Our father which art in heaven !" might the good man say, for he felt it, and all mankind were his brethren. " You regret, my friend," said he to Mr. Hume, " when my daughter and I talk of the exquisite plea- si ire derived from music, you regret your want of mu- sical powers and musical feelings ; it is a department of soul, you say, which nature has almost denied you, which, from the effects you see it have on others, you are sure must be highly delightful. Why should not the same thing be said of religion ? Trust me, I feel it in tlir same way — an energy, an inspiration, which I would not lose for all the blessings of sense, or en- PROSE-READI.\(i. 211 joyments of the world ; yet, so far from lessening my relish of the pleasures of life, methinks I feel it heighten them all. The thought of receiving it from God adds the blessing of sentiment to that of sensation in every good thing I possess ; and when calamities overtake me — and I have had my share — it confers a dignity on my affliction, so lifts me above the world. Man, I know, is but a worm, yet, methinks, I am then allied to God." It would have been inhuman in our philosopher to have clouded, even with a doubt, the sunshine of this belief. His discourse, indeed, was very remote from metaphysical disquisition, or religious controversy. Of all men I ever knew, his ordinary conversation was the least tinctured with pedantry, or liable to dissertation. With La Roche and his daughter it was perfectly fa- miliar. The country around them, the manners of the village, the comparison of both with those of England, remarks on the works of favorite authors, on the senti- ments they conveyed, and the passions they excited, with many other topics in which there was an equality or alternate advantage among the speakers, were the subjects they talked on. Their hours, too, of riding and walking were many, in which Mr. Hume, as a stranger, was shown the remarkable scenes and curi- osities of the country. They would sometimes make little expeditions to contemplate, in different altitudes, those astonishing mountains, the cliffs of which, cover- ed with eternal snows, and sometimes shooting into fantastic shapes, form the termination of most of the Swiss prospects. Our philosopher asked many ques- L 242 PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. tions as to their natural history and productions. La Roche observed the sublimity of the ideas which the view of their stupendous summits, inaccessible to mor- tal foot, was calculated to inspire, which naturally, said he, leads the mind to that Being by whom their foundations were laid. " They are not seen in Flanders," said Mademoiselle, with a sigh. " That's an odd remark," said Mr. Hume, smiling. She blushed, and he inquired no further. 'Twas with regret he left a society in which he found himself so happy ; but he settled with La Roche and his daughter a plan of correspondence ; and they took his promise, that if ever he came within fifty leagues of their dwelling, he should travel those fifty leagues to visit them. About three years after, our philosopher was on a visit at Geneva ; the promise he made to La Roche and his daughter in his former visit was recalled to his mind by a view of ihat range of mountains on a part of which they had often looked together. There was a reproach, too, conveyed along with the recollection, for his having failed to write to either for several months past. The truth was that indolence was the habit most natural to him, from which he was not easi- ly roused by the claims of correspondence either of his friends or of his enemies ; when the latter drew their pens in controversy, they were often unanswered as well as the former. While he was hesitating about a visit to La Roche, which he wished to make, but found the effort rather too much for him, he received a let- PROSE-READING. 243 ter from the old man, which had been forwarded to him from Paris, where he had then his fixed residence. It contained a gentle complaint of Mr. Hume's want of punctuality, but an assurance of continued grati- tude for his former good offices ; and as a friend whom the writer considered interested in his family, it in- formed him of the approaching nuptials of Mademoi- selle La Roche with a young man, a relation of her own, and formerly a pupil of her father's, of the most amiable disposition and respectable character. At- tached from their earliest years, they had been sepa- rated by his joining one of the subsidiary regiments of the Canton, then in the service of a foreign power. In this situation, he had distinguished himself as much for courage and military skill as for the other endowments which he had cultivated at home. The term of his service was now expired, and they expected him to return in a few weeks, when the old man hoped, as he expressed it in his letter, to join their hands, and see them happy before he died. Our philosopher felt himself interested in this event ; but he was not, perhaps, altogether so happy in the tidings of Mademoiselle La Roche's marriage as her father supposed him. Not that he was ever a lover of the lady's ; but he thought her one of the most ami- able women he had seen, and there was something in the idea of her being another's for ever that struck him, he knew not why, like a disappointment. After some little speculation on the matter, however, he could look on it as a thing fitting, if not quite agreeable ; 244 PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. and determined on this visit to see his old friend and his daughter happy. On the last day of his journey, different accidents had retarded his progress ; he was benighted before he reached the quarter where La Roche resided. His guide, however, was well acquainted with the road, and he found himself at last in view of the lake, which I have before described, in the neighborhood of La Roche's dwelling. A light gleamed on the wa- ter that seemed to proceed from the house ; it moved slowly along as he proceeded up the side of the lake, and at last he saw it glimmer through the trees, and stop at some distance from the place where he then was. He supposed it some piece of bridal merriment, and pushed on his horse, that he might be a specta- tor of the scene ; but he was a good deal shocked, on approaching the spot, to find it proceeded from the torch of a person clothed in the dress of an attendant on a funeral, and accompanied by several others, who, like him, seemed to have been employed in the rites of sepulture. On Mr. Hume's making inquiry who was the per- son they had been burying, one of them, with an ac- cent more mournful than is common to their profes- sion, answered. " Then you knew not Mademoiselle, sir ? You never beheld a lovelier." " La Roche !" exclaimed he, in reply. " Alas ! it was she, indeed !" The appearance of surprise and grief which his countenance assumed attracted the notice of the pea- sant with whom he talked. He came up close to Mr. PROSE-READING. 245 Hume : " I perceive, sir, you were acquainted with Mademoiselle La Roche." " Acquainted with her ! Good God ! when — how — where did she die ? Where is her father ?" " She died of heart-break, I believe, sir ; the young gentleman to whom she was to have been married, was killed in a duel by a French officer, his intimate companion, and to whom, before this quarrel, he had often done the greatest favors. Her worthy father bears her death as he has often told us a Christian should ; he is even so composed as to be now in his pulpit, ready to deliver a few exhortations to his pa- rishioners, as is the custom with us on such occasions : follow us, sir, and you shall hear him." — He followed the man without answering. The church was dimly lighted, except near the pul- pit, where the venerable La Roche was seated. His people were now lifting up their voices in a psalm to that Being whom their pastor had taught them ever to bless and to revere. La Roche sat, his figure bend- ing gently forward, his eyes half-closed, lifted up in silent devotion. A lamp placed near him threw its light strong on his head, and marked the shadowy lines of age across the paleness of his brow, thinly covered with gray hairs. The music ceased. La Roche sat for a few moments, and nature wrung a few tears from him. His people were loud in their grief. Mr. Hume was not less affected than they. La Roche arose : : ' Father of mercies," said he, " forgive these tears ; assist thy servant to lift up his soul to thee ; to lift to thee the souls of thy people. 216 PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. My friends, it is good so to do, at all seasons it is good ; but in the day of our distress, what a privilege it is! Well saith the sacred book, 'Trust in the Lord ; at all times trust in the Lord.' When every other support fails us, when the fountains of worldly comfort are dried up, let us then seek those living wa- ters which flow from the throne of God. 'Tis only from the belief of the goodness and wisdom of a Su- preme Being that our calamities can be borne in that manner which becomes a man. Human wisdom is here of little use : for, in proportion as it bestows comfort, it represses feeling, without which we may cease to he hurt by calamity, but we shall also cease to enjoy happiness. I will not bid you be insensible, my friends— I cannot, I cannot, if I would, (his tears flowed afresh) — I feel too much myself and I am not ashamed of my feelings ; but therefore may I the more willingly be heard : therefore have I prayed to God to give me strength to speak to you. to direct yen to him, not with empty words, but with these tears ; not from speculation, but from experience ; that while you see me suffer, you may know also my consola- tion. " You behold the mourner of his only child, the last earthly stay and blessing of his declining years ! Such a child too ! It becomes not me to speak of her virtues ; yet it is but gratitude to mention them, be- cause they were exerted towards myself. Not many days ago you saw her young, beautiful, virtuous, and happy: ye who are parents will j 1 1 < 1 urt ■ of my felicity then—ye will judge of my affliction now. But I PROSE-READING. 247 look towards Him who struck me ; I see the hand of a father amidst the chastenings of my God. Oh ! could I make you feel what it is to pour out the heart when it is pressed down with many sorrows, to pour it out with confidence to Him in whose hands are life and death, on whose power awaits all that the first enjoys, and in contemplation of whom disappears all that the last can inflict ! For we are not as those who die without hope ; we know that our Redeemer liveth — that we shall live with him, with our friends, his ser- vants, in that blessed land where sorrow is unknown, and happiness is endless as it is perfect. Go then, mourn not for me ; I have not lost my child : hut a little while and we shall meet again, never to be separated ! But ye are also my children : would you tint I should not grieve without comfort ? So live as she lived ; that when your death cometh, it may be the death of Vac righteous, and your latter end like his." Such was the exhortation of La Roche ; his audi- ence answered it with their tears. The good old man had dried up his at the altar of the Lord ; his counte- nance had lost its sadness, and assumed the glow of faith and of hope. Mr. Hume followed him into his house. The inspiration of the pulpit was past ; at the sight of him, the scene they had just passed rushed again on his mind ; La Roche threw his arms round his neck and watered it with his tears. The other was equally affected ; they went together in silence into the parlor where the evening service was wont to be performed. The curtains of the organ were open ; 248 PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. La Roche started back at the sight. ' : Oh my friend," said he ; and his tears burst forth again. Mr. Hume had now recollected himself; he stept forward and drew the curtains close. The old man wiped off his tears, and taking his friend's hand, "You see my weakness," said he ; " 'tis the weakness of humanity ; but my comfort is not therefore lost." " I heard you," said the other, " in the pulpit ; I re- joice that such consolation is yours." " It is, my friend," said he, " and I trust I shall ever hold it fast. If there are any who doubt our faith, let them think of what importance religion is to calamity, and forbeai to weaken its force ; if they cannot re- store our happiness, let them not take away the solace of our affliction !"' Mr. Hume's heart was smitten ; and I have heard him Ions after confess that there were moments when O the remembrance overcame him even to weakness ; when, amidst all the pleasures of philosophical dis- covery, and the pride of literary fame, he recalled to his mind the venerable figure of the good La Roche, and wished that he had never doubted ! MODERx^ GALLANTRY.— C. Lamb. I x comparing modern with ancient manners, we are pleased to compliment ourselves upon the point of gal- lantly ; a certain obsequiousness, or deferential re- spect, which we are supposed to pay to females, as females. I shall believe that, this principle animates our conduct, when 1 can forget, that in the nineteenth PROSE-READING. 219 century from the cm when we date our civility, we arc but just beginning to leave off the very frequent practice of whipping females in public, in common with the coarsest male offenders. I shall believe it to be influential, when I can shut my eyes to the fact, that in England women are still occasionally— hanged. I shall believe in it, when Dorimant hands a fish-wife across the kennel, or assists the apple-woman to pick up her wandering fruit, which some unlucky dray has just dissipated. I shall believe in it, when the Dori- mants in humbler life, who would be thought, in their way, notable adepts in refinement, shall act upon it in places where they are not known, or think themselves not observed — when I shall see the traveller for some rich tradesman part with his admired box-coat, to spread it over the defenceless shoulders of the poor woman who is passing to her parish, on the roof of the same stage-coach with him, drenched with the rain — when I shall no longer see a woman standing up in the pit of a London theatre, till she is sick and faint with the exertion, with men about her, seated at their ease, and jeering at her distress ; till one that seems to have more manners or conscience than the rest, significantly declares " she should be welcome to his seat if she were a little younger and handsomer." Place this dapper warehouseman, or that rider, in a circle of their own female acquaintance, and you shall confess you have not seen a politer bred man in Loth- bury. Lastly, I shall begin to believe that there is some such principle influencing our conduct, when more than one half the drudgery and coarse ser- L* 250 PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. vitude of the world shall cease to be performed by woman. Until that day comes, I shall never believe this boasted point to be anything more than a conventional fiction ; a pageant got up between the sexes, in a cer- tain rank and at a certain time of life, in which both find their account equally. I shall be even disposed to rank it among the salutary fictions of life, when in polite circles I shall see the same attentions paid to age as to youth, to homely features as to handsome, to coarse complexions as to clear — to the woman, as she is a woman, not as she is a beauty, a fortune, or a title. I shall believe it to be something- more than a name, when a well-dressed gentleman in a well- dressed company can advert to the topic of female old age without exciting, and intending to excite, a sneer: — when the phrases "antiquated virginity," and such a one has " overstood her market," pronounced in good company, shall raise immediate offence in man, or woman, that shall hear them spoken. CHARACTER OF PITT, (LORD CHATHAM.) Grattan. The secretary stood alone. Modern degeneracy had not reached him. Original and unaccommodating, the features of his character had the hardihood of an- li<|uity. His august mind overawed majesty; and of his sovereigns thought royalty so impaired in his presence, that he conspired to remove him, in or- der to be relieved from his superiority. No state chi- PROSE-READING. 251 eanery, no narrow system of vicious politics, sunk him to the vulgar level of the great ; but. overbearing, per- suasive, and impracticable, his object was England, his ambition was fame. Without dividing, he de- stroyed party ; without corrupting, he made a venal age unanimous. France sunk beneath him. With one hand he smote the house of Bourbon, and wielded in the other the democracy of England. The sight of his mind was infinite ; and his schemes were to affect, not England, not the present age only, but Europe and posterity. Wonderful were the means by which these schemes were accomplished ; always seasonable, al- ways adequate, the suggestions of an understanding animated by ardor, and enlightened by prophecy. The ordinary feelings which make life amiable and indolent were unknown to him. No domestic diffi- culties, no domestic weakness, reached him ; but aloof from the sordid occurrences of his life, and unsullied by its intercourse, he came occasionally into our sys- tem to counsel and to decide. A character so exalted, so strenuous, so various, so authoritative, astonished a corrupt age, and the treasu- ry trembled at the name of Pitt through all the classes of venality. Corruption imagined, indeed, that she had found defects in this statesman, and talked much of the inconsistency of his glory, and the ruin of his vic- tories ; but the history of his country and the calami- ties of the enemy answered and refuted her. Nor were his political abilities his only talents : his elo- quence was an era ill the senate, peculiar and sponta- neous, familiarly expressing gigantic sentiments and 252 PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. instinctive wisdom ; not like the torrent of Demos* thenes, or the splendid conflagration of Tully ; it re- sembled sometimes the thunder, and sometimes the music of the spheres. Like Murray, he did not conduct the understanding through the painful subtlety of ar- gumentation ; nor was he, like Townsend, for ever on the rack of exertion ; but rather lightened upon the subject, and reached the point by the flashings of the mind, which, like those of his eye, were felt, but could not be followed. Upon the whole, there was in this man something that could create, subvert, or reform ; an understanding, a spirit, and an eloquence to sum- mon mankind to society, or to break the bonds of slavery asunder, and to rule the wilderness of free minds with unbounded authority; something that could establish and overwhelm empire, and strike a blow in the world that should resound through the u inverse. CHARACTER OF NAPOLEON BONAPARTE.* Phillips. 11k is fallen! We may now pause before that splendid prodigy, which towered amongst us like some ancient ruin, whose frown terrified the glance its magnificence attracted. Grand, gloomy and peculiar, he sat upon the throne, a sceptred lien nit, wrapped in the solitude of his own originality. A mind bold, independent and decisive — * This character vraa given at the time of Napoleon's exile to Elba, mosfi-READING. 253 a will, despotic in its dictates, — an energy that dis- tanced expedition, and a conscience pliable to every touch of interest, marked the outline of this extraor- dinary character — the most extraordinary perhaps, that, in the annals of the world, ever rose, or reigned, or fell. Flung into life, in the midst of a Revolution, that quickened every energy of a people who acknow- ledged no superior, he commenced his course a stranger by birth, and a scholar by charity. With no friend but his sword, and no fortune but his talents, he rushed into the lists where rank and genius had arrayed themselves, and competition fled from him as from the glance of destiny. He knew no motive but interest — he acknowledged no criterion but suc- cess — he worshipped no God but ambition ; and with an eastern devotion, he knelt at the altar of his idola- try. Subsidiary to this, there was no creed that he did not profess, there was no opinion that he did not promulgate : in the hope of a dynasty, he upheld the crescent ; for the sake of a divorce, he bowed be- fore the Cross : the orphan of St. Louis, he became the adopted child of the republic ; and with a parricidal ingratitude, on the ruins both of the throne and the tribune, he reared the throne of his despotism. A pro- fessed Catholic, he imprisoned the Pope ; a pretended patriot, he impoverished the country ; and under the name of Brutus, he grasped without remorse, and wore without shame, the diadem of the Caesars ! Through this pantomime of his policy, fortune played the clown to his caprices. At his touch, 254 PRACTICE OP ELOCUTION. crowns crumbled, beggars reigned, systems vanished, the wildest theories took the color of his whims, and all that was venerable, and all that was novel, changed places with the rapidity of a drama. Even apparent defeat assumed the appearance of victory — his flight from Egypt confirmed his destiny — ruin it- self only elevated him to Empire. But, if his fortune was great, his genius was transcendent, decision Hashed upon his counsels : and it was the same to de- cide and to perform. To inferior intellects, his com- binations appeared perfectly impossible, his plans per- fectly impracticable ; but, in his hands, simplicity marked their developement, and success vindicated their adoption. His person partook of the character of his mind ; if the one never yielded in the cabinet, the other never bent in the field. Nature had no ob- stacles that he did not surmount, space no opposition that he did not spurn; — and whether, amid Alpine rocks, Arabian sands, or polar snows, he seemed proof against peril, and empowered with ubiquity. The whole continent of Europe trembled at beholding the audacity of his designs, and the miracle of their exe- cution. Scepticism bowed to the prodigies of his per- formance ; romance assumed the air of history ; nor was there aught too incredible for belief, or too fanci- ful for expectation, when the world saw a subaltern of Corsica waving his imperial flag over her most an- cient capitals. All the visions of antiquity became common places in his contemplation ; kings were his people — nations were his outposts; and he disposed -■I (inuts, and crowns, and camps, and churches, and PROSE-READING. 255 cabinets, as if they were the titular dignitaries of the chess-board. Amid all these changes, he stood immutable as adamant. It mattered little whether in the field or the drawing-room — with the mob or the levee — wear- ing the jacobin bonnet or the iron crown — banishing a Braganza, or espousing a Hapsburgh — dictating peace on a raft to the Czar of Russia, or contemplating defeat at the gallows of Leipsic — he was still the same military despot. Cradled in the camp, he was to the last hour the darling of the army ; and whether in the camp or the cabinet, he never forsook a friend, or forgot a favor. Of all his soldiers, not one abandoned him, till affec- tion was useless ; and their first stipulation was for the safety of their favorite. They knew well that if he was lavish of them, he was prodigal of himself; and that if he exposed them to peril, he repaid them with plunder. For the soldier, he subsidized every people ; to the people, he made even pride pay tribute. The victorious veteran glittered with his gains ; and the capital, gorgeous with the spoils of art, became the miniature metropolis of the universe. In this wonderful combination, his affectation of literature must not be omitted. The jailor of the press, he af- fected the patronage of letters— the proscriber of books, he encouraged philosophy — the persecutor of authors, and the murderer of printers, he yet pretended to the patronage of learning — the assassin of Palm, the si- lencer of De Stael, and the denouncer of Kotzebue, he was the friend of David, the benefactor of De Lille, and ~53 PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. sent his academic prize to the philosopher of England.* — Such a medley of contradictions, and at the same time such an individual consistency, were never united in the same character. A royalist, a republican, and an emperor — a Mahometan, a Catholic, and a patron of the Synagogue — a traitor and a tyrant — a Christian and an Infidel — he was, through all his vicissitudes, the same stern, impatient, inflexible original — the same mysterious, incomprehensible self — the man without a model, and without a shadow. His fall, like his life, baffled all speculation. In short, his whole history was like a dream to the world ; and no man can tell how or why he was awakened from the reverie. Such is a faint and feeble picture of Napoleon Bonaparte ; the first, (and it is to be hoped, the last,) Emperor of the French. That he has done much evil, there is little doubt : that he has been the origin of much good, there is just as little. Through his means, intentional or not, Spain, Portugal, and France, have arisen to the blessings of a free constitution; superstition has found her grave in the ruins of the Inquisition ; and the feudal system, with its whole train of tyrannic satellites, has fled for ever. Kings may learn from him that their safest study, as well as their noblest, is the interest of the people ; the people are taught by him that there is no despotism so stupen- dous against which they have not a resource ; and to those who would rise upon the ruins of both, he is a liv- ing lesson, that if ambition can raise them from the low- eal station, it can also prostrate them from the highest. "■Sir Humphrey Davy. PROSE-DECLAMATION. 257 ORATORICAL EXTRACTS. AGAINST THE CHARGE OF BRITISH PREDILEC- TION.— Randolph. (1811.) Against whom are these charges of British predilec- tion brought ? Against men, who. in the war of the Revolution, were in the councils of the nation, or fighting the battles of your country. It is insuffera- ble : it cannot be borne. It must and ought, with se- verity to be put down in this house, and out of it to meet the lie direct ! Strange, that we should have no objection to any other people or government, civilized or savage, in the whole world ! The great Autocrat of all the Russias receives the homage of our high consideration. The Dey of Algiers and his divan of pirates, are very civil good sort of people, with whom we find no difficulty in maintaining the relations of peace and amity. Turks, Jews, and Infidels, Melim- elli or the Little Turtle ; barbarians and savages of every clime and every color, are welcome to our arms. With chiefs of banditti, negro or mulatto, Ave can treat and can trade. Name, however, but England i and all our antipathies are up in arms against her. Against 258 PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. whom ? Against those whose blood runs in our veins ; in common with whom we claim Shakspeare, and Newton, and Chatham, for our countrymen ; whose form of government is the freest on earth, our own only excepted ; from whom every valuable principle of our own institutions has been borrowed — representa- tion — trial by jury — voting the supplies — writ of habeas corpus — our whole civil and criminal juris- prudence ; — against our fellow-Protestants, identified in blood, in language, in religion with ourselves ! In what school did the worthies of our land, the Washingtons, Henrys, Hancocks, Franklins, Rut- ledges of America, learn those principles of civil liber- ty, which were so nobly asserted by their wisdom and their valor ? American resistance to British usurpa- tion has not been more warmly cherished by these great men and their compatriots — by Washington, Hancock and Henry — than by Chatham, and his il- lustrious associates in the British Parliament. It ought to bo remembered, too, that the heart of the English people was with us in our struggle. It was a selfish and corrupt ministry, and their servile tools, to whom we were not more opposed than they were. I trust that none such may ever exist among us ; for tools will never be wanting to subserve the purposes, however ruinous or wicked, of kings and ministers of state. I acknowledge the influence of a Shakspeare and a Milton upon my imagination, of a Locke upon my understanding, of a Sydney upon my political principles, of a Chatham upon qualities, which, would to God. I possessed in common with that illustrious PROSE-DECLAMATION. 259 man ! and of a Tillotson, a Sherlock, and a Por- teus, upon my religious principles and convictions. This is a British influence which I can never shake off! THE ADVANTAGES OF CLASSICAL LEARNING. Story. The importance of classical learning to professional education is so obvious, that the surprise is, that it could ever have become matter of disputation. I speak not of its power in refining the taste, in disci- plining the judgment, in invigorating the understand- ing, or in warming the heart with elevated sentiments ; but of its power of direct, positive, necessary instruc- tion. Until the eighteenth century, the mass of sci- ence, in its principal branches, was deposited in the dead languages, and much of it still reposes there. To be ignorant of these languages is to shut out the lights of former times, or to examine them only through the glimmerings of inadequate translations. What should we say of the jurist who never aspired to learn the maxims of law and equity which adorn the Roman codes 1 What of the physician who could deliberately surrender all the knowledge heaped up, for so many centuries, in the Latinity of continental Europe? What of the minister of religion who should choose not to study the Scriptures in the ori- ental tongue, and should be content to trust his faith and his hopes, for time and for eternity, to the dimness of translations which may reflect the literal import, 260 PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. but rarely can reflect, with unbroken force, the beau- tiful spirit of the text ? Shall he, whose vocation it is " to allure to brighter worlds, and lead the way," be himself the blind leader of the blind ? Shall he pro- claim the doctrines of salvation, who knows not and cares not, whether he preaches an idle gloss or the genuine text of revelation ? If a theologian may not pass his life in collating the various readings, he may and ought to aspire to that criticism which illustrates religion by all the resources of human learning — which studies the maimers and institutions of the age and country in which Christianity was first promul- gated — which kindles an enthusiasm for its precepts by familiarity with the persuasive language of Him who poured out his blessings on the innocent, and of Him at whose impressive appeal Felix trembled. I pass over all consideration of the written treasures of antiquity which have survived the wreck of em- pires and dynasties — of instrumental trophies and tri- umphal arches — of palaces of princes and temples of the gods. I pass over all consideration of those ad- mired compositions in which wisdom speaks as with a voice from heaven ; of those sublime efforts of poeti- cal genius, which still freshen, as they pass from age to age, with undying vigor ; of those finished histories which still enlighten and instruct governments in their duty and their destiny ; of those matchless ora- tions which roused nations to arms and chained sen- ates to the chariot wheels of all-conquering eloquence. These all may now be read in our vernacular tongue. Aye ; as one remembers the face of a dead friend, by PROSE-DECLAMATION. 261 gathering up the broken fragments of his image ;— as one listens to the tale of a dream twice-told ;— as one catches the roar of the ocean in the ripple of a rivu- let ;— as one sees the blaze of noon in the first glim- mer of twilight. There is one objection, however, on which I would for a moment dwell, because it has a commanding in- fluence over many minds, and is clothed with a spe- cious importance. It is often said, that there have been eminent men and eminent writers, to whom the ancient languages were unknown, — men who have risen by the force of their own talents, and writers who have written with a purity and ease which hold them up as models for imitation. On the other hand, it is as often said, that scholars do not always com- pose either with ease or chasteness ; that their diction is sometimes loose and harsh, and sometimes ponder- ous and affected. Be it so : I am not disposed to call in question the accuracy of either statement. But I would, nevertheless, say that the presence of classical learning was not the cause of the faults of the one class, nor the absence of it the cause of the excellence of the other. And I would put this fact, as an answer to all such reasonings, that there is not a single lan- guage of modern Europe, in which literature has made any considerable advances, which is not directly of Roman origin, or has not incorporated into its very structure many, very many, of the idioms and peculi- arities of the ancient tongues. The English language affords a strong illustration of the truth of this remark : it abounds with words and meanings drawn from clas- PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. sical sources. Innumerable phrases retain the sym- metry of their ancient dress. Innumerable expressions have received their vivid tints from the beautiful dyes of Roman and Grecian roots. If scholars, therefore, do not write our language with ease, or purity, or ele- gance, the cause must lie somewhat deeper than a conjectural ignorance of its true diction. There is not a single nation, from the north to the south of Europe— from the bleak shores of the Baltic to the bright plains of immortal Italy — whose litera- ture is not imbedded in the very elements of classical learning. The literature of England is, in an em- phatic sense, the production of her scholars— of men who have cultivated letters in her universities, and colleges, and grammar schools — of men who thought any life too short, chiefly because it left some relic of antiquity unmastered, and any other fame humble, because it faded in the presence of Roman and Grecian genius. It is no exaggeration to declare, that he who proposes to abolish classical studies, proposes to render, in a great measure, inert and unedifying the mass of English literature for three centuries ; to rob us of much of the glory of the past, and much of the instruction of future ages ; to blind us to excel- lences which few may hope to equal and none to sur- pass ; to annihilate associations which are interwoven with our best sentiments, and give to distant times and countries a presence and reality, as if they were, in fact, our own. PROSE-DECLAMATION. 263 EXTRACT FROM EMMET'S SPEECH BEFORE SEN- TENCE OF DEATH BEING PASSED ON HIM. My Lords, — What have I to say, why sentence of death should not be pronounced on me. according to law ? — I have nothing to say that can alter your predetermination, nor that it will become me to say, with any view to the mitigation of that sentence which you are here to pronounce, and I must abide by. But I have that to say, which interests me more than life, and which you have labored, (as was necessarily your office in the present circumstances of this oppressed country,) to destroy. I have much to say, why my reputation should be rescued from the load of false accusation and calumny which has been heaped upon it. I do not imagine that, seated where you are, your minds can be so free from impurity, as to receive the least impression from what I am going to utter. I have no hopes that I can anchor my character in the breast of a Court constituted and trammelled as this is. — I only wish, and it is the utmost I expect, that your lordships may suffer it to float down your memories untainted by the foul breath of prejudice, until it find some more hospitable harbor to shelter it from the storm by which it is at present buffeted. Were I only to suffer death, after being adjudged guilty by your tribunal, I should bow in silence, and meet the fate that awaits me without a murmur : but the sentence of law which delivers my body to the executioner, will, through the ministry of that law, 264 PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. labor, in its own vindication, to consign my character to obloquy — for there must be guilt somewhere : whether in the sentence of the Court, or in the catas- trophe, posterity must determine. A man in my situ- ation, my lords, has not only to encounter the difficul- ties of fortune, and the force of power over minds which it has corrupted or subjugated, but the difficul- ties of established prejudice. The man dies, but his memory lives. That mine may not perish, that it may live in the respect of my countrymen, I seize upon this opportunity to vindicate myself from some of the charges alleged against me. When my spirit shall be wafted to a more friendly port ; when my shade shall have joined the bands of those martyred heroes who have shed their blood on the scaffold and in the field, in defence of their country and virtue, this is my hope, — I wish that my memory and name may ani- mate those who survive me, while I look down with complacency on the destruction of that perfidious government, which upholds its domination by blas- phemy of the Most High — which displays its power over man as over the beasts of the forest — which sets man upon his brother, and lifts his hand, in the name of God, against the throat of his fellow who believes or doubts a little more or less than the government standard — a government which is steeled to barbarity by the cries of the orphans and the tears of the widows which its cruelty has made. I swear by the throne of Heaven, before which I must shortly appear — by the blood of the murdered patriots who have gone before me — that my conduct PROSE-DECLAMATIO.N. 265 has been, through all this peril, and all my purposes, governed only by the convictions which I have utter- ed, and by no other view than that of the emancipa- tion of my country from the superinhuman oppression under which she has so long, and too patiently, tra- vailed ; and that I confidently and assuredly hope, (wild and chimerical as it may appear,) there is still union and strength in Ireland to accomplish this noble enterprise. Let no man dare, when I am dead, to charge me with dishonor ; let no man attaint my memory by be- lieving that I could have engaged in any cause but that of my country's liberty and independence ; or that I could have become the pliant minion of power, in the oppression or the miseries of my countrymen. The proclamation of the provisional government speaks for our views ; no inference can be tortured from it to countenance barbarity or debasement at home, or subjection, humiliation, or treachery from abroad. I would not have submitted to a foreign op- pressor, for the same reason that I would resist the domestic tyrant ; in the dignity of freedom, I would have fought upon the threshold of my country, and her enemy should enter only by passing over my life- less corpse. Am I, who lived but for my country, and who have subjected myself to the vengeance of the jealous and watchful oppressor, and to the bondage of the grave, only to give my countrymen their rights, — am I to be loaded with calumny, and not to be suffer- ed to resent or repel it ? No, — God forbid ! If the spirits of the illustrious dead participate in M 266 PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. the concerns and cares of those who are dear to them in this transitory life, — O ever dear and venerated shade of my departed father, look down with scrutiny on the conduct of yonr suffering son ; and see if I have even for a moment deviated from those principles of moral- ity and patriotism which it was your care to instil into my youthful mind, — and for an adherence to which I am now to offer up my life ! My lords, you are impatient for the sacrifice — the blood which you seek, is not congealed by the artifi- cial terrors which surround your victim : it circulates warmly and unruffled, through the channels which God created for noble purposes, but which you are bent to destroy, for purposes so grievous that they cry to heaven ! — Be yet patient ! I have but a few words more to say. — I am going to my silent grave : my lamp of life is nearly extinguished : my race is run : the grave opens to receive me, and I sink into its bo- som. — I have but one request to ask at my departure from this world, — it is the charity of its silence. Let no man write my epitaph : for, as no one who knows my motives dare now vindicate them, let not preju- dice or ignorance asperse them. Let them and me repose in obscurity and peace, and my tomb remain uninscribed, — until other times, and other men, can do justice to my character. When my country shall take her place among the nations of the earth, then, and not till then, let my epitaph be written ! PROSE-DECLAMATION. 267 IN FAVOR OF THE GREEK REVOLUTION.— Clay. And has it come to this 1 Are we so humbled, so low, so debased, that we dare not express our sym- pathy for suffering Greece, — that we dare not articu- late our detestation of the brutal excesses of which she has been the bleeding victim, lest we might offend some one or more of their imperial and royal majes- ties 1 If gentlemen are afraid to act rashly on such a subject, suppose, Mr. Chairman, that we unite in an humble petition, addressed to their majesties, beseech- ing them, that of their gracious condescension, they would allow us to express our feelings and our sym- pathies. How shall it run ? " We, the representa- tives of the free people of the United States of Ame- rica, humbly approach the thrones of your imperial and royal majesties, and supplicate that, of your im- perial and royal clemency," — I camiot go through the disgusting recital — my lips have not yet learned to pronounce the sycophantic language of a degraded slave ! Are we so mean, so base, so despicable, that we may not attempt to express our horror, utter our indignation, at the most brutal and atrocious war that ever stained earth or shocked high heaven? at the ferocious deeds of a savage and infuriated soldiery, stimulated and urged on by the clergy of a fanatical and inimical religion, and rioting in all the excesses of blood and butchery, at the mere details of which the heart sickens and recoils ! If the great body of Christendom can look on calm- ly and coolly, whilst all this is perpetrated on a 268 PEACTICE OF ELOCUTION. Christian people, in its own immediate vicinity, in its very presence, let us at least evince that one of its re- mote extremities is susceptible of sensibility to Chris- tian wrongs, and capable of sympathy for Christian sufferings ; that in this remote quarter of the world, there are hearts not yet closed against compassion for human woes, that can pour out their indignant feel- ings at the oppression of a people endeared to us by every ancient recollection, and every modern tie. Sir, the committee has been attempted to be alarmed by the dangers to our commerce in the Mediterranean ; and a wretched invoice of figs and opium has been spread before us to repress our sensibilities and to eradicate our humanity. Ah ! sir, " what shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world, and lose his own soul ?" — or what shall it avail a nation to save the whole of a miserable trade, and lose its liberties ? SPEECH OF CHATHAM, (THEN MR. PITT,) ON BEING TAUNTED WITH HIS YOUTH, In reply to Mr. Walpole the minister, (1740,) avIio had ridiculed the youth of Pitt and the florid style of his oratory. Sir, — The atrocious crime of being a young man, which the honorable gentleman has, with such spirit and de- cency, charged upon me, I shall neither attempt to palliate nor deny ; but content myself with wishing that I may be one of those whose follies may cease with their youth, and not of that number who are ig- norant in spite of experience. Whether youth can be PROSE-DECLAMATION. 269 imputed to any man as a reproach. I will not, sir, as- sume the province of determining ; but surely age may become justly contemptible, if the opportunities which it brings have passed away without improve- ment, and vice appear to prevail when the passions have subsided. The wretch who, after having seen the consequences of a thousand errors, continues still to blunder, and whose age has only added obstinacy to stupidity, is surely the object either of abhorrence, or contempt, and deserves not that his gray hairs should secure him from insult. Much more, sir, is he to be abhorred who, as he has advanced in age, has receded from virtue, and become more wicked with less temptation ; who prostitutes himself for money which he cannot enjoy, and spends the remains of his life in the ruin of his country. But youth, sir, is not my only crime ; I have been accused of acting a theatrical part. A theatrical part may either imply some peculiarities of gesture, or a dissimulation of my real sentiments, and an adoption of the opinions and language of another man. In the first sense, sir, the charge is too trifling to be confuted, and deserves only to be mentioned that it may be despised. I am at liberty, like every other man, to use my own language ; and though, perhaps, I may have some ambition to please this gentleman, I shall not lay myself under any restraint, nor veiy so- licitously copy his diction or his mien, however ma- tured by age, or modelled by experience. But if any man shall, by charging me with theatrical behaviour, imply that I utter any sentiments but my own, I shall 270 PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. treat him as a calumniator and a villain ; nor shall any protection shelter him from the treatment he de- serves. I shall, on such an occasion, without scruple, trample upon all those forms with which wealth and dignity intrench themselves ; nor shall anything, but age, restrain my resentment, — age, which always brings one privilege, that of being insolent and super- cilious without punishment. But with regard, sir, to those whom I have offend- ed, I am of opinion that if I had acted a borrowed part, I should have avoided their censure : the heat that offended them is the ardor of conviction, and that zeal for the service of my country which neither hope nor fear shall influence me to suppress. I will not sit unconcerned while my liberty is invaded, nor look in silence upon public robbery. I will exert my endea- vors, at whatever hazard, to repel the aggressor, and drag the thief to justice, whoever may protect him in his villany, and whoever may partake of his plunder. INFLUENCE OF THE CHARACTER OF WASH- INGTON.— Webster. America has furnished to the world the character of Washington ! And if our American institutions had done nothing else, that alone would have entitled them to the respect of mankind. Washington! — "First in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen !" — Washington is all our own ! The enthusiastic veneration and re- gard in which the people of the United States hold PROSE-DECLAMATION. 271 him, prove them to be worthy of such a countryman ; while his reputation abroad reflects the highest honor on his country and its institutions. I would cheer- fully put the question to-day to the intelligence of Eu- rope and the world, what character of the century, upon the whole, stands out in the relief of history, most pure, most respectable, most sublime ; and I doubt not. that, by a suffrage approaching to unani- mity, the answer would be Washington ! This structure,* by its uprightness, its solidity, its durability, is no unfit emblem of his character. His public virtues and public principles were as firm as the earth on which it stands ; his personal motives as pure as the serene heaven in which its summit is lost. But, indeed, though a fit, it is an inadequate emblem. Towering high above the column which our hands have builcled, beheld, not by the inhabitants of a single city, or a single State, — ascends the colossal grandeur of his character, and his life. In all the constituents of the one. — in all the acts of the other, — in all its titles to immortal love, admiration, and renown, — it is an American production. It is the embodiment and vindication of our transatlantic liberty. Born upon our soil, — of parents also born upon it, — never for a moment having had a sight of the old world, — in- structed, according to the modes of his time, only in the spare, plain, but wholesome elementary knowledge which our institutions provide for the children of the people, — growing up beneath and penetrated by the * Bunker-Hill Monument. 272 PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. genuine influences of American society, — growing up amidst our expanding, but not luxurious, civilization, . — partaking in our great destiny of labor, our long contest with unreclaimed nature and uncivilized man, — our agony of glory, the war of independence, — our great victory of peace, the formation of the Union and the establishment of the Constitution, — he is all, all our own ! That crowded and glorious life, — Where multitudes of virtues pass along, Each pressing foremost, in the mighty throng Contending to be seen, then making room For greater multitudes that were to come ; that life was the life of an American citizen. I claim him for America. In all the perils, in every darkened moment of the state, in the midst of the re- proaches of enemies and the misgiving of friends, — I turn to that transcendent name for courage and for consolation. To him who denies, or doubts, whether our fervid liberty can be combined with law, with order, with the security of property, with the pursuit and advancement of happiness, — to him who denies that our institutions are capable of producing exalta- tion of soul, and the passion of true glory, — to him who denies that we have contributed anything to the stock of great lessons and great examples, — to all these I reply by pointing to Washington ! PROSE-DECLAMATION. 273 AGAINST PAINE'S AGE OF REASON. -Erskine. But it seems this is an Age of Reaw?i, and the time, and the person, are at last arrived, that are to dissipate the errors which have overspread the past generations of ignorance. The believers in Christi- anity 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 long list of sincere and devout Christians, I cannot help lament- ing 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 ! New- ton, whose mind burst forth from the fetters fastened by Nature upon our finite conceptions — Newton, whose science was truth, and the foundation of whose knowledge of it was philosophy — not those visionary and arrogant presumptions which too often usurp its name, but philosophy resting on the basis of mathe- matics, which, like figures, cannot lie — Newton, who carried the line and rule to the uttermost barriers of creation, and explored the principles by which all created matter exists and is held together. * The irony with which Erskine ridicules Paine 's preten- sions to superior wisdom, in this speech, must be distinctly marked. This extract is therefore a good practice on compound inflection. (See Compound Inflections.) M* 274 PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. But this 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. What, then, shall be said of the great Mr. Boyle, — who looked into the or- ganic structure of all matter, even to the inanimate substances which the foot treads upon ? — Such a man may be supposed to have been equally qualified with Mr. Paine, to look up through Nature to Nature's God ! Yet the result of all his contemplations 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 investigation of truth. — Let that question be answered by Mr. Locke, who, to the high- est pitch of devotion and adoration, was a Christian ! — Mr. Locke, whose office it was to detect the errors of thinking, by going up to the very fountain of thought ; and to direct into the proper tract of reason- ing, the devious mind of man, by showing him its whole process, from the first perceptions of sense, to the last conclusions of ratiocination : — putting a rein upon false opinion, by practical rules for the conduct of human judgment. But these men, it may be said, were only deep thinkers, and lived in their closets, unaccustomed to the traffic of the world, and to the laws which prac- tically regulate mankind. — Gentlemen ! in the place PROSE-DECLAMATION. 2?5 where we now sit to administer the justice of this great country, the never-to-be-forgotten Sir Matthew Hale presided ; — whose faith in Christianity is an ex- alted commentary upon its truth and reason, and whose life was a glorious example of its fruits : — whose justice, drawn from the pure fountain of the Christian dispensation, will be, in all ages, a subject of the highest reverence and admiration. But it is said by the author, that the Christian fable is but the tale of the more ancient superstitions of the world, and may be easily detected by a proper under- standing of the mythologies of the Heathens. — Did Milton understand those mythologies ? — was he less versed than Mr. Paine in the superstitions of the world I 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 me- mory rich with all that man ever knew, and laid them in their order as the illustration of real and ex- alted faith ; — the unquestionable source of that fervid genius which has cast a kind of shade upon all the other works of man. He pass'd the bounds of flaming space, Where angels tremble while they gaze — He saw— till blasted with excess of light, He closed his eyes in endless night ! But it was the light of the body only, that was ex- tinguished ; " the celestial light shone inward, and enabled him to justify the ways of God to man.*' — ■ The result of his thinking was, nevertheless, not quite the same as that of the author before us. The mys- 276 PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. terious incarnation of our blessed Saviour, (which this work blasphemes, in words so wholly unfit for the mouth of a Christian, and the ears of a court of jus- tice, that I dare not, and will not give them utterance,) Milton made the grand conclusion of his Paradise Lost, the rest from his finished labors, and the ulti- mate hope, expectation, and glory of the world. A virgin is his mother, but his she, The power of the Most High ; — he shall ascend The throne hereditary, and bound his reign With earth's wide bounds, his glory with the heavens ! Thus you find all that is great, or wise, or splendid, or illustrious, amongst created beings — all the minds gifted beyond ordinary nature, if not inspired by its universal Author, for the advancement and dignity of the world, — though divided by distant ages, and by clashing opinions, yet joining, as it were, in one sub- lime chorus, to celebrate the truths of Christianity, and laying upon its holy altars the never-fading offer- ings of their immortal wisdom. POETICAL RECITATIONS. 277 MISCELLANEOUS POETICAL EXTRACTS. THE PROGRESS OF POESY— Gray. A PINDARIC ODE. Awake, iEolian lyre, awake, And give to rapture all thy trembling strings ! From Helicon's harmonious springs, A thousand rills their mazy progress take ; The laughing flowers that round them blow Drink life and fragrance as they flow. Now the rich stream of music winds along, Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong, Through verdant vales and Ceres' golden reign : Now rushing down the steep amain, Headlong, impetuous see it pour ; The rocks and nodding groves rebellow to the roar! Oh ! sovereign of the willing soul, Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs, Enchanting shell ! the sullen cares And frantic passions hear thy soft control. On Thracia's hills the lord of war Has curb'd the fury of his car, And dropp'd his thirsty lance at thy command : Perching on the scepter'd hand 278 PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king With ruffled plumes and flagging wing : Ouench'd hi dark clouds of slumber, lie The terror of his beak, and lightning of his eye. Thee the voice, the dance obey, Temper'd to thy warbled lay ; O'er Idalia's velvet green The rosy-crowned loves are seen On Cytherea's day, With antic sports and blue-ey'd pleasures Frisking light in frolic measures : Now pursuing, now retreating, Now in circling troops they meet ; To brisk notes, in cadence beating, Glance their many-twinkling feet. Slow, melting strains their Queen's approach declare ; Where'er she turns the graces homage pay, With arts sublime, that float upon the air ; In gliding state she wins her easy way : O'er her warm cheek and rising bosom, move The bloom of young Desire, and purple light of Love. II. Man's feeble race what ills await, — Labor, and Penury, the racks of Pain, Disease, and Sorrow's weeping train, And Death, sad refuge from the storms of Fate ! The fond complaint, my song, disprove, And justify the laws (if Jove. Say. has he giv'n in vain the heav'nly Muse? \ight. and all her sickly dews. Her spectres wan, and birds of boding cry, He gives to range the dreary sky: Till down ihc ea stern dirt's afar. Hyperion's march they spy, and glittering shafts of war. POETICAL RECITATIONS. 279 In climes beyond the solar road, Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam, The Muse has broke the twilight gloom, To cheer the natives' dull abode. And oft, beneath the odorous shade Of Chili's boundless forests laid, She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat, In loose numbers wildly sweet, Their feather-cinctur'd chiefs, and dusky loves. Her track, where'er the Goddess roves, Glory pursues, and generous shame, Th' unconquerable mind, and Freedom's holy flame. Woods that wave o'er Delphi's steep, Isles that crown the iEgean deep, Fields, that cool Ilissus laves, Or where Meander's amber waves In lingering labyrinths creep, How do your tuneful echoes languish, Mute, but to the voice of Anguish 1 Where each old poetic mountain Inspiration breath'd around, Every shade and hallow'd fountain Murmur'd deep a solemn sound : Till the sad Nine, in Greece's evil hour, Left their Parnassus for the Latin plains, Alike they scorn the pomp of tyrant Power, And coward Vice, that revels in her chains ; When Latium had hei lofty spirit lost, They sought, O Albion ! next thy sea-encircled coast. III. Far from the sun and summer-gale In thy green lap was Nature's darling* laid, * Shakspeare. 280 PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. What time, where lueid Avon stray'd. To him the mighty mother did unveil Her awful face ; the dauntless child Stretch'd forth his little arms and smil'd. " This pencil take," she said, " whose colors clear Richly paint the vernal year: Thine, too, these golden keys, immortal boy ! This can unlock the gates of joy ; Of horror that, and thrilling fears, Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears." Nor second he,* that rode sublime Upon the seraph-wings of ecstacy, The secrets of th' abyss to spy. He pass'd the flaming bounds of place and time ; The living throne, the sapphire-blaze, Where angels tremble while they gaze, He saw ; but blasted with excess of light, Closed his eyes in endless night ! Behold where Dryden's less presumptuous car Wide o'er the fields of glory bear Two coursers of ethereal race, Their necks in thunder cloth'd. and long-resounding pace.f Hark, his hands the lyre explore ! Bright-eyed fancy hov'ring o'er, Scatters from her pictur'd urn, Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn! But ah ! 'tis heard no more — Oh lyre divine ! what daring spirit Wakes thee now ! though he inherit Nor the pride, nor ample pinion That the Theban eagle bear, Sailing with supreme dominion Through the azure deep of air ; * Milton. t Expressive of the majestic sound of Dryden's verse. POETICAL RECITATIONS. 281 Yet oft before his infant eyes would run Such forms as glitter in the Muse's ray, With orient hues unborrow'd of the sun : Yet shall he mount, and keep Ms distant way Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate, — Beneath the good how far — but far above the great. THANATOPSIS.— Bryant. To him who, in the love of Nature, holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language. For his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty ; and she glides Ir/o his darker musings with a mild And gentle sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts Of the last bitter hour come like a blight Over thy spirit, and sad images Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, Make thee to shudder and grow sick at heart, — Go forth unto the open sky, and list To Nature's teachings, while from *all around — Earth and her waters, and the depths of air — Comes a still voice Yet a few days, and thee The all-beholding sun shall see no more In all his course. Nor yet in the cold ground, Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim Thy growth, and be resolv'd to earth again ; And, lost each human trace, surrendering up 282 PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. Thine individual being, shalt thou go To mix for ever with the elements ; To be a brother to the insensible rock, And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak Shall send his roots abroad and pierce thy mould. Yet not to thy eternal resting-place Shalt thou retire alone ; nor could'st thou wish Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down With patriarchs of the infant world — with kings, The powerful of the earth — the wise, the good. Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, All in one mighty sepulchre ! The hills Rock-ribb'd and ancient as the sun ; the vales, Stretching in pensive quietness between; The venerable woods ; rivers that move In majesty; and the complaining brooks, That make the meadow green ; and, pour'd round all Old Ocean's grey and melancholy waste, — Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heav'n, Are shining as the sad abodes of death, Thro' the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce; Or lose thyself in the continuous Avoods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound, Save of his own dashings; yet, — the dead are there; And millions in those solitudes, since first The Right of years began, have laid them down In their last sleep — the dead reign there alone! So shalt thou rest ! And what if thou shalt fall Unnotic'd by the living, and no friend POETICAL RECITATIONS, 283 Take note of thy departure ? All that breathe Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care Plod on, and each one, as before, will chase His favorite phantom ; yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come, And make their bed with thee. As the long train Of ages glide away, — the sons of men, The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes In the full strength of years, matron, and maid, The bowed with age, the infant, in the smiles And beauty of its innocence cut off — Shall, one by one. be gather'd to thy side, By those who in their turn shall follow them ! So live, that, when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan, that moves To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death. Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, Scourg'd to his dungeon ; but, sustain'd and sooth'd By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams ! THE CHARMS OF HOPE.— Campbell. At summer eve, when Heaven's ethereal bow Spans with bright arch the glittering hills below, Why to yon mountain^ turns the musing eye, Whose sunbright summit mingles with the sky 1 Why do those cliffs of shadowy tint appear More sweet than all the landscape smiling near ? 'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, And robes the mountain in its azure hue. 284 PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. Thus, with delight, we linger to survey The promised joys of life's unmeasured way ; Thus, from afar, each dim-discovered scene More pleasing seems than all the past have been, And every form, that Fancy can repair From dark oblivion, glows divinely there. What potent spirit guides the raptured eye To pierce the shades of dim futurity ? Can Wisdom lend, with all her heavenly power y The pledge of Joy's anticipated hour ? Ah, no ! she darkly sees the fate of man — « Her dim horizon bounded to a span ; Or, if she hold a pleasure to the view, 'Tis Nature pictured too severely true. With thee, sweet Hope ! resides the heavenly light^ That pours remotest rapture on the sight : Thine is the charm of life's bewilder'd way, That calls each slumbering passion into play. Waked by thy touch, I see the sister band, On tiptoe watching, start at thy command. And fly where'er thy mandate bids them steer, To Pleasure's path, or Glory's bright career. Primeval Hope, the Aonian Muses say When Man and Nature mourned their first decay, — When every form of death, and every woe, Shot from malignant stars to earth below, — When Murder bared her arm, and rampant War Yoked the red dragons of his iron car, — When Peace and Mercy, banish'd from the plain, Sprung on the viewless winds to Heaven again, — All, all forsook tin- friendlesB, guilty mind, But Hope, the charmer, linger'd still behind ! Thus, while Elijah's burning wheels prepare From Carmel's heights to sweep the fields of air, POETICAL RECITATIONS. 285 The prophet's mantle, ere his flight began, Dropt on the world — a sacred gift to man ! Auspicious Hope ! in thy sweet garden grow Wreaths for each toil, a charm for every woe ; Won by their sweets, in Nature's languid hour, The way-worn pilgrim seeks thy summer bower ; There, as the wild bee murmurs on the wing, What peaceful dreams thy handmaid spirits bring ! Angel of life ! thy glittering wings explore Earth's loneliest bounds, and Ocean's wildest shore: Lo ! to the wintry winds the pilot yields His bark careering o'er unfathom'd fields ; Now on Atlantic waves he rides afar. Where Andes, giant of the western star, With meteor-standard to the winds unfurl'd, Looks from his throne of clouds, o'er half the world ! Now far he sweeps, where scarce a summer smiles, On Behring's rocks, or Greenland's naked isles ; Cold on his midnight watch, the breezes blow, From wastes that slumber in eternal snow ; And waft, across the wave's tumultuous roar, The wolf's long howl from Oonalaska's shore. Poor child of danger, nursling of the storm, Sad are the woes that wreck thy manly form ! Rocks, waves, and- winds, the shatter'd bark delay Thy heart is sad, thy home is far away. But Hope can here her moonlight vigils keep, And sing to charm the spirit of the deep : Swift as yon streamer lights the starry pole, Her visions warm the watchman's pensive soul ; His native hills, that rise in happier climes, The grot that heard his song of other times, His cottage home, his bark of slender sail, His glassy lake, and broomwood-blossom'd vale, 286 PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. Rush on his thought ; he sweeps before the wind, Treads the lov'd shore he sigh'd to leave behind ; Meets at each step a friend's familiar face, And flies at last to Helen's long embrace ; Wipes from her cheek the rapture-speaking tear, And clasps, with many a sigh, his children dear T While, long neglected, but at length caress'd, His faithful dog salutes the smiling guest, Points to the master's eyes (where'er they roam) His wistful face, and whines a welcome home. Friend of the brave ! in peril's darkest hour Intrepid Virtue looks to thee for power : To thee the heart its trembling homage yields, On stormy floods, and carnage-cover'd fields, When front to front the banner'd hosts combine, Halt ere they close, and form the dreadful line. When all is still on Death's devoted soil, The march-worn soldier mingles for the toil : As rings his glittering tube, he lifts on high The dauntless brow, and spirit-speaking eye, Hails in his heart the triumph yet to come, And hears thy stormy music in the drum I AMERICA TO GREAT BRITAIN.— W. Allston. All hail! thou noble land, Our father's native soil ! O stretch thy mighty hand, Gigantic grown by toil, O'er the vast Atlantic waves to our shore : For thou, with magic might, Canst reach to where the light Of Phoebus travels bright The world o'er. POETICAL RECITATIONS. 287 The Genius of our clime, From his pine-embattled steep, Shall hail the great sublime ; While the Tritons of the deep With their conchs the kindred league shall proclaim. Then let the world combine — O'er the main our naval line, Like the milky way, shall shine Bright in fame ! Though ages long have pass'd Since our fathers left their home, Their pilot in the blast, O'er untravell'd seas to roam, — Yet lives the blood of England in our veins 1 And shall we not proclaim That blood of honest fame, Which no tyranny can tame By its chains ? While the language, free and bold, Which the bard of Avon sung, In which our Milton told How the vault of heaven rung, When Satan blasted fell with his host; While tins, with reverence meet, Ten thousand echoes greet, From rock to rock repeat Round our coast; While the manners, while the arts, That mould a nation's soul, Still cling around our hearts, — Between let Ocean roll. Our joint communion breaking with the Sun; Yet still, from either beach, The voice of blood shall reach, 288 PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. More audible than speech, — "We are One!" LADY HERON'S SONG.— Scott. Oh ! young Lochinvar is come out of the west, Thro' all the wide border his steel was the best, And save his good broadsword, he weapons had none, He rode all unarm'd, and he rode all alone ! So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like the young Lochinvar ! He stay'd not for brake, and he stopp'd not for stone, He swam the Eske river where ford there was none ;— But ere he alighted at Netherby gate The bride had consented, — the gallant came late : For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, Was to wed the fair Ellen of young Lochinvar I So, boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all: Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word !) " Oh ! come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar ?" " I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied : Love swells like the Sohvay, — but ebbs like its tide : And now I am come, with this lost love of mine, To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine ! There are maidens in Scotland, more lovely by far, — That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar !" The bride kiss'd the goblet, — the knight took it up, — He quaff 'd off the wine, and he threw down the cup. POETICAL RECITATIONS. 289 She look'd down to blush, — and she look'd up to sigh — With a smile on her lip, and a tear in her eye ! He took her soft hand ; ere her mother could bar, B Now tread we a measure !" said young Lochinvar. So stately his form, and so lovely his face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace ; While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume : And the bride-maidens whisper'd, " 'Twere better by far, To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar." One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear When they reach'd the hall-door, and the charger stood near ; So light to the croup the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! " She is won ! we are gone, — over bank, bush and scaur, — They'll have swift steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar. There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan, Forsters, Fenwicks and Musgraves, they rode and they ran ; There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee, But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. — So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar ! ST. PETER'S AT ROME— THE VATICAN.— Byron. But lo ! the dome — the vast and wondrous dome, To which Diana's marvel was a cell — Christ's mighty shrine above his martyr's tomb ! I have beheld the Ephesian's miracle — Its columns strew the wilderness, and dwell The hysena and the jackal in their shade ; I have beheld Sophia's bright roofs swell N 290 PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. Their glittering mass i' the sun, and have survey'd Its sanctuary the while the usurping Moslem pray'd ; But thou, of temples old, or altars new, Standest alone, — with nothing like to thee— Worthiest of God, the holy and the true. Since Z ion's desolation, when that He Forsook his former city, what could be Of earthly structures, in his honor piled, Of a sublimer aspect 1 Majesty, Power, Glory, Strength, and Beauty, all are aisled In this eternal ark of worship undefiled. Enter : its grandeur overwhelms thee not ; And why ? It is not lessen'd ; but thy mind, Expanded by the genius of the spot, Has grown colossal, and can only find A fit abode, wherein appear enshrined Thy hopes of immortality; and thou Shalt one day, if found worthy, so defined See thy God face to face, as thou dost now His Holy of Holies, nor be blasted by his brow. Thou movest — but increasing with the advance, Like climbing some great Alp, which still doth rise. — Deceived by its gigantic elegance ; Vastness which grows, but grows to harmonize — All musical in its immensities ; Rich marbles — richer paintings — shrines where flame The lamps of Gold — ami haughty dome which vies In air with Earth's chief structures, though their frame Sits on the firm-set ground — and this the clouds must claim. Thou seest not all ; but piecemeal thou must break, To separate contemplation, the great whole ; And as the Ocean many bays will make, That ask the eye — so here condense thy soul To more immediate objects, and control TOETICAL RECITATIONS. 291 Thy thoughts, until thy mind hath got by heart Its eloquent proportions, and unroll In mighty graduations, part by part, The glory which at once upon thee did not dart, — Not by its fault, but thine : Our outward sense Is but of gradual grasp ; and, as it is That what we have of feeling most intense Outstrips our faint expression, even so this Outshining and o'erwhelming edifice Fools our fond gaze, and greatest of the great Defies at first our nature's littleness, Till, growing with its growth, we thus dilate Our spirits to the size of what they contemplate. Then pause and be enhghten'd ; there is more In such a survey than the sating gaze Of wonder pleased, or awe which would adore The worship of the place, or the mere praise Of art and its great masters, who could raise What former time, nor skill, nor thought could plan ; The fountain of sublimity displays Its depth, and thence may draw the mind of man Its golden sands, and learn what great conceptions can. Or. turning to the Vatican, go see Laocoon's torture dignifying pain — A father's love, and mortal's agony, "With an immortal's patience blending : — Vain The struggle ; vain, against the coiling strain And gripe, and deepening of the dragon's grasp, The old man's clench : the long, envenom'd chain Rivets the living links ; the enormous asp Enforces pang on pang, and stifles gasp on gasp. Or view the Lord of the unerring bow, The god of life, and poesy, and light — The Sun in human limbs array'd, and brow 292 PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. All radiant from his triumph in the fight ; The shaft hath just been shot— the arrow bright With an immortal's vengeance ; in his eye And nostril, beautiful disdain, and might, And majesty, flash their full lightnings by, Developing in that one glance the deity ! THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL*— Pope. Vital spark of heav'nly flame, Quit, oh ! quit this mortal frame ! Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying. — O the pain, — the bliss of dying ! Cease fond nature, cease thy strife, And let me languish into life ! Hark ! they whisper ; angels say, — " Sister spirit, come away !" What is this absorbs me quite, — Steals my senses, shuts my sight, Drowns my spirits, draws my breath ? — Tell me, my soul, can this be death ? The world recedes, it disappears, Heav'n opens on my eyes, — my ears With sounds seraphic ring ! Lend, lend your wings ! I mount, I fly ! O death, where is thy sting, — O grave, where is thy victory? * The difficulty of delivering this exquisite little piece with proper effect, is that of preserving the feeble and failing tone of the dying man. and yet conveying the enthusiastic confi- dence of the hopeful Christian. The reader must bear in mind these two ^liases of expression. POETICAL RECITATIONS. 293 AFTER THE BATTLE.— Moore. Night closed around the conqueror's way, And lightnings show'd the distant hill, Where those who lost that dreadful day Stood, few and faint, but fearless still ! The soldier's hope, the patron's zeal, For ever dimm'd, for ever crc ss'd — Oh ! who shall say what heroes feel, When all but life and honor's lost ! The last sad hour of freedom's dream, And valor's task, moved slowly by, While mute they watch'd, till morning's beam Should rise and give them light to die ! — There is a world where souls are free, Where tyrants taint not nature's bliss ; If death that world's bright opening be, Oh ! who would live a slave in this 1 SAUL.— Byron. I. Thou whose spell can raise the dead, Bid the prophet's form appear, — " Samuel, raise thy buried head ! King, behold the phantom seer !" Earth yawn'd ; he stood, the centre of a cloud ; Light changed its hue, retiring from his shroud. Death stood all glassy in his fixed eye ; His hand was wither d. and his veins were dry ; His foot, in bony whiteness glitter'd there, Shrunken and sinewless, and ghastly bare ; From lips that moved not. and unbreathing frame, Like cavern'd winds, the hollow accents came. 294 PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. Saul saw, and fell to earth, — as falls the oak, At once, and blasted by the thunder-stroke ! II. <; Why is my sleep disquieted ? Who is he that calls the dead ? Is it thou. O king ? Behold, Bloodless are th ;se limbs, and cold : Such are mine ; and such shall be Thine to-morrow, when with me : Ere the coming day be done. Such shalt thou be, such thy son ! Fare thee well ! but for a day, Then we mix our mouldering clay ; Then thy race, lie pale and low. Pierced by shafts of many a bow; And the falchion by thy side To thy heart thy hand shall guide ; Crownless, breathless, headless, fall Son and sire, — the house of Saul !" ELIZA.— Darwin. Now stood Eliza on the wood-crowned height, O'er Minden's plain, spectatress of the fight. Sought with bold eye amid the bloody strife, Her dearer self, the partner of her life ; From hill to hill the rushing host pursued, And viewed his banner, or believed she viewed. Pleased with the distant roar, with quicker tread Fast by his hand one lisping hoy she led ; And one fair girl, amid the loud alarm, Slept on her kerchief, cradled by her arm ; While round her brows brighl beams of honor dart, And love's warm eddies circle round her heart. POETICAL RECITATIONS. 295 Near and more near the intrepid beauty prest, Saw through the driving smoke his dancing crest; Saw on his helm, her virgin hands inwove, Bright stars of gold, and mystic knots of love ; Heard the exulting shout, " They run, they run !" " Great heav'n !" she cried, ;: he's safe ! the battle's won !' A ball now hisses through the airy tides, (Some fury winged it, and some demon guides !) Parts the fine locks her graceful head that deck. Wounds her fair ear and sinks into her neck ; The red stream issuing from her azure veins, Dyes her white veil, her ivory bosom stains. ' Ah me !" she cried, and sinking on the ground, Kiss'd her dear babes, regardless of the wound ; " Oh ! cease not yet to beat, thou vital urn ! Wait, gushing life, oh wait my love's retnrn !" Hoarse barks the wolf, the vulture screams from far ; The angel Pity shuns the ranks of war ! ' : Oh ! spare, ye war-hounds, spare their tender age ; On me, on me." she cried. " exhaust your rage !" Then with weak arms her weeping babes caress'd, And, sighing, hid them in her blood-stain'd vest. — From tent to tent the impatient warrior flies, Fear in his heart and frenzy in his eyes ; Eliza's name along the camp he calls, — '• Eliza" echoes through the canvass walls. Quick through the murmuring gloom his footsteps tread, O'er groaning heaps, the dying and the dead ; Vault o'er the plain, and in the tangled wood Lo ! dead Eliza weltering in her blood ! Soon hears his listening son the welcome sounds, With open arms and sparkling eye he bounds ; " Speak low," he cries, and gives his little hand, " Eliza sleeps upon the dew-cold sand :" Poor weeping babe with bloody fingers press'd, And tried with pouting lips, her milkless breast : 296 PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. " Alas ! we both with cold and hunger quake — Why do you weep ? Mamma will soon awake." — ([ She'll wake no more !" the hapless mourner cried, Upturn' d his eyes, and clasp'd his hands and sigh'd; Stretch'd on the ground awhile entranced he lay, And press'd warm kisses on the lifeless clay : And then upsprung, with wild convulsive start, And all the lather kindled in his heart : " Oh heavens !" he cried, " my first rash vow forgive ; These bind to earth, for these I pray to live !" Round his chill babes he wrapt his crimson vest, And clasp'd them sobbing to his aching breast. NIGHT.— Montgomery. Night is the time for rest: How sweet when labors close, To gather round an aching breast The curtain of repose, — Stretch the tired limbs and lay the head Upon our own delightful bed ! Night is the time for dreams : The gay romance of life, — When truth that is, and truth that seems, Blend in fantastic strife : Ah ! visions less beguiling far, Than waking dreams by daylight are ! Night is the time to weep: To wet with unseen tears Those graves of memory where sleep The joys of other years ; Hopes that were angels in their birth, Hut perish'd young, like tilings on earth! POETICAL RECITATIONS. 297 Night is the time to watch ; On Ocean's dark expanse, To hail the Pleiades, or catch The full moon's earliest glance, That brings unto the home-sick mind All we have loved, and left behind. Night is the time for care : Brooding on hours misspent. To see the spectre of despair Come to our lonely tent ; Like Brutus, midst his slumb'ring host, Startled by Csesar's stalwart ghost. Night is the time to muse : Then, from the eye the soul Takes flight, and, with expanding views, Beyond the starry pole, Descries athwart the abyss of night, The dawn of uncreated light. Night is the time to pray : Our Saviour oft withdrew To desert mountains far away ; So will his followers do ; — Steal from the throng to haunts untrod, And hold communion there with God. Night is the time for death ; When all around is peace, Calmly to yield the weary breath, From sin and suffering cease : Think of heaven's bliss, and give the sign To parting friends : — such death be mine ! * * I have omitted the stanza beginning ;: Night is the time for fo?7," — because, however beautiful in expression, it inculcates a false principle, inconsistent with a just economy of life. N* 298 PRACTICE OF ELOCUTION. MODERN GREECE.— Byron. He who hath bent him o'er the dead. Ere the first day of death is fled. The first dark day of nothingness, The last of danger and distress — Before Decay's effacing fingers Have swept the lines where beauty lingers- And mark'd the mild, angelic air. The rapture of repose that's there, The fix'd yet tender traits that streak The languor of the placid cheek, And — but for that sad shrouded eye, That fires not, wins not, weeps not, now,- And but for that chill, changeless brow, Where cold Obstruction's apathy Appals the gazing mourner's heart. As if to him it could impart The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon ; Yes, but for these, and these alone, Some moments, aye, one treacherous hour, He still might doubt the tyrant's power, So fair, so calm, so softly seal'd, The first, last look by death reveal'd ! Such is the aspect of this shore ; 'Tis Greece, but living Greece no more I So coldly sweet, so deadly fair, We start, for soul is wanting there. Her's is the loveliness in death, That parts not quite, with parting breath ; But beauty with that fearful bloom, That hue which haunts it to the tomb, Expression's last receding ray, A gilded halo hovering round decay, The farewell beam of feeling past away, — POETICAL RECITATIONS. 299 Spark of that flame, perchance of heavenly birth, Which gleams, but warms no more its cherish'd earth ! Clime of the unforgotten brave ! Whose land, from plain to mountain cave, Was Freedom's home, or Glory's grave, — Shrine of the mighty ! can it be, That this is all remains of thee 1 Approach, thou craven, crouching slave : Say, is not this Thermopylae ? These waters blue that round you lave,— - Oh servile offspring of the free — Pronounce what sea, what shore is this ?— The gulf, the rock of Salamis. These scenes, their story not unknown, Arise, and make again your own ; Snatch from the ashes of your sires The embers of their former fires: And he who in the strife expires, Will add to theirs a name of fear, That tyranny shall quake to hear ; And leave his sons a hope, a fame, They too will rather die than shame : For. Freedom's battle once be