THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 BOOKS BY S. S. CURRY, Ph.D., Litt.D. 
 
 More than any man of recent years, Dr. Curry has represented sane 
 and scientific methods in training the Speaking Voice. — De. Shailkk 
 Mathews, University of Chicago. 
 
 Of eminent value. — De. Lyman Abbott. 
 
 Books so much needed by the world and which will not be written unless 
 you write them. — Kev. C. H. Steong, Rector St. John's Church, Savannah. 
 
 Mind and Voice. Principles and Methods in Vocal Training. 456 pp. 
 
 — — — Price, $1.50; to teachers, $1.25, postpaid. A work of 
 
 vital interest to Clergymen, Teachers, Singers, Lawyers, Lecturers, Public 
 Readers, Dramatic Artists, and every one interested in the right use of the 
 voice. Every vocal problem discussed and technical exercises for every 
 fault systematically arranged for private study or class use. 
 
 The book is a masterpiece and one that every teacher of voice, whether 
 for singing or speaking, should possess. — Edith W. Moses, State College 
 for Women, Tallahassee, Fla. 
 
 Foundations Of Expression. Fundamentals of a psychological 
 
 — — — — ^ -^ — — — — method of developing reading and 
 speaking by harmoniously training mind, body, and voice. 236 problems; 
 411 choice passages. A thorough and practical text-book for schools and 
 colleges and for private study. Price, $1.25; to teachers, $1.10, postpaid. 
 
 The more I use " Foundations " the better I like it. It is safe, sane, and 
 practical. — Arthur T. Belknap, Professor of English, Franklin College. 
 
 LeSSOnS in Vocal Expression. The expressive modulations of the 
 _ voice developed by studying and 
 
 training the voice and mind in relation to each otber. Definite problems 
 and progressive steps. Price, $1.25; to teachers, $1.10, postpaid. 
 
 It is capital, good sense, and real instruction. — W. E. Huntington, LL.D., 
 President of Boston University. 
 
 Imagination and Dramatic Instinct. Function of the imagination 
 
 : _^—_ _____ — — and assimilation in the 
 
 vocal interpretation of literature and speaking. Price, $1.50; to teachers, 
 $1.25, postpaid. 
 
 Dr. Curry well calls the attention to the processes of thinking in the 
 modulation of the voice. Too much stress can hardly be laid on the author's 
 ground principle. — De. Lyman Abbott, in The Outlook. 
 
 Browning and the Dramatic Monologue. Nature and pecuiiar- 
 
 — — — — — — — — — — — — — — ____—_. — — — — — ities of Browning's 
 
 poetry. Principles involved in rendering the monologue. An introduction 
 to Browning, and to dramatic platform art. Price, $1.25 ; to teachers, $1.10, 
 postpaid. 
 
 Province Of Expression. Principles and Methods of developing de- 
 
 — — — — — — — — — — — — — — livery. An introduction to the study of 
 
 natural languages, and their relation to art and development. Price, $1.50 ; 
 teachers, $1.20, postpaid. 
 
 Your volume is to me a very wonderful book. You have laid a deep and 
 strong foundation for a scientific system. — Peofessoe Alexander 
 Melville Bell. 
 
 Vocal and Literary Interpretation of the Bible, introduc- 
 
 tion by Pro- 
 fessor Francis G. Peabody, D.D., of Harvard University. Price, $1.50, 
 postpaid. 
 
 A book that we would introduce into every theological seminary. . . . 
 The work of a master in his sphere. — Methodist Protestant, Baltimore. 
 
 Deserves the attention of everyone. — The Scotsman, Edinburgh. 
 
 A most timely volume, which, indeed, can scarcely be said to have a pred- 
 ecessor. — The Churchman, New York. 
 
 Classics for Vocal Expression. Gems from the best authors for 
 
 — — — — — — — — — — — — — ■ — —— — vocal training and interpretation. 
 
 In use in the foremost schools and colleges. Price, $1.25 ; to teachers, $1.10, 
 postpaid. 
 
 The book is so comprehensive in its scope and so definite in its purpose 
 that it is easily the best book of its kind. — Teachers' World. 
 
 Book Dcpl., School of Expression, 308 Pierce Bldg., Copley Sq., Boston, Mass.
 
 LESSONS 
 
 IN 
 
 VOCAL EXPRESSION 
 
 Course I. 
 
 PROCESSES OF THINKING IN THE 
 MODULATION OF THE VOICE. 
 
 BY 
 
 S. S. CURRY, Ph.D. 
 
 AUTHOR OF "THE PROVINCE OF EXPRESSION"; DEAN OF THE SCHOOL OF EXPRESSION 
 INSTRUCTOR IN ELOCUTION AT TALE DIVINITY SCHOOL AND NEWTON THEO- 
 LOGICAL INSTITUTION, AND FORMERLY IN BOSTON UNIVERSITY 
 AND HARVARD UNIVERSITY. 
 
 Qj3o0fon 
 
 THE EXPRESSION COMPANY 
 
 Pierce Building, Copley Square
 
 Copyright, 1896, 
 By S. S. CurrV.
 
 11 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 1ESSON PAGE 
 
 Introduction 1 
 
 I. Ideas and Elemental Relations. 
 
 I. Study of Nature 11 
 
 II. Sequence of Ideas 18 
 
 III. Conception 26 
 
 IV. Abandon 35 
 
 V. Responsiveness . . . , 45 
 
 VI. Modes of Expression 50 
 
 VII. Change of Pitch 56 
 
 VIII. Pausing 62 
 
 IX. Education of the Eye 69 
 
 X. Phrasing • 73 
 
 XI. Simplicity 80 
 
 XII. Animation 87 
 
 II. Method, ok Logical Relations. 
 
 XIII. Accentuation 9"} 
 
 XIV. Touch 102 
 
 XV. Centralization 110 
 
 XVI. Conversational Form 117 
 
 XVII. Method of Thought and Words .127 
 
 XVIII. Method in Narration 138 
 
 XIX. Method in Description 147 
 
 XX. Antithesis 152 
 
 XXI. Soliloquy 159 
 
 XXII. Inflectional Modulation 168 
 
 1005057
 
 IV CONTENTS. 
 
 LESSON PAGE 
 
 XXIII. Direction of Inflection 172 
 
 XXIV, Length of Inflection 177 
 
 XXV. Abruptness of Inflection 180 
 
 XXVI. Emotion and Inflection 183 
 
 XXVII. Straightness of Inflection 188 
 
 XXVIII. Freedom of Inflection i93 
 
 XXIX. Intervals of Pitch 201 
 
 XXX. Subordination „ 206 
 
 XXXI. Silence as a Means of Emphasis ........ 209 
 
 XXXII. Movement 213 
 
 XXXIII. Texture and Tone-Color 218 
 
 XXXIV. Force and Loudness 223 
 
 XXXV. Modes of Emphasis 226 
 
 XXXVI. Degrees of Emphasis 231 
 
 XXXVII. Faults of Emphasis 235 
 
 XXXVIII. Development of Method 244 
 
 XXXIX. Clearness 249 
 
 XL. Earnestness 253 
 
 III. Modes of Development. 
 
 XLI. Modes of Expression 263 
 
 XLII. Conversation 266 
 
 XLIII. Extemporaneous Speaking 269 
 
 XLIV. Discussion and Debate 272 
 
 XLV. Recitation , . 274 
 
 XL VI. Criticism and Appreciation 279
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 EXPRESSION implies cause, means, and effect. It is a nat- 
 ural effect of a natural cause, and hence k governed by all 
 the laws of nature's processes. The cause is in the mind, the 
 means are the voice and the body. 
 
 Expression may be improved by stimulating the cause, by de- 
 veloping the organic means, — the voice and body, — by training 
 them to be more flexible and responsive to the mind, or by bringing 
 them under better control ; and, lastly, by securing a better knowl- 
 edge of right modes of execution and greater skill in their use. 
 The process of improving the voice and making it a more ade- 
 quate agent in expression is called Vocal Training. The process 
 of improving the body and making it a better agent for the mani- 
 festation of the soul may be called Pantomimic Training. The 
 manifestation of the actions of the mind through the body may 
 be called Pantomimic Expression, and that through the voice, 
 Vocal Expression. 
 
 The word " Expression " covers eveiy possible revelation of a 
 human being, and implies any means or mode of manifesting 
 the conceptions or emotions, the conditions or dispositions of 
 the soul. Every art is an art of expression. Expression also 
 names the manifestation in animals of their instinctive actions 
 and conditions. 
 
 Man has many modes of expression. His natural expression 
 in speaking is composed of three forms : Verbal, or the symbolic 
 representation of ideas; Vocal, or the manifestation of the 
 processes of the mind, of feelings and emotions through the 
 modulation of tone; and thud, Pantomimic, or the manifes- 
 tation of emotions and conditions through the motions and 
 positions of the various parts of the body. The term " elocution"
 
 2 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 is often applied to the whole of delivery, to all Pantomimic 
 and Vocal Expression, and also to Articulation. Elocution is also 
 used in a narrower sense as standing merely for the technique 
 of Vocal Expression, and at times it is applied merely to right 
 articulation or the utterance of Verbal Expression. 
 
 Vocal Expression, to which the present work is devoted, is 
 that part of delivery which refers to the manifestation of the 
 processes of thought and feeling, the emotions and relative con- 
 ditions of the man, through the modulations of his tones. It 
 does not include articulation, or pronunciation, which refer to 
 the moulding of tone into words, and which will be included in 
 the work on Vocal Training. Vocal Expression, as here used, 
 refers simply to the modulations of the inflections, the textures, 
 and the resonance of the voice, by the actions of the mind and 
 the emotions and conditions of the man. 
 
 There are two modes in common use for the improvement of 
 Vocal Expression. The first is by Imitation, which endeavors 
 to improve Expression by making one man copy the speech of 
 another who is supposed to speak better than himself. The other 
 method endeavors to analyze the modulations of the voice as 
 independent acts of the will, and to exercise the student upon 
 them so as to give him conscious control over them. It pro- 
 fesses to have discovered the right signs of emotion, and by 
 teaching these signs professes to teach delivery objectively and 
 scientifically. 
 
 Both of these methods are imperfect. Imitation overlooks 
 the fact that men are different in temperament, in rhythm of 
 thought, in the pitch of their voices, and in the texture and res- 
 onance of tone, and that they can never be made alike without 
 superficializing and destroying individual elements of power. 
 The second, or mechanical method, even if it recognized, as it 
 does not, the true signs of emotion, causes the student to think 
 of the modulation of his voice as an end and not as a means ; to 
 think of the sign rather than of the thing signified. The focus
 
 INTRODUCTION. 3 
 
 of the mind is transferred by such a method from the centre or 
 cause, the process of thinking, and placed upon the effect, or the 
 mere mode of delivery. Those actions of the voice which in 
 nature are always free and constantly varying according to the 
 spontaneous effect of the process of the mind in thinking and 
 f eeling, have been made fixed and subject to rule. An artificial 
 set of signs has been arranged which the student must learn 
 and use in recitation and speaking according to rule. More- 
 over, many of the most important of the natural modulations of 
 the voice have been overlooked and eliminated by this system, 
 and the natural, free, and flexible modulation of inflection and 
 changes of pitch have been interfered with and made monoto- 
 nous and mechanical. 
 
 Both of these methods proceed from without inward, and not 
 as nature always does, from within outward. They tend there- 
 fore to make men unnatural, and have caused prejudice against 
 elocution in some of the ablest and most observant minds. 
 The highest requisite of all expression, especially Vocal Expres- J I 
 sion, is that it shall be natural. It must be in some sense a 
 direct and spontaneous result of its cause, which lies in the pro- 
 cesses of thought, the earnestness, the purpose, the feeling, and 
 the general attitude of the man who speaks. Vocal Expression, 
 in fact, whenever it is true and adequate, is the nearest to 
 nature, the most spontaneous and unconscious, of any actions 
 peculiar to man. Many of the modulations of the voice are as 
 involuntary as the twinkle of the eye. No method has ever yet 
 succeeded in making them completely voluntary without making 
 them superficial and mechanical. In short, Vocal Expression is , , 
 the most subjective and spontaneous form of art; it is the most ! 
 immediate manifestation of thought and feeling. It does not / 
 represent products, but manifests processes ; it reveals emotions ' 
 and conditions ; it is the out-breathing of the lae of the soul. 
 
 This book is an endeavor to meet the problem of delivery 
 from another point of view, and to arrange some steps for its
 
 4 rSTTRODUCTIOIf. 
 
 improvement different from either of the two methods commonly 
 in use. There is an endeavor to recognize the fact that the tech- 
 nical actions of Vocal Expression must be studied side by side with 
 the actions of the mind, which they manifest. Everything pro- 
 ceeds upon the principle that in natural expression every modu- 
 lation of the voice is the direct effect of some action or condition 
 of the mind, and that very frequently wrong action of delivery 
 can be traced to wrong action in thinking, such as one-sided- 
 ness, lack of control over emotion, lack of imagination, or the 
 fact that conception is too abstract. Delivery is. a question of 
 responsiveness. A fault of delivery may be caused by inade- 
 quate or incorrect mental action, or by some hindrance to the 
 transmission ' of this mental or volitional action through the 
 organism ; that is, by some constriction, lack of control, or misuse 
 of the voice or the body ; or it may be due to some misconcep- 
 tion of the nature of delivery, or to bad habits resulting from 
 such misconceptions, unconscious imitation, or weakness. 
 
 No problem of education presents more difficulties than the 
 improvement of delivery. Some even doubt the possibility of 
 its development. The student should, therefore, at his first step 
 glance carefully over the whole field, in order to secure a correct 
 general conception of the nature of the work he is undertaking.* 
 
 At first thought, delivery is a very simple thing. To the 
 student it seems the most superficial part of education ; but on 
 mature consideration it will be found to be one of the most com- 
 plex subjects with which the mind has to deal, one of the most 
 difficult problems that education has to meet. 
 
 I Only a few facts need be mentioned to show this. It is sub- 
 jective. A flower can be held before the eye, torn to pieces, and 
 part studied in contrast with part ; but delivery is the utterance 
 of the highest faculties and powers, the subtlest thoughts and 
 emotions, the deepest intuitions and impulses of the soul. 
 
 * See " The " Province of Expression," for a more complete discussion of vari- 
 ous aspects of the problem of delivery.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 5 
 
 Again, it is not merely a study of conscious and voluntary 
 actions, but is dependent upon the unity of conscious and un- 
 conscious, voluntary and spontaneous impulses. Every power 
 of the mind, as well as every part of the body, plays a role more 
 or less distinct ; but at the same time, the simplest act of ex- 
 pression calls for a natural, even unconscious unity of all the 
 powers of the mind and agents of the body. To develop ex- 
 pTessitmTtherefore, the subtlest intellectual, emotional, and phy- 
 sical actions and conditions must be stimulated and trained. 
 
 Beside all this, the problem is different in many respects for 
 every personality. No two men are alike; and the distinct 
 peculiarities of every character modify expression. If in develop- 
 ing delivery all men are made alike, expression will not be im- 
 proved, but will be made artificial and conventional. 
 
 Again the work is difficult on account of the universal mis- 
 conceptions regarding it. Students begin their work with the 
 expectation that some secret will be conveyed which will give 
 the mastery of the whole problem. So many think that it is 
 merely physical, that they are prejudiced against any reference 
 to mental action. So many regard it as a mere matter of man- 
 ner, that it is difficult to awaken any attention to causes. So 
 many regard it as merely the exhibition of external feats, that 
 it is not easy to get them to observe the unconscious and spon- 
 taneous actions of their nature or to stimulate and direct them. 
 So many regard it as superficial and mechanical that it is hard 
 to get them to study the action of the whole man. 
 
 The problem of delivery is so important and yet so often mis- 
 conceived that the student should weigh well each of the follow- 
 ing propositions, which could be easily expanded into a volume. 
 They arm to show the-nature of delivery and the possibility of 
 developing its elements and power. 
 
 1. Delivery is adequate in proportion as it tells the truth, the whole 
 truth, and nothing hut the truth, by every agent or modulation of the 
 body.
 
 6 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 2. All delivery aims to make men hear, understand, think, and feel. 
 
 3. Speech interests and moves us in proportion as it reveals adequately 
 the emotion, relations, or attitude of the speaker toward his thought, and 
 also in proportion to the weight of his character or personality. 
 
 4. To improve expression, stimulate a more harmonious action of the 
 mind, a more natural and responsive use of voice and body, and secure 
 more thorough knowledge of strong modes of execution, and develop 
 greater skill and mastery in their use. 
 
 5. To improve expression develop the three elemental languages of 
 man, — not only his verbal expression, but the two natural languages 
 of tone and action, and bring them into harmonyo 
 
 6. Develop harmoniously the elemental faculties and powers of man and 
 bring them into greater unity and harmony with each other, and also into 
 more intimate relationship with the languages whose natural function is 
 to reveal their actions. 
 
 7. Develop all the languages of man to act in accordance with their 
 own nature : not only those which act through representation, but also 
 those that act by manifestation ; not only those which are voluntary, but 
 those which are involuntary. 
 
 8. Delivery is composed not only of conscious and voluntary actions, 
 but of involuntary and unconscious elements, which can never be made 
 directly voluntary without developing artificiality and unnaturalness ; 
 hence, true training for delivery must develop all elements harmoniously, 
 each according to its own nature. 
 
 9. Secure insight into fundamentals as distinguished from the acci- 
 dents of delivery, and practise such exercises as will develop the elementals 
 and bring them into unity and harmony. 
 
 10. Develop vigor in the fundamental cause of all expression, — the 
 process of thinking, — secure power to concentrate the mind, and to hold it 
 upon idea after idea till it becomes so vivid as to quicken the impulse and 
 dominate all the agents of expression. 
 
 11. Study not only the act of thinking in reproducing the thought and 
 words of another, but speak in your own words the results of your own 
 observation and thought. 
 
 12. Study the best literature, and become conscious of true simplicity, 
 repose and other qualities of the noblest art, and embody these elements 
 in the rendering of selected passages. 
 
 13. Stimulate and train the imaginative and creative faculties of the 
 man by the study of great art of all kinds, so as to awaken right artistic 
 feeling and develop taste.
 
 INTRODUCTION. t 
 
 14. Develop the normal and the elemental actions of every agent of 
 voice and body concerned in expression, and bring them into unity and 
 harmony. 
 
 15. Relate and unite all technical action to the actions of the mind of 
 which they are the expression. Study the natural expression of the noblest 
 people whose expression is most pleasing, and contrast their modes of exe- 
 cution with that which is weak, so as to be able to appreciate right modes 
 of execution, and distinguish them from that which is perverted. 
 
 TO TEACHERS AND STUDENTS. 
 
 The best exercises may be perverted by misuse. The study 
 or diagnosis of delivery is one of the most difficult problems of 
 teaching. The teacher, to develop it, must compare an infinite 
 number of actions, and penetrate to that which is fundamental. 
 It requires thorough knowledge of the actions of the mind and 
 of the structure of the body ; it requires knowledge of human 
 nature and of the principles of art ; it requires the most imme- 
 diate application of the most advanced methods in education. 
 
 The lessons of this book are so arranged that the student is 
 brought at once into contact with extracts from good literature. 
 These are so arranged that illustrations can be found before the 
 discussion, and others in different parts of the work can be se- 
 lected, or it may accompany the Classics for Vocal Expression. 
 
 All theory must be made secondary to practice. The student 
 must be set to reading, reciting, or speaking at once in order to 
 make him conscious of his needs, and the necessity for training. 
 The text-book is only a means of assistance, not an end in itself. 
 The discussions have grown up in teaching, and are fragmen- 
 tary, and are only meant to be read over by the student after 
 performance or effort to express, to furnish additional light to 
 what he finds from a study of himself. 
 
 Occasionally it is necessary to give a student a clear idea of 
 some specific problem or exercise before he begins to read or 
 practise, but it must be understood to be only a prehminary
 
 8 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 hypothesis, to be proved or disproved by bis own experiments in 
 practice. The true scientific method is to have a preliminary 
 hypothesis, and then experiment or observe for its establishment 
 or disproval. The same principle is applicable to training. 
 
 One of the first diificulties to be met is to get a student to recog- 
 nize the spontaneous activity of his own nature, and that this must 
 directly cause all expression. The processes of his own thinking 
 must furnish the basis, rather than any external rule. 
 
 All art consists primarily in doing, in execution; we 
 cannot learn to swim without going into the water. The 
 teacher must give his explanation in the very midst of practice. 
 A student must be awakened to think. He must be given such 
 problems as will reveal to him his own mistakes and imperfec- 
 tions, or make him conscious of attainment. The explanations 
 are to be given to students to be read out of class. A part of 
 the selections should be practised first with a few suggestions 
 from the teacher, and others should be assigned for definite and 
 special study, as laid down in the " Lessons." The teacher will 
 be able soon to judge, by the way a student reads, whether he has 
 observed the directions in his study or not. 
 
 At times, of course, the discussion of many points will be 
 necessary, but too much theorizing and discussion will be inju- 
 rious. A student must be kept in an attitude of execution. 
 His understanding of the principles must be shown by his artis- 
 tic rendering. Understanding is only a preliminary step. A 
 student must first know, then do ; and doing, he can become. 
 
 All the steps should be illustrated by reading, speaking, and 
 by recitation. In the selections for recitation the student should 
 always be brought into direct contact with literature. He should 
 make his abridgments himself, and should in no case take a 
 recitation from books of " Choice Selections." The student must 
 be led to know and feel a whole poem before he attempts to 
 recite a part of it, a whole play before he gives a scene, a whole 
 oration before he give a paragraph, a whole novel before he can
 
 INTRODUCTION. 9 
 
 give an abridgment. He must be taught bow to read silently. 
 This text-book can be used in many ways. 
 
 1. Cause the student to observe himself, to become conscious of his 
 possibilities, of his ideal as well as of his actual, and to compare the one 
 with the other. 
 
 2. Students must be led to observe and inspired to think at all hazards. 
 
 3. The Suudent must receive before he can give; and the way truth is I 
 taken must determine the way it is given. Reception and manifestation, | 
 impression and expression, must be regarded as essential to each other. 
 
 4. Never give rules; awaken a conception of nature's processes and 
 methods, and test expression by truthfulness to what is natural. 
 
 5. Give a few clear ideas, and hold students to the definite practice of 
 an exercise which embodies these ideas. Remember, true practice is a 
 struggle to realize an idea. 
 
 6. Study each student's peculiar power as well as needs. Remember 
 that even the greatest critics have continually taken qualities for faults. 
 
 7. Interest and inspire students. Often change subject and form of 
 literature, and correct any monotonous or mechanical relation to a subject. 
 
 8. Do not go too fast. Steps and lessons are divided in this book ac- 
 cording to subjects, and not according to time to be taken : most students 
 will require many hours of study and practice to master each step. 
 
 9. Have positive convictions and preseut the truth faithfully; but be 
 sympathetic and receptive in regard to differences in modes of execution. 
 
 10. Remember that rarely do two people see anything from the same i 
 point of view. It is only the most exalted art that can reveal and deter- I 
 mine a definite point of view. • 
 
 11. Give students definite problems, and explanations of them, and 
 prescribe long-continued practice. 
 
 12. State in a few words the results which have been found after each 
 lesson, and indicate the point of advance in passing from step to step. 
 
 13. Allow students often to select what they best like in literature, 
 and encourage them to express this in their own way. 
 
 14. Give great poems and literary masterpieces to be studied. 
 
 15. Never say that a certain piece must be given with a certain 
 "tone." Thought and passion are greater than any tone. The poem is 
 greater than its body. No two poems in the world can have exactly the 
 same expression, nor any two men express the same poem in precisely 
 the same way. 
 
 Note. — Poetry in this book is often printed as prose, to aid, not to hinder, the 
 study of metre and rhythm and their expression through the voice.
 
 1. TO THE CUCKOO. 
 
 O blithe new-comer ! I have heard, I hear thee and rejoice : 
 O Cuckoo! shall I call thee bird, or but a wandering Voice? 
 While I am lying on the grass, thy twofold shout I hear : 
 From hill to hill it seems to pass, at once far off and near. 
 
 Though babbling only to the vale of sunshine and of flowers, 
 Thou bringest unto me a tale of visionary hours. 
 Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring! even yet thou art to me 
 No bird, but an invisible thing, a voice, a mystery. 
 
 The same whom in my school-boy days I listen'd to; that Cry 
 Which made me look .a thousand ways, in bush, and tree, and sky. 
 To seek thee did I often rove through woods, and on the green ; 
 And thou wert still a hope, a love; still long'd for, never seen! 
 
 And I can listen to thee yet, can lie upon the plain 
 And listen, till I do beget that golden time again. 
 O blessed bird ! the earth we pace again appears to be 
 An unsubstantial, fairy place, that is fit home for Thee ! 
 
 Wordsworth 
 
 2. THE LATE MASSACKE IN PIEDMONT. 
 
 Avenge, O Lord! Thy slaughtered Saints, whose bones 
 Lie scatter* d on the Alpine mountains cold; 
 Even them who kept Thy truth so pure of old, 
 
 When all our fathers worshipt stocks and stones. 
 
 Forget not : in Thy book record their groans 
 
 Who were Thy sheep, and in their ancient fold 
 Slain by the bloody Piemontese, that roll'd 
 
 Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans 
 
 The vales redoubled to the hills, and they 
 
 To Heaven. Their martyr' d blood and ashes sow 
 
 O'er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway 
 The triple tyrant, that from these may grow 
 
 A hundred-fold, who, having learnt Thy way, 
 
 Early may fly the Babylonian woe. 
 
 Milton. 
 
 10
 
 I. 
 
 IDEAS AND ELEMENTAL RELATIONS. 
 
 L STUDY OF NATURE. 
 
 TF we carefully study the two poems on the preceding page, we 
 ■*- feel that noble emotion impelled the two authors to write 
 them ; that they simply gave their impulses voice and words. 
 We find that we can read them' merely as words, or statements 
 of facts, and that in this case the reading is cold and mechanical. 
 The expression, too, of both poems, — through the voice, its 
 tones, inflections, and pitch, — can be made essentially the same. 
 
 As we study deeper, however, and become permeated by the 
 spirit of the two poems, — when the ideas become visions in our 
 own mind, and we become thoroughly filled with the emotion, — 
 the vocal rendering of the two begins to differ more and more 
 widely. Each of them begins to have a distinct and definite 
 character. Thus in every poem there is not only a peculiar 
 thought, but also a peculiar spirit, a specific impulse or feeling, 
 which is somehow awakened in the heart of the reader, and 
 which gives definite character to his rendering. 
 
 Art is founded upon the study of nature. Of all forms of art, 
 Vocal Expression is the nearest to nature ; for it is an art in 
 which nature furnishes not only the impulse and the idea, but 
 also the materials and the agents of manifestation. In all natural 
 expression, man is impelled to speak as the bird is to sing. 
 
 Other arts have more or less of a mechanical nature. The 
 mastery of them is primarily dependent upon the control of 
 technical mechanical instruments : the painter must gain com- 
 mand of his brush, the musician of his instrument, the sculptor
 
 12 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 of his chisel. The speaker, however, has no tool except his 
 own voice and body ; and although for effective expression he 
 must thoroughly train and secure control of these agents, still 
 they have been more or less under his control ever since his first 
 childish struggle to command them. Besides, many of the 
 actions of the voice are involuntary, if not unconscious. A 
 genuine laugh is purely spontaneous : the chief effort of the will 
 is to restrain it. In conversation, we adapt the expression of 
 our thoughts and feelings ; the inflections, the degrees of em- 
 phasis, and the length of pauses, are involuntarily, if not uncon- 
 sciously, varied according to the understanding of our hearers. 
 Everyone tells a story to a little child more simply than to a 
 man. Anyone conversing in the midst of noise unconsciously 
 increases his voice so as to make himself heard. The voice is 
 modulated according to the size of the audience, the character 
 of the hall, or the distance of the hearer. 
 
 Many elements of expression are so deep and mystic that 
 they can be awakened only by stimulating their cause. They 
 cannot be adequately performed mechanically, or by a direct, 
 conscious action of the will. To secure them in all their pleni- 
 tude and force, such an idea or situation must be created by the 
 mind as will awaken the feeling that prompts them. 
 
 Vocal Expression is more intense and more adequately mani- 
 festive of life than any other art. It is a subjective art, whereas 
 the other arts are objective; but though other arts have an 
 objective, permanent body, and may live for thousands of years, 
 and Vocal Expression dies the moment it is born, still, the tran- 
 sitory art includes more life, and a greater number of elements, 
 than the statue or the painting. The subjective art makes up 
 in intensity what it lacks in permanence. The plenitude of the 
 momentary effect, the deep transfusion and manifestation of 
 nature's life, compensate for the lack of permanent body. 
 
 From all this it is clear that, in order to improve expression, a 
 direct and sympathetic observation of nature is fundamentally
 
 STUDY OF NATURE. I'd 
 
 necessary. The mind and the voice, the soul and the body, the 
 fundamental modes of nature's actions, — all must be thoroughly 
 understood. 
 
 As all art is founded upon nature, it follows that certain 
 characteristics of nature are reproduced in art. The charac- 
 teristics of the one must furnish the laws of the other. To 
 improve expression it is necessary to observe the spontaneous 
 expression of nature herself, and to find the elemental charac- 
 teristics. What are the universal qualities of nature and art? 
 What are the fundamental elements which are always found in 
 nature's processes, and are reproduced in all true art, but which 
 are always absent in poor, mechanical, or artificial art ? Natural- 
 ness is considered the highest characteristic of reading and 
 speaking. What do we mean by it? — what are its elements? 
 
 First, nature is full of life and growth. All natural impulses 
 are an outgrowth, — they are from within, outward. Expression 
 in nature is from a mystic centre to a manifest surface. The 
 leaves of the tree express the plenitude of life welling up from 
 the roots ; the rosebud blooms from a pressure outward of inner 
 fullness ; the difference between an animal and a machine con- 
 sists in the fact that in the machine force is applied externally 
 to the mechanism, whereas in the animal there seems to be a 
 centre of life and impulse, — the animal acts from within, the 
 machine is moved from without. 
 
 Poor art has the characteristic of the machine, — noble art 
 has the qualities of nature ; and this is especially true of speak- 
 ing. All noble, all natural speaking is from within outward. 
 The central action of the mind is predominant, and actions of 
 voice or body are subordinate ; " it is the soul that must speak." 
 Again, not only does nature act from within outward, but the 
 action seems to come from one centre. The highest product of 
 physical nature is an organism. Unity is the highest law of art ; 
 all parts must seem to inhere. Every word of a poem must 
 seem to be inevitable, — it must not seem to be possible to add
 
 14 VOCAL EXPRESSION". 
 
 another word, or to change a word. If one part of a building 
 does not seem to belong to the whole, the work is imperfect ; 
 every part must seem to be necessary to every other part. In 
 the most mechanical product of art, as in the most graceful 
 organism of nature, all parts must seem to have a direct rela- 
 tionship to one centre. Thus every true work of art must 
 possess organic unity. The artist must assimilate the elemental 
 modes of nature's procedure ; he must so paint his picture or 
 carve his statue that it shall seem to have grown. This is 
 especially true of expression: it is the process of a living 
 organism, and any inconsistency or violation of organic unity 
 destroys it immediately. Now, organic unity in Vocal Expression 
 can be secured only by awakening the right impulse. Each 
 idea must be so vividly and intensely realized as to bring all 
 man's agents and languages into co-operation. 
 
 Freedom is the opportunity granted to anything to accomplish 
 the ends of its being. Nature is free: there is an impulse in a 
 rose-bud to bloom ; and if left alone, under normal conditions, 
 the rose will unfold. Everywhere in nature the impulse to 
 move manifests itself in great varieties, in surprising modes of 
 motion, — an impulse of force flows out through the most open 
 road. So it is with speaking. Not only do we speak from 
 within outward, from one central conception of the mind, but 
 there is always an element of freedom in the modulations of the 
 voice. The subtle changes of pitch, the length of pauses, the 
 length and direction of inflection, cannot be made subservient 
 to mechanical rules. To be natural it is necessary to be free. 
 
 To be free and natural, however, does not mean to be wildly 
 impulsive or extravagant. In nature, the toad never tries to 
 expand into the ox ; there is no impulse in the elm to change 
 itself into an oak. On the contrary, the delicate rose is unfolded 
 in a very firm cup, the leaves of the palm are stitched together 
 most firmly to prevent the premature effusion of life. Freedom 
 is not license, even in nature ; but is obedience to spontaneous
 
 STUDY OF NATURE. 15 
 
 impulses, harmoniously co-ordinated. The impulse to guide and 
 direct, to regulate and restrain, is almost as spontaneous as the 
 impulse to unfold: there is ever a simultaneous unfolding of 
 the two impulses. Another most important quality of nature, 
 therefore, is harmony, or temperance. These elements not only 
 appear in nohle and classic art, hut they are also qualities of 
 nature. We never find an oak leaf upon a willow tree : nature 
 is always governed hy a law of consistency or harmony. 
 Accordingly, nature always acts from a centre spontaneously, 
 freely and harmoniously outward ; and, to he natural, the utter- 
 ance, the manifestation of thought and feeling through the voice 
 and hody, must act in the same way. 
 
 In the development of expression, although the impulses of 
 the heart are to he guided and regulated, yet the true art of 
 speaking is not a substitute for nature : it must ever be founded 
 upon nature. Nature's impulses must he studied and respected. 
 There are right tendencies with which there must he no inter- 
 ference, and which must not be repressed by mechanical rules 
 and regulations. In fact, the right impulses must be awakened 
 as the very first step in developing Vocal Expression, or no 
 adequate progress can be secured. 
 
 The impulse and struggle to express come to the child with 
 the first thought and feeling. Expression as naturally follows 
 impression as expiration follows inspiration in breathing. Is 
 not expression, therefore, as near to nature as we can get ? Is 
 not expression dependent upon the most natural awakening of 
 the spontaneous impulses of human nature? Does not its 
 development, its power, depend primarily upon awakening a 
 central impulse, upon giving it freedom, and a harmonious 
 co-ordination of the complex impulses from all parts of our 
 nature into unity, and into complete accord with the elemental 
 modes of nature's proceedings ? 
 
 Expression implies cause, means, and effect. Hence, the 
 only methods of making expression possible, are by stimulating
 
 16 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 the cause, developing and securing control over the organic 
 means, or by accomplishing better effects. That is, to secure 
 right thinking and feeling, to train the voice and the body to 
 make them more flexible, responsive, and adequate agents, and 
 to bring all their actions into the possession of the will ; or, by a 
 knowledge of the laws of effect in nature, to secure a better 
 choice of technical actions and modes of execution. 
 
 The greatest danger in the development of expression is 
 artificiality and affectation. To avoid these, the first step should 
 be to stimulate and become conscious of the nature and force 
 of the true spontaneous impulses of our own minds. It is 
 necessary to distinguish between the spontaneous power of 
 genuine life, and the plenitude of its expression in every part of 
 the body : its noble simplicity and ease on the one hand, and on 
 the other the mechanical forcing, or mere volitional execution 
 of certain superficial and artificial acts of voice or body. 
 
 Art has been defined as " play under the influence of order." 
 The element of art called "play" comes from nature; the 
 element of order comes from the deliberative action of the human 
 mind. Different arts possess these elements in different degrees. 
 In the mechanical arts, everything is made according to 
 measure ; there is little if any of the free play of nature. The 
 force that produced them acted like a machine, — the " order " 
 is an external and a mechanical adjustment. The Fine Arts, 
 on the contrary, have more of the free, spontaneous play of 
 nature, but the "order" itself is not external, — it is hidden; it 
 is a part of the life and the force, seemingly, that produced the 
 art. The "order" itself is like the order of nature. In the 
 conventional or decorative arts the element of order is more pro- 
 nounced ; but in all expressive art the regulation seems as hid- 
 den, as much a part of the play, as the noble, easy, and graceful 
 restraint of a cultivated and disciplined human being. 
 
 In any endeavor to improve or develop an art like Vocal 
 Expression, the question arises, shall we begin by securing
 
 STUDY OP NATURE. 17 
 
 order, by developing the deliberative and conscious element, or 
 shall we endeavor to stimulate the spontaneous play of nature ? 
 Shall we begin with the effect, in other words, or with the 
 cause ? Is not beginning with the effect, the method which is 
 so common, the cause of the affectation and artificiality which 
 so frequently accompany such instruction? 
 
 In beginning the study of music or painting, or any art which 
 requires the use of a mechanical tool, it may be necessary to 
 proceed according to Goethe's principle, — " all art is preceded 
 by a certain mechanical expertness." In an art like Vocal 
 Expression, however, we must remember that there is a tendency 
 in the very impulse itself to dictate its own proper expression. 
 It is nearer to nature, its very organism is a part of nature; 
 its tool is an agent, — not an external or mechanical instrument, 
 but a part of the same being in which the thought, the emotion, 
 the impulse itself awakens. Hence, in developing Vocal 
 Expression, it is well to remember the old adage, " We cannot 
 learn to swim without going into the water." But, in the 
 development of other forms of art, there would be less artificial 
 and mechanical results if there was an endeavor to awaken the 
 artistic nature, — to stimulate the artistic impulse, as well as to 
 develop skill in execution. 
 
 Natural expression is simply the overflow of emotion, and as 
 all art is founded upon nature, and as there must be material 
 before that material can be regulated, and impulse before that 
 impulse can be guided, a cause before the effect, the first aim 
 should be to stimulate and to observe the impulse to speak. 
 
 Problem I. To develop Vocal Expression, therefore, become 
 conscious of the impulse to express. Meditate upon some beautiful 
 poem or passage of good literature, until something of the feeling 
 ' that dominated the heart of the author is awakened, — then simply 
 give it voice and become conscious of the spontaneous tendency 
 of noble thought and feeling to dominate voice and body. 
 2
 
 18 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 3 Sometimes on lonely mountain-meres, I find a magic bark; 
 I leap on board: no belmsman steers : I float till all is dark. 
 A gentle sound, an awful ligbt ! tbree angels bear the Holy Grail : 
 With folded feet, in stoles of white, on sleeping wings they sail. 
 Ah, blessed vision ! blood of God ! my spirit beats her mortal bars, 
 As down dark tides the glory slides, and star-like mingles with the stars. 
 The clouds are broken in the sky, and thro' the mountain walls 
 A rolling organ harmony swells up, and shakes and falls. 
 Then move the trees, the copses nod, wings flutter, voices hover clear: 
 " O just and faithful knight of God! ride on! the prize is near." 
 So pass I hostel, hall, and grange; by bridge and ford, by park and pale. 
 All-arm' d I ride, whate'er betide, until I find the Holy Grail. 
 " Sir Galahad." Tennyson. 
 
 II. SEQUENCE OF IDEAS. 
 
 4 Uprose the merry Sphinx, and crouched no more in stone ; 
 
 She melted into purple cloud, she silvered in the moon. 
 
 She spired into a yellow flame, she flowered in blossoms red; 
 
 She flowed into a foaming wave, she stood Monadnoc's head. 
 
 Emerson. 
 
 THE study of nature shows that to develop expression, 
 actions must be traced to their elements, and faults to their 
 causes; and that work must begin there. The fundamental 
 element in expression is thinking ; all expression is primarily an 
 effort to reveal thought. 
 
 What are the primary elements of thinking ? If we endeavor 
 to recall the events of a day, or the objects we have seen in a 
 walk, we find that the mind proceeds from idea to idea, by a 
 series of pulsations. We rest a moment upon one thing, then 
 leap to another, according to the law of association of ideas. 
 This action of the mind is well illustrated by Coleridge: 
 " Most of my readers will have observed a small water insect on 
 the surface of rivulets, which throws a cinque- spotted shadow, 
 fringed with prismatic colors, on the sunny bottom of the 
 brook ; and will have noticed how the little animal wins its way 
 up against the stream, by alternate pulses of active and passive 
 motion,— now resisting the current, and now yielding to it, in
 
 SEQUENCE OF IDEAS. 19 
 
 order to gather strength and a momentary fulcrum for a further 
 propulsion. This is no unapt emhlem of the mind's self- 
 experience in the act of thinking." 
 
 Professor James has shown that even in holding the attention 
 of the mind upon the simplest object, there is this rhythmic 
 pulsation. It is impossible to maintain continuity of attention 
 without it : if we hold our attention upon an apple, for example, 
 we observe first one thing, such as its color, and then another, 
 — its size, shape, or perhaps its variety. So well attested is 
 this experience, that it may be regarded as the most fundamental 
 action of the mind in thinking. 
 
 These characteristics of the act of thinking will be seen by 
 observing the difference between musing and thinking. In 
 musing, the mind drifts from idea to idea, independent of the 
 will. There is little concentration or direction of the mind : it 
 moves passively from idea to idea. In thinking, however, there 
 is an accentuation of successive pulsations. The mind con- 
 centrates its attention upon one idea, placing this in the fore- 
 ground, and placing others in the background; then chooses 
 another idea from the many possible associations, and directs 
 attention to that. The prolonging of the concentration of the 
 mind uj}on an idea is called " attention." 
 
 If we read a simple poem or story to ourselves, the mind 
 forms one image, then another, so that there is a series of ideas. 
 These ideas are clear, distinct, and adequate, and awaken the 
 impulses of the soul in proportion to the degree of concentration, 
 length of attention, upon each idea in succession. The appre- 
 hension or realization of the thought of the poem is entirely 
 dependent upon the progressive transition of the mind. 
 
 The question now arises, what is the difference between the 
 act of thinking alone for ourselves, and the act of thinking when 
 •we are endeavoring to convey our thought to others'? One 
 difference is, that when we are thinking for ourselves, the mind 
 glides quickly from image to image ; but when we are thinking
 
 20 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 for others, there must be pauses, and greater intensity and 
 vividness of each conception. An idea must not only be under- 
 stood, but must also be vividly felt in order to be told so as to 
 arouse interest in others. Expression does not call for a change 
 in the actions of the mind, but simply for accentuation. 
 Thinking for expression is the same as thinking at our desk, 
 except that each leap of the mind is more accentuated, and each 
 act of attention more prolonged ; this tends to awaken the 
 impulses, and to enable the mind to perform the additional act 
 of suggesting it in words. The mind must conceive the ideas 
 more vividly, and this vivid image is secured by giving pre- 
 paratory attention to each thought. The less familiar the 
 subject, the larger the audience, the more important the ideas, 
 the longer will the mind be stayed upon the successive ideas, 
 and the more regularly will it make these leaps. 
 
 We find this same difference between reading an extract for 
 ourselves, and trying to read it to others. In reading to our- 
 selves, the apprehension of the words is first, and then that of 
 the thought ; in reading to others, we grasp each phrase, and its 
 underlying idea, before giving it expression. Reading to 
 others, unless it is a mere calling of words, is much slower ; for 
 the pulsations of the mind are more pronounced. We always 
 desire to read an extract to ourselves before reading it aloud, in 
 order to become familiar with the steps which the mind must 
 take in reproducing the thought, to convey it to another. 
 
 These two elements of thinking, attention and transition, — 
 staying the mind upon one idea, and then leaj)ing to another, — 
 must both be accentuated in reading or speaking ; but the first 
 of these is the more apt to be slighted. The mind is apt to 
 skim along, as in musing, without definite concentration. More 
 faults of reading and speaking are due to uttering the words 
 without first conceiving the idea, than to any other cause. The 
 mind often merely takes the words, and completely identifies 
 the ideas with these arbitrary signs. To such an extent is this
 
 SEQUENCE OF IDEAS. 21 
 
 sometimes carried that thinking is destroyed. The mere pro- 
 nouncing of words is not expression. Words must be given ; 
 but words alone, or mere talk for talk's sake, are the emptiest 
 of all things. A mere continuity of words in utterance is, in 
 fact, the most effective way to destroy thinking. Whenever 
 there is a mere continuous stream of words, there cannot be a 
 continuity of thought. The more intensely a man is thinking, 
 the more closely are the words united into groups, and the more 
 clearly are the pulsations of the mind revealed. When there is 
 mere continuity of words, the mind is simply skimming and 
 drifting, but not thinking ; the definite attention, the strong 
 pulsations, the progressive transitions, are all absent. 
 
 These actions, however, are dependent upon each other ; for 
 it is found that the more vividly one idea is taken, the more 
 definitely will the mind advance to another idea. The most 
 important step in reading is the grasjnng of the first idea. The 
 idlest mind, when once started, will think : attention is easily 
 applied where interest is awakened. The grasping by the niind 
 of the first idea, — the fingering over it, — awakens interest, 
 brings the powers of the mind into play, and stimulates another 
 idea. If there is a vagueness and confusion at first, it is 
 difficult for the mind afterwards to overcome such drifting over 
 indefinite images. When the association of ideas is once 
 established, continuity of thought is the result. 
 
 Here, then, are the fundamental requisites of reading and 
 speaking, in accordance with the laws of nature and the human 
 mind : impression must precede expression ; the act of thinking 
 must be accentuated ; there must be developed the power to 
 pause and hold the mind upon one idea, until a conception 
 arises so vivid as to create a response. True expression is 
 primarily based upon this mental action. 
 
 The first step that is required for the improvement of 
 expression in accordance with these facts, is to take some 
 simple extract, penetrating through the words to the successive
 
 22 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 ideas, and holding the mind upon one. When this has heen 
 given, then grasp another. The mind must take before it can 
 give ; thought and feeling must determine expression. Ex- 
 pression must he simply transparent thinking. To improve 
 expression, therefore, thinking must be made stronger. No 
 superficial rules, no aggregation of artificial tricks, can ever 
 furnish substitutes for the living act of thought. The mind 
 must step firmly from idea to idea, and lead another mind 
 along its own road. Though images may be different in 
 different minds, this progression of thinking is similar in all 
 men. The fact that all minds think according to the same law, 
 makes human language possible ; and the accentuation of the 
 rhythmic element of thinking makes expression effective. 
 
 In reading extracts aloud, the aim at first must be not so 
 much to read in a given way, as to think and enjoy, and to find 
 the normal actions of the mind. Live in the enjoyment of one 
 complete idea at a time, then give it, and so on, idea after idea. 
 Let us take, as an example, an extract from Wordsworth, read 
 it slowly to ourselves first, and watch what our minds do. 
 
 5 In youth, from rock to rock I went, from hill to hill in discontent, 
 of pleasure high and turbulent, most pleased when most uneasy; but 
 now my own delights I make, my thirst at every rill can slake, and 
 gladly Nature's love partake, of thee, sweet Daisy. 
 
 Thee, Winter in the garland wears that thinly decks his few gray hairs; 
 Spring parts the clouds with softest airs, that she may sun thee; whole 
 Summer-fields are thine by right; and Autumn, melancholy Wight ! doth 
 in thy crimson head delight when rains are on thee. In shoals and 
 bands, a morrice train, thou greet' st the traveller in the lane; pleased at 
 his greeting thee again; yet, nothing daunted, nor grieved if thou be set 
 at naught, and oft alone in nooks remote we meet thee, like a pleasant 
 thought, when such are wanted. 
 
 Be violets in their secret mews the flowers the wanton Zephyrs choose ; 
 
 proud be the rose, with rains and dews her head impearling! thou liv'st 
 
 with less ambitious aim, yet hast not gone without thy fame; thou art 
 
 indeed, by many a claim, the Poet's darling. 
 
 Wordsworth.
 
 SEQUENCE OF IDEAS. 23 
 
 If we read this extract to another, we do not merely pro- 
 nounce the words, putting before our minds a quantity of rules 
 and modes of execution ; on the contrary, we create every scene 
 and idea, and go through an experience similar to that of 
 "Wordsworth. In reading such an extract, the mind naturally 
 lives in each successive idea, gives it for its own sake, with only 
 subordinate attention to what is passed, or what is to come. 
 We feel primarily the force of a specific idea ; the idea, however, 
 being a part of a thought with relation to the other ideas. 
 
 6 We wander' d to the Pine Forest that skirts the Ocean's foam; 
 
 The lightest wind was in its nest, the tempest in its home. 
 
 The whispering waves were half asleep, the clouds were gone to play, 
 
 And on the bosom of the deep the smile of Heaven lay; 
 
 It seem'd as if the hour were one sent from beyond the skies 
 
 Which scatter'd from above the sun a light of Paradise! 
 
 We paused amid the pines that stood the giants of the waste, 
 
 Tortured by storms to shapes as rude as serpents interlaced, — 
 
 And soothed by every azure breath that under heaven is blown 
 
 To harmonies and hues beneath, as tender as its own: 
 
 Now all the tree-tops lay asleep, like green waves on the sea, 
 
 As still as in the silent deep the ocean-woods may be. 
 
 We paused beside the pools that lie under the forest bough ; 
 
 Each seem'd as 'twere a little sky, gulf'd in a world below; 
 
 A firmament of purple light, which in the dark earth lay, 
 
 More boundless than the depth of night, and purer than the day — 
 
 In which the lovely forests grew as in the upper air, 
 
 More perfect both in shape and hue than any spreading there. 
 
 There lay the glade and neighboring lawn, and through the dark 
 
 green wood 
 
 The white sun twinkling like the dawn out of speckled cloud, 
 
 Sweet views which in our world above can never well be seen, 
 
 Were imaged by the water's love of that fair forest green: 
 
 And all was interfused beneath with an Elysian glow, 
 
 An atmosphere without a breath, a softer day below. 
 
 Shelley. 
 
 For another illustration, take the above extract from Shelley. 
 
 The mind first creates and rests upon the ' pine forest ; ' — 
 
 next ' the wind ; ' then the ' tempest.' Here is something more
 
 24 VOCAL EXPEESSION. 
 
 complex : the wind is shown to be in a certain condition by the 
 use of the word which brings up a subtle comparison, and hints 
 at an idea by imagery. This also applies to the tempest, the 
 waves and the clouds ; but, through them all, we find the mind 
 stopping a moment in the enjoyment of one picture or concep- 
 tion, and then leaping to another. We find also that where 
 there is not this staying of the mind, there is little enjoyment on 
 the part of the reader or hearer. 
 
 Problem II. Read a short selection with a simple sequence of 
 ideas, study the action of the mind and then read it aloud and 
 accent the pulsations of the mind. 
 
 Another helpful exercise is to tell a story. Concentrate the 
 mind definitely upon each idea, each picture in the mind, and 
 then step decidedly to the next one. Take some Folk-lore tale, 
 a narrative poem, such as the " Lady of the Lake," or a play of 
 Shakespeare's, and give the argument in a few words. Children 
 like stories, because the sequence of ideas is so simple that their 
 minds proceed from picture to picture without difficulty. Narra- 
 tive and descriptive poems are the most popular for the same 
 reason : each image is the result of easy or spontaneous asso- 
 ciation. The more profound an extract, the more subtle the 
 attention which is required to secure adequate conceptions. 
 Such poems are not enjoyed until the faculties that conceive 
 such pictures are awakened and trained. 
 
 There are few good story-tellers. The ideas are allowed to 
 drag, or are given confusedly, each successive one not being 
 sufficiently vivid, or the order of ideas being imperfect. Much 
 depends upon the preparation. All that is usually needed is to 
 arrange the sj^ecial points in proper order ; and then, in giving 
 the story, simply to five in each idea, and move regularly from 
 one to another. This practice will do much to enable the 
 student to use the mind normally in the presence of others. 
 " To think upon the feet " is a fundamental requisite, not only 
 of expression, but of all success in life.
 
 SEQUENCE OP IDEAS. 25 
 
 Problem III. Carefully arrange the points of a story, and give 
 them as simply and progressively as possible. 
 
 7 Across a thousand leagues of land the mighty sun looks free, 
 And in their fringe of rock or sand a thousand leagues of sea. 
 Lo ! I, in this majestic room, as real as the sun, 
 Inherit this day and its doom eternally begun. 
 A world of men the rays illume, God's men, and I am one. 
 But life that is not pure and bold doth tarnish every morning's gold. 
 
 Allingham. 
 
 8. WHEBE GO THE BOATS? 
 Dark brown is the river, golden is the sand. 
 It flows along forever, with trees on either hand. 
 Green leaves a-floating, castles of the foam, 
 Boats of mine a-boating, — where will all come home? 
 On goes the river and out past the mill, 
 Away down the valley, away down the hill. 
 Away down the river, a hundred miles or more, 
 Other little children shall bring my boats ashore. 
 
 JR. L. Stevenson. 
 
 9. THE EDUCATION OF NATURE. 
 
 Three years she grew in sun and shower ; then Nature said, " A lovelier 
 flower on earth was never sown: this child I to myself will take; she 
 shall be mine, and I will make a lady of my own. Myself will to my 
 darling be both law and impulse: and with me the girl, in rock and 
 plain, in earth and heaven, in glade and bower, shall feel an overseeing 
 power to kindle or restrain. She shall be sportive as the fawn that, wild 
 with glee, across the lawn or up the mountain springs; and her's shall be 
 the breathing balm, and her s the silence and the calm of mute insensate 
 things. The floating clouds their state shall lend to her ; for her the willow 
 bend, nor shall she fail to see, e'en in the motions of the storm, grace that 
 shall mould the maiden's form by silent sympathy. The stars of midnight 
 shall be dear to her ; and she shall lean her ear in many a secret place where 
 rivulets dance their wayward round, and beauty, born of murmuring 
 sound, shall pass into her face. And vital feelings of delight shall rear 
 her form to stately height, her virgin bosom swell; such thoughts to 
 Lucy I wili give while she and I together live, here in this happy dell." 
 
 Thus Nature spake. The work was done: how soon my Lucy's race 
 
 was run ! She died, and left to me this heath, this calm and quiet scene ; 
 
 the memory of what has been, and never more will be. 
 
 Wordsworth.
 
 26 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 Full, fresh and fair thy wreath to-day, old Newark's ivied tower; 
 Still blooms the leaf and buds the spray in Yarrow's birchen bower*, 
 To many a breeze your sylvan song makes music, Linden beeches, 
 Full many a streamlet trills along, bright Tweed, thy pebbly reaches. 
 "The Rose of Ettrick." Hznry Cholmondeley-Pennell. 
 
 III. CONCEPTION. 
 
 10 The sporting whitethroat, on some twig's end borne, 
 Poured hymns to freedom and the noisy morn. 
 
 Bloomfield. 
 
 11 The little bird sits at his door in the sun, 
 Atilt like a blossom among the leaves, 
 And lets his illumined being o'errun 
 With the deluge of summer it receives. 
 
 Lowell. 
 
 |~N reading the foregoing extract, and observing carefully the 
 -*- process of thinking, we find not only that the mind leaps 
 successively from one idea to another, but also that the idea upon 
 which the mind is concentrated becomes a conception, vividly 
 and intensely realized according to the degree of attention. 
 
 If we examine the formation of a mental conception, we find 
 that although a small part of the image may come to the mind 
 through sense-perception, by far the largest portion comes from 
 the mind itself. The small stimulus, or idea, which comes 
 through the senses, is called " perception." The portion which 
 comes from the mind itself, has been named "apperception." 
 For example, we hear a rumble in the streets, and the picture 
 of an electric car rises in our minds. We do not see the car, 
 we hear only a low rumble ; but we have before associated this 
 noise with a great number of ideas of the car, such as the size, 
 shape, structure, function, and relation of the various parts, — 
 the form, color, motion, and uses of the whole. When any one 
 of these ideas is brought to the mind by any mode whatever, 
 there is a tendency for all to unite and form a complete picture, 
 according to the law of association of ideas. The same is true
 
 CONCEPTION. 27 
 
 of all sense perception : the eye sees but little, — the mind 
 supplies most of the picture. The same is true in thinking: 
 consciousness seems to correspond with the action of the senses 
 in observation. 
 
 All forms of expression are merely suggestions, and words are 
 only symbols of ideas. If a word has previously been associated 
 in the mind with a certain conception, it will at once evoke that 
 conception when seen or heard ; but if we have no such associ- 
 ation, the word conveys no meaning. A familiar word becomes 
 so united to the image it stands for that we are often unconscious 
 of the effect it produces upon us in awakening the idea. 
 
 From this we can see the province of Vocal Expression : 
 words may be spoken with such modulation of the inflections — 
 pitches or tone color of the voice — that not only the idea but 
 its relations, the emotions it awakens, the experience of the 
 human soul that conceived it, can be intimated. Apperceptions 
 are awakened in the hearer which cause not only an image but 
 a conception of the whole situation. Written words at best can 
 suggest only the abstract conception. True delivery of these 
 words stimulates a greater number of apperceptions, and more 
 subtle associations. 
 
 Some modern thinkers, after investigating how conceptions 
 are formed, find that there are some minds that act more freely 
 when the stimulus comes to them through the eye ; others are 
 more responsive to the sensations coming through the ear; 
 others are more sensitive to the touch ; and still others seem to 
 be more responsive to the sense of motion, or muscular resist- 
 ance, — or rather, the mind seems always to act in correspond- 
 ence with some one sense. Accordingly, thinkers are divided 
 into four classes, — " visuals, audiles, tactuals, and motiles." 
 
 After investigating many cases, these classes, however, are, 
 
 > in my judgment, abnormal. A person who uses one mode of 
 
 conceiving ideas to the exclusion of the others, has in some way 
 
 perverted the action of his mind ; there has been some marked
 
 28 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 one-sidedness in his education or occupation. In normal mental 
 action these various modes are found in harmonious co-oper- 
 ation ; a lack of any one of them is a great imperfection. As 
 physical blindness or deafness is a misfortune, so is mental 
 blindness or mental deafness. 
 
 For the development of Vocal Expression, the harmonious 
 co-operation of all the perceptive powers is necessary ; its beauty 
 and power depend upon the living imaginative images which 
 rise in the mind. The more vivid and adequate the conception 
 of the speaker, the greater the emotion, and the more intense 
 the feeling, the more real are the ideas, the quicker and stronger 
 the response in the modulation of the voice and the flash of the 
 eye. The number of significant modulations in voice, face and 
 body, is in proportion to the vividness of the conception which 
 the speaker is striving to convey. The same principle under- 
 lies all true artistic power. Orators, actors, painters, poets, or 
 novelists, are great in proportion to then- power to realize truth. 
 Eloquence is due to the soul's response to the conception of the 
 mind. It is said that Dickens could see a scene in his mind 
 as vividly as he could see the objects of nature with his eye. 
 In Shakespeare, Homer, Dante, Milton, and the few greatest 
 authors, we find these qualities still more marked ; their pictures 
 are as simple and strong as nature's own. Style is but the re- 
 sult of an effort to paint the picture in words, and the greatest 
 struggle of style is to find the one word or phrase which will 
 suggest the image to another mind. 
 
 In reading, a vague, indefinite, wavering image cannot stim- 
 ulate right modulation of the voice, nor can it call forth the 
 right word. Every phrase, or even word, of a great poem seems 
 to be connected vitally with the idea from which it has grown, 
 and from which it can never be separated. 
 
 This power of the mind to create vivid ideas and conceptiong 
 can be greatly increased by cultivation. It can be improved by 
 storing the mind with a wide range of apperceptions, by a study
 
 CONCEPTION. 29 
 
 of art and nature, and also by stimulating and exercising the 
 faculties concerned in realizing truth. One of the chief advan- 
 tages of Vocal Expression in education is that it causes the 
 most direct action of the mind, and most clearly shows the ade- 
 quacy or imperfection of the process of a given mind. Hence, 
 Vocal Expression is a most important means of educating the 
 creative and artistic powers of the man. Professor 2>J"orton, of 
 Harvard, has long advised students to develop their artistic na- 
 tures by memorizing and reciting simple lyrics, like those of 
 Wordsworth. Many a student who has enjoyed the lectures 
 of this great teacher can testify to the good result of such an 
 exercise. 
 
 At the very beginning of such practice, it is well to remember 
 that there are many dangers. A picture of the mind cannot be 
 mechanically created : it must be a spontaneous result of the 
 imagination. Even its degree of vividness cannot be determined 
 by rule. If too much attention is given by the student to the 
 details of his images, the picture will be mechanical and arti- 
 ficial. The laws of association of ideas, the process of forming 
 mental images, cannot be consciously determined, or directed 
 by will, without weakening their power. Moreover, no image 
 can be copied from one mind by another ; each soul's concep- 
 tions must be its own. Great art can only approximately 
 express the conception in the mind of the artist ; and the great- 
 ness of art consists chiefly in its power to awaken the appercep- 
 tions of the observer, rather than in portraying the details of 
 the image in the mind of the producer. 
 
 There must not be too much effort to "make" mental 
 pictures, — to "see" everything. The minds of some "hear" 
 and "touch," so to speak, more readily than they "see." 
 *{ Beauty born of murmuring sound" stirs more hearts than we 
 know. The process must be left free in every mind. All that 
 is needed is the intense realization of ideas and truth. In 
 training for Vocal Expression, therefore, there must ever be a
 
 30 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 trust in instinct, a reverent observation of spontaneous impulses, 
 and an obedience to " the unconscious reason." No mind must 
 cramp itself to " pictures," or to another's method of realizing 
 ideas. To illustrate this, let us take the opening lines of Tenny- 
 son's " Bugle Song ": 
 
 12 The splendor falls on castle walls, 
 And snowy summits, old in story ; 
 The long light shakes across the lakes, 
 And the wild cataract leaps in glory. 
 
 Here the poet, himself, only intimates indefinitely what 
 pictures shall rise in the mind of the reader. ' The splendor 
 falls on castle walls,' — what castle do we see? Tennyson 
 may have had a specific castle in his mind ; but he, like a true 
 poet, leaves it undetermined. Had he named a particular castle, 
 he would have appealed to memory, — not to the imagination. 
 He would have been giving a history of his personal obser- 
 vations, and not suggesting an idea to awaken universal 
 experience. History records facts ; but art and poetry seek to 
 awaken the apperceptive, the creative faculties of man, — they 
 appeal to " the universal element in human life." Our castle, 
 therefore, must be built by ourselves. Then again, what is the 
 ' splendor ' ? It may be sunset, sunrise or moonlight, — this also 
 is left undetermined ; but it does not remain vague in the mind. 
 When one feels prepared to read it, the conception has become 
 more or less definite and vivid. 
 
 It is one of the peculiarities of poetry, that sometimes a 
 general term is so given as to awaken a specific picture, or ai 
 least a specific experience; whereas, at other times, a specific 
 term is so given as to create a general conception, or a universal 
 experience. If we take the next line, "And snowy summits 
 old in story," at once, if in a geographical frame of mind, we 
 ask what particular summits? The one hundred and twenty 
 seen from the Righi? How high? What direction? How 
 many? — and the like. All this is left to the free, spontaneous
 
 CONCEPTION". 31 
 
 working of the mind: the reader must create his own peaks. 
 Even if he endeavors deliberatively to remember specific peaks 
 he has seen somewhere, his image is apt to become artificial, 
 and fails to thrill his own mind, or awaken the feeling of his 
 hearers. 
 
 Take the third line, " The long light shakes across the lakes ; " 
 — what lakes? What light? that of the moon? sunrise or 
 sunset? Here, again, the imagination must create its own 
 image, its own idea. There must not be too much strain for a 
 given effect, or the atmosphere of loveliness will be lost, and 
 the passage will be read in a cold, mechanical tone. All the 
 tenderness of feeling being repressed and unawakened, there 
 can be no response in the color of the voice. 
 
 In the fourth line, " And the wild cataract leaps in glory," 
 the mind must be trusted, and not dominated. If the creative 
 faculties produce an ideal cataract, so much the better. Such a 
 picture will not only stimulate deeper emotion in the reader's 
 breast ; but he will be more apt to awaken the creative power in 
 the hearts of his hearers. 
 
 The process of realization must be free. It does not matter, 
 for example, whether the mind seems to see the cataract, or to 
 hear its roar, or to feel its mist tipon the face, — or all these at 
 once. What is needed is that the mind shall act, and act 
 spontaneously, in such a way that the idea becomes realized. 
 Conceptions must be awakened in our minds ; the whole nature 
 must be made attentive : the imagination and the feeling in the 
 heart must be stimulated ; for this is the aim of the poem. To 
 try to draw our picture exactly like another's, will make all 
 labored and artificial. The mind must ever be left free in 
 artistic production. 
 
 ' Again, concrete, or individual conceptions must not be given 
 at the expense of general ideas or thoughts ; nor must a general 
 idea or thought be given at the expense of vivid specific concep- 
 tions. These two, however, are not antagonistic to each other.
 
 32 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 A specific idea cannot be too vivid so long as it is conceived 
 also in relation to another, or to a general truth. The mind 
 must not only be trained to hold individual ideas vividly, but 
 also to hold them vividly in relation to a general truth.* 
 
 Problem IV. Vividly conceive each successive centre of the 
 mind's attention in a selection having a natural sequence of 
 simple ideas. 
 
 13 The grey-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night, 
 
 Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light; 
 
 And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels 
 
 From forth day's path, and Titan's fiery wheels. 
 
 Shakespeare 
 
 14 The morn in russet mantle clad 
 
 Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 15 The point of one white star is quivering still 
 Deep in the orange light of widening morn, 
 Beyond the purple mountains : through a chasm 
 Of wind-divided mist the darker lake 
 Keflects it. Shelley. 
 
 Problem V. Exercise separately all the modes of the mind's 
 action, see images, hear sounds, feel vibrations, and test the mind's 
 power to conceive as the senses perceive. 
 
 16 How pleasantly the rising moon, between the shadow of the mows, 
 Looked on them through the great elm-boughs ! 
 
 Whittier. 
 
 17 She stood breast-high amid the corn, 
 
 Clasped by the golden light of morn. 
 "Ruth." Hood. 
 
 18 By day its voice is low and light ; but in the silent dead of night, 
 distinct as a passing footstep's fall, it echoes along the vacant hall, along 
 the ceiling, along the floor, and seems to say at each chamber door, 
 " Forever — never ! never — forever." 
 
 19 No sweeter voice was ever heard in spring-time from the cuckoo-bird. 
 
 Breaking the silence of the seas, among the farthest Hebrides. 
 "The Reaper." Wordsworth. 
 
 * See Classics, pp. 14, 79, 82, 83, 251, 269, 309.
 
 CONCEPTION. 33 
 
 20 It is a beauteous evening, calm and free; 
 The holy time is quiet as a nun 
 Breathless with adoration ; the broad sun 
 Is sinking down in its tranquility ; 
 The gentleness of heaven is on the sea: 
 Listen ! the mighty being is awake, 
 And doth with his eternal motion make 
 A sound like thunder — everlastingly. Wordsworth. 
 
 21 Oft, on a plat of rising ground, I hear the far-off curfew sound 
 Over some wide-water'd shore, swinging low with sullen roar. 
 
 Milton. 
 
 22 The soft, sweet moss shall be thy bed, 
 With crawling woodbine overspread, 
 By which the silver-shedding streams 
 Shall gently melt thee into dreams. Herrick. 
 
 Problem VI. Practise selections with various combinations of 
 all these modes of conception. 
 
 23 Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go, 
 
 Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe. Goldsmith. 
 
 24 Far along, from peak to peak, the rattling crags among, leaps the 
 live thunder! not from one lone cloud, but every mountain now hath 
 found a tongue ; and Jura answers, through her misty shroud, back to the 
 joyous Alps, who call to her aloud. Byron. 
 
 25 It is the hush of night, and all between 
 
 Thy margin and the mountains, dusk, yet clear, 
 
 Mellow'd and mingling, yet distinctly seen, 
 
 Save darken' d Jura, whose capp'd heights appear 
 
 Precipitously steep ; and, drawing near, 
 
 There breathes a living fragrance from the shore, 
 
 Of flowers yet fresh with childhood; on the ear 
 
 Props the light drip of the suspended oar, 
 
 Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night carol more. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 26 Cannon to right of them, cannon to left of them, cannon in front 
 of them volleyed and thundered: stormed at with shot and shell, boldly 
 they rode and well; into the jaws of death, into the mouth of Hell, rode 
 the six hundred. Tennyson.
 
 34 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 27 My soul is an enchanted boat, which, like a sleeping swan doth 
 float upon the silver waves of thy sweet singing; and thine doth like an 
 angel sit beside the helm, conducting it, while all the winds with melody 
 are ringing. It seems to float ever, forever upon that many winding 
 river, between mountains, woods, abysses, a paradise of wildernesses. 
 
 Shelley. 
 
 28. THE VOYA&E. 
 We left behind the painted buoy, 
 
 That tosses at the harbor-mouth ; 
 And madly danced our hearts with joy, 
 
 As fast we fleeted to the South ; 
 How fresh was every sight and sound 
 
 On open main or winding shore ! 
 We knew the merry world was round, 
 
 And we might sail for evermore. 
 
 How oft we saw the Sun retire, 
 
 And burn the threshold of the night, 
 Fall from his Ocean-lane of fire, 
 
 And sleep beneath his pillar' d light! 
 How oft the purple-skirted robe 
 
 Of twilight slowly downward drawn. 
 As thro' the slumber of the globe 
 
 Again we dash'd into the dawn! 
 
 O hundred shores of happy climes, 
 
 How swiftly stream' d ye by the bark! 
 At times the whole sea burn'd, at times 
 
 With wakes of fire we tore the dark ; 
 At times a craven craft would shoot 
 
 From havens hid in fairy bowers, 
 With naked limbs and flowers and fruit; 
 
 But we nor paused for fruit nor flowers. 
 
 For one fair vision ever fled 
 
 Down the waste waters day and night, 
 And still we follow' d where she led, 
 
 In hope to gain upon her flight. 
 Her face was evermore unseen, 
 
 And fixt upon the far sea-line ; 
 But each man murmur' d, " O my Queen, 
 
 I follow till I make thee mine."
 
 ABANDON. 35 
 
 And never sail of ours was furl'd, 
 
 Nor anchor dropt at eve or morn ; 
 We loved the glories of the world, 
 
 But laws of nature were our scorn ; 
 For blasts would rise and rave and cease, 
 
 But whence were those that drove the sail 
 Across the whirlwind's heart of peace, 
 
 And to and thro' the counter gale ? 
 
 Again to colder climes we came, 
 
 For still we followed where she led: 
 Now mate is blind and captain lame, 
 
 And half the crew are sick or dead. 
 But blind or lame or sick or sound 
 
 We follow that which flies before: 
 
 We know the merry world is round, 
 
 And we may sail for evermore. 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 IV. ABANDON. 
 
 29 Mekrilt, merrily shall I live now, 
 
 Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. 
 
 TTTE have found that conception, or impression, causes 
 " ' expression ; that possession of an idea precedes and 
 determines manifestation ; that reading aloud is simply think- 
 ing aloud; that improvement of delivery must begin with 
 the cause ; that natural expression is from within outward, 
 and must obey the laws of development : that the mind must 
 concentrate itself upon each successive idea, and enjoy it, 
 creating a conception and situation which awaken the impulse 
 to express. The action of this impulse needs further study. In 
 all involuntary expression, an impulse from within causes all 
 outward effect. A laugh, for example, has its cause in the mind. 
 The mental action determines the agitation of the breathing, 
 and all modulation of the vocal organs. All natural expression 
 is spontaneous. The word " emotion," derived, as it is, from the
 
 36 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 tendency of all feeling to cause motion, implies that the same is 
 true of all expression in man. In true natural expression, the 
 attention of the mind upon an idea awakens a conception ; the 
 conception awakens emotion; and the emotion awakens the 
 vocal or physical actions. Expression is a jmysical action caused 
 by psychic activity. To improve expression naturally, there- 
 fore, the central impulse needs to be stimulated. When this is 
 not done, the result is mechanical and artificial. 
 
 There are two views of expression. According to one, a 
 speaker conveys an idea, or expresses an emotion, by using his 
 will to perform certain acts. According to the other, he holds 
 the idea vividly before his mind, and thus causes it to awaken 
 impulses from all parts of his nature. The will does not directly 
 originate the physical acts of expression : it only directs, regu- 
 lates, and guides these acts ; its chief function is to sustain atten- 
 tion, — to restrain and to reserve emotion, rather than to impel. 
 
 The first, or mechanical view, is more common. Many 
 regard expression as almost exclusively the product of volition. 
 They often take the word in its literal sense, " to press out," 
 and think that it implies only the execution of certain acts; 
 as if the expression of thought and feeling were like the 
 mechanical act of pressing the juice out of a lemon. According 
 to the second view, expression is the outward pressure of inward 
 life. As the life of a tree utters itself through its leaves ; as the 
 pressure from the root of the plant brings forth the flower ; as 
 nature everywhere has an outward pressure from inward pleni- 
 tude, — has a force, " which, groping blindly above it for light, 
 climbs to a soul in grass and flower ; " — so man, though he has 
 additional regulation and guidance, on account of his rational 
 nature, yet he has spontaneous energies of thought and emotion 
 which furnish the impulse to express. 
 
 The relation of reason and will to emotion, the deliberative 
 and the voluntary to the involuntary elements in expression, is 
 well illustrated by the relation of the driver to his horse, — the
 
 ABAXD0X. 37 
 
 horse furnishes the force, the driver only directs. So the 
 spontaneous energies of the man furnish the motive power, 
 while the will simply gives guidance. There is an analogy to 
 this in nature : there is not only spontaneous impulse, but 
 simultaneously spontaneous guidance. The delicate, unopened 
 flower is enfolded in a rough calyx, and held tightly until the 
 parts have grown strong enough to force apart the restraining 
 shield. The outer leaves of certain palms are so stitched 
 together as to hold them gently folded, till the younger leaves 
 have grown strong enough to stand sun, ah, and rain. In fact, 
 nowhere in nature does spontaneity mean merely an inner 
 impulse, but rather a co-ordination or co-operation of many ele- 
 ments. The inner impulse is fundamental, — others act in 
 subordination. So, spontaneity in man means a co-operation of 
 his whole nature. There must be not only impulse, but delib- 
 eration ; there must be co-ordination of thought, emotion and 
 will. Nothing is more natural to man, than a co-ordination of 
 inward impulse and volitional guidance. As the spirit of the 
 horse is not killed by being tamed, so true artistic training 
 regulates but does not destroy emotion and instinct. True 
 artistic training develops both the artistic impulse and its 
 artistic direction. 
 
 Naturalness, or the highest characteristic of expression, 
 implies that all parts act in unity. As life diffuses itself into 
 every part of a flower or an animal, so naturalness in a human 
 being means the harmonious responsiveness of every part of the 
 body to the impulses of the soul. All parts may not move, but 
 all are alive and responsive in texture. The essential requisite 
 of naturalness and spontaneity is abandon. The mind must have 
 a vivid idea, but there must be a certain passive yielding to the 
 domination of this idea. Rational abstractions do not stimulate 
 harmonious expression. True abandon is the giving of the 
 whole nature to a subject. It is the giving of self to the natural, 
 spontaneous, and harmonious co-operation of thought, emotion,
 
 38 VOCAIi EXPRESSION. 
 
 and will, — no one of these excluding or displacing the others, 
 but all acting in unity. Such abandon results in the union of 
 all impulses, and in that spontaneity which is the most charming 
 quality of art. Such abandon often causes less motion, less 
 external agitation ; but it creates deeper and wider diffusion of 
 energy from a normal centre of the body, and causes repose 
 rather than wild impulsiveness. It makes expression harmonious 
 and all-sided. 
 
 There are two general faults in expression. One of these is 
 mechanical artificiality, which is caused by too much repression 
 and regulation ; the other is wild impulsiveness, which is not 
 due to abandon, but is the result of one-sided and exaggerated 
 action of some one element or faculty. These two faults, how- 
 ever, are nearer together than is often supposed. There is often 
 repression, for instance, where it is not suspected. In fact, 
 impulsiveness is not the result of spontaneity, but of the repres- 
 sion of the deliberative and guiding powers of the soul. Cold- 
 ness and mechanical artificiality, on the other hand, result from 
 the repression of the imagination and feeling. 
 
 The study of abandon brings us into contact with another 
 fault, — drifting. Some confound abandon with this, but the 
 best remedy, if not the only one, for the emotional vice of 
 drifting, is abandon to each successive idea. The cause of 
 drifting is abandon to the general situation, rather than to each 
 idea, — to the time and place, and to the theme as a whole. 
 This is not true abandon : true abandon is the giving of self to 
 each successive idea ; which is the fundamental requisite of all 
 truthful feeling. False abandon, on the contrary, or drifting, 
 causes a general indefinite ecstacy, which is not genuine 
 emotion at all. 
 
 Notwithstanding these simple principles, there is an almost 
 universal demand for rules, for something " definite and practi- 
 cal" which can be done by volitional action, even without 
 thought. Repression, constriction, and imitation are adopted;
 
 ABANDON. 39 
 
 nature is not only not studied, but her most important principles 
 are violated. The same danger is found in other arts, though 
 possibly in a less degree. Students in learning to draw often 
 become purely mechanical in working on technical execution. 
 There is too often no attempt to awaken normal impulses, and 
 to stimulate the imagination, or even a love for art. In any art 
 work, all results will be limited, mechanical, artificial, and con- 
 ventional, unless there is an awakening of the artistic faculties. 
 There can be no true education of the human being without 
 studying or obeying nature's own methods. All art wor^: is 
 dependent upon instinct, and it can be improved only by stimu- 
 lating and trusting instinct. Only the false, the untrue, the 
 unnatural, are to be repressed. Growth is primarily a sponta- 
 neous result; development can be secured only by stimulating 
 nature's own processes. Man can sow the seed, improve the 
 soil, and in many ways secure higher results, but the living im- 
 pulse is from nature herself. 
 
 The development of expression demands that the mind be 
 called away from wandering fancies, from conflictir ideas, and 
 become concentrated upon a central idea, and th. sensibilities 
 will be brought into a response to this idea. Vague, indefinite 
 feeling can be prevented only by giving the whole nature to one 
 idea or situation. The definite abandon of the whole nature to 
 each successive idea, is the only way to make expression truthful 
 and strong. Few have any conception of what is natural ; to 
 many, whatever is comfortable is natural. An insight into the 
 processes of nature is of great importance, in order to realize 
 fully what is deliberative and what is spontaneous. A man 
 may laugh, and may observe what he does without interfering 
 with it ; he may yawn against his will, and be conscious of what 
 has gone on within, independent of his own choice. So a man 
 may sigh and shed tears, and even modulate and inflect his voice, 
 under the influence of emotion involuntarily, and at the same 
 time be awake to what is taking place. One of the most diffi-
 
 40 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 cult tasks in developing expression is to become able to observe 
 ourselves, and not to interfere with the normal processes of 
 thought and emotion. 
 
 This is a principle which applies to all training. We cannot 
 distinguish what is natural until we can feel in consciousness the 
 difference between what is done for us, and what we do our- 
 selves. In other words, we must learn the difference between 
 what is involuntary and spontaneous, and what is voluntary and 
 deliberative. Naturalness is a proper union of the two, and 
 prevents deliberative and mechanical actions from displacing 
 spontaneous actions. True training stimulates both, and brings 
 them into harmonious co-operation. 
 
 Whether there should be most work upon conscious and 
 deliberative actions, or upon endeavors to stimulate the sponta- 
 neous impulses, depends upon the needs of the individual ; but 
 with many of the students of our modern schools, there is such 
 an exaggeration of deliberative work, that the chief need is 
 first to secure proper abandon, to teach the student to trust his 
 instincts, and to have a consciousness of the force of involuntary 
 impulses, in co-ordination with voluntary action. 
 
 In order to develop abandon and spontaneity, let the student 
 take some extract full of simple ideas and noble emotion. Let 
 him secure first an imaginative conception of the situation, and 
 a sympathetic assimilation of the experience, until the impulses 
 are awakened in his own nature, — and then let him abandon 
 himself to these so as to give a simple, truthful manifestation. 
 Conscious direction must be reduced to the minimum. The 
 man must feel the co-operation of involuntary impulse with 
 voluntary direction. Those who find it easy to become ridicu- 
 lous will find that they act one-sidedly and at random. The 
 great majority will find at once that emotion is a law unto 
 itself ; that thought and emotion, when not divorced by false 
 education, are ever united; — in short, that thought, emotion, 
 and will are three elements which inter-penetrate and comple-
 
 ABANDON. 41 
 
 ment each other in all the normal impulses of the human heart, 
 and by proper education and proper stimulation may be more 
 perfectly balanced and co-ordinated. 
 
 All emotions are not equally adapted for practice. It is never 
 safe, for example, to begin with sorrow ; for sorrow tends to 
 drift into its counterfeit, sadness. Neither is it safe to begin 
 with indignation, which the student always tends to degrade 
 into anger. The noble emotions, such as joy, admiration of 
 nature, or some form of love, must first be practised. When we 
 come to Vocal Training we shall see additional reasons for prac- 
 tising these emotions, especially at the beginning. One of the 
 most helpful emotions to practise for the development of spon- 
 taneity, is the love of nature. Admiration of nature is charac- 
 teristic of all artists. Those lyrics which contain a genuine love 
 of the objects and processes around us can be safely practised: 
 they are the surest means of developing the artistic instincts of 
 the human soul. Only noble emotion will stimulate spontaneity ; 
 sincerity is the first requisite of practice. 
 
 In the practice of simple lyrics many diificulties will be met. 
 It is hard to see our own lack of abandon, or to point it out in 
 others ; students will be conscious that something is wrong, but 
 will not be aware of the cause. To reveal this is the teacher's 
 function, but the student must be made to discover it himself. 
 By leading him to trust himself to a variety of emotions and 
 situations, he can be made to realize his needs. Again, when a 
 student undertakes such practice he is sure to make too much 
 effort. All effort is the exercise of the voluntary muscles and 
 agents, and is in many forms antagonistic to abandon. 
 
 Of the importance of abandon, too much can hardly be said. 
 It is a spontaneous impulse struggling into conscious form, that 
 is a universal characteristic of all eloquence, all poetry, all art. 
 In fact, abandon is the greatest requisite to all art work. The 
 greatest difficulty is to get a man to give himself up to an idea, 
 to trust the co-ordinated impulses of his nature. " No man," says
 
 42 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 Edward Everett Hale, " will ever make a speaker till he is willing 
 to make himself a fool for the sake of his subject." 
 
 There are many special advantages in practice for the develop- 
 ment of abandon. A man must feel that his impulses can be 
 trusted, that they are strong, and tend ever, when right them- 
 selves, to produce right results. Such practice creates true con- 
 fidence, and is the most helpful way to correct self-conscious- 
 ness. Self-consciousness is the attention of the speaker to himself, 
 instead of to the ideas which he is trying to convey. By con- 
 centrating the whole mind upon each idea, and abandoning 
 himself to the situation, the great central impulses of the man 
 are aroused ; attention and consciousness become f ocussed, and 
 the man in a true sense forgets himself. 
 
 Self-consciousness and other forms of lack of abandon need 
 also for their correction a proper training of the voice and the 
 body. A man often becomes self-conscious and constrained 
 because the inner impulses of his nature have no freedom for 
 out-flow through voice and body. Strange to say, exaggeration 
 is rarely due to abandon, but more frequently to imitation of 
 abandon. Exaggeration is untrue, because the man is untrue. 
 Frank abandon is the most direct road to simplicity and truth- 
 fulness. Abandon shows the real man, — not only his habits, 
 but his peculiarities, and his possibilities. 
 
 Again, true abandon is the secret of right feeling. The chief 
 requisites of truthful emotion are simplicity, sincerity, and repose. 
 The only way to have feeling is to concentrate the mind upon 
 the pictures of the poem, and to hold ourselves in sympathy with 
 the situation, giving expression to what awakens in our hearts 
 with simpleness, truthfulness, and sincerity. 
 
 Abandon is a step which has to be practised from first to last 
 in all work for development of delivery. It is the highest attain- 
 ment, the last step ; but it must also be the first. It is a great 
 mistake to make a student work entirely by rule, to do every- 
 thing artificially and mechanically, hoping that the real impulse
 
 ABANDON. 43 
 
 of the man will awaken later, and remove the evils of such a 
 method. When the right steps are taken from the first, not 
 only can the abandon be secured, but the evil of constrained 
 habits can also be prevented, and even the technical actions be 
 developed to greater correctness and power.* 
 
 Problem VII. Take some animated extract, vividly conceive 
 each idea, and yield to its influence. See, feel, and then tell simply 
 and naturally, only what has been seen and felt. 
 
 30 Away ! away ! our fires stream bright 
 Along the frozen river, 
 And their arrowy sparkles of brilliant light 
 On the forest branches quiver. 
 
 31. TO MT SISTER. 
 It is the first mild day of March : each minute sweeter than before, 
 The redbreast sings from the tall larch that stands beside our door. 
 There is a blessing in the air, which seems a sense of joy to yield 
 To the bare trees and mountains bare, and grass in the green field. . . . 
 Love, now a universal birth, from heart to heart is stealing, 
 From earth to man, from man to earth ; it is the hour of feeling. 
 One moment now may give us more than fifty years of reason : 
 Our minds shall drink at every pore the spirit of the season. 
 Some silent law our hearts will make, which they shall long obey: 
 We for the year to come may take our temper from to-day. 
 And from the blessed power that rolls about, below, above, 
 We'll frame the measure of our souls: they shall be tuned to love. 
 Then come, my sister ! come, I pray, with speed put on your woodland dress; 
 
 And bring no book: for this one day we'll give to idleness. 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 32. It was a lover and his lass, with a hey and a ho, and a hey-nonino! 
 
 that o'er the green cornfield did pass in the spring-time, the only pretty 
 
 ring-time, when birds do sing hey ding a ding: sweet lovers love the 
 
 Spring. Between the acres of the rye these pretty country folks would 
 
 lie: this carol they began that hour, how that life was but a flower: and 
 
 therefore take the present time, with a hey and a ho and a hey-nonino! 
 
 For love is crowned with the prime in the spring-time, the only pretty 
 
 ring-time, when birds do sing hey ding a ding: sweet lovers love the 
 
 Spring. Shakespeare. 
 
 * See Classics, pp. 12, 121, 340, 86, 272.
 
 44 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 33. APPLE BLOSSOMS. 
 
 Have you seen an apple orchard in the spring? in the spring? An 
 English apple orchard in the spring? When the spreading trees are 
 hoary with their wealth of promised glory, and the mavis pipes his story 
 in the spring! Have you plucked the apple blossoms in the spring? in 
 the spring? And caught their subtle odors in the spring? Pink buds 
 bursting at the light, crumpled petals baby-white, just to touch them a 
 delight! in the spring! 
 
 Have you walked beneath the blossoms in the spring? in the spring? 
 Beneath the apple blossoms in the spring? When the pink cascades 
 were falling, and the silver brooklets brawling, and the cuckoo bird is 
 calling in the spring? 
 
 Have you seen a merry bridal in the spring? in the spring? In an 
 English apple country in the spring? When the brides and maidens 
 wear apple blossoms in their hair; apple blossoms everywhere, in the 
 spring? If you have not, then you know not, in the spring, in the 
 spring, half the color, beauty, wonder of the spring. No sight can I re- 
 member, half so precious, half so tender, as the apple blossoms render in 
 
 the spring! 
 
 William Welsey Martin. 
 
 34. SELF-DEPENDEJTCE. 
 
 Weary of myself, and sick of asking 
 What I am, and what I ought to be, 
 At this vessel's prow I stand, which bears me 
 Forward, forward, o'er the starlit sea. 
 
 And a look of passionate desire 
 
 O'er the sea and to the stars I send; 
 
 " Ye who from my childhood up have calm'd me, 
 
 Calm me, ah, compose me to the end ! 
 
 "Ah, once more," I cried "ye stars, ye waters, 
 On my heart your mighty charm renew; 
 Still, still let me, as I gaze upon you, 
 Feel my soul becoming vast like you! " 
 
 From the intense, clear, star-sown vault of heaven, 
 Over the lit sea's unquiet way, 
 In the rustling night air came the answer, — 
 " Wouldst thou be as these are ? Live as they.
 
 RESPONSIVENESS. 45 
 
 " Unaff righted by the silence round them, 
 Undistracted by the sights they see, 
 These demand not that the things without them 
 Yield them love, amusement, sympathy. 
 
 "And with joy the stars perform their shining, 
 And the sea its long moon-silver'd roll; 
 For self-poised they live, nor pine with noting 
 All the fever of some differing soul. 
 
 " Bounded by themselves, and unregardful 
 In what state God' s other works may be, 
 In their own tasks all their powers pouring, 
 These attain the mighty life you see." 
 
 O air-born voice ! long since, severely clear, 
 
 A cry like thine in mine own heart I hear: 
 
 " Resolve to be thyself ; and know that he 
 
 Who finds himself loses his misery ! " 
 
 Matthew Arnold. 
 
 V. EESPONSIVENESS. 
 
 35 The day is done, and the darkness falls from the wings of Night, 
 As a feather is wafted downward from an eagle in his flight. 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 36 Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean — roll! 
 Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 TT has been found that expression results from a spontaneous 
 ■*- impulse ; that this is associated with ideas which succeed 
 each other by a rhythmic law of association ; that expression 
 depends for its effectiveness upon the vividness of each suc- 
 cessive idea ; and that we must yield passive as well as active 
 attention to them. It can next be seen that it is very difficult 
 to tell spontaneous and natural expression from that which is 
 mechanical. Mechanical dexterity is often mistaken for spon- 
 taneity. How can abandon be tested ? How can genuine respon- 
 siveness be distinguished from mere mechanical execution ? 
 
 Read or recite, as sincerely as possible, these two extracts. 
 They differ in thought and feeling ; they should differ in ex-
 
 46 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 pression. Do you tend to read them alike ? The only way to 
 judge a conception of the mind is by its effect upon the man ; a 
 comparison like this, therefore, furnishes a criterion by which 
 we can judge the adequacy of conception, and the truthfulness 
 of the response to it in emotion. 
 
 The practice of such problems also tests the response of the 
 voice and body to feeling. If the modulations or changes in 
 the form and texture of the voice are the same in both cases, 
 either there is no imaginative realization, or no change in feel- 
 ing, or the voice is rigid and unresponsive. Consciously or 
 unconsciously, the reader must change his point of view ; the 
 thought must not be given as abstract, — there must be sympathy 
 and genuine identification of himself with the situation. He 
 must not only think, but give himself to his thought. There 
 must be a response from the man's whole being ; his whole mind 
 and his whole body must sympathetically share in the process. 
 That subtle, natural flexibility of the whole expression can hardly 
 be mechanically imitated ; it is a spontaneous responsiveness. 
 
 Aside from the hindrances to abandon, which would of course 
 hinder responsiveness, being, as it is, but an effect or test of 
 abandon, many others may be mentioned. There is, for ex- 
 ample, a tendency to drift. Every emotion leaves a wake, 
 whenever feeling is aroused, it tends to flow in a straight line ; 
 it is only modulated by the sequence of ideas. There must be 
 a response from each successive conception, and the conception 
 must be strong enough to cause this response. This is the secret 
 of controlling passion. 
 
 Many persons have a very small gamut of passion. Some 
 speakers have only one or two emotions in their delivery ; some 
 have none at all. The reason for this is not because they entirely 
 lack passion, — they have genuine feelings in life — but because, 
 when upon then- feet they are unable to bring an idea into such 
 vivid and sympathetic relations with feeling as to awaken any 
 response in themselves. Some have an habitual and false re-
 
 RESPONSIVENESS. 47 
 
 sponse; many confuse tenderness with sadness. In much of 
 our public speaking, there is a failure to give definite emotion : 
 there is a tendency to neutrality and monotony, with the elimi- 
 nation of emotion on the one hand ; or, on the other, to drift pas- 
 sively into an ecstatic feeling. The practice of such contrasts as 
 are here given as problems, enables the student to discover his 
 peculiar tendencies, and to develop genuineness in feeling, and 
 truthfulness in expression. 
 
 The whole question of expression is one of responsiveness. 
 Expression is simply a significant change of voice and body, — a 
 change caused by change in thought and feeling. A man may 
 have clear ideas, and find no response to these on the part of 
 the imagination ; he may have vivid conceptions, but these may 
 be divorced from all feeling ; he may have vivid conceptions and 
 response of feeling, but the voice and the body may be so rigid 
 as to furnish a prison for the concealment and death of feeling 
 and thought, rather than a flexible organism for the living in- 
 carnation of thought and emotion. These, and other points of 
 response may be regarded as so many bridges over which 
 thought and emotion must pass in expression. When any one 
 of the bridges is down, true expression does not result. Or, to 
 change the figure, expression implies an electrical current which 
 is especially liable to be broken at these points, that is, between 
 thought and emotion, or between emotion and voice, and only 
 one break is necessary to destroy the current completely. The 
 development of expression is dependent upon the discovery and 
 correction of these breaks. Exercises in contrast form one of 
 the most effective means of realizing a lack of responsiveness, 
 and also of causing the response to be genuine. 
 » These contrasts — or changes in response, point of view, situa- 
 tion, or f eeling — are found in nearly every sentence in all the 
 best literature. Noble literature is the expression in words of 
 the union of thought and feeling, and Vocal Expression is the 
 interpretation of this union through the living voice. Such
 
 48 VOCAIi EXPRESSION. 
 
 changes in response form a most important element in true 
 delivery. 
 
 37 You bells in the steeple, ring, ring out your changes, 
 
 How many soever they be, 
 
 And let the brown meadow-lark's note as he ranges 
 
 Come over, come over to me. 
 
 Ingelow. 
 
 In these lines, the bells and the lark, when genuinely con- 
 ceived, cause a change in the expression. The mind even tends 
 to change the direction of the supposed objects. Each has a 
 situation of its own, so that the response and expression of each 
 idea is entirely different. 
 
 38 Clouds and darkness are round about him: 
 
 Righteousness and judgment are the foundation of his throne. 
 
 When we read over these two lines, they seem at first to be 
 the same ; but when we read them over thoughtfully, and think 
 of them, we find that there is a contrast in the point of view, and 
 in the thought and feeling. To read them both in the same 
 tone of voice, and from the same mental or emotional point of 
 view, loses the real spirit, feeling, and even thought of the 
 passage. The mind must change its point of view, and conse- 
 quently the emotion and the texture and color of the voice.* 
 
 Problem VIII. Head two extracts with as much contrast as 
 possible in thought and feeling, and observe the difference in 
 Expression. 
 
 39 Merrily, merrily goes the bark, before the gale she bounds : 
 
 So darts the dolphin from the shark, or the deer before the hounds. 
 
 Scott. 
 
 40 On, somewhere, somewhere, God unknown, exist and be ! 
 I am dying ; I am all alone ; I must have Thee. 
 God ! God ! my sense, my soul, my all, dies in the cry : — 
 Saw'st thou the faint star flame and fall? Ah ! it was I. 
 
 Myers. 
 
 * See Classics, pp. 39, 43, 50 ; and pp. 34-37, 46, 98, 200, 305, 81.
 
 RESPONSIVENESS. 4y 
 
 41 The Wildgrave winds his bugle horn, to horse, to horse! halloo, 
 
 halloo ! His fiery courser snuffs the morn, and thronging serfs their lord 
 
 pursue. The eager pack, from couples freed, dash through the brush, 
 
 the brier, the brake; while answering hound, and horn, and steed, the 
 
 mountain echoes startling wake. 
 " Wild Huntsman." Scott. 
 
 42 Why so pale and wan, fond lover? Prithee why so pale? Will 
 when looking well can't move her, looking ill prevail? Prithee why so 
 pale? Why so dull and mute, young sinner? Prithee why so mute? 
 Will, when speaking well can't win her, saying nothing do 't? Prithee 
 why so mute? 
 
 43 Now leaps the wind on the sleepy marsh, 
 
 And tramples the grass with terrified feet ; 
 The startled river turns leaden and harsh, 
 
 You can hear the quick heart of the tempest beat. 
 
 44 I wield the flail of the lashing hail, 
 
 And whiten the green plains under : 
 And then again I dissolve it in rain, 
 And laugh as I pass in thunder. 
 
 Shelley. 
 
 45 My pipe is lit, and all is snug ; old Puss is in her elbow chair, and 
 
 Tray is sitting on the rug. Last night I had a curious dream: Miss 
 
 Susan Bates was Mistress Mogg. What d'ye think of that, my Cat? 
 
 What d'ye think of that, my Dog? 
 " The Bachelor's Dream.." Hood. 
 
 46 Slow fades the vision of the sky, the golden water pales, 
 
 And over all the valley land, a gray-winged vapor sails. 
 
 I go the common way of all ; the sunset fires will burn, 
 
 The flowers will blow, the river flow, when I no more return. 
 
 No whisper from the mountain pine, nor lapsing stream shall tell 
 
 The stranger, treading where I tread, of him who loved them well. 
 
 But beauty seen is never lost, God's colors all are fast; 
 
 The glory of this sunset heaven into my soul has passed — 
 
 A sense of gladness unconfined, to mortal date or clime : 
 
 As the soul liveth, it shall live, beyond the years of time. 
 
 Beside the mystic asphodels shall bloom the home-borne flowers, 
 
 And new horizons flush and glow, with sunset hues of ours. 
 
 Whittier. 
 
 4
 
 50 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 Problem IX. Study the change in emotion and thought in 
 passing from one idea or situation to another in the same sen- 
 tence or poem, and read so as to give true and harmonious ex- 
 pression to each. 
 
 47 No record Art keeps of her travail and throes. 
 
 There is toil on the steeps ; on the summits, repose. 
 
 William, Watson. 
 
 48 In the hush of the autumn night I hear the voice of the sea, 
 
 In the hush of the autumn night it seems to say to me — 
 
 Mine are the winds above, mine are the caves below, 
 
 Mine are the dead of yesterday and the dead of long ago ! 
 
 And I think of the fleet that sailed from the lovely Gloucester shore, 
 
 I think of the fleet that sailed and came back nevermore ! 
 
 T. B. Aldrich. 
 
 VI. MODES OF EXPRESSION. 
 
 OBJECTS differ from each other in size, form, texture, struc- 
 ture, and color. They also vary in relation to the observer, 
 according to distance, direction, and the like. Conceptions of 
 objects differ in the same way. The question arises, how can 
 these differences be conveyed through the voice ? Let us look 
 at the following extract : — 
 
 49 " God!" let the torrents, like a shout of nations, 
 Answer! and let the ice-plain echo, "God!" 
 " God!" sing, ye meadow streams, with gladsome voice! 
 Te pine groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds! 
 And they, too, have a voice, yon piles of snow, 
 And in their perilous fall shall thunder, " God!' 
 
 i" 
 
 This can be read in two ways. In speaking the word ' God* 
 I can imitate with my voice the torrents, the meadow streams, 
 or the avalanche ; or I can stand as an imaginary, imaginative, 
 and sympathetic spectator, and manifest my feeling of awe and 
 reverence as I recognize the meaning of the sounds. 
 
 Which of these is better ? The first is the method of ordinary 
 elocution ; the other is a vital point in the method now being
 
 MODES OF EXPRESSION. 51 
 
 unfolded. One can be applied only to a low form of literature ; 
 the other is more appropriate the higher the poetry. One is 
 mechanical, the other is spontaneous ; one is artificial, and calls 
 chiefly for vocal skill; the other calls for imagination, and a 
 sympathetic appreciation and identification with the scene. But 
 will this second way make any contrast ? It will make more 
 than the other. The control, too, will be genuine, and in har- 
 mony with the true spirit of the poem. By the first method, 
 true mental, imaginative, and emotional action tends to be elim- 
 inated ; but the second method is the better means of securing 
 the right attitude and actions of the mind, of awakening the 
 right faculties, and of stimulating true emotion; in short, of 
 securing poetic expression. 
 
 The symbolic mode of conveying ideas by words does not 
 show these differences, and can give little conception of the 
 difference between two ideas, except by adjectives and qualifiers, 
 and even then only indirectly and suggestively. Each word is 
 a representation of an idea, and will cause the idea to awaken in 
 a mind that has already conceived it, and associated it with the 
 word; but a word with which the observer or hearer is not 
 familiar awakens no idea in the mind. Ideas are not so much 
 dependent upon words as upon past experience, and past asso- 
 ciation of ideas with words. When the word 'swan,' for 
 example, is spoken, there awakens in nearly all our minds a 
 conception of a white swan ; but the mental conception of one 
 who may have been familiar with black swans will tend to 
 correspond with his experience, — or one who has been strongly 
 impressed with a black swan will tend to re-conceive it. Thus, 
 for the most part, words are only artificial reminders of con- 
 ceptions we have already had. Occasionally words may be 
 combined so as to suggest conceptions more or less new. Though 
 one has never seen a black swan, he conceives one when the 
 word ' black ' is added to the word ' swan.' In this way, words 
 can convey knowledge.
 
 52 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 There are certain essential differences between ideas which 
 are shown by Vocal Expression, and those expressed by words. 
 Some contend that the tone of voice can indicate the size or 
 distance of an object ; others even go so far as to say that, by 
 the mere tone, we may indicate the time of day in which a situ- 
 ation or event is conceived. No one who has observed the facts 
 of Vocal Expression can doubt that there is some truth in this. 
 Let us see how the voice can manifest this difference. 
 
 By the ordinary elocutionary method, the voice shows these 
 differences by representation, or " imitative modulation " ; but 
 Vocal Expression is not primarily a representative art. Paint- 
 ing can show the difference in size, color, and texture of objects ; 
 but Vocal Expression is confined to an entirely different and 
 more important class of differences. As an illustration of this, 
 take two lines from Longfellow's " Building of the Ship," and 
 place them side by side : — 
 
 "Sail forth into the sea, O Ship," 
 
 " Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State." 
 
 What are the differences between these two ships? They 
 differ in size, — one carrying, say, a thousand passengers, the 
 other about sixty millions ; but the size is the smallest difference. 
 Painting can reveal these objective differences, — it can repre- 
 sent, by means of light and shade and color, a scene or object 
 objectively to the eye. Music is entirely different. While 
 music may represent or imitate actions and sounds, this is not 
 its primary aim. Descriptive music is of a low order ; it is apt 
 to become ridiculous. The "Barn Yard Symphony," for ex- 
 ample, is a comical perversion of the true use and aim of music. 
 The true function of music is to manifest subjective experience. 
 Ideas have subjective as well as objective differences; they 
 awaken different feelings and emotions in the human soul. The 
 two ships referred to in Longfellow's poem have more import- 
 ant differences than size or shape. One is literal, the other is
 
 MODES OF EXPRESSION. 53 
 
 figurative. The first ship awakens joy: as we see it glide out 
 into the water, we rejoice at the triumph of man's power ; but 
 the other ship awakens the nobler emotion of patriotism. One 
 ship has its vocation in commerce, the other in history ; one is a 
 part of man's business life, the other is a part of his deeper, 
 spiritual, national life. The one will pass away, and grow old ; 
 the other is something which will last for centuries. 
 
 Now, of these two classes of ideas, with which is Vocal Ex- 
 pression more concerned ? Like music, it is a manif estive art ; 
 like music, it only represents the object occasionally, and then 
 as an additional association or suggestion. Vocal Expression 
 manifests the feeling in the man who observes the object, and 
 centres in the man. The true function of Vocal Expression, 
 therefore, is to manifest the effect of a true and adequate con- 
 ception of a truth as directly and simply as possible. Words 
 are symbolic, but the voice is suggestive ; and when the voice is 
 cramped and strained to imitate or represent something object- 
 ive, it is not acting in its highest sphere, and the result is arti- 
 ficiality and weakness. 
 
 One of the leading faults of Vocal ExjDression is that it is too 
 objective. It is the most subjective aspect of art. Such sub- 
 jective differences as are seen in the extract from Longfellow, 
 with reference to the three ships, should be studied and rendered 
 with perseverance until the subjective transitions spontaneously 
 modulate the voice, and simply, directly, and truthfully reveal 
 themselves. If Vocal Expression does not manifest such differ- 
 ences, — if it is made to represent objective things, — it loses its 
 natural power to reveal such subjective differences, and becomes 
 mere mechanical elocution. Instead of such an indirect method 
 being weak, it is strongest, because it manifests the man. 
 Words are representative of ideas ; but tone, except occasion- 
 ally and suggestively, shows the man himself. Tone manifests 
 feelings and exalted ideals, which will only be degraded by 
 representative methods.
 
 54 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 In the four lines from Scott, No. 51, we have a true use of 
 representative expression. Just as we have at times a place 
 for true descriptive music, so here we have a sympathetic, sug- 
 gestive use of vocal description. This, however, must never 
 be strained. They must be imaginative, not imitative, — the 
 result of sympathy, and not of mechanical copying. 
 
 In practicing such contrasts as were presented in the last 
 lesson, therefore, the student should not strain to represent dif- 
 ferences ; he must, rather, sympathetically identify himself with 
 each idea and situation. The differences will then be true, and 
 not artificial. They will be far more suggestive and expressive, 
 for they will grow out of the same heart in unity and harmony. 
 Only by such practice can contrasts test the adequacy of con- 
 ception, the directness and genuineness of response, and true 
 and harmonious abandon. A mechanical and representative 
 mode of practice will vitiate these ends. The student should 
 centre everything in each successive idea : a response, and not 
 will, must cause expression. Imitation is volitional and mechan- 
 ical. Assimilation and sympathetic identification alone can 
 cause manifestation and spontaneous expression. 
 
 Problem X. Take some sublime passage, keep the point of view 
 of a sympathetic observer, and manifest the emotion which awak- 
 ens in response to it. 
 
 50 Sail, forth into the sea, O ship! through wind and wave, right 
 onward steer! the moistened eye, the trembling lip, are not the signs of 
 doubt or fear. 
 
 Sail forth into the sea of life, O gentle, loving, trusting wife, and, safe 
 from all adversity, upon the bosom of that sea, thy comings and thy goings 
 be ! For gentleness, and love, and trust, prevail o'er angry wave and gust; 
 and in the wreck of noble lives something immortal still survives! 
 
 Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State! sail on, O Union, strong and 
 great! humanity, with all its fears, with all the hope of future years, is 
 hanging breathless on thy fate! We know what Master laid thy keel, 
 what Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel, who made each mast, and sail, 
 and rope, what anvils rang, what hammers beat, in what a forge, and 
 what a heat, were shaped the anchors of thy hope ! Fear not each sudden
 
 MODES OF EXPRESSION. 55 
 
 sound and shock: 'tis of the wave, and not the rock; 'tis but the flapping 
 of the sail, and not a rent made by the gale ! In spite of ro ck and tempest' s 
 roar, in spite of false lights on the shore, sail on, nor fear to breast the sea! 
 Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee, — our hearts, our hopes, our 
 prayers, our tears, our faith triumphant o'er our fears, are all with thee, 
 are all with thee. 
 " Building of the Ship." Longfellow. 
 
 Problem XI. Bead some passage where the words represent 
 certain ideas objectively, but keep such a sympathetic attitude 
 that all objective representation shall be caused by a sympathetic 
 identification, rather than by any conscious imitation. Let mani- 
 festation transcend representation. 
 
 51 Tkamp ! tramp ! along the line they rode, 
 Splash! splash! along the sea; 
 The scourge is wight, the spur is bright, 
 The flashing pebbles flee. 
 
 Scott. 
 
 52 November's sky is chill and drear, November's leaf is red and 
 sear; late, gazing down the steepy linn, that hems our little garden in, 
 low in its dark and narrow glen, you scarce the rivulet might ken, so 
 thick the tangled greenwood grew, so feeble trill' d the streamlet through. 
 
 Now, murmuring hoarse, and frequent seen, through bush and briar 
 no longer green, an angry brook, it sweeps the glade, brawls over rock 
 and wild cascade, and, foaming brown with doubled speed, hurries its 
 waters to the Tweed. 
 " Marmion." Scott. 
 
 53 Poems are painted window panes. 
 
 If one looks from the square into the church, 
 Dusk and dimness are his gains ; 
 
 Sir Philistine is left in the lurch! 
 The sight, so seen, may well enrage him, 
 Nor anything henceforth assuage him. 
 But come just inside what conceals ; 
 
 Cross the holy threshold quite ; 
 
 All at once 'tis rainbow-bright, 
 
 Device and story flash to light, 
 
 A gracious splendor truth reveals. 
 
 This to God's children is full measure, 
 
 It edifies and gives you pleasure! 
 
 Ooethe.
 
 56 VOCAI, EXPRESSION. 
 
 64. Hf BLOSSOM TIME. 
 It's O my heart, my heart, to be out in the sun and sing, 
 To sing and shout in the fields about, in the balm and blossoming. 
 Sing loud, O bird in the tree ; O bird sing loud in the sky ! 
 And honey-bees, blacken the clover seas ; there are none of you glad as I 
 The leaves laugh low in the wind, laugh low with the wind at play, 
 And the odorous call of the flowers all entices my soul away ! 
 For O but the world is fair, and O but the world is sweet ! 
 I will out of the gold of the blossoming mold, and sit at the Master's feet. 
 And the love my heart would speak, I will fold in the lily's rim, 
 That the lips of the blossom, more pure and meek, may offer it up to him. 
 Then sing in the hedgerow green, O thrash, O skylark, sing in the blue ; 
 Sing loud, sing clear, that the King may hear, and my soul shall sing 
 with you. Ina Donna Coolbreth. 
 
 55 I hide in the solar glory, I am dumb in the pealing song, I rest on 
 the pitch of the torrent, in slumber I am strong. No numbers have 
 counted my tallies, no tribes my house can fill, I sit by the shining Fount 
 of Life, and pour the deluge still. . . . Let war and trade and creeds and song 
 blend, ripen race on race, the sunburnt world a man shall breed of all the 
 zones and countless days. No ray is dimmed, no atom worn, my oldest 
 force is good as new, and the fresh rose on yonder thorn gives back the 
 bending heavens in dew. 
 " Song of Nature." Emerson. 
 
 VII. CHANGE OF PITCH. 
 
 I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, 
 
 Among my skimming swallows; 
 
 I make the netted sunbeam dance 
 
 Against my sandy shallows. 
 " The Brook." Tennyson. 
 
 THE development of expression requires objective as well as 
 subjective study. Every art must have a technique: to 
 improve any form of art we must not only stimulate the cause, 
 but also secure better control of those actions by means of which 
 the idea is expressed. Execution in Vocal Expression must be 
 founded upon the study of conversation. Every art must be
 
 CHANGE OF PITCH. 57 
 
 based on the study of nature, and the natural form, upon which 
 Vocal Expression rests, is the unfettered utterance of men in 
 eveiy-day intercourse. 
 
 If we observe one talking, what are the most salient charac- 
 teristics ? Let us compare him with some person reading, and 
 note the difference. One of the first things we discover in con- 
 versation is variety : the voice leaps upward and downward with 
 perfect freedom, — there are no two words upon the same pitch ; 
 while with the reader words tend to follow each other on one 
 pitch ; all is monotonous. The causes of these changes of pitch 
 are about the same as those which make the branch of a tree, or 
 a leaf upon that branch, grow in a given direction : wherever 
 there is life, it will seek outflow in the most unhindered direc- 
 tion. Life, like water, will flow into the most open channel. 
 Monotony is death. 
 
 Expression is simply a change, — a change of voice and body, 
 caused by some change of thought or feeling. If you are watch- 
 ing a rider dashing along at full speed, and suddenly you see 
 him fall, will you spring forward or recoil ? This will depend 
 entirely on your state of mind, and the attitude of your body in 
 observing him. If you have been leaning forward, earnestly 
 watching him, } - ou will be sure to recoil ; and there is no better 
 reason than simply the fact that you were forward, and the 
 change in the mind calls for a change in the body. A reversal 
 of feeling causes a reversal of attitude. On the contrary, if you 
 were standing calmly on the back foot, looking at him, con- 
 fidently or reposefully, such an accident would cause you to 
 move forward. In the same way, if one idea happens to be 
 expressed on one pitch, another idea, antithetic to the preceding, 
 is instinctively contrasted to it in pitch. The focussing of the 
 mind upon successive ideas, or the quick leap of the mind in 
 thinking, spontaneously causes a leap of the voice. This instinct 
 is universal. The only exception is an apparent one in the case 
 of deaf mutes ; but the reason why they do not vary the pitch is
 
 58 VOCAL EXPRESSION". 
 
 the fact that they have been taught to speak objectively, and 
 the mind is in a mechanical attitude. The making of tone with 
 them is not the spontaneous expression of the action of their 
 minds. Where this is not the case, the same results follow as in 
 other jjeople. The length and direction, therefore, of the change 
 of pitch are due to the degree of animation, the imaginative 
 conditions, and the discriminations and associations of ideas. No 
 rule can be made to govern them. The voice is the most direct 
 and flexible agent of the mind : a word must be deliberatively 
 chosen, but a change of pitch is spontaneous. Verbal Expression 
 is symbolic, but the modulation of tone is significant ; it is not a 
 symbol, but a sign. 
 
 Of all rules, the worst are those for the regulation of changes 
 of pitch. Here are two of them : " Joy, high pitch ; sorrow, 
 low pitch." These are absolutely false. The human being gives 
 joy in all pitches, and sorrow is expressed in the higher parts, as 
 well as the lower parts of the voice. To follow such mechanical 
 rules as these causes the man to be mechanical, and introduces 
 the worst of faults, — monotony. These are rules based on the 
 most superficial observation. A better explanation is this, — 
 uncontrolled emotion tends to high pitch, intense, controlled 
 emotion of any kind tends to a low pitch ; but even this only 
 applies occasionally, and cannot be given as a rule. The great 
 point in practice is not so much the direction or the length of 
 the change of pitch, as the fact that there,, shall be some change 
 of pitch. This is one of the places where so long as the mind 
 holds firmly to an idea, a mistake is impossible. 
 
 In developing expression, there must be no aim at variety for 
 the sake of variety ; it must be for the sake of unity. Still, in 
 change of pitch, the greater the variety — so long as the mind is 
 kept f ocussed — the greater the unity. " Extension in opposition 
 strengthens possession," and any extension of range, or modula- 
 tion of the voice, reveals more clearly the continuity of thought. 
 A monotonous stream of words gives us no impression of thought,
 
 CHANGE OF PITCH. 59 
 
 . — we only think of the words as in proof-reading ; but when 
 the mind really thinks in a sequence, the successive ideas are 
 revealed by the modulation of the voice. We find, in fact, in 
 all art, that there is a vital relation between unity and variety. 
 
 Legitimate variety is necessary to the perception of unity. 
 Variety for the sake of change is chaos, and mere sameness is 
 not unity, but monotony. True unity, therefore, implies variety. 
 Unity is the relation of all parts to one centre, and this subordi- 
 nation of parts brings them into opposition, which brings the 
 greatest possible variation. The two hands, for example, are the 
 most unlike of any two things to be found in nature, and yet 
 they are also most like. To their great dissimilarity and similarity 
 is due the possibility of their unity and co-operation. Hand can 
 fold upon hand, thumb can touch thumb, and finger, finger, 
 because the two hands are directly opposite. 
 
 There are two great faults in Vocal Expression, — monotony 
 and chaos. Strange to say, they go together. "When a monot- 
 onous speaker becomes earnest, his voice changes pitch in the 
 most surprising and unnatural places. This is a characteristic 
 fault of ranters and demagogues, and often results where the 
 energy and earnestness is put on from without, and is not in- 
 herent in the thinking. One of the most curious facts is that 
 while intervals are so natural, they are the first element which 
 is lost in expression. Monotony is not only the first of all 
 faults, but it is an element of all other faults. Whenever a 
 speaker or a reader feels confused, or when the mind grasps a 
 stream of ideas, and endeavors to give them to men, the result 
 is monotony. This is probably due to the fact that the man 
 does not reproduce naturally the sequence of ideas ; he does not 
 have progressive transition in his thinking from idea to idea; 
 he tries to wholesale his ideas, or his consciousness is too much 
 upon the words, — the rhythmic action of his mind is interfered 
 with in some way. The monotony is a natural result. 
 
 Hence, attention and abandon, when properly practised, show
 
 60 VOCAL EXPRESSION". 
 
 at once an effect upon the flexibility and range of the voice in 
 speaking. So long as we positively think progressively, giving 
 ourselves to each successive idea, allowing our words and tones 
 to be the direct outcome of the action of the mind, we can 
 hardly go wrong in change of pitch. The number of intervals 
 will multiply in proportion to the genuineness of the thinking. 
 Therefore, without regard to the more complex principles of 
 inflection, which will be explained later, let us take one of the 
 simplest extracts, full of joy and animation ; let us note in what 
 an infinite variety of ways we can read it correctly : — 
 
 56 O Larks, sing out to the thrushes, 
 And thrushes, sing to the sky! 
 Sing from your nests in the bushes, 
 And sing wherever you fly. 
 
 Of these four fines, we can give the first two words very low, 
 and the next five high ; or the first two high, and the next low ; 
 and so on through the whole. There are a dozen ways in which 
 the extract can be read effectively. The law of association of 
 ideas, the difference of personalities, the occasion, and many 
 other causes will produce such differences ; but we can see that 
 some such variation is necessary. The thought and the feeling 
 must directly dominate the voice. This animated change of pitch 
 is natural, and is always present in spontaneous conversation. 
 
 In practising for change of pitch, the student will at first feel 
 great rebellion; hence it is important for him to take such 
 simple extracts as are here laid down, and read them in many 
 ways. Let him be careful only of one thing, — that the voice 
 leaps with the mind. Let him endeavor to paint a picture in his 
 mind in one place, and the next picture in another ; and at the 
 same time allow his voice to vary sjDontaneously with his mind. 
 Where bad habits have been formed in reading, he may at first 
 deliberately make himself read one phrase low, another high, 
 another in the middle of his voice, — and so on at random.
 
 CHANGE OF PITCH. 61 
 
 Then go over it in an entirely different way, until his mind and 
 his voice, so to speak, come to realize their own freedom. The 
 changes of pitch, however, must be between words, as well as 
 between clauses. 
 
 Problem XII. Realize the successive ideas in some animated 
 passage so vividly that there will be awakened a spontaneous 
 desire for variation in the sequence of ideas, which will also cause 
 the voice to change in pitch. 
 
 57 " Away to the hills, to the caves, to the rocks, — 
 
 Ere I own a usurper, I'll couch with the fox; 
 
 And tremble, false whigs, in the midst of your glee, 
 
 You have not seen the last of my bonnet and me." 
 
 Scott. 
 
 58 Stkaight mine eye hath caught new pleasures whilst the land- 
 scape round it measures: russet lawns, and fallows gray, where the 
 nibbling flocks do stray; mountains, on whose barren breast the labor- 
 ing clouds do often rest ; meadows trim with daisies pied, shallow brooks, 
 and rivers wide; — towers and battlements it sees, bosom' d high in tufted 
 trees, where perhaps some Beauty lies, the Cynosure of neighbouring eyes. 
 
 Milton. 
 
 59. DAFFODILS. 
 
 Fair Daffodils, we weep to see you haste away so soon: as yet the 
 early rising Sun has not attain'd his noon. Stay, stay, until the hasting 
 day has run but to the even-song; and, having pray'd together, we will 
 go with you along. 
 
 We have short time to stay as you, we have as short a Spring; as 
 
 quick a growth to meet decay as you, or any thing. We die, as your 
 
 hours do, and dry away like to the Summer's rain ; or as the pearls of 
 
 morning's dew, ne'er to be found again. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 60 The rose is weeping for her love, the nightingale; 
 And he is flying fast above, to her he will not fail. 
 Already golden eve appears, he wings his way along ; 
 Ahl look, he comes to- kiss her tears, and soothe her with his song. 
 The moon in pearly light may steep the still blue air; 
 The rose hath ceased to droop and weep, for lo ! her joy is there. 
 He sings to her, and o'er the trees she hears his sweet notes swim; 
 The world may weary, — she but hears her love, and hears but him. 
 
 Bailey.
 
 62 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 VIII, PAUSING 
 
 61 Such a starved bank of moss till, that May morn, 
 Blue ran the flash across : violets were born ! 
 Sky — what a scowl of cloud till, near and far, 
 Ray on ray split the shroud: splendid, a star! 
 World — how it walled about life with disgrace 
 Till God's own smile came out: that was thy face! 
 Prologue, " The Two Poets of the Croisic." Browning. 
 
 TF we take this little poem, and allow mind and voice to drift, 
 -*- then read it a second time, really thinking each idea, and 
 associating it with the next, what will be the difference between 
 the two modes of reading ? One difference will be few pauses 
 in the first, and a great many pauses in the second. 
 
 Further study of the characteristics of conversation reveals 
 not only changes of pitch, but pauses. The variation of the 
 voice in conversation is due as much to intervals of time as to 
 intervals of pitch. Pause is among the fundamental character- 
 istics of naturalness. Whenever anyone speaks in a continuous 
 stream of words, no matter how brilliant his ideas, or how beau- 
 tiful his phrases, he is tedious and tiresome in the extreme. For, 
 paradoxical as it may seem, continuity of words destroys con- 
 tinuity of thought ; continuity of thought necessitates pauses in 
 words. " Silence is the father of speech ; " thought must have 
 " its silent undergrowth," before it can utter itself in words. 
 
 Intervals of silence thus show the genuineness of thinking. A 
 pause preceding a word, or phrase, shows it to be the effect or 
 sign of mental action. As the mind thinks by pulsation, by 
 rhythmic leaps, by action and re-action, so speech must have the 
 same characteristics. The length and frequency of pauses shows 
 the intensity of thinking. As the mind, in superficial thinking, 
 drifts, and is not focussed intensely and for a long time upon 
 successive ideas, so the expression of such thinking reveals no 
 staying of the mind by cessations and interruptions of the stream 
 of words, nor any change of pitch. On the contrary, where the
 
 PAUSING. 63 
 
 thinking is intense, where the mind wrestles to comprehend the 
 greatness of an idea, the fact of such mental struggle is revealed 
 by a pause. 
 
 Pause and change of pitch are closely related to each other. 
 The pause justifies or causes the change of pitch. As pause 
 shows the mind creating its conception, so the change of pitch 
 reveals the result. In proportion as the mind has created a new 
 conception, or gained a new outlook, will the voice indicate 
 spontaneously the mental change by change of pitch. 
 
 A pause is not a mechanical thing. Neither the place where 
 it is to be made, nor its length, can be measured by artificial 
 rules. A pause is not a mere interval of time. There is, in fact, 
 great difference between a hesitation and a pause : hesitation is 
 mechanical, — it is the result of a lapse of memory, or of not 
 understanding a word or a thought ; a pause, on the contrary, is 
 due to the endeavor of the mind to conceive more truly, to 
 realize more adequately the weight or relations of the idea. A 
 hesitation is never agreeable, because it shows a gap in the 
 thought, while a proper use of pauses is most pleasing because 
 it shows a deeper continuity, a broader realization of truth. 
 Hesitation rarely causes change of pitch, while a true pause 
 is always associated with a change in pitch. This fact is very 
 important. Whatever test causes a realization of the difference 
 between a pause and a hesitation, is of great importance in 
 training. 
 
 A genuine pause is the result of thinking along the line of the 
 subject, thinking which is more or less common between the 
 speaker and the hearer. It shows that the speaker weighs and 
 considers the idea : hence, pause accompanies all other forms of 
 emphasis. " Speech is silvern, silence is golden ; " but silence to 
 be golden in expression must be shown to be due to the domi- 
 nation of an idea. 
 
 Even a hesitation for a word may be made a means of uniting 
 the mental action of the speaker and his hearers, and thus be
 
 64 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 made an element of power. A speaker may even, as old Fal- 
 staff said, " turn his diseases into a commodity." It is said that 
 Daniel Webster, in Faneuil Hall, once gave a certain word for 
 an idea, but it did not satisfy him : he hesitated, and gave 
 another, — hesitated again, and gave still another; — and when, 
 after four or five trials, he found the adequate word, the audi- 
 ence broke forth into applause. The fact is, he thus showed 
 himself to be a great orator. He united the action of the minds 
 of his auditors to his own ; both labored together for a grander 
 and more adequate conception of the idea, as well as for its 
 highest expression. In conversation, the words are few, and the 
 pauses many. The art of reading aloud is the art of turning 
 cold, monotonous print into the living movement of conversa- 
 tion. In conversation, the speaker constantly pauses, and the 
 hearer shares the effort of the thinker. The hearer does not feel 
 that he is called upon to accept something that has already been 
 thought out and stated ; he is brought into sympathy with a 
 creative act of the mind, and realizes the joy of discovering 
 ideas. The grandest ideas cannot be adequately expressed in 
 words. True vocal expression must suggest the transcendency 
 of an idea, or thought, over words. Hence, the truest vocal 
 expression reveals rather the effort of the mind to receive than 
 its action in giving. 
 
 This is the peculiar function of the pause in Vocal Expression. 
 It shows that the mind receives the idea before giving it, that 
 " impression precedes expression ; " while the change of pitch, and 
 other vocal modulations, show that the impression determines 
 the expression. There is a partial proof of this in the fact that 
 in simple prose the discussion of abstract and general ideas 
 requires few pauses, while dramatic poetry — or composition 
 of any kind, where there are more complex conceptions back of 
 the words — requires more and longer pauses in expression. 
 
 Again, it is shown by the fact that writers like Carlyle and 
 Browning, whose ideas and conceptions transcend their words, 
 
 i
 
 PAUSING. 65 
 
 require more pauses than writers who have a smooth flow of 
 words, with less depth of thought and grandeur of conception. 
 All authors who are suggestive, who appeal to the imaginative 
 insight, who, in short, suggest a great deal beyond the words, 
 require many pauses in expression. 
 
 Still another point regarding pauses, is that when a man reads 
 that with which he is not familiar, he makes fewer pauses than 
 when he reads that which is perfectly familiar to him. The 
 reason for this curious fact is that in the first place he merely 
 calls the words, and gets the ideas after he has pronounced 
 them, while in the other case he reproduces and re-creates the 
 successive ideas. The attitude of the mind in the first instance 
 does not change with the thought, — the eye simply takes, and 
 the voice pronounces the words, the mind following after; but 
 in true expressive reading, the mind takes an idea before it gives 
 it, and this necessitates pause. Pauses are always present when a 
 man is natural, or when he conceives each idea at the instant 
 before he conveys it. 
 
 When a student is asked to read or to speak, he is afraid to 
 make pauses; the reason for this is a fear of being tedious. 
 Tediousness is the one thing of which all are afraid. All feel 
 that hesitation is a primary source of tediousness ; forgetting 
 that an empty flow of words also causes tediousness. The true 
 remedy for tediousness is genuine thinking, and the power to 
 use silence in such a way as to unite the thinking of other minds 
 with that of our own. 
 
 The importance of pauses, therefore, is due to the fact that 
 they show the creative action of the mind ; that they show the 
 rhythmic progression of thinking ; that they are the revelation 
 of subjective attention,- or the successive focussing of the mind 
 upon central ideas, and the domination of other minds to think 
 in the same sequence ; that they show the cause and effect in 
 conversation, and thus are characteristic of spontaneity and 
 naturalness ; that they make words more suggestive, by revealing 
 5
 
 66 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 ideas as transcendent over signs or words ; and, lastly, that they 
 reveal depth of feeling and passion. 
 
 One of the first steps, therefore, in Expression, is to become 
 conscious of the significance of the pause ; to become willing to 
 allow silence to mingle with our speech ; to recognize that if 
 " speech is a jewel, silence must form its setting." The highest 
 art of expression is to reveal the receptive activity of the mind, 
 and without the pause this cannot be done. While Expression 
 may seem to be the giving of thought, yet it must be remembered 
 that ideas and emotions cannot be given as objective things. 
 They can only be evoked and drawn out. Hence, the energy of 
 the mind in taking an idea must be shown much more than its 
 action in giving. Possession of life implies manifestation ; and 
 since pauses reveal the life of the mind in receiving impressions, 
 all Vocal Expression will centre in their use. 
 
 Each idea must be discovered. It must spring up spontane- 
 ously before speaking the words, — and this takes place during 
 a pause. Take this simple extract, and note the effect of really 
 thinking each idea. After each phrase, we find ourselves 
 pausing, and, if we wish to make the extract emphatic, almost 
 mentally asking questions : 
 
 62 Eveey clod feels a stir of might, 
 
 An instinct within it that reaches and towers, 
 And, groping blindly above it for light, 
 
 Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers. Lowell. 
 
 "Every clod" (what about it? answer:) "feels a stir of 
 might," (nay, even more,) "an instinct within it," (what of it?) 
 " that reaches and towers, and " (something else more beautiful) 
 " groping blindly above it for light," (and something still more 
 wonderf ul) " climbs to a soul in grass and flowers." Of course, 
 it is impossible to interpret in words the process of thought, and 
 even if it were possible, no one analysis would be universal, as 
 every mind acts in a different way.
 
 PAUSING. 67 
 
 This silent thinking, or the process of relation and discovery, 
 is of fundamental importance in Vocal Expression. The silence 
 must speak. A pause is not vacuity, — an interval is a pause 
 because it is full of thought. The author's thought or feeling 
 can only be suggested ; the words must bear a sympathetic re- 
 lation to the deep continuity of ideas in the soul, by the signifi- 
 cance of silence.* 
 
 Problem XIII. Read some passage, taking time to realize in- 
 tensively each successive idea before giving it expression, and so 
 vary the pitch and other modulations of the voice as to show that 
 the period of silence was necessary on account of this mental 
 activity. 
 
 63 Speech is but broken ligbt upon tbe depth 
 
 Of tbe unspoken ; even your loved words 
 
 Float in tbe larger meaning of your voice 
 
 As something dimmer. 
 
 George Eliot. 
 
 64 Pkaise always surprises and humbles true genius; tbe shadow 
 of earth comes then between them and their starry ideal with a cold and 
 dark'eclipse. 
 " Conversations." Lowell. 
 
 65, PADRE PUGNACCIO. 
 
 Up the steps of the dome of Saint Peter's, between two penitents 
 wrapped in mantillas, his head out of his hood, walked Padre Pugnaccio. 
 The bells were quarrelling in the clouds. 
 
 One of the penitents, the aunt, counted an Ave for each bead of her 
 rosary; and the other, tbe niece, ogled from the corner of her eyes a 
 handsome officer of the Pope's guard. The monk muttered to the old 
 woman, "Make a donation to my convent;" and the officer slipped a 
 perfumed note into the young girl's hand. 
 
 The sinner wiped a few tears from her eyes; the maiden blushed with 
 pleasure ; the monk was calculating the interest of a thousand piastres at 
 twelve per cent; and the.officer was gazing at himself in a hand-mirror, 
 and curling the tips of his mustachios. 
 
 And the devil, squatting in the loose sleeve of Padre Pugnaccio, chuc- 
 kled like Pulcinello. -&«"* Bertrand. 
 
 ♦See Classics, pp. 17, 41, 172, 361.
 
 68 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 66 The hills, 
 Rock-ribbed, 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 meadows green ; and, poured round all, 
 Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste, — 
 Are but the solemn decorations all 
 Of the great tomb of man! Bryant. 
 
 67. THE HYMN ON THE NATIVITY. 
 
 It was the winter wild, while the heaven-born Child, all meanly wrapt, 
 in the rude manger lies; nature in awe to him had doff' d her gaudy trim, 
 with her great Master so to sympathize: it was no season then for her to 
 wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour. No war, or battle's sound 
 was heard the world around: the idle spear and shield were high up 
 hung ; the hooked chariot stood unstained with hostile blood ; the trump- 
 et spake not to the armed throng; and kings sat still with awful eye, as 
 if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by. But peaceful was the 
 night wherein the Prince of Light his reign of peace upon the earth 
 began: the winds, with wonder whist, smoothly the waters kist, whisper- 
 ing new joys to the wild ocean — who now hath quite forgot to rave, 
 while birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave. The stars, with 
 deep amaze, stand fix'd in steadfast gaze, bending one way their precious 
 influence; and will not take their flight for all the morning light, or 
 Lucifer that often warn'd them thence; but in their glimmering orbs did 
 glow until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go. The shepherds, 
 on the lawn, or ere the point of dawn, sate simply chatting in a rustic row; 
 full little thought they then that the mighty Pan was kindly come to 
 live with them below; perhaps their loves, or else their sheep, was all 
 that did their silly thoughts so busy keep. When such music sweet 
 their hearts and ears did greet as never was by mortal finger strook — 
 divinely-warbled voice answering the stringe'd noise, as all their souls in 
 blissful rapture took: the air, such pleasure loth to lose, with thousand 
 echoes still prolongs each heavenly close. Ring out, ye crystal spheres! 
 once bless our human ears, if ye have power to touch our senses so ; and 
 let your silver chime move in melodious time ; and let the base of heaven's 
 deep organ blow ; and with your ninefold harmony make up full concert 
 to angelic symphony! 
 
 Milton.
 
 EDUCATION OF THE EYE. 69 
 
 68 And how did Garrick speak the soliloquy last night? Oh, against 
 all role, my lord, most ungrammatically! betwixt the substantive and the 
 adjective, which should agree together in number, case, and gender, he 
 made a breach thus, — stopping as if the point wanted settling; — and 
 betwixt the nominative case, which your lordship knows should govern 
 the verb, he suspended his voice in the epilogue a dozen times, three 
 seconds and three-fifths by a stop watch, my lord, each time. But in 
 suspending his voice, — was the sense suspended likewise? did no expres- 
 sion of attitude or countenance fill up the chasm? — Was the eye silent? 
 Did you narrowly look? — I look'd only at the stop-watch, my lord. 
 
 And did you step in to take a look at the grand picture on your way 
 back? — 'Tis a melancholy daub! my lord; not one principle of the 
 pyramid in any one group! — and what a price! — for there is nothing 
 of the colouring of Titian — the expression of Kubens — the grace of 
 Kaphael — the purity of Dominichino — the corregiescity of Corregio — 
 the learning of Poussin — the airs of Guido — or the grand contour of 
 Angelo. 
 
 Grant me patience, just Heaven ! Of all the cants which are canted 
 in this canting world, — though the cant of hypocrisy may be the worst, 
 — the cant of criticism is the most tormenting! 
 
 I would go fifty miles, on foot, to kiss the hand of that man, whose 
 generous heart will give up the reins of his imagination into his author's 
 hands — be pleased he knows not why, and cares not wherefore. 
 
 Laurence Sterne. 
 
 IX. EDUCATION OF THE EYE. 
 
 69 Nothing small ! no lily-muffled hum of a summer-bee, but finds 
 
 some coupling with the shining stars ; no pebble at your feet but proves 
 
 a sphere; no chaffinch, but implies the cherubim. Earth's crammed with 
 
 heaven, and every common bush afire with God. 
 
 Mrs. Browning. 
 
 npHERE are two distinct forms of reading : silent or receptive 
 •*- reading, and expressive reading, or reading aloud. Silent 
 or receptive reading implies merely the act of receiving ideas, or 
 of taking ideas from a printed page by the reader; no other 
 mind is concerned. To read aloud is to convey an impression, 
 or a possession which is in the reader's mind, to the mind of 
 another. The development of expression and reading implies
 
 70 VOCAL EXPBESSION. 
 
 both of these acts ; for reading aloud implies receptive reading. 
 There can be no expression without impression. 
 
 On the other hand, the two must not be confused. What a 
 violation it is of all the principles so far discovered and discussed, 
 to have a child merely pronounce words as a means of training 
 him to read aloud, while his mental action is almost entirely 
 ignored ! Of course, pronounciation must receive attention, but 
 is it well to do this as a part of reading aloud ? Does it not 
 belong to spelling, or to conversation? Can it not be done 
 better while talking ? Should a child be taught to pronounce 
 words before he understands their meaning ? In fact, one of the 
 chief requisites for both receptive and expressive reading must 
 be familiarity with words. There can be no reading for the 
 reception of ideas, unless the words are more or less familiar; 
 and to give expression to the same ideas, there is needed a much 
 greater familiarity with words. 
 
 Reading, or the reception of ideas, must always be trained 
 before there can be any expressive reading. The reception of 
 ideas must precede the expression of ideas; hence we can see 
 that, preceding all expressive reading, some disciplining of the 
 eye is necessary. That is to say, the eye must be trained to grasp 
 a group of words, — the mind to conceive the idea beneath them. 
 Of course, it is not so much a training of the eye, as it is of the 
 mind through the eye ; but the organ and the agency concerned 
 are most intimately connected. The development of the power 
 of the eye, to perceive ideas through words quickly, must be 
 developed through silent reading. 
 
 The action of the eye in silent reading is not the same as in 
 reading aloud; the eye in silent reading merely catches the 
 meaning beneath the words, and is thus more or less continuous ; 
 the eye in reading aloud takes a group of words, and then be- 
 comes quiescent as the mind conceives the idea, and while these 
 are spoken; — then grasps another group, and so on. The eye 
 may do this in silent reading, but this rhythmic succession is
 
 EDUCATION OF THE EYE. 71 
 
 more accentuated in reading aloud. The child must first take a 
 group of words, then speak them so as to give the meaning ; 
 take another group of words, and express the meaning of that. 
 There is a great temptation to call words singly, and not by 
 groups, according to the rhythmic pulsations of the thought . 
 
 The education of the eye is most important. Daniel Webster 
 laid his manuscript before him, and then endeavored to catch 
 enough by his eye to speak while he walked several steps. In 
 this way he trained his eye to catch successive groups of words, 
 go that when he spoke he could give his eye to his audience. 
 He was thus enabled to speak his words as if they were extem- 
 poraneous, — he was never confined to his manuscript. This 
 should be true of all good reading. The student must be trained 
 to take a group of words with his eye, while the mind conceives 
 the idea beneath them, and its relation to the thought, and then 
 to speak the words. The mind must act between the eye and 
 the expression. 
 
 Accordingly, reading aloud is slower than silent reading, 
 because of this additional process which takes place during 
 pauses. The mental action is only receptive in silent reading, 
 but in reading aloud there is also an endeavor to make salient 
 the fundamental points in the current of ideas, so as to make 
 them clear to other minds. We must, therefore, train the mind 
 and the eye to act together, so that the mind, the eye, and the 
 voice, will act in proper order. The eye must see like a flash, 
 while the mind creates the pictures, and then the voice can speak. 
 
 One great temptation is to read in a continuous stream, because 
 the eye sees so many words at once. We all tend merely to 
 pronounce the words, and to let the mind follow after both the 
 eye and the voice. We think a thought after speech simultane- 
 ously with the person who listens to us, and not before we speak. 
 We tend to think as the result of pronounciation, and not as the 
 cause of speech. The great difficulty in reading aloud is in 
 looking and thinking before we speak.
 
 72 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 Problem XIV. Read some passage at sight, pausing before 
 each successive phrase, and being sure to grasp all the words of 
 the phrase through the eye before beginning to express the idea. 
 
 70 It is the little rift within the lute, 
 
 That by-and-bye will make the music mute, 
 And ever widening, slowly silence all. 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 71 Mysterious Night ! when our first parent knew 
 Thee from report divine, and heard thy name, 
 Did he not tremble for this lovely frame, 
 
 This glorious canopy of light and blue? 
 
 Yet, 'neath a curtain of translucent dew, 
 
 Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame, 
 Hesperus with the host of heaven came, 
 
 And lo! creation widened in man's view. 
 
 Who could have thought such darkness lay concealed 
 Within thy beams, O Sun? or who could find, 
 
 Whilst fruit, and leaf, and insect stood revealed, 
 
 That to such countless orbs thou mad'st us blind? 
 
 Why do we, then, shun death, with anxious strife? 
 
 If Light conceals so much — wherefore not Life? 
 " Night and Death." Blanco White. 
 
 72. MAEIE ANTOINETTE. 
 It is now sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the Queen of France, 
 then the Dauphiness, 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 
 splendour, and joy. Oh, what a revolution! and what a heart I must 
 have, to contemplate without emotion that elevation and that fall! 
 Little did I dream, when she added titles of veneration to those of en- 
 thusiastic, distant, respectful love, that she should ever be obliged to 
 carry the sharp antidote against disgrace concealed in that bosom ; 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 honour and of cavaliers. 
 I thought ten thousand swords must have leaped from their scabbards 
 to avenge even a look that threatened her with insult. 
 " Reflections on the French Revolution." Burke.
 
 PHRASING. 73 
 
 73 A picture, however admirable the painter's art, and wonderful 
 his power, requires of the spectator a surrender of himself, in due 
 proportion with the miracle which has been wrought. Let the canvas 
 glow as it may, you must look with the eye of faith, or its highest 
 excellence escapes you. There is always the necessity of helping out 
 the painter's art with your own resources of sensibility and imagination. 
 Not that these qualities shall really add anything to what the master 
 has effected; but they must be put so entirely under his control, and 
 work along with him to such an extent, that, in a different mood, when 
 you are cold and critical, instead of sympathetic, you will be apt to fancy 
 that the loftier merits of the picture were of your own dreaming, not of 
 his creating. 
 "The Marble Faun." HawtJiorne. 
 
 X. PHRASING 
 
 74 The sun upon the lake is low, the wild birds hush their song, 
 The hills have evening's deepest glow, yet Leonard tarries long. 
 Now all whom varied toil and care, from home and love divide, 
 In the calm sunset may repair each to the loved one's side. 
 The noble dame on turret high, who waits her gallant knight, 
 Looks to the western beam to spy the flash of armour bright. 
 The village maid, with hand on brow the level ray to shade, 
 Upon the footpath watches now for Colin' s darkening plaid. 
 Now to their mates the wild swans row, by day they swam apart, 
 And to the thicket wanders slow the hind beside the hart. 
 The woodlark at his partner' s side twitters his closing song — 
 All meet whom day and care divide, but Leonard tarries long ! 
 
 Soott. 
 
 ET us note now the effect of the action of the mind upon 
 *~* words. As we compare words with a sequence of ideas, 
 we find that every word is not a manifestation of a conception. 
 The phrase 'in the calm sunset,' has three words, but only one 
 picture rises in the mind. In the preceding extract, there are 
 far more words than conceptions ; in fact, in reading aloud the 
 above lyric, the mind grasps each picture, and the words express- 
 ing it are gathered into a group. The length of the pauses, and 
 the range of the modulations by which the voice relates the
 
 74 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 words to the underlying idea, are in direct proportion to the 
 vividness of that idea. This process of separating and uniting 
 words, to show the ideas and the continuity of thought beneath 
 them, is called " phrasing." 
 
 There are spontaneous impulses in passion and mental 
 action which tend to be right ; and all training must stimulate 
 these tendencies, and give the man consciousness of them, and 
 control over them, so that he can enlarge and strengthen them 
 when he desires to dominate his fellow man. Right training 
 enables him to use them. One salient proof that nature has right 
 impulses is found in the phrasing of common conversation. Very 
 rarely, if ever, even in the conversation of the little child, is a 
 pause in the wrong place, or is the phrasing incorrect ; but the 
 very moment a person begins to read or to recite, that very 
 moment perversion begins, and naturalness is lost. The reason 
 for this is plain : in conversation the ideas are taken successively, 
 and are allowed free course in the domination of words ; but in 
 reading, ideas are often conceived by the reader after the words. 
 
 In reading this extract, it may be seen also that vocal punctu- 
 ation is entirely different from printers' punctuation. Between 
 the words, ' yes, indeed,' or ' yes, sir,' for example, the printer 
 places a comma ; but there is no pause whatever in speech. On 
 the other hand, every sentence requires many times more 
 pauses in speaking than there are marks of punctuation. The 
 printer simply shows the grammatical or mechanical relation of 
 words and clauses; while the human voice shows what lies 
 beneath all grammar, all mechanical structure, — the living, 
 logical sequence of the ideas. Speaking reveals the process of 
 forming the conceptions, and of relating one idea to another, 
 rather than the mechanical relation of words. It shows the 
 relation of words, but not directly ; it shows a far more vital, a 
 far deeper and more inclusive relation. The relation of words 
 and phrases is a mere accident of verbal expression, but the 
 principle underlying phrasing governs all forms of language.
 
 PHRASING. 75 
 
 Pantomime, and the sign language of deaf mutes and Indians, 
 show it possibly more definitely than Vocal Expression. Phras- 
 ing, then, is the manifestation of genuine thinking in expression. 
 It shows the difference between the mere calling of words, and 
 the use of words as the direct signs of thought. 
 
 No two minds phrase alike. Even in reading the same extract, 
 temperament and methods of mental training all modify the 
 pauses. A great mind with strong movement, with nervous 
 intensity of earnestness, like that of Bishop Phillips Brooks, 
 moves forward with shorter pauses ; while a great judicial mind, 
 a mind which logically weighs and relates each idea, a mind 
 which takes in all the relations of an idea before speaking it, 
 like Canon Lidden, makes longer pauses. Moreover, the same 
 person, on different occasions, — in different conditions and 
 moods of mind, before a smaller or a larger audience, — does 
 not phrase in the same way. 
 
 Methods of developing phrasing have been chiefly by rule : 
 everything has been based upon the grammatical relationship 
 of words. The following rules have been common : " Pause 
 before a preposition, before a relative pronoun, before ' to ' as 
 the sign of the infinitive mood," — and so on. " Pause after the 
 subject when it consists of more than one word, the object in an 
 inverted sentence, and every complete phrase or clause," — and 
 so on. Now, while we do usually pause in such places, still we 
 pause in other places, and for reasons not grammatical. Such 
 half truths crystallized into rules are fatal to naturalness and 
 simplicity. 
 
 The instinct for phrasing must be developed in some other 
 way. Such rules are mechanical and artificial, and violate the 
 fundamental principles of Vocal Expression. Vocal Expression 
 is not an endeavor to show men the mechanical structure of 
 sentences, or the relationship of words, but to manifest the 
 though ii and feeling, and the kinship of ideas, behind the words; 
 so to modulate the words that they become transparent, that
 
 76 VOCAL EXPRESSION - . 
 
 men no longer feel the words or their relations, but the thought 
 and experience which he beneath them. It is not the gram- 
 matical relations of words, but the logical sequence of ideas, 
 which should furnish the governing principle. To govern reading 
 merely by the mechanical and grammatical structure of the 
 sentence, is to make it not a natural art, but the most mechani- 
 cal and artificial of arts. Phrasing can never be made a 
 mechanical process, without perverting and artificializing the 
 whole manner of delivery. 
 
 Whenever thinking is natural and vigorous, rhythmic, pro- 
 gressive and intense, each idea will act toward the words which 
 belong to it as the magnet does toward iron filings. It will 
 gather them into clusters ; and every modulation of the voice, 
 every subtle change of pitch and pause, will serve to reveal the 
 process of thought ; the principles unfolded in regard to pause 
 must govern phrasing. Phrasing illustrates clearly the difference 
 between the mechanical and the natural methods of developing 
 delivery. The mechanical method looks at the outside, at the 
 grammatical structure, and the external relationship. At one time, 
 the art of reading was so mechanical that even such ridiculous 
 rules as this were made : the child was told to count one for a 
 comma, two for a semi-colon, three for a colon, and four for a 
 period. Such mechanical suggestions were made within the mem- 
 ory of some who are now living. Think how ridiculous such a 
 rule as this would be if applied to conversation ; but why not to 
 conversation as well as to reading ? The reader is using the 
 words of another ; but this is no reason why he should be kept 
 from thinking the thought of the author, and making each idea 
 his own. Why should he be placed mentally in mechanical 
 attitude of mere pronounciation, by thinking of such artificial 
 and mechanical rules as these ? The rules given for phrasing 
 and pausing are equally bad. Phrasing must not be trammelled 
 by any artificial rules. It can only be natural when L is the 
 direct revelation of the vividness, the intensity, and the rhythmic 
 pulsation of the thinking.
 
 PHRASING. 77 
 
 To illustrate the subject of pausing and phrasing take two 
 little poems of Browning : 
 
 75. MEETING AT NIGHT. 
 
 The gray sea and the long black land; 
 And the yellow half-moon, large and low; 
 And the startled little waves that leap 
 In fiery ringlets from their sleep, 
 As I gain the cove with pushing prow, 
 And quench its speed in the slushy sand. 
 
 Then a mile of warm, sea-scented beach ; 
 
 Three fields to cross till a farm appears ; 
 
 A tap at the pane, the quick, sharp scratch 
 
 And blue spurt of a lighted match, 
 
 And a voice less loud, thro' its joys and fears, 
 
 Than the two hearts beating each to each ! 
 
 Browning. 
 
 76. PARTING AT MORNING. 
 
 Round the cape of a sudden came the sea, 
 And the sun looked over the mountain's rim — 
 And straight was a path of gold for him, 
 And the need of a world of men for me. 
 
 Browning. 
 
 If these poems are read as a mere stream of words, there is 
 no sign or evidence of any thinking on the part of the reader. 
 Such a process completely eliminates thinking ; it is proof- 
 reading, and all attention is devoted to the words as words. 
 When, however, the reader begins to think over the real mean- 
 ing, and lingers over each idea as he would over a beautiful 
 painting, what a difference is manifest in the stream of words ! 
 What magnetic power begins to be acquired by the successive 
 ideas ! " The gray sea " becomes a picture in itself ; " and the 
 long black land " is painted in contrast to it ; " and the yellow 
 half-moon, large and low," — this can be given as one, two or 
 three pictures. A versatile mind will take more steps, a slow, pro- 
 gressive, broad, comprehensive mind will take a less number of 
 steps ; — so that no rule can be laid down. The mind proceeds
 
 78 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 naturally : " the startled little waves " and then what they do, — 
 " that leap in fiery ringlets," and their previous repose contrasted 
 with effect, " from their sleep." And so on, each image being 
 vigorously conceived in its turn, the mind moves on progress- 
 ively, and the words spontaneously respond. When once the 
 mind is started, its action is too simple to need explanation. 
 Even in the last lines, if the mind has rhythmically and dramati- 
 cally progressed with each idea, the truth is so felt that prosy 
 explanation will only superficialize and spoil its beauty. 
 
 In reading the second poem, it must be remembered that 
 Browning, when he once begins a poem, never changes his 
 situation ; so that hi this poem, which is a part of the other, or 
 a contrast to it, the same person is speaking in the same situa- 
 ation. 
 
 77 Hast thou named all the birds without a gun? 
 
 Loved the Maid-rose, and left it on its stalk? 
 
 At rich men's tables eaten bread and pulse? 
 
 Unarmed, faced danger with a heart of trust? 
 
 And loved so well a high behavior, 
 
 In man or maid, that thou from speech refrained, 
 
 Nobility more nobly to repay? 
 
 Oh, be my friend, and teach me to be thine ! 
 
 Emerson. 
 
 This extract from Emerson illustrates how the mind spon- 
 taneously brings together fa mili ar words, — " Hast thou named 
 all the birds ? " is all one thing, familiar and easily understood, — 
 so they tend to one group ; but the real point is in the next, 
 " without a gun." The mind has come upon something unusual; 
 this is shown by a spontaneous pausing, and change of move- 
 ment. The next is naturally to be expected, "Loved the wood- 
 rose," but the next is remarkable, " and left it on its stalk ; " so 
 the mind tends to divide it into two phrases. 
 
 The student, by a little self-observation in reading, can easily 
 find the true principles of nature, and get at the heart of the 
 simplicity and power of such a method. The process of making
 
 PHRASING. 79 
 
 the thought one's own is not only the most effective, but is also 
 the only possible method of grouping words about the successive 
 ideas. No mechanical and artificial rules and expedients have 
 ever accomplished anything but injury in artistic training.* 
 
 Problem XV. Think each successive idea in any passage so 
 genuinely and intensely as to cause the voice to be modulated, 
 and the words to be gathered into groups, according to their re- 
 lation to the thought. 
 
 ■- 
 
 78 The soul of music slumbers in its shell 
 
 Till waked and kindled by the master's spell; 
 
 And feeling hearts, touch them but rightly, pour 
 
 A thousand melodies unheard before. 
 
 Samuel Rogers. 
 
 79 Large was his soul; as large a soul as e'er 
 Submitted to inform a body here ; 
 
 High as the place 'twas shortly in Heaven to have, 
 
 But low and humble as his grave ; 
 So high that all the virtues there did come 
 
 As to the chiefest seat, 
 
 Conspicuous and great, 
 So low that for me, too, it made a room. 
 
 Cowley. 
 
 80 Roaming in thought over the Universe, I saw the little that is 
 Good steadily hastening towards immortality. And the vast all that 
 is called evil I saw hastening to merge itself, and become lost and dead. 
 
 Whitman. 
 
 81 Come from the hills where your hirsels are grazing, 
 Come from the glen of the buck and the roe ; 
 Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing, 
 Come with the buckler, the lance, and the bow. 
 Trumpets are sounding, war-steeds are bounding, 
 Stand to your arms, and march in good order, 
 England shall many a day tell of the bloody fray, 
 When the Blue Bonnets came over the Border. 
 
 Scott 
 
 * See Classics, pp. 17, 198, 296.
 
 80 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 82. A FAREWELL. 
 
 Flow down, cold rivulet to the sea, thy tribute wave deliver; 
 No more by thee my steps shall be, forever and forever. 
 Flow, softly flow, by lawn and lea, a rivulet, then a river; 
 Nowhere by thee my steps shall be, forever and forever. 
 
 But here will sigh thine alder-tree, and here thine aspen quiver; 
 
 And here by thee will hum the bee, forever and forever. 
 
 A thousand suns will stream on thee, a thousand moons will quiver, 
 
 But not by thee my steps shall be, forever and forever. 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 83 The faery beam upon you — the stars to glisten on you — a moon 
 of light in the noon of night, till the fire-drake hath o'ergone you! The 
 wheel of fortune guide you. The boy with the bow beside you; run aye 
 in the way till the bird of day, and the luckier lot, betide you. 
 " Gipsy Benediction.'" Ben Jonson. 
 
 XI. SIMPLICITY. 
 
 /""VNE of the first and most important lessons for the student 
 ^S to learn in any art work, is that all true power is simple. 
 Nothing can be great or strong which is not founded upon 
 simple truthfulness, and fidelity to nature. Delivery is apt to 
 be considered as something belonging entirely to manner and 
 externals. In many cases it is considered synonymous with 
 affectation ; yet true work in expression is the best means of 
 making us feel the real essence of simplicity. While on the 
 one hand, elocution may be made the means of developing 
 affectation ; on the other, it may be studied in such a way as to 
 remove affectation, and develop genuineness and sincerity. If 
 a student is led to study the elements of his thinking, and the 
 spontaneous tendencies of his nature to utterance, — to observe 
 what pleases him in the conversation of others, — he will become 
 conscious of what is truly natural, and be able to distinguish 
 naturalness from affectation. 
 
 The greatest writers and artists have one invariable charac- 
 teristic: they are simple and sincere. Homer and Phidias,
 
 SIMPLICITY. 81 
 
 Virgil and Dante, Shakespeare and Wordsworth, all use the 
 simplest words to express their ideas. The greatness of all art 
 consists in its transparency ; the greatness of all oratory, of all 
 delivery, and histrionic expression, is its simple intensity and 
 naturalness, its depth, not loudness, its hidden soul, not showy 
 garment, its repose, not extravagance. 
 
 The greatest necessity for the student in expression is to be 
 free from all mannerisms ; the greatest danger is the substitu- 
 tion of affectation for the true utterance of what is in the mind. 
 Affectation literally means something joined to something else; 
 a stick of wood nailed to the side of a tree would be an affected 
 limb. If we do not have something in our hearts, we can never 
 have it in utterance. Simplicity in expression means an absence 
 of show, declamation, and affectation, and the presence of that 
 only which makes clear and transparent. It is a manifestation 
 of directness of thought and aim. 
 
 Simplicity is founded upon sincerity. It is a manifestation of 
 true earnestness ; it implies faith in truth rather than in modes 
 of presentation ; it is a simple correspondence between thought, 
 feeling and their expression, founded upon truthfulness of feel- 
 ing. It is ever the foundation of all excellence in expression ; 
 and it implies directness of thought, sincerity of motive, truth- 
 fulness of the soul, in its bearing toward nature and man. These 
 are the most necessary requisites for all true greatness in 
 speaking. 
 
 The true road to simplicity is through abandonment. To 
 some, abandon means extravagance ; but abandon does not mean 
 muscular labor, — rather the opposite. Abandon is not bombast, 
 nor is simplicity repression. True abandon, true spontaneity, 
 as has been shown, is the giving of ourselves to the harmonious 
 impulses of all parts of our nature, working in unity. True 
 spontaneity forbids too much interference with natural unity of 
 impulse, as simplicity forbids any addition to the true outward 
 manifestations of thought and feeling.
 
 82 VOCAE EXPRESSION. 
 
 From this can be seen the importance of studying the best 
 authors to develop Vocal Expression. The authors first chosen 
 are of great moment : the first loves in literature are the most 
 lasting, giving us our ideals of life, and the conceptions for all 
 art work. Such authors should be selected for practice as will 
 foster no abnormal taste, but develop a sense of simplicity, and 
 a love of nature and truth. 
 
 One of the best authors to develop simplicity is "Wordsworth : 
 his best work is full of the simple love of nature ; his ideas are 
 the product of genuine imagination, without extravagance of 
 fancy, and are expressed in the simplest words. Another 
 author, sincere and without declamation, is Burns. In his poem 
 " To the Daisy," there is the simple, genuine feeling of the 
 heart, without affectation, or bombastic pretense of emotion, or 
 far-fetched images. We feel only the man and the object of 
 which he speaks. No mass of labored words and phrases befog 
 the simple images and feeling of the heart. But the very text- 
 book of human nature and expression is found in Shakespeare. 
 It is very well, however, for students to go to the fountain-head 
 of simplicity and all art, — Homer. At any rate, students should 
 avoid the hot-house, extravagant compositions that are pub- 
 lished in " Choice Selections," and " Choice Recitations." The 
 style of composition which is so loved in elocutionary renderings 
 is the saddest of all comments upon the condition of the art. 
 Good literature can be found on all sides at a very low cost. 
 Students should make their own extracts, and arrange their own 
 selections and readings. Even college students are found looking 
 to books of selections for " a good declamation ; " and often they 
 make no effort to look up the source of such extracts, to find 
 their original spirit, the author's full meaning, or the use to 
 which they were first applied. 
 
 A sense of simplicity is requisite to an appreciation of a great 
 work of art, or to the development of literary taste. To be 
 able to appreciate the Greek simplicity of phrase in a poem like
 
 SIMPLICITY. 83 
 
 Cowper's "Royal George"; to recognize the transparency of 
 Wordworth's early poems, the naturalness and force of Burns' 
 " Daisy," — is to make a great step in the appreciation of poetry 
 and art. The ability to render such poems without tameness 
 on the one hand, or declamation on the other, with a perfectly 
 natural and simple expression of their true spirit, is the mark 
 of the true reader. True art manifests truthfully and simply the 
 process of thought and feeling in the human heart.* 
 
 Problem XVI. Read an extract and give direct expression to 
 the spontaneous impulses. Try as little as possible to add to or to 
 detract from the inherent energy of the thought. Avoid all 
 affectation on the one hand, or repression on the other. Give 
 every impulse its truthful voice. 
 
 84 I travelled among unknown men, in lands beyond the sea; 
 
 Nor, England ! did I know till then wbat love I bore to thee. 
 
 'Tis past, that melancholy dream ! nor will I quit thy shore 
 
 A second time ; for still I seem to love thee more and more. 
 
 Among thy mountains did I feel the joy of my desire; 
 
 And she I cherished turned her wheel beside an English fire. 
 
 Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed the bowers where Lucy played; 
 
 And thine too is the last green field that Lucy's eyes surveyed. 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 85. A CONSOLATION. 
 When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes 
 I all alone beweep my outcast state, 
 And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, 
 And look upon myself, and curse my fate ; 
 Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, 
 Featured like him, like him with friends possest, 
 Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope, 
 With what I most enjoy contented least ; 
 Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, 
 Haply I think on Thee, — and then my state, 
 Like to the lark at break of day arising 
 From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate; 
 For thy sweet love remember' d, such wealth brings 
 That then I scorn to change my state with kings. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 * Classics, pp. 83, 86, 90 ; 108, 206.
 
 84 VOCAL EXPEESSION. 
 
 86 The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to 
 
 lie down in green pastures, he leadeth me beside the still waters. He 
 
 restoreth my soul, he leadeth me in paths of righteousness, for His 
 
 name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of 
 
 death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me, thy rod and thy staff, 
 
 they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of 
 
 mine enemies, thou anointest my head with oil, my cup runneth over. 
 
 Surely, goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I 
 
 will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. 
 
 Psalm XXIII. 
 
 87. PRIAM AND ACHILLES. 
 
 Then Priam spake and entreated him, saying, "Bethink thee, O 
 Achilles, like to gods, of thy father that is of like years with me, on the 
 grievous pathway of old age. While he heareth of thee as yet alive, he 
 rejoiceth in his heart, and hopeth withal, day after day, that he shall see 
 his dear son returning from Troj-land. But I, I am utterly unblest, 
 since I begat sons, the best men in wide Troy-land, but declare unto thee 
 that none of them is left. He who was yet left, and guarded city and 
 men, him thou slewest but now as he fought for his country, even Hector. 
 For his sake come I unto the ships of the Achaians, that I may win him 
 back from thee, and I bring with me untold ransom. Yea, fear thou the 
 gods, Achilles, and have compassion on me, even me, bethinking thee of 
 thy father. Lo, I am yet more piteous than he, and have braved what 
 none other man on earth hath braved before, to stretch forth my hand 
 toward the face of the slayer of my sons." 
 
 Thus spake he, and stirred within Achilles desire to make lament for 
 his father. And he touched the old man's hand, and gently moved him 
 back. And as they both bethought them of their dead, so Priam for 
 man-slaying Hector wept sore as he was fallen before Achilles' feet, and 
 Achilles wept for his own father, and now again for Patroklos, and their 
 moan went up throughout the house. But when noble Achilles had 
 satisfied him with lament, and the desire thereof departed from his heart 
 and limbs, straightway he sprang from his seat and raised the old man 
 by his hand, pitying his hoary head and hoary beard, and spake unto 
 him winged words, and said: "Ah, hapless! many ill things verily thou 
 hast endured in thy heart. This is the lot the gods have spun for 
 miserable men, that they should live in pain. To Peleus gave the gods 
 splendid gifts from his birth, for he excelled all men in good fortune and 
 wealth, and was king of the Myrmidons, and, mortal though he was, the god 
 gave him a goddess to be his bride. Yet on him God brought evil, seeing 
 that he begat one son to an untimely death. And of thee, old sire, we
 
 SIMPLICITY. 85 
 
 have heard how of old time thou wert happy, — but Heaven brought this 
 bane on thee. Keep courage, and lament not unabatingly in thy heart; 
 for nothing wilt thou avail by grieving for thy son, neither shalt thou 
 bring him back to life. Thy son, old sire, is given back as thou wouldst, 
 and lieth on a bier, and with the break of day thou shalt see him thyself 
 as thou earnest him." 
 
 And they yoked oxen and mules to wains, and quickly then they 
 flocked before the city. So nine days they gathered great store of wood. 
 But when the tenth morn rose with light for men, then bare they forth 
 brave Hector, weeping tears, and on a lofty pyre they laid the dead man, 
 and thereon cast fire. 
 
 But when the daughter of Dawn, rosy-fingered Morning, shone forth, 
 then gathered the folk around glorious Hector's pyre. First quenched 
 they with bright wine all the burning, so far as the fire's strength went, 
 and then his brethren and comrades gathered his white bones lamenting, 
 and big tears flowed down their cheeks. And the bones they took and 
 laid in a golden urn, shrouding them in soft purple robes, and straightway 
 laid the urn in a hollow grave, and piled thereon great, close-set stones. 
 "The Iliad" Translated by Myers. Homer. 
 
 88. LOSS OP THE EOYAL GEOEGE. 
 Toll for the brave ! the brave that are no more ! 
 All sunk beneath the wave, fast by their native shore ! 
 Eight hundred of the brave whose courage well was tried, 
 Had made the vessel heel, and laid her on her side. 
 A land-breeze shook the shrouds, and she was overset; 
 Down went the Boyal George, with all her crew complete. 
 Toll for the brave ! Brave Kempenfelt is gone ; 
 His last sea-fight is fought, his work of glory done. 
 It was not in the battle; no tempest gave the shock; 
 She sprang no fatal leak, she ran upon no rock. 
 His sword was in its sheath, his fingers held the pen, 
 When Kempenfelt went down with twice four hundred men. 
 Weigh the vessel up once dreaded by our foes ! 
 And mingle with our cup the tear that England owes. 
 Her timbers yet are sound, and she may float again 
 Full charged with England's thunder, and plough the distant main: 
 But Kempenfelt is gone, his victories are o'er; 
 And he and his eight hundred shall plough the wave no more. 
 
 Cowper. 
 
 * The Royal George, of 108 guns, whilst undergoing a partial careening in Ports 
 fcouth Harbor, was overset Aug. 29, 1782. The total loss was nearly 1,000 men.
 
 St) VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 89. TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY. 
 
 On turning one down with the plough, in April, 1786. 
 
 Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower, thou's met me in an evil hour; 
 for I maun crush amang the stoure thy slender stem : to spare thee now is 
 past my power, thou bonnie gem. Alas! it's no thy neebor sweet, the 
 bonnie lark, companion meet! bending thee 'mang the dewy weet! wi' 
 spreckled breast,when upward-springing, blythe, to greet the purpling east. 
 
 Cauld blew the bitter-biting north upon thy early, humble birth ; yet 
 
 cheerfully thou glinted forth amid the storm, scarce reared above the 
 
 parent earth thy tender form. The flaunting flowers our gardens yield, 
 
 high sheltering woods and wa's maun shield, but thou, beneath the 
 
 random bield* o' clod or stane, adorns the histiet stibble-field, unseen, 
 
 alane. There, in thy scanty mantle clad, thy snawy bosom sunward 
 
 spread, thou lifts thy unassuming head in humble guise; and now the 
 
 share uptears thy bed, and low thou lies ! . . . 
 
 Such is the fate of simple bard, on life's rough ocean luckless starred! 
 
 unskilful he to note the card of prudent lore, till billows rage, and gales 
 
 blow hard, and whelm him o'er! . . . Even thou who mourn' st the 
 
 daisy's fate, that fate is thine — no distant date ! Stern Ruin's ploughshare 
 
 drives, elate, full on thy bloom, till crushed beneath the furrow's weight 
 
 shall be thy doom. 
 
 Burns. 
 
 90. SALLY IN OUR ALLEY. 
 
 Of all the girls that are so smart there's none like pretty Sally; 
 She is the darling of my heart, and she lives in our alley. 
 There is no lady in the land is half so sweet as Sally; 
 She is the darling of my heart, and she lives in our alley. 
 Her father he makes cabbage-nets and through the streets does cry 'em; 
 Her mother she sells laces long to such as please to buy 'em: 
 But sure such folks could n'er beget so sweet a girl as Sally! 
 She is the darling of my heart, and she lives in our alley. 
 When she is by, I leave my work, I love her so sincerely; 
 My master comes like any Turk, and bangs me most severely — 
 But let him bang his bellyful, I'll bear it all for Sally; 
 She is the darling of my heart, and she lives in our alley. 
 Of all the days that's in the week I dearly love but one day — 
 And that's the day that comes betwixt a Saturday and Monday; 
 For then I'm drest all in my best to walk abroad with Sally; 
 She is the darling of my heart, and she lives in our alley. 
 
 * Shelter. t Dry
 
 ANIMATION. 87 
 
 My master carries me to church, and often am I blamed 
 
 Because I leave him in the lurch as soon as text is named ; 
 
 I leave the church in sermon-time, and slink away to Saily; 
 
 She is the darling of my heart, and she lives in our alley. 
 
 When Christmas comes about again, oh, then I shall have money; 
 
 I'll hoard it up and box it all, I'll give it to my honey: 
 
 I would it were ten thousand pound, I'd give it all to Sally; 
 
 She is the darling of my heart, and she lives in our alley. 
 
 My master and the neighbours all make game of me and Sally, 
 
 And, but for her, I'd better be a slave, and row a galley; 
 
 But when my seven long years are out, oh, then I'll marry Sally, — 
 
 Oh, then we'll wed, and then we'll bed, but not in our alley! 
 
 Carey. 
 
 XII. ANIMATION. 
 
 91 Thou comest! Yes! the vessel's cloud 
 Hangs dark upon the rolling sea. 
 Oh, that yon sea-bird's wings were mine, 
 To win one instant's glimpse of thee! Arnold. 
 
 SIMPLICITY is present in proportion as the ideas directly 
 ^ and immediately cause the expression. Animation is in 
 proportion to the vividness of the conceptions, the vigor of their 
 response, and their rhythmic sequence. At first thought, anima- 
 tion may seem to be the direct opposite of simplicity; but 
 this is not the case, for true simplicity, and true genuineness, are 
 characteristic of all life. The direct road to true animation is 
 simplicity. To be full of life, we must be unostentatious, sin- 
 cere, and genuine. To be one's self is to be alive. Animation 
 and simplicity are not only essential elements of all expression 
 and art : they are also co-essential to each other ; they are neces- 
 sary complements of each other. 
 
 The word 'animation' comes to us from the Latin word 
 'anima,' which meaus 'soul,' or 'life.' An animated style 
 is a style full of life and vigor. That which gives life to a word 
 is the vividness of the conception that is suggested by it. The 
 animation, therefore, is in direct proportion to the vigor of the
 
 88 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 mind in thinking, and to the vividness with which each concep- 
 tion is seen, or heard, or felt. 
 
 92 Considek the lilies of the field how they grow ; they toil not, neither 
 do they spin ; and yet I say unto you, that even Solomon in all his glory 
 was not arrayed like one of these. 
 
 This sentence is considered one of the most beautiful and 
 perfect ever penned. It is simple, — each word is the most 
 appropriate possible. It awakens a simple conception, one that 
 is possible to every mind. It fulfills the conditions of what 
 Herbert Spencer calls ' economy,' each word chosen awakening 
 the conception with the least possible expenditure of mental 
 energy. Then the images stimulate a rhythmic sequence of 
 thought in the mind of the reader or hearer. Each tends to 
 create the next : the mind is made to move. The simplicity and 
 animation of this passage are also tested in that it is easily 
 read. The successive conceptions are so definite and vivid that 
 they awaken emotion and all the normal impulses toward 
 expression. How each image dominates its phrase, how natu- 
 rally do the pauses recur, and how easily does the voice modu- 
 late pitch and inflection in revealing the progress of ideas ! 
 
 The principle underlying animation in style also underlies all 
 true life in Vocal Expression. The conceptions of the mind 
 must be clear, distinct, and full of life. The most vivid passage 
 may be read with dry, cold abstraction on account of a failure 
 to realize the successive ideas. The mechanical method is often 
 adopted in teaching Vocal Expression, as a substitute for vigor- 
 ous thinking. Students are often more fond of a mechanical 
 method, and resent any reference to their thinking. They are 
 looking for some system which will save the trouble of thinking. 
 According to the method of nature, all animation and power in 
 Vocal Expression must depend upon the vigor of thought ; the 
 thinking must be so vigorous, ideas must be so realized, that all 
 the faculties and powers of the man will be brought into 
 harmonious action.
 
 ANIMATION. 89 
 
 We find that the development of a good style in writing, and 
 a proper mode of reading or speaking, is dependent upon the 
 same principles. Speaking and reading alone cannot develop a 
 good style in writing ; but right work in Vocal Expression will 
 aid good work in writing. A child learns to speak before he 
 learns to write. We find also that Vocal Expression is a better, 
 or at least a more immediate test of the vividness of ideas. The 
 teacher may see the student's process of thinking more direct 
 even than in writing. Writing may more adequately test clear- 
 ness and definiteness of statement, but reading will test the 
 vigor, the vividness of the thought, and the freedom of knowl- 
 edge from symbolic modes of thinking. 
 
 Not only is Vocal Expression the best means of testing the 
 vigor and life of thinking, which is shown in the animation of 
 the successive ideas, but it is also an important means of training 
 the act of thinking. It develoj^s the power of simple concep- 
 tion, the philosophic memory, and the imagination. Whatever 
 form the reproductive action of the mind may take, Vocal 
 Expression, rightly taught, is a most important means of study- 
 ing and developing proper mental action. 
 
 In the work of developing animation there are many dangers. 
 There is a tendency merely to declaim, or to give loudness ; but 
 physical earnestness is not true earnestness, nor is muscular 
 energy the highest energy. Loudness has nothing to do with 
 animation ; it is a false animation, a mere physical animation. 
 True animation is always simple : it is the union of thinking and 
 feeling, and it shows itself by subtle changes of pitch, and 
 pauses, — by definiteness of touch, and by resonance of tone. 
 True earnestness and true animation act from the centre out- 
 ward. Earnestness and animation must be genuinely reposeful ; 
 true animation comes from the harmonious co-operation of all 
 the faculties of the man. 
 
 We must also distinguish between excitement and animation. 
 Animation is the result of intensity and concentration of the
 
 90 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 mind, and a co-operation of all the powers of thinking ; excite- 
 ment is due entirely to emotional awakening, or even to nervous- 
 ness. Animation belongs to thought and feeling ; excitement is 
 more physical. To develop animation, therefore, take a well- 
 written passage, and read it with as vigorous a mental life as 
 possible. Avoid too much physical excitement and loudness: 
 let the animation cause the vividness of the ideas, and the 
 movement of the rhythmic pulsations of the mind, and reveal it, 
 as far as possible, by change of pitch, by length of pause, by 
 definiteness of touch and variation. 
 
 Work upon such forms of literature as will awaken vigorous 
 and definite conceptions, so that we shall see, feel, and hear the 
 events the mind is re-creating as vividly as though they were 
 happening in actual life. Such extracts should be practised as 
 will awaken the deeper and more subtle emotions of the man, 
 such as will stimulate his true earnestness, and his genuine feel- 
 ing, and arouse that responsive condition of his whole nature, 
 which is necessary to all expression. 
 
 There are certain emotions to be practised which are especially 
 helpful, such as patriotic passages, or those full of love of nature. 
 Some passages are more or less animated in their very nature ; but 
 animation means the presentation of ideas of all kinds as vividly 
 as then- nature will admit. 
 
 . Problem XVII. Simply and directly impart the life and energy 
 of a vivid succession of ideas to the modulations of the voice. 
 
 93 Happy, happy liver, with a soul as strong as a mountain river, 
 pouring out praise to the Almighty Giver, joy and jollity be with us both! 
 
 "Skylark." Wordsworth. 
 
 94 He rose at dawn, and, fired with hope, shot o'er the seething har- 
 bor bar, and reached the ship, and caught the rope, and whistled to the 
 morning star. And while he whistled long and loud, he heard a fierce 
 mermaiden cry, " Oh, boy, tho' thou art young and proud, I see the place 
 where thou wilt lie. The sands and yeasty surges mix in caves about the 
 dreary bay, and on thy ribs the limpet sticks, and in thy heart the scrawl
 
 ANIMATION. 91 
 
 shall play." " Fool," he answered, " death is sure to those that stay and 
 those that roam, but I will nevermore endure to sit with empty hands at 
 home. My mother clings about my neck, my sisters crying, ' Stay, for 
 shame;' my father raves of death and wreck: they are all to blame, they 
 are all to blame. God help me ! save I take my part of danger on the 
 roaring sea, a devil rises in my heart, far worse than any death to me." 
 "The Sailor Boy" Tennyson. 
 
 95i HOME-THOUGHTS FEOM THE SEA. 
 
 Nobly, nobly Cape Saint Vincent to the northwest died away ; 
 
 Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red, reeking into Cadiz Bay; 
 
 Bluish 'mid the burning water, full in face Trafalgar lay; 
 
 In the dimmest northeast distance dawned Gibraltar, grand and gray; 
 
 " Here and here did England help me — how can I help England? " say 
 
 Whoso turns as I, this evening, turn to God to praise and pray, 
 
 While Jove's planet rises yonder, silent, over Africa. 
 
 Browning. 
 
 96 Sing on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough 
 Sing on, sweet bird, I listen to thy strain; 
 See aged Winter, 'mid his surly reign, 
 At thy blithe carol clears his furrowed brow. 
 
 Burns. 
 
 97 The seed ye sow, another reaps ; 
 The wealth ye find, another keeps ; 
 The robes ye weave, another wears ; 
 The arms ye forge, another bears. 
 
 Shelley. 
 
 98 O strong sea-sailor, whose cheek turns paler for wind, or hail, or 
 
 for fear of thee? O far sea-farer, O thunder-bearer, thy songs are rarer 
 
 than soft songs be. O fleet-foot stranger, O north-sea ranger, through 
 
 days of danger and ways of fear, blow thy horn here for us, blow the sky 
 
 clear for us, send us the son of the sea to hear. 
 
 Sioinburne. 
 
 99 Wherever, O man, God's sun first beamed upon thee, where the 
 stars of heaven first shone above thee, where His lightnings first de- 
 clared His omnipotence, and His storm and wind shook thy soul with 
 pious awe, — there are thy affections, there is thy country. Where the 
 first human eye bent lovingly over thy cradle, where thy mother first 
 bore thee joyfully on her bosom, where thy father engraved the words of 
 wisdom on thy heart, — there are thy affections, there is thy country.
 
 92 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 100 Thanks be to God for mountains ! From age to age they have 
 been the last friends of man. In a thousand extremities they have saved 
 him. What great hearts have throbbed in their denies from the days of 
 Leonidas to those of Andreas Hofer! What lofty souls, what tender 
 hearts, what poor and persecuted creatures have they sheltered in their 
 stony bosoms from the weapons and tortures of their fellow-men ! 
 
 Howitt. 
 
 101 Near the Pyramids, more wondrous and more awful than all else 
 in the land of Egypt, there sits the lonely Sphynx. . . . Upon ancient 
 dynasties of Ethiopian and Egyptian kings — upon Greek and Roman, 
 upon Arab and Ottoman conquerors — upon Napoleon dreaming of an 
 Eastern Empire — upon battle and pestilence — upon the ceaseless misery 
 of the Egyptian race — upon keen-eyed travellers, Herodotus yesterday, 
 Warburton to-day — upon all, and more, this unworldly Sphynx has 
 watched, and watched like a Providence, with the same earnest eyes, and 
 the same sad, tranquil mien. And we, we shall die, and Islam will wither 
 away, and the Englishman, straining far over to hold his beloved India, 
 will plant a firm foot on the banks of the Nile, and sit in the seats of the 
 Faithful, and still that sleepless rock will lie watching and watching the 
 works of the new busy race, with those same sad, earnest eyes, and the 
 same tranquil mien everlasting. Tou dare not mock at the Sphynx! 
 
 "The Sphynx.'" A. W . Kinglake. 
 
 102. CAPE USHANT. 
 
 What of the night, ho! watcher there upon the armed deck, 
 That holds within its thunderous lair the last of Empire's wreck — 
 E'en him whose capture now the chain from captive earth shall smite; 
 Ho! rocked upon the moaning main, watcher what of the night ? 
 " The stars are waning fast — the curl of morning's coming breeze, 
 Far in the North begins to furl night's vapour from the seas. 
 Her every shred of canvas spread, the proud ship plunges free, 
 While bears afar, with stormy head, Cape Ushant on our lee." 
 
 At that last word, as trumpet stirred, forth in the dawning grey, 
 A silent man made to the deck his solitary way. 
 And leaning o'er the poop, he gazed till on his straining view 
 That cloud-like speck of land, upraised, distinct but slowly grew. 
 Well may he look until his frame maddens to marble there ; 
 He risked Renown's all-grasping game, dominion or despair — 
 And lost — and lo, in vapour furled, the last of that loved France, 
 For which his prowess cursed the world, is dwindling from his glance.
 
 ANIMATION. 93 
 
 Rave on, thou far-resounding deep, whose billows round him roll ! 
 Thou' ft calmness to the storms that sweep this moment o'er his soul. 
 Black chaos swims before him, spread with trophy-shaping bones, 
 The council strife, the battle-dead, rent charters, cloven thrones. 
 Yet, proud one ! could the loftiest day of thy transcendent power 
 Match with the soul-compelling sway which in this dreadful hour 
 Aids thee to hide, beneath the show of calmest lip and eye, 
 The hell that wars and works below, — the quenchless thirst to die ? 
 
 The white dawn crimsoned into morn, the morning flashed to day, 
 And the sun followed, glory-born, rejoicing on his way ; 
 And still o'er ocean's kindling flood that muser cast his view, 
 While round him awed and silent stood his fate's devoted few. 
 He lives, perchance, the past again, from the fierce hour when first 
 On the astounded hearts of men his meteor presence burst ; 
 When blood-besotted Anarchy sank, quelled, amid the glare 
 Of thy far-sweeping musketry, fame-fraught Yendemiaire ! 
 
 And darker thoughts oppress him now, — her ill-requited love 
 "Whose faith, as beauteous as her brow, brought blessings from above; 
 Her trampled heart, his darkening star, the cry of outraged Man, 
 And white-lipped Eout and wolfish War loud thundering on his van. 
 Oh for the sulphurous eve of June, when down that Belgian hill 
 His bristling Guard's superb platoon he led unbroken still! 
 Now would he pause, and quit their side upon destruction's marge, 
 Nor king-like share with desperate pride their vainly glorious charge? 
 
 Simmons. 
 
 103 "O bkotheks! speaking the same dear mother-tongue; O com- 
 rades ! enemies no more, let us take a mournful hand together as we stand 
 by this royal corpse, and call a truce to battle ! Low he lies to whom the 
 proudest once used to kneel, and who was cast lower than the poorest ; 
 dead, whom millions prayed for in vain. Driven off his throne ; buffeted 
 by rude hands; with his children in revolt; the darling of his old age 
 killed before him untimely. Our Lear hangs over her breathless lips, 
 and cries, ' Cordelia, Cordelia, stay a little ! ' 
 
 ' Vex not his ghost — oh ! let him pass — he hates him 
 
 That would upon the rack of this tough world 
 
 Stretch him out longer.' 
 
 "Hush, strife and quarrel, over the solemn grave! Sound, trumpets, 
 a mournful march. Fall, dark curtain, upon his pageant, his pride, his 
 grief, his awful tragedy!" 
 "George III." Thackeray.
 
 94 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 104. TO THE SKYLAEK. 
 Ethekeal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky! 
 Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound? 
 Or while the wings aspire, are heart and eye 
 Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground? 
 Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will, 
 Those quivering wings composed, that music still! 
 
 To the last point of vision, and beyond, 
 
 Mount, daring warbler ! — that love-prompted strain — 
 
 'Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond — 
 
 Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain: 
 
 Yet might' st thou seem, proud privilege! to sing 
 
 All independent of the leafy Spring. 
 
 Leave to the nightingale her shady wood; 
 
 A privacy of glorious light is thine, 
 
 Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood 
 
 Of harmony, with instinct more divine ; 
 
 Type of the wise, who soar, but never roam, — 
 
 True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home. 
 
 Wordsworth 
 
 105 Now is the winter of our discontent 
 
 Made glorious summer by this sun of York ; 
 
 And all the clouds, that lower' d upon our house, 
 
 In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. 
 
 Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths ; 
 
 Our bruised arms hung up for monuments ; 
 
 Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, 
 
 Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. 
 
 Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front; 
 
 And now, — instead of mounting barbed steeds, 
 
 To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, — 
 
 He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber, 
 
 To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. 
 
 But I, — that am not shaped for sportive tricks, 
 
 Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass ; 
 
 I, that am rudely stamp' d, and want love's majesty, 
 
 To strut before a wanton ambling nymph ; 
 
 I, that am curtail' d thus of fair proportion, 
 
 Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
 
 ANIMATION. 95 
 
 Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time 
 
 Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, 
 
 And that so lamely and unfashionable, 
 
 That dogs bark at me, as I halt by them; 
 
 Why I, in this weak, piping time of peace, 
 
 Have no delight to pass away the time ; 
 
 Unless to spy my shadow in the sun, 
 
 And descant on mine own deformity: 
 
 And therefore — since I cannot prove a lover, 
 
 To entertain these fair, well-spoken days — 
 
 I am determined to prove a villain, 
 
 And hate the idle pleasures of these days. 
 
 Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous, 
 
 By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams, 
 
 To set my brother Clarence and the king 
 
 In deadly hate the one against the other: 
 
 And, if King Edward be as true and just 
 
 As I am subtle, false, and treacherous, 
 
 This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up, 
 
 About a prophecy, which says — that G 
 
 Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be. 
 
 Dive, thoughts, down to my soul : here Clarence comes. 
 "Richard III." Shakeupeare. 
 
 106. THE DYING YEAE. 
 King out, wild bells, to the wild sky, the flying cloud, the frosty 
 light; the year is dying in the night; ring out, wild bells, and let him die. 
 Ring out the old, ring in the new, ring, happy bells, across the snow, — 
 the year is going, let him go ; ring out the false, ring in the true. Ring 
 out the grief, that saps the mind, for those that here we see no more; 
 ring out the feud of rich and poor, ring in redress to all mankind. Ring 
 out a slowly dying cause, and ancient forms of party strife ; ring in the 
 nobler modes of life, with sweeter manners, purer laws. Ring out the 
 want, the care, the sin, the faithless coldness of the times ; ring out, ring 
 out my mournful rhymes, but ring the fuller minstrel in. Ring out false 
 pride in place and blood, the civic slander, and the spite; ring in the 
 love of truth and right, ring in the common love of good. Ring out old 
 shapes of foul disease, ring out the narrowing lust of gold; ring out the 
 thousand wars of old, ring in the thousand years of peace. Ring in the 
 valiant man, and free, the larger heart, the kindlier hand ; ring out the 
 darkness of the land, ring in the Christ that is to be. Tennyson.
 
 96 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 107. BOADICEA. 
 
 When the British warrior Queen, bleeding from the Roman rods, 
 Sought, with an indignant mien, counsels of her country's gods, 
 Sage beneath the spreading oak, sat the Druid, hoary chief; 
 Every burning word he spoke, full of rage and full of grief. 
 
 ''Princess! if our age'd eyes weep upon thy matchless wrongs, 
 'Tis because resentment ties all the terrors of our tongues. 
 Rome shall perish! write that word in the blood that she has spilt; 
 Perish, hopeless and abhorred, deep in ruin as in guilt. 
 
 " Rome, for empire far renowned, tramples on a thousand states ; 
 Soon her pride shall kiss the ground, — hark! the Gaul is at her gates! 
 Other Romans shall arise, heedless of a soldier's name; 
 Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize, harmony the path to fame. 
 
 " Then the progeny that springs from the forests of our land, 
 Armed with thunder, clad with wings, shall a wider world command. 
 Regions Cassar never knew thy posterity shall sway; 
 Where his eagles never flew, none invincible as they." 
 
 Such the bard's prophetic words, pregnant with celestial fire, 
 Bending as he swept the chords of his sweet but awful lyre. 
 She, with all a monarch's pride, felt them in her bosom glow; 
 Rushed to battle, fought, and died ; dying, hurled them at the foe. 
 "Ruffians, pitiless as proud! heaven awards the vengeance due; 
 Empire is on us bestowed, shame and ruin wait for you." 
 
 William Compel 
 
 108 Fair star of evening, splendour of the west, 
 Star of my country ! on the horizon's brink 
 Thou hangest, stooping, as might seem, to sink 
 On England's bosom; yet well pleased to rest, 
 Meanwhile, and be to her a glorious crest 
 Conspicuous to the Nations. Thou, I think, 
 Should' st be my Country's emblem; and should' st wink, 
 Bright star! with laughter on her banners, drest 
 In thy fresh beauty. There ! that dusky spot 
 Beneath thee, that is England ; there she lies. 
 Blessings be on you both! one hope, one lot, 
 One life, one glory! — I, witn many a fear 
 For my dear Country, many heartfelt sighs, 
 Among men who do not love her, linger here. Wordsworth.
 
 II. 
 
 METHOD, OR LOGICAL RELATIONS. 
 
 XIII. ACCENTUATION. 
 
 109 The sun is warm, the sky is clear, 
 
 The waves are dancing fast and bright, 
 Blue isles and snowy mountains wear 
 The purple noon's transparent light: 
 The breatr of the moist air is light 
 Around its unexpanded buds; 
 Like many a voice of one delight — 
 The winds', the birds', the ocean-floods' — 
 The City's voice itself is soft, like Solitude's. 
 
 I see the Deep's untrampled floor 
 With green and purple sea-weeds strowu; 
 I see the waves upon the shore 
 Like light dissolved in star-showers thrown ; 
 I sit upon the sands alone ; 
 The lightning of the noon-tide ocean 
 Is flashing round me, and a tone 
 Arises from its measured motion — 
 How sweet! did any heart now share in my emotion? 
 "Near Naples." Shelley. 
 
 TF we read these lines, really conceiving and admiring the 
 A images in then- order, we not only find the facts we have 
 already observed, — namely, successive ideas and vivid concep- 
 tions, each dominating the feeling and its vocal expression, 
 causing changes of pitch, pauses between the conceptions, and 
 the grouping of the words about each successive image, — but, 
 if we read naturally, we also find in each successive group of 
 words or phrases, a central attack or accent. The characteristics 
 7
 
 98 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 we have already found are more or less external to the phrases 
 and words ; but this attack we find to be within the phrase, and 
 even within the central word. 
 
 In reading this extract, the mind first focuses itself upon the 
 idea of ' sun,' — that is, the sun is the centre of the impression ; 
 of this, the mind asserts or recognizes ' warm.' In like manner, 
 of the ' sky ' is predicated ' clear.' In the next line, the attention 
 is centred upon ' waves ' and then* characteristics, with climax 
 upon ' bright.' In the same way the mind centres upon ' isle,' 
 ' mountain,' and asserts a characteristic centreing in ' noon. 5 
 
 Now, if we observe conversation again, and note carefully its 
 form and the action of the mind, we find not only that the mind 
 is concentrated upon each of these successive ideas, but also that 
 these successive concentrations of the mind cause definite 
 touches, or attacks, upon the central words in the phrase. That 
 is, the word most directly related to the central idea in thought 
 receives a peculiar vocal action, which manifests the action of 
 the mind. When the speaker is simple, natural, unaffected, and 
 spontaneous, and his voice is flexible and free, his groups of 
 words are spoken in melodic forms in correspondence with the 
 process of thought. We find, also, that as such concentrations 
 of the mind are essential to thinking, so are such definite attacks 
 of the voice the most fundamental characteristic of conversation 
 or natural speech, and are essential to awaken thought in other 
 minds. A mere stream of ideas, or a mere stream of words, is 
 equally empty and foreign to thinking. 
 
 Thought requires successive concentration of the mind, or 
 definite attention upon specific ideas ; and expression demands 
 that the stream of words must be so dominated by this suc- 
 cessive mental action, that each central word is spontaneously 
 or deliberatively given in correspondence with the mental con- 
 centration and progression of ideas. This relation of words to 
 ideas may be compared to the conventional accentuation of 
 syllables in pronunciation. The accentuation of a syllable in a
 
 ACCENTUATION. 99 
 
 word is more mechanical; it rarely changes. No adequate 
 theory has ever been given why one syllable is accentuated 
 rather than another. The most reasonable one is that it is the 
 syllable containing the root idea; but we find many words 
 whose accent is not found upon the root syllable. Pronoun cia- 
 tion seems to be governed chiefly by custom, but the centraliza- 
 tion of words in conversation is the effect of the act of thinking : 
 it changes with every phrase, and more or less with every 
 speaker ; it is the direct revelation, through the voice, of the 
 successive points of concentration in the attention of the mind ; 
 it is a rhythmic expression in words of the rhythm of thought, 
 a recognition by the voice of the law of association of ideas, 
 which governs all thinking. 
 
 In sing-song speech of any kind, or where words are given 
 merely for the sake of words, as in reading proof, we find no 
 such accentuation. The reason for this is that the attention of 
 the mind is primarily upon the form, or upon the words as 
 words ; but the thinking of the thought of each phrase, before 
 giving the words that express it, causes the word corresponding 
 to the central idea to be made salient by the voice. The 
 presence of such accentuations, their degree and variation, are 
 in direct proportion to the genuineness and directness of the 
 thinking, and the earnestness in communicating the ideas. In 
 natural conversation, the act of thinking each idea in turn 
 immediately precedes each successive act of expression. When 
 the mind deals in broad generalization, or grasps primarily the 
 general purpose, these accentuations are slighted, and the suc- 
 cessive steps of the thought are not realized. The thinking 
 must be a living, present act, in rhythmic alternation with the 
 vocal and physical acts of expression. 
 
 Many faults in Vocal Expression are the direct result of the 
 violation of this element of naturalness. One of the most 
 common of such faults is declamation. This is caused by speak- 
 ing words from memory, or from using verbal memory rather
 
 100 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 than philosophic memory. A misconception of the nature of 
 public speaking often causes a lack of accentuation. An endeavor 
 to make words large, or to speak loud so as to appear to be in 
 earnest, is still another cause of declamatory tones. Another 
 fault, closely akin to this, is rant. Rant is earnestness of feeling 
 without earnestness of thought. There is an endeavor to im- 
 press a general truth on men without specifically impressing 
 upon them each successive idea, or conception of that truth. 
 Rant results from an endeavor to awaken feeling without 
 awakening ideas as the cause of that feeling. 
 
 The first effect of a lack of definite rhythmic thinking, 
 which determines the expression of each phrase, shows itself in 
 the absence of accentuation. All the faults associated with 
 melodies of speech, such as " staginess," and " ministerial tones," 
 are caused by a failure to dominate the modulations of the voice 
 by the successive acts of thinking. 
 
 Laying aside, for the present, the rising and the falling of the 
 voice upon these central words, the inflectional accentuation 
 showing the progression, the interrogative or the assertive atti- 
 tude of mind, the seeking and the finding, the attitude of 
 wonder or acceptation, or of presentation, which are all clearly 
 revealed by the voice in its mode of accentuating the central 
 words, — leaving all this to instinct, for the present, let us note 
 simply the central touches or attacks, and their importance in 
 expression, and as far as possible give a definite touch to the 
 word in each phrase which corresponds to the centre of the 
 attention of the mind. It is good practice, in order to awaken 
 the proper instinctive actions of the mind, to take some extract 
 in which we are interested, and try to give the successive ideas 
 slowly and effectively, so as to awaken the same ideas in another 
 mind. Whenever each idea is given vaguely and not pointedly, 
 teachers should interrupt a student with questions, — " What ? 
 Who? Are you sure ? " This awakens the instinct to relate an 
 idea to another mind, or reveals to the student the vagueness of
 
 ACCENTUATION. 101 
 
 his own conception. Every one in conversation adapts his words 
 to his auditor, and also the modulations of the voice, the attacks 5 
 the inflections, and subordinations. 
 
 The one great requisite for effective vocal expression is the 
 power to grapple with ideas, to awaken definitely and simply 
 in another mind a process of thought analogous to our own. 
 Rhythmic accentuation is a fundamental instinct ; it is as uni- 
 versal as mind, and must simply be awakened. 
 
 Problem XVIII. Manifest by the voice, as simply and definitely 
 as possible, the successive steps of the process of thinking; accent- 
 uate the concentration of the mind upon the successive ideas, and 
 manifest this so as to dominate the attention of another. 
 
 110 By the rude bridge that arched the flood, 
 Their flag to April's breeze unfurled, 
 Here once the embattled farmers stood, 
 
 And fired the shot heard round the world. 
 
 Emerson. 
 
 111. FEOM "ULYSSES." 
 There lies the port: the vessel puffs her sails: 
 There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners, 
 Souls that have toiled, and wrought, and thought with me, — 
 That ever with a frolic welcome took 
 The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed 
 Free hearts, free foreheads. — you and I are old; 
 Old age hath yet his honor and his toil ; 
 Death closes all: but something ere the end, 
 Some work of noble note, may yet be done, 
 Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods. 
 The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks : 
 The long day wanes : the slow moon climbs : the deep 
 Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends, 
 'Tis not too late to seek a newer world. 
 Push off, and sitting well in order smite 
 The sounding furrows ; for my purpose holds 
 To sail beyond the sunset and the baths 
 Of all the western stars, until I die. 
 It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
 
 102 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles, 
 
 And see the great Achilles, whom we knew. 
 
 Tho' much is taken, much abides ; and tho' 
 
 We are not now that strength which in old days 
 
 Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are; 
 
 One equal temper of heroic hearts, 
 
 Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will 
 
 To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. 
 
 Tennyson, 
 
 XIV. TOUCH. 
 
 112 Time's glory is to calm contending kings, 
 
 To unmask falsehood, and bring truth to light, 
 
 To stamp the seal of time in aged things, 
 
 To wake the morn and sentinel the night, 
 
 To wrong the wronger till he render right; 
 
 To ruinate proud buildings with thy hours, 
 
 And smear with dust their glittering golden towers. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 IF we read aloud, naturally and earnestly, these lines of 
 Shakespeare, we find that one characteristic of our reading 
 is a succession of touches ; there is a rhythmic action in the voice 
 that corresponds to the rhythm of thought. The rhythmic appli- 
 cation of force to the voice is the direct expression of the 
 rhythmic sequence of the mind in thinking. As there is no 
 thought without concentration of the mind, so there is no natural 
 or effective speech without definiteness of touch, which corre- 
 sponds to this concentration. We find also that this touch may 
 be given in a great variety of ways : it may be given so as to 
 suggest clearness of conception, dignity, nobleness, and intensity 
 of character, on the part of the speaker, — or it may be given so 
 as to suggest degradation, vague thinking, indefinite purpose, 
 and lack of control. 
 
 The right control of the voice in touch is veiy important. In 
 natural conversation, the action of the mind is directly and 
 clearly mirrored by the action of the voice. On whatever the
 
 TOUCH. 103 
 
 attention is centred, the voice makes a salient touch. Wher- 
 ever an idea is in the background, the voice subordinates it. 
 There are many actions of the voice in the simplest clause. One 
 of these is a definite and decided touch, attack, or stress, upon 
 the accentuated vowel of the principal word. There is, in fact, 
 a touch upon each word ; but there is a distinctive touch upon 
 the central word in each phrase. The attack must be definite 
 and decided. Each word must have but one centre of force, and 
 that centre must be the accented syllable. 
 
 Speech must have the highest qualities of all noble and 
 artistic execution. Among the chief qualities of execution in 
 art are ease, economy, repose, and decision. These apply not 
 only to arts like music and painting, but also to all forms of 
 speech. Ease is dependent upon facility or skill, and the absence 
 of constriction ; economy is in proportion to the production of a 
 maximum of effect with a mhiimum of effort ; repose is due to 
 the easy retention, or control, of the greatest amount of force, 
 in such a way that the force diffuses itself into every part with- 
 out going to waste ; decision refers to the definite application of 
 force in such a way as to accomplish the end. 
 
 Speech and song differ in touch. Song is a prolongation of 
 sound-waves of a certain length ; in speech there is a constant 
 variation of then- length. The touch in speech is more staccato 
 than in song : the voice in speech acts like the fingers in playing 
 upon the piano, while in song the action is similar to the 
 organ. In poor speech a drag is often introduced, which causes 
 it to be more like song, and in poor singing there is a tendency 
 almost like inflection, to drag from one sound to another. The 
 true power and right action in song or speech are shown by oppo- 
 sition and difference from one another. Whenever the touch is 
 definite and decided, when the whole word seems to be spoken 
 " out of the vowel," speech is noble and effective. Song also 
 has a decision of touch ; but the words have an easy and gradual 
 prolongation, which is not at all a characteristic of noble speech.
 
 104 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 All true speech has a vigorous and decided attack. Mr. 
 Wyseman Marshall, an experienced actor, and for many years a 
 very able teacher in Boston, worked out a method in which his 
 teaching and acting centred. He used to say: "The vowel 
 must be struck like a bell ; that is the only way one can ' keep 
 the character.' ' Not only is there a great element of truth in 
 this, in relation to impersonation ; but it also enables one to 
 speak each word on a different pitch. Change of pitch is one of 
 the most important means by which a speaker can make himself 
 heard in a large hall. 
 
 Not only is touch important because it is natural, and a 
 characteristic of the noblest and most dignified conversation ; 
 not only is it important because it enables us to keep the char- 
 acter, and gives freedom and rhythmic accentuation for the 
 sequence of ideas ; — but it is also necessary for a proper control 
 of breath, and, what is more important, in controlling breath as 
 a means of expressing intense emotion. It is only by a definite 
 touch of the voice that the deepest and most profound emotions 
 can be suggested. The deeper the emotion, the higher, the 
 more sublime the ideas or passion, the more does delicate touch 
 and suggestion characterize the expression. Thus, all faults of 
 melody, all faults of manner, all faults associated with what is 
 called unnaturalness, are closely connected with attack or touch. 
 
 The touch of the voice has been taught under the name of 
 stress. It has been asserted that there are several kinds of 
 stresses, — radical, median, terminal, compound, and so on, — 
 and that each of these exj>resses a special kind of emotion. 
 Observation and study, however, will show that most of these 
 so-called stresses are faults of speech, and are abnormal. All 
 true touch in speech is given with radical stress. The median 
 stress is a kind of swell of the voice, and manifests lack of con- 
 trol over emotion ; it is indicative of weakness. The difference 
 between touch in joy and in sorrow does not consist in the 
 abruptness of stress so much as in the change in the texture of
 
 TOUCH. 105 
 
 the voice. If we strike a steel hammer upon a steel anvil there 
 is a sudden concussion. If, however, we strike it upon a block 
 of cork, though the blow is the same, the concussion is different. 
 So it is in the voice : sorrow makes the texture of the muscles 
 soft, and the touch of the voice is modified accordingly. It is 
 not a difference, however, in the volitional action of speech, — 
 one is not a radical and the other a median stress ; the difference 
 is in the texture of the muscles, and the resulting tone color. 
 
 As is well known, the art of bringing out the sound from the 
 gongs of Japan and of India consists. in a delicate stroke with a 
 soft pad. The same is true of a drum : strike a hard stick on a 
 little drum, and there is a harsh sound, while the bass drum is 
 struck by a stick ending in a soft ball. The difference is not in 
 the application of force, but in the texture of the object that 
 strikes, or the size and texture of the drum that is struck. Now, 
 in all emotions the lungs are filled with air : they represent a 
 kind of drum, and the touch of the voice is that which brings 
 out the resonance. The muscular texture is very soft in some 
 emotions, — such as love, pathos, or sorrow; while it is very 
 firm in other emotions, — such as joy or anger. Hence the 
 resonance or texture of the voice is wholly different ; but the 
 touch itself is as strong, as decided, as definite in one case as in 
 the other. 
 
 That there are differences of touch cannot be doubted. For 
 example, there .may be very undignified anger in a veiy low 
 character, and "terminal stress" may be given in a literal 
 presentation of the character ; or some one may tiy to exaggerate 
 the coarseness of character, and give " thorough stress." All 
 these, however, are abnormal conditions, — they are really 
 faults, and are not the manifestation of simple naturalness and 
 dignified suggestion. Other things being equal, normal speech 
 is uttered with radical stress, and of all emotions, pathos and 
 sorrow, reverence and worship have most need of dignified and 
 suggestive means : they demand most control of breath ; they
 
 106 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 tend to become degraded in expression, — there is only a step 
 from the sublime to the ridiculous. Noble sorrow can easily 
 sink to ignoble sadness, and the deepest pathos to the most 
 sentimental bathos. 
 
 Instead of the radical touch decreasing in sorrow and deep 
 feeling, it really increases. The special function of touch is to 
 manifest the degree of intensity. Wherever there is depth of 
 thought or passion, wherever there is activity of will to control 
 emotion, or intensity of thought awakened by passion, the 
 attack rather increases than decreases; and the greater the 
 dignity and nobleness of the emotion, or the situation, the more 
 important it is to preserve definiteness and decision of attack. 
 
 Problem XIX. Become conscious of the definite touch of the 
 voice in giving the accented vowel of the central word in each 
 phrase, as the manifestation of the concentration of the mind in 
 vigorous thinking. _____ 
 
 113 All in a hot and copper sky the bloody Sun, at noon, 
 
 Eight up above the mast did stand, no bigger than the Moon. 
 
 Coleridge. 
 
 114 O silent voice, that cheered so long our manhood's marching day, 
 Without thy breath of heavenly song, how weary seems the way! 
 
 Holmes. 
 
 115 Build to-day, then, strong and sure, with a firm and ample base; 
 And ascending and secure shall to-morrow find its place. 
 
 Thus alone can we attain to those turrets, where the eye 
 Sees the world as one vast plain, and one boundless reach of sky. 
 "The Builders." Longfellow. 
 
 Problem XX. Give lines full of kingly dignity, authority, in- 
 tensity, or such elements as will naturally increase force, and 
 express them by greater decision of touch and variety of pitches 
 and pauses, but without increasing loudness. 
 
 116 Worcester, get thee gone, for I do see 
 Danger and disobedience in thine eyes. 
 You have good leave to leave us ; when we need 
 Your use and counsel, we shall send for you. 
 'Henry IV." Shakespeare.
 
 TOUCH. 107 
 
 117 God quit you iu his mercy ! Hear your sentence : 
 You have conspired against our royal person, 
 Join'd with an enemy proclaim'd, and from his coffers 
 Received the golden earnest of our death ; 
 Wherein you would have sold your king to slaughter, 
 His princes and his peers to servitude, 
 His subjects to oppression and contempt, 
 And his whole kingdom unto desolation. 
 Touching our person, seek we no revenge , 
 But we our kingdom's safety must so tender, 
 Whose ruin you three sought, that to her laws 
 We do deliver you. Get you therefore hence, 
 Poor miserable wretches, to your death ; 
 The taste whereof, God, of his mercy, give you 
 Patience to endure, and true repentance 
 Of all your dear offences ! — Bear them hence. 
 "Henry V." Shakespeare. 
 
 Problem XXI. Give a passage which is very delicate, and then 
 contrast with ethers full of greater force, keeping the same dignity 
 and ease, increasing only the touch and range of voice.* 
 
 118 Poets are the hierophants of an unapprehended inspiration; the 
 
 mirrors of the gigantic shadows which futurity casts upon the present. 
 "A Defence of Poetry." Shelley. 
 
 119 Just for a handful of silver he left us, 
 Just for a ribbon to stick in his coat. 
 
 120 Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, with all the speed ye may; I, 
 with two more to help me, will hold the foe in bay. 
 
 121 My life, my honor, and my cause, I tender free to Scotland's laws. 
 
 122 Rouse, ye Romans ! Rouse, ye slaves ! 
 
 123 Alas for him who never sees 
 
 The stars shine through his cypress-trees ! 
 
 Whittier. 
 
 * In these illustrations, we have the most delicate touch in 118, the degrees of 
 intensity increasing to 122. In 123 and 124, we have the expression of sorrow and 
 seriousness, and we find in these that the intensity of the touch does not lessen, 
 but rather increases. It is the texture and color that gives the feeling ; the touch 
 gives the control over it, or the intensity. In 125, there is a fine illustration of 
 sudden change of texture and color, with little change of touch.
 
 108 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 124 I sleep and rest, my heart makes moan, before I am well awake. 
 Let me bleed ! oh, let me alone, since I must not break ! 
 
 125 Charge ! Chester, charge ! On 1 Stanley, on ! 
 Were the last words of Marmion. 
 
 Problem XXII. Take a variety of emotions, and vary the touch 
 in expressing them according to the intensity of thought or of feel- 
 ing, but give the touch the same definite and decided character. 
 
 126 Nail, to the mast her holy flag, set every threadbare sail, 
 
 And give her to the god of storms, the lightning and the gale. 
 
 Holme*. 
 
 127 Being above all beings ! Mighty One, 
 
 Whom none can comprehend, and none explore, 
 Who fill'st existence with Thyself alone, — 
 Embracing all, supporting, ruling o'er, — 
 Being whom we call God, and know no more ! 
 
 128 There's tempest in yon horned moon, and lightning in yon cloud; 
 And hark the music, mariners! the wind is piping loud; 
 The wind is piping loud, my boys, the lightning flashes free, 
 
 While the hollow oak our palace is, our heritage the sea. 
 
 . Cunningham. 
 
 129 Fear no more the heat o' the sun, nor the furious winter's rages; 
 thou thy worldly task hast done, home art gone, and ta'en thy wages: 
 golden lads and girls all must, as chimney sweepers, come to dust. Fear 
 ■no more the frown o' the great, thou art past tbe tyrant's stroke; care 
 no more to clothe and eat; to thee the reed is as the oak; the sceptre, 
 learning, physic, must all follow this, and come to dust. Fear no more 
 the lightning flash, nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone ; fear not slander, 
 censure rash; thou hast finish' d joy and moan: all lovers young, all 
 lovers must consign to thee, and come to dust. 
 
 "Cymbeline." Shakespeare. 
 
 130 Mount, child of morning, mount and sing, and gaily beat thy 
 fluttering wing, and sound thy shrill alarms ; bathed in the fountains of 
 the dew thy sense is keen, thy joys are new; the wide world opens to thy 
 view, and spreads its earliest charms. 
 
 Sing on ! sing on ! What heart so cold, when such a tale of joy is told, 
 but needs must sympathize? As from some cherub of the sky, I hail thy 
 morning melody. Oh, could I mount with thee on high, and share thy 
 ecstasies ! Letitia Barbauld.
 
 TOUCH. 109 
 
 131. THE LEE SHORE. 
 Sleet and hail and thunder! and ye winds that rave 
 Till the sands thereunder tinge the sullen wave, — 
 Winds that like a demon howl, with horrid note, 
 Round the toiling seaman in his tossing boat ! 
 From his humble dwelling, on the shingly shore, 
 Where the billows swelling keep such hollow roar; — 
 From that weeping woman, seeking with her cries 
 Succour superhuman from the frowning skies ; — 
 From the urchin pining for his father's knee; — 
 From the lattice shining, drive him out to sea! — 
 Let broad leagues dissever him from yonder foam. 
 O God ! to think man ever comes too near his home. Hood. 
 
 132. "MAKE WAY FOR LIBERTY." 
 
 "Make way for Liberty!" he cried; made way for Liberty, and died! 
 In arms the Austrian phalanx stood, a living wall, a human wood! a 
 wall where every conscious stone seemed to its kindred thousands grown; 
 a rampart all assaults to bear, till Time to dust their frames should wear! 
 . . . Impregnable, their front appears all horrent with projected spears, 
 whose polished points before them shine, from flank to flank, one brilliant 
 line, bright as the breakers, splendours run along the billows to the sun. 
 
 Opposed to these, a hovering band contended for their native land; 
 peasants, whose new-found strength had broke from manly necks the 
 ignoble yoke, and forged their fetters into swords, on equal terms to 
 fight their lords ; and what insurgent rage had gained, in many a mortal 
 fray maintained: marshalled once more at Freedom's call, they came to 
 conquer or to fall. . . . And now the work of life and death hung on the 
 passing of a breath; the fire of conflict burned within, the battle trembled 
 to begin : yet while the Austrians held their ground, point for attack was 
 nowhere found; where'er the impatient Switzers gazed, the unbroken 
 line of lancers blazed: that line t'were suicide to meet, and perish at 
 their tyrant's feet; — how could they rest within their graves, and leave 
 their homes, the homes of slaves, would they not feel their children tread 
 with clanking chains above their head? It must not be: this day, this 
 hour, annihilates the oppressor's power; all Switzerland is in the field: 
 she will not fly, she cannot yield, — she must not fall; her better fate 
 here gives her an immortal date. Few were the numbers she could boast, 
 but every freeman was a host, and felt as though himself were he on 
 whose sole arm hung victory. It did depend on one indeed ; behold him,
 
 110 VOCAL EXPRESSION". 
 
 — Arnold Wihkelried ! there sounds not to the trump of fame the echo 
 of a nobler name. Unmarked he stood amid the throng, in rumination 
 deep and long, till you might see, with sudden grace, the very thought 
 come o'er his face, and by the motion of his form anticipate the bursting 
 storm, and, by the uplifting of his brow, tell where the bolt would strike, 
 and how. But, 'twas no sooner thought than done; the field was in a 
 moment won. "Make way for Liberty!" he cried, then ran with arms 
 extended wide, as if his dearest friend to clasp; ten spears he swept 
 within his grasp: " Make way for Liberty!" he cried. Their keen points 
 met from side to side; he bowed amongst them like a tree, and thus 
 made way for Liberty. Swift to the breach his comrades fly; "Make 
 way for Liberty!" they cry, and through the Austrian phalanx dart, as 
 rushed the spears through Arnold's heart; while instantaneous as his 
 fall, rout, ruin, panic, scattered all. . . . Thus Switzerland again was free; 
 thus Death made way for Liberty ! Montgomery. 
 
 XV. CENTRALIZATION. 
 
 133 Like to the falling of a star, 
 Or as the flight of eagles are, 
 Or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue, 
 Or silver drops of morning dew, 
 Or like a wind that chafes the flood. 
 Or bubbles which on water stood, — 
 Even such is man, whose borrowed light 
 Is straight called in and paid to-night: 
 The wind blows out, the bubble dies ; 
 The spring entombed in autumn lies; 
 The dew's dried up, the star is shot, 
 The flight is past, — and man forgot ! 
 
 rTTHERE is not only a succession of ideas, — the mind is not 
 -*- only concentrated first upon one idea and then upon an- 
 other, — but we find also that the ideas themselves are related to 
 each other. If we read over this little poem, we find that there 
 is one word which is the centre around which all else radiates. 
 We find also another word which seems a predication of this. 
 ' Man forgot,' really includes the whole poem; all other words 
 merely illustrate this, and make it clear and emphatic.
 
 
 CENTRALIZATION. Ill 
 
 To illustrate, in the first line we find the word ' star * as the 
 centre of our interest ; in the second, ' eagle ' ; in the third, 
 ' spring ' ; in the fourth, ' dew ' ; in the fifth, ' wind ' ; in the sixth, 
 
 * bubble ' ; — and then the attention culminates in ' man,' which 
 stands in opposition to all of the other ideas. The accentuation 
 of the word ' man ' must be strong enough to set it over, — not 
 in opposition to any one of the others, nor in simple sequence, in 
 the same category with these, but in such a way as to show that 
 it is the one point referred to by all of the others. It stands in 
 antithesis to all of them. 
 
 It can be seen at once, therefore, that this is something differ- 
 ent from accentuation : it is the manifestation not of the succes- 
 sive ideas, but of the relation of these ideas to some central 
 conception ; it is the giving of some word or words by the voice 
 so as to interpret the deeper meaning and relationship of ideas. 
 
 Taking the second half of this poem, we find that ' light ' is 
 again referred to and somewhat accentuated, and then the mind- 
 predicates of it, ' called in ' and ' paid to-night.' So of * wind,' 
 ' blows out,' of ' bubble,' ' dies,' of ' spring,' ' autumn,' of ' dew,' 
 
 * dried up,' of ' star,' ' shot,' of ' flight,' ' past.' That is to say, 
 the objects which have formerly been accentuated are again 
 referred to, and certain predicates are accentuated side by side 
 with them ; and through these predicates we arrive at the great 
 logical predicate up to which all the rest lead, '-forgot? The 
 whole poem may be summed up and expressed in two words, — 
 ' man,' ' forgot.' The leading words of the poem may be printed 
 something like this, to illustrate their relative importance : — 
 
 star, eagle's, spring's, dew, wind, bubbles, man. 
 light — night; wind — out; bubble — dies; spring — 
 autumn; dew — dried up^ star — shot; flight — past; man — forgot. 
 
 From this we see, not only that there is a simple succession 
 of ideas or words, accentuated with reference to the single idea 
 upon which the mind is fixed, but also that, through several of 
 these accentuations, the mind looks forward to a greater central
 
 112 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 idea or purpose, for which the subordinate ideas are given. 
 Sometimes the mind looks backward to such an idea, and some- 
 times both backward and forward, as in the second part of this 
 little poem. 
 
 We find also, in this poem, that there are several subordinate 
 accentuations, that are not recognized in the words above men- 
 tioned. For example, there is a kind of suspensive accentuation 
 on ' falling,' after which, in reading, there may be a pause before 
 the introductory or assertive accentuation on ' star ' ; this causes 
 a more vivid apprehension of the idea. Again, in the second 
 half of the poem, there are retrospective accentuations upon 
 ' borrowed light,' and a pause before making the assertion 'blows 
 out' ; and so, by an accent upon '■wind,'' and a pause, there is a 
 reminder of the conception of this at the first of the poem, — 
 and so on. These words are accentuated, but not in the same 
 way as the other words indicated. Thus, in reading and speak- 
 ing, not only are the successive conceptions of the mind revealed, 
 but the logical connection of ideas, and the method of the mind 
 in thinking is also shown in the modulation of the voice. 
 
 A centre is the beginning of all order. In every living or- 
 ganism, plant or animal, there is a mysterious, unseen centre, 
 from which, to which, and about which, all parts seem to play, 
 — to which they all seem subordinate, and from which they 
 seem to receive then* meaning. The same is true of any work 
 of art : a piece of music has its keynote, every book a definite 
 subject, every true speech a central proposition, every sermon a 
 text, every poem one central idea. Unity is a fundamental law 
 of nature and of art. The aggregation of details, no matter how 
 well given, does not make a picture : the parts must be brought 
 into relation with each other, — one point must be salient and 
 the rest subordinate, or there is no perspective, or unity of im- 
 pression. All parts of a speech must have direct relation to a 
 purpose, or the result is chaotic and weak. Hence, in some way, 
 not only must words be so spoken as to show the rhythmic
 
 CENTRALIZATION. 113 
 
 succession of ideas, but they must also be given in such a way 
 as to reveal their logical relation to each other. The central 
 ideas or aims of the mind must be made salient, and the sub- 
 ordinate ideas, by which they are reached, must be so accentu- 
 ated as to lead the mind of the listener toward the final con- 
 clusion. 
 
 There are at least two modes of accentuating ideas: some 
 minds give much broader relationships than others ; they make 
 a few points very salient and emphatic ; others accentuate each 
 idea, each successive concentration of the mind, seemingly in 
 almost the same way and degree. The one emphasizes the great 
 salient ideas, interprets thought by showing its great ends and 
 purposes, and leaves the subordinate steps to the instinct of the 
 hearer ; the other interprets thought by definitely presenting or 
 accentuating each act of concentration in the process of thinking, 
 and leaves to the instinct of the hearer the broad conclusions 
 and relationships of these several steps to the purpose in view. 
 The one shows the road by indicating the great land-marks and 
 landing-places, and leaves the hearer more free to find his own 
 specific steps ; the other guides the hearer from step to step 
 through every turn of the ideas, and leaves the grand points of 
 outlook, the broad generalizations, to the freer action of the 
 hearer's own intuition. One of these is more intuitive, the other 
 more rational ; one proceeds from step to step more by instinct, 
 the other more by deliberative calculation ; one is more impul- 
 sive, the other more deliberative; one is more vivid in the 
 realization of each idea, the other has a broader and more com- 
 prehensive grasp of abstract thought ; one has more vivid ideas 
 of individual objects, the other more vivid grasp of abstract or 
 general truth. 
 
 It can be seen that actors, in speaking, have more accentu- 
 ation, while great reasoners have more general relationship, or 
 emphasis of great centres. Actresses especially have greater 
 accentuation than elocutionary emphasis : this is why they are 
 8
 
 114 VOCAL EXPEESSION. 
 
 stronger in spontaneous and emotional parts. In Portia's noted 
 speech on mercy, where there is a broad, deep-lying purpose to 
 win the heart of the Jew, where, in short, Shakespeare makes 
 Portia almost a preacher, or at least uses this method to show 
 her power to think as a lawyer, — she accents central ideas in 
 the broadest and most rational way, so as to dominate the reason 
 of the Jew. To my mind, many of the greatest actresses fail to 
 show Portia's power to think and to emphasize as a man. 
 Shakespeare here makes a feminine mind temporarily assume 
 and think in a masculine role. 
 
 It is a peculiar fact that elocution has entirely ignored the 
 rhythmic accentuation of ideas, and has held to the broader 
 relationship, which has been called " emphasis." A great many 
 artificial systems have been invented "to find the emphatic 
 word," — methods of very subtle "analysis," which have made 
 reading too much a matter of ride, and often stilted and mechan- 
 ical. The stage, on the other hand, being compelled to a 
 constant and direct study of nature, has been more free from 
 this fault in the case of the best artists. In fact, they have 
 frequently gone to the other extreme, and the neglect of careful 
 study and analysis has led to a mere superficial drifting. This 
 distinction is important because it shows the difference between 
 individual minds. To endeavor to make all think or speak alike, 
 will pervert the normal and spontaneous action of the mind, and 
 tend to make speaking artificial and mechanical. There must 
 be no comparison, even of one of these methods with the other ; 
 each mind must act according to its own inherent peculiarities 
 of organization. 
 
 In logic, the terms Intension and Extension are applied to 
 the relation of general ideas or terms to specific ideas or terms. 
 The term * tree ' has greater extension, ' oak ' greater intension, 
 — that is to say, the term ' oak ' has more ' marks,' the idea im- 
 plies a more intensive grasp of characteristics ; while in compre- 
 hending the idea of 'tree,' the mind has a more extensive
 
 CENTRALIZATION. 115 
 
 comprehension of objects, — a larger number are included in 
 the term. All thinking implies these two things. Some minds, 
 especially artistic and poetic minds, have more intensive ideas ; 
 that is, each idea comprehends more individual characteristics, 
 while a scientific mind is trained to have more comprehensive 
 ideas : knowledge with them has a broader relationship of class 
 with class. Still, all thinking requires both of these acts of 
 mind ; every process of thought implies them. Types of mind 
 only rise from a greater accentuation of one or the other. Some 
 think with more intensive realization of specific conceptions ; 
 others, with broader relations, and more general or extensive 
 conceptions. The two types of readers and speakers* grow out 
 of these two elemental actions of the mind. The ideal reader 
 or speaker uses both more or less. 
 
 There are thus two modes of emphasis. In great passion we 
 find a method by accentuation more predominant. Notice, for 
 example, in the following extract from Shakespeare, where the 
 deep intensity of feeling and the silent night, and, possibly, 
 some suggestion of the lyric situation, causes speech to pulsate 
 deeply. There is very little inflection ; nearly all the sequence 
 is by attack, and it is almost like recitative. 
 
 134 Done to death by slanderous tongues was the hero that here lies: 
 Death, in guerdon of her wrongs, gives her fame which never dies. 
 So the life that died with shame lives in death with glorious fame. 
 Hang thou there upon the tomb, praising her when I am dumb. 
 " Much Ado About Nothing." Shakespeare. 
 
 Usually, however, there is a union of both methods. While 
 in great passion the rhythmic touch and method of emphasis by 
 attack tends to predominate, still, often both must be present, as 
 in Shelley's " Ode to the West Wind," the most passionate lyric, 
 perhaps, in the language. 
 
 In Psalm XIX. unless the word * law,' in the seventh verse, 
 is strongly accentuated, the unity of the Psalm is entirely lost.
 
 116 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 Many critics think that the last part has been patched on ; but, 
 even granting it was written by another hand, it complements 
 the references to nature in the first six verses of the Psalm. 
 ' Law ' in the second part is contrasted to nature in the first. It 
 can be read so as to show entire unity by contrast. ' Law ' must 
 be so accentuated as to stand over against all that precedes, — 
 so as to show that the mind at this point changes the whole 
 current of ideas. The qualities, also, which are asserted of 
 'law,' can be given as implied contrasts to the qualities of 
 nature. Nature does not tell us all. The Bible makes ' perfect.' 
 Nature stimulates the mind, law restores the ' soul.' The law 
 is 'sure,' whereas nature does not give certain knowledge 
 regarding God and immortality. Nature gives great knowledge 
 to the scientific and the educated ; the Bible makes ' wise the 
 simple.' All the expressions at the first of these verses are 
 synonymous with law. Only the first is to be accentuated. 
 Pauses can be introduced before the last in such a way as to 
 show the application of one or both of these teachers. 
 
 Problem XXIII. Meditate over a poem, or passage, and be- 
 come conscious of one centre upon which the whole depends, and 
 so read as to show the relation of all the parts to this centre. 
 
 135 Take the bright shell from its home on the lea, 
 And wherever it goes it will sing of the sea ; 
 So take the fond heart from its home and its hearth, 
 It will sing of the loved to the ends of the earth. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 136. THE TWO VOICES. 
 
 The heavens declare the glory of God ; and the firmament sheweth his 
 handywork. Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night shew- 
 eth knowledge. There is no speech nor language ; their voice cannot be 
 heard. Their line is gone out through all the earth, and their words to 
 the end of the world. In them hath he set a tabernacle for the sun, 
 which is as a bridegroom coming out of his chamber, and rejoiceth as a 
 strong man to run his course. His going forth is from the end of the
 
 CENTRALIZATION. 117 
 
 heaven, and his circuit unto the ends of it: and there is nothing hid from 
 the heat thereof. 
 
 The law of the Lord is perfect, restoring the soul : the testimony of 
 the Lord is sure, making wise the simple. The precepts of the Lord are 
 right, rejoicing the heart: the commandment of the Lord is pure, en- 
 lightening the eyes. The fear of the Lord is clean, enduring forever: 
 the judgments of the Lord are true, and righteous altogether. More to 
 be desired are they than gold, yea, than much fine gold: sweeter also 
 than honey and the honey-comb. 
 
 Moreover by them is thy servant warned : in keeping of them there is 
 great reward. Who can discern his errors? Clear thou me from hidden 
 faults. Keep back thy servant also from presumptuous sins; let them 
 not have dominion over me : then shall I be perfect, and I shall be clear 
 from great transgressions. Let the words of my mouth and the medi- 
 tation of my heart be acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, my rock, and my 
 redeemer. Psalm XIX. 
 
 137 Bow down, dear Land, for thou hast found release! 
 Thy God, in these distempered days, 
 Hath taught thee the sure wisdom of His ways, 
 And through thine enemies hath wrought thy peace ! 
 "Commemoration Ode." James Russell Lowell. 
 
 XVI. CONVERSATIONAL POEM, 
 
 HPHE voice in conversation manifests not only the successive 
 -*- ideas, but also the broadest logical relations. It can make 
 one word of a poem salient, and all other words subordinate. 
 How does it do this ? In order to answer this question, we must 
 study more carefully the elements of conversational naturalness, 
 of conversational form. Listen to some one speaking the sim- 
 plest sentence : there are pauses, an attack upon every central 
 word, constant changes of pitch, and an inflection upon every 
 word. These are the fundamental characteristics of naturalness. 
 They combine in many ways, and vary in infinite degrees ; they 
 are never exactly the same in two men, or even in two succes- 
 sive clauses, but they are always present. 
 
 We find that changes of pitch especially combine with in- 
 flection, and produce in the shortest phrase a specific and ele-
 
 118 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 mental form. There is a salient inflection in each leading 
 clause, which governs subordinate inflections and changes of 
 pitch. The accentuation or extension of this elemental form is 
 the means by which the voice manifests the great central idea 
 of the mind. In order to develop the power of emphasis, there- 
 fore, we must develop the flexibility of the voice, and secure 
 power to execute the elements in this natural form. Art is 
 preceded by a certain mechanical expertness. Not only so, but 
 art implies a certain sense of form. In order to speak natu- 
 rally to a thousand people, we must have such a command of 
 conversational form as to be able to extend the subtleties of 
 conversation without eliminating any one of them, or destroying 
 the proportion. 
 
 The chief elements of Melody, or Vocal Form, are change of 
 pitch and inflection. Pauses, and intervals of pitch, take place 
 between words and phrases ; inflection, in the central vowel of 
 the word. Intervals, as the word is here used, are changes of 
 pitch between words during silence however momentary, but 
 inflections are changes of pitch during the emission of the sound. 
 Rush called changes of pitch 'discrete intervals,' and inflec- 
 tions 'concrete intervals.' Of these two elements, possibly 
 inflection is the most elemental and essential effect or sign of 
 the domination of mind over the voice. Absence of inflection 
 denotes an absence of specific thinking, conviction, and earnest- 
 ness, or of any relation of ideas to another mind. Inflection 
 marks the specific difference between speech and song. Sing- 
 song, or absence of inflection, results when the mind drifts in 
 thought or feeling, or whenever the mind is focussed merely 
 upon the form for its own sake, as in proof-reading. Inflection, 
 therefore, is only absent in certain abnormal forms of speech ; it 
 is always present as a most essential mark of conversation. Its 
 immediate cause is the focus of the mind ; it marks the central 
 word of the phrase upon which the mind is concentrated, or the 
 relation of other words to this, or of ideas to a hearer.
 
 CONVERSATIONAL FORM. 119 
 
 This must be recognized by the student. Suppose a person 
 comes in and gives this as simple news : ' I saw your father this 
 morning.' "We find in observing the way we speak this simple 
 sentence, several facts. First, there is a governing inflection in 
 the word which stands for the central idea of the mind ; the 
 word * father ' has a falling inflection which is longer and more 
 sailent than that upon any other word in the sentence. Sec- 
 ondly, all the other words in the sentence or clause are brought 
 into relationship with the emphatic word, so that there is an 
 inflection upon every word. The words before the central one 
 have a slight rising, and the words following the central one 
 have a falling inflection. Thirdly, there are changes of pitch 
 between these inflections in the same direction as the inflection 
 upon the preceding word. Thus all the words of the phrase are 
 brought into one melodic form, which may be illustrated in 
 space, though of course not adequately, by the direction, abrupt- 
 ness, length, and distance apart of the following lines : — 
 
 %v 
 
 % 
 
 We find, also, that there are certain places where pauses are 
 introduced in conversation. The one which is most indicative 
 of emphasis is after the emphatic inflection. 
 
 If we read such a sentence without accentuation, or by oblit- 
 erating this form, it becomes mechanical and monotonous, and 
 conversational naturalness is entirely destroyed. If we read the 
 words on a straight line, accenting the central word by stress of 
 loudness, there is something wrong; it is not natural. We 
 must have these characteristics, in giving an affirmation : The
 
 120 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 first words in the phrase must be given with a suspensive, rising 
 inflection, beginning low and climbing by changes of pitch 
 between the words, as well as by inflections ; then we must ac- 
 centuate the central word with a falling inflection from a still 
 higher pitch, and the following words must be given with fall- 
 ing inflections, and lower in pitch, or in subordination. 
 
 The elements of conversational form may be more clearly ap- 
 prehended when we study their presence in meaningless syllables. 
 If we take, for example, these meaningless syllables, la, le, lo, 
 loo, accentuating each one in succession, we shall see at once 
 how the concentration of the mind reveals itself, and how such 
 vocal action awakens attention in another mind. 
 
 V A A A 
 
 Or we may take these four syllables, and arrange them with 
 rising and falling inflections upon the successive sounds in such 
 a way as to make them seem like actual conversation. They 
 may be given with greater emphasis, so as to make them appear 
 as if they were the expression of animated thinking and earnest 
 discussion. 
 
 Whatever syllables may be taken, when the mind holds one 
 as the centre of them all, the voice gives that one such a saliency 
 of inflection and pitch that the others are gathered in subordin- 
 ation, and some such vocal form is the result. This vocal form, 
 or sentential accent or melody, whatever it may be called, is 
 slightly different in every language, and even in the dialects of
 
 CONVERSATIONAL FORM. 121 
 
 the same language. It has a slight variation, also, with different 
 individuals, but the principle holds true that such an elemental 
 form or inflectional grouping of words is the fundamental char- 
 acteristic of all naturalness. So important is this elemental form, 
 that, nine-tenths of the time, when the most ignorant auditor 
 says that a man does not speak naturally, reference is made in- 
 stinctively to some perversion of this conversational form. Form 
 in art is the most important element. Even a shadow which is 
 an effect of light upon form is more important than color. In 
 proportion to the degree of emphasis is this form developed or 
 extended ; that is to say, the inflections and the intervals are 
 longer, and the range of voice is greater. An interrogative 
 melody gives the central word with a rising inflection, and the 
 following words in the phrase are subordinated, and also given 
 with rising inflections above the central word. 
 
 Though conversation is free and varied, if we cause the voice 
 to leap at random, the reading is chaotic and not natural. There 
 is not only variety in conversation, but there is also order and 
 unity, and progression in this variety ; and this order we shall 
 find later, is determined by the nature of thinking. 
 
 As all art is founded upon the study of nature, it can be seen 
 at once that the study of conversation is most essential to the 
 development of Vocal Expression. There is no rule or system 
 which can be substituted for careful study of naturalness in con- 
 versation. Nor can naturalness be developed by imitation. 
 
 There are two ways of studying nature : one is to observe it 
 superficially, and so master the accidents ; the other is to observe 
 it with great care, and get possession of the essential elements. 
 The importance of essentials in developing naturalness in con- 
 versation or in artistic training cannot be overestimated. All 
 training, to accomplish good results, must consist in work upon 
 elementals. When essentials are developed, power is the result, 
 but when accidentals are accentuated, the effect is weak and 
 mediocre. Whenever art has died in any age it has been chiefly
 
 122 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 through too much attention to detail and outward polish. The 
 endeavor to copy the mere beauty of Raphael ended in the mere 
 polish of men like Guido Reni. Great art has always shown a 
 direct study of the fundamental elements of nature herself. This 
 principle applies to all artistic training, but it is especially im- 
 portant when we come to develop naturalness of melody in 
 conversation. In observing the direct effects of thought and 
 feeling upon tone in conversation, we must note carefully the 
 essentials or elements which do not change, and which are com- 
 mon to all people. 
 
 Essentials are tested in many ways. They are fundamentally 
 necessary; they are common to all occasions and to all men. 
 Elements are always few in number, and include and explain all 
 accidents. Perhaps the greatest test is that of use. Accentuate 
 fundamentals, and we secure power; exaggeration increases 
 emphasis ; but accentuate accidents, and perversion or weakness, 
 is seen at once. Thus exaggerate any accidental or occasional 
 element of conversation, such as loudness, or circumflex inflec- 
 tions, or even variety, and the melody will be abnormal and 
 chaotic; but accentuate change of pitch, inflection, and pause, 
 or the fundamental elements already found, and the result will 
 be greater strength and power. These elements are always 
 present in conversation, and transcend all accidental elements in 
 proportion to the dignity or earnestness of the speaker. 
 
 We find here another illustration of the importance of re- 
 sponsiveness. The voice must directly respond to the action of 
 the mind, and it must be in such a state of flexibility that this 
 response will at once take place. Some voices become so me- 
 chanical and rigid from habit that there is no response whatever 
 to successive ideas. To improve the flexibility and naturalness 
 of conversation, therefore, we must improve the flexibility of 
 the voice. Singers have a method of doing this by practising 
 scales ; but while this is good in singing, it does not always re- 
 sult in flexibility of voice in speech.
 
 CONVERSATIONAL, FORM. 123 
 
 Inflection is the fundamental element of form in Vocal Ex- 
 pression, and is of vital importance : its development is one of 
 the most important points in the training of the voice in speak- 
 ing. The right action of the voice in inflection belongs to 
 Vocal Training. Vocal Expression must take for granted the 
 right production of the inflection itself, the proper control of 
 breath, the free and open emission of the tone, and the flexible 
 action of the vocal cords, and must study the meaning of inflec- 
 tion, its relation to naturalness and effectiveness in speaking, the 
 faults in its use, its relation to thinking and feeling, to change of 
 pitch, pause, tone-color, and to other modes of expression. Right 
 work upon the fundamental form, however, will be found to de- 
 velop flexibility of the voice ; it will also train the ear so that the 
 mind can more easily observe conversational form. Such a 
 method has always been found successful in the development of 
 conversational naturalness. A person who has hardly any inflec- 
 tion, by a little work upon this, will at once show improvement. 
 
 Problem XXIV. Speak naturally a short sentence of five or six 
 words having one idea. Notice the conversational form, and then 
 give meaningless syllables, such as counting, in the same form, then 
 extend the form in different degrees without increasing loudness. 
 
 Problem XXV. Bead or recite passages with the simplicity 
 and variety of conversation. 
 
 138. TU QUOQUE. 
 Nellie. If I were you, when ladies at the play, sir, 
 Beckon and nod, a melodrama through, 
 I would not turn abstractedly away, sir, 
 If I were you ! 
 Frank. If I were you, when persons I affected, 
 
 Wait for three hours to take me down to Kew, 
 I would, at least, pretend I recollected, 
 If I were you ! 
 Nellie. If I were you, when ladies are so lavish, 
 
 Sir, as to keep me every waltz but two, 
 I would not dance with odious Miss M'Tavish, 
 If I were you !
 
 124 
 
 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 Frank. If I were you, who vow you cannot suffer 
 
 Whiff of the best, — the mildest honey-dew, 
 I would not dance with smoke-consuming Puffer, 
 
 If I were you ! 
 Nellie. If I were you, I would not, sir, be bitter, 
 
 Even to write the Cynical Review; 
 Frank. No, I should doubtless find flirtation fitter, 
 
 If I were you ! 
 Nellie. Really! You would? Why, Frank, you're quite delightful,— 
 
 Hot as Othello, and as black of hue; 
 Borrow my fan. I would not look so frightful, 
 
 If I were you. 
 Frank. It is the cause. I mean your chaperone is 
 
 Bringing some well-curled juvenile. Adieu! 
 I shall retire. I'd spare that poor Adonis, 
 
 If I were you! 
 Nellie. Go, if you will. At once! And by express, sir; 
 
 Where shall it be? To China — or Peru? 
 Go! I should leave inquirers my address, sir, 
 
 If I were you ! 
 Frank. No, — I remain. To stay and fight a duel 
 
 Seems, on the whole, the proper thing to do — 
 Ah, you are strong, — I would not then be cruel, 
 
 If I were you ! 
 
 Nellie. One does not like one's feelings to be doubted, — 
 
 Frank. One does not like one's friends to misconstrue. 
 
 Nellie. If I confess that I a wee-bit pouted? — 
 
 Frank. I should admit that I was pique, too. 
 
 Nellie. Ask me to dance. I'd say no more about it, 
 
 If I were you! 
 
 Henry Austin Dobson. 
 
 139 Study a stream closely. There are books to be found in the run- 
 ning brooks. How musical that ever-sounding, ever-varying voice! 
 Loud or low, its full sonorous note fills but never grates upon the ear. 
 It speaks in tones of unnumbered meanings, — doleful or joyous, as the 
 mood of the listener may be. 
 
 Light and shadow hold revelry on its bosom, reflection doubling the 
 beauty on its margin. Now, beneath the shadow of that sombre crag, 
 with the mountain-ash nodding from its crest, the very darkness of 
 despair inspires it. Anon it leaps into the daylight with a merry bound,
 
 CONVERSATIONAL FORM. 125 
 
 mocking the old gray rocks with perennial laughter ; now it relaxes its 
 headlong pace, assumes a grave and stately march, widening and ex- 
 panding its crystal surface with meek and composed dignity; then, bid- 
 ding all proprieties adieu, rushes in frantic cataract into the very pit of 
 Avernus, and seems to leave sight and hope behind. It is the very pain 
 of Nature's beauty, so suggestive of pure enjoyment, that the earth-born 
 fancy moves too slowly, and the forms crowd so swiftly by that they elude 
 our grasp. 
 
 All very fine, you will say. But what is all this to do with trout-fishing ; 
 Do you really think that these charms are only disclosed to a stick and a 
 string, with a hook at one end and yourself at the other? 
 
 Thus I reply. In the first place, but for trout-fishing I should never 
 have seen them ; and as you never fish, you have never seen them. But 
 were you a brother of the rod, you would know that between the man who 
 walks and the man who fishes along the bank, there is as much difference 
 as between one who lives with a great man and one who only knows him 
 to bow to. One knows his bodily presence; the other, his ethereal spirit. 
 
 . . . But you speak of the claims of humanity, tenderness to the dumb 
 animals, the mute fishes. I am, you say, a brute and a barbarian, be- 
 cause with 
 
 " "Well-fashioned hook 
 
 I lure the incautious troutling from the brook." 
 
 I deny the charge, and shall disprove it by better logic than your legal 
 brain can command. 
 
 Confront me with my adversary. Come out, you old speckled hypocrite, 
 from that deep, dark den, overhung with alders, on the evil deeds of 
 which no sunbeam ever shone. Nay, I have thee fast. Plunge not, wriggle 
 not, jump not. It is all in vain. There — now I stretch thee on the 
 stones. Come up the bank, and before I bestow on thee the fatal whack, 
 and consign thee to the basket, plead for thy wicked life. 
 
 How sayest thou ? Is it cruel to tear thee from thy home, to delight in 
 thy despairing struggles, to butcher thee to make a holiday? All very 
 fine, thou scourge of thy race. Tell me, with thy dying gasp, when thy 
 maw shall be opened by remorseless cooks, what will be disclosed? A 
 coil of red worms, many May-flies, and oh ! monster of the deep, a young 
 trout, one of thine own-family, the dainty on which thou didst dine. And 
 pratest thou to me of humanity ? Nay, when lured by my skill thy fatal 
 bound was made, did'st thou not mean to extinguish a bright young life, 
 reckless of its sufferings, and forgetful of the surfeit of the morning? 
 What ! It is your natural food ? And thou art mine, thou canting de- 
 stroyer. Take that — I shall eat thee for my breakfast. Anon.
 
 126 VOCAX EXPRESSION. 
 
 Problem XXVI. Head a simple passage and a forcible one, 
 enlarging and accentuating, but preserving in the second all the 
 elements found in the conversational utterance of the first; or 
 speak the same sentence to one person and then to a thousand, and 
 simply enlarge the conversational form. 
 
 140 A country must always be either gaming or losing its liberty. 
 
 141 Go home, if you dare, to your constituents, and tell them that 
 you voted it down ! Meet those who sent you here, and tell them that 
 you shrank from the declaration of your own sentiments — that, you can- 
 not tell how, but that some unknown dread, some indefinable danger 
 affrighted you — that the spectres of cimeters, and crowns, and crescents, 
 gleamed before you, and alarmed you ; and that you suppressed all the 
 noble feelings prompted by religion, by liberty, by national independence, 
 and by humanity ! 
 
 142. EXPOSTULATION AND EEPLY. 
 
 ' Why, William, on that old gray stone, thus for the length of half a 
 day, why, William, sit you thus alone, and dream your time away? 
 Where are your books? — that light bequeathed to beings else forlorn 
 and blind! Up! up! and drink the spirit breathed from dead men to 
 their kind. You look round on your Mother Earth, as if she for no pur- 
 pose bore you ; as if you were her first-born birth, and none had ever lived 
 before you ! ' 
 
 One morning thus, by Esthwaite lake, when life was sweet, I knew not 
 why, to me my good friend Matthew spake, and thus I made reply: 
 ' The eye — it cannot choose but see; we cannot bid the ear be still; our 
 bodies feel, where'er they be, against or with our will. Nor less I deem 
 that there are powers which of themselves our minds impress ; that we 
 can feed this mind of ours in a wise passiveness. Think you, 'mid all 
 this mighty sum of things forever speaking, that nothing of itself will 
 come, but we must still be seeking ! Then ask not wherefore, here, alone, 
 conversing as I may, I sit upon this old gray stone, and dream my time 
 away.' Wordsworth. 
 
 143. THE TABLES TUENED, 
 Up! up! my friend, and quit your books; or surely you'll grow double. 
 Up ! up ! my friend, and clear your looks ; why all this toil and trouble ? 
 The sun, above the mountain's head, a freshening lustre mellow through 
 all the long, green fields has spread, his first sweet evening yellow.
 
 METHOD OF THOUGHT AND WORDS. 127 
 
 Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife: come, hear the woodland linnet, 
 how sweet his music! on my life, there's more of wisdom in it. And 
 hark! how blithe the throstle sings! He, too, is no mean preacher: 
 come forth into the light of things, let Nature be your teacher. She has 
 a world of ready wealth, our minds and hearts to bless — spontaneous 
 wisdom breathed by health, truth breathed by cheerfulness. 
 
 One impulse from a vernal wood may teach you more of man, of moral 
 evil and of good, than all the sages can. Sweet is the lore which Nature 
 brings; our meddling intellect misshapes the beauteous form of things: 
 we murder to dissect. Enough of Science and of Art; close up those 
 barren leaves ; come forth, and bring with you a heart that watches and 
 receives. Wordsworth. 
 
 XVII. METHOD OP THOUGHT AND WOEDS. 
 
 144 Bassanio. Sweet Portia, 
 
 If you did know to whom I gave the ring, 
 If you did know for whom I gave the ring, 
 And would conceive for what I gave the ring, 
 And how unwillingly I left the ring, 
 When naught would be accepted but the ring, 
 You would abate the strength of your displeasure. 
 
 Portia. If you had known the virtue of the ring, 
 Or half her worthiness that gave the ring, 
 Or your own honor to contain the ring, 
 You would not then have parted with the ring, 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 TN this extract from the " Merchant of Venice," the repetition 
 - 1 - of the same phrases will serve as an illustration of the rela- 
 tion of words to the thought which lies beneath them. The 
 fact that Bassanio has given away his ring is implied, as he steps 
 forward to make a plea to Portia. The first point he presents 
 to her is the person to whom the ring was given, his aim being 
 to concentrate her mind upon this idea. In the next line he 
 refers to Antonio, and this change of person is indicated by the 
 little word ' for.' But for this, the two lines would be exactly 
 the same. In the following line, although there is a great 
 change of words, yet the ideas, with one exception, are the
 
 128 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 same. He might have said, " If you did know for what I gave 
 the ring," making only one change, the word ' what.' Accent- 
 uation of this word shows the change in the centre of attention. 
 So in the next line, the sense would he conveyed if he had said, 
 " If you did know how unwillingly I gave the ring." The word 
 « unwillingly ' of course shows the change of thought. 
 
 All this illustrates the fact that many words in every clause 
 are logically pro-nominal ; that is, they stand for ideas which 
 have already been introduced to the mind, while some one word 
 is used to present a new idea to the mind. This word shows the 
 centre of attention, while the rest simply show the connection 
 of this idea with previous centres of thought ; they bring up in 
 the background ideas which make clear, but are entirely sub- 
 ordinate to this central one. The central idea is essential, the 
 others are adjunctive ; this is substantial, the others are acci- 
 dental ; this is a logical substantive, the others are logically pro- 
 nominal ; this is presented to the mind, the others are assumed ; 
 this is introduced, the others are implied ; this is a step in the 
 progression of thought, this is new, additional, and deferential to 
 the thought, the others are retrospective and familiar. 
 
 A word standing for a central idea is substantive; words 
 standing for the other class of ideas are logical pronouns, or 
 mere qualifiers. Thus only an occasional word stands for an 
 idea which is essential to the logical sequence of the thought ; 
 the other words simply bring forward ideas which have already 
 been conceived. The similarity of the conceptions of the mind 
 in this selection are shown by the use of the same words ; but 
 this is rarely the case. Usually there is a use of synonymous, 
 or pro-nominal, or adjective phrases; but the voice must sub- 
 ordinate them according to their relation to the centre of the 
 mind's attention, to the method and logical progression of the 
 thought. We can have but one central idea before the mind at 
 one time ; all others at that instant are necessarily secondary 
 and subordinate. It is this action of the mind expressed in
 
 METHOD OF THOUGHT AND WOEDS. 129 
 
 words, and revealing itself through the voice, that causes the 
 form or variation of conversation. The words standing for the 
 central ideas are made salient, and all other words are made 
 subordinate by inflection and change of pitch. 
 
 The question arises whether grammar or logic has more to do 
 with Vocal Expression. Grammar shows the relation of words, 
 while logic shows the relation of ideas. It is the relation of 
 ideas which has to do with Vocal Expression. The relation of 
 words is an important element of verbal language, but the inflec- 
 tions and modulations of the voice form a natural language, and 
 reveal relations, connections, and feelings deeper than words. 
 They do not merely show the relation of words, but interpret 
 the deeper relation of thoughts and purposes. 
 
 As the true culture and discipline of the mind is shown by 
 the method of thought, so the highest quality of delivery, and 
 the charm of a well-modulated voice, consist in the revelation of 
 the sequence of ideas in thinking. Method is often studied as 
 a mere mechanical arrangement. In this view, it has no appli- 
 cation to Vocal Expression ; but if it is a living process of the 
 mind, then it furnishes the most vital principle to Vocal Expres- 
 sion. Coleridge has well said, — 
 
 Method implies a progressive transition, and it is the meaning 
 of the word in the original language. The Greek Me'#oSos, is 
 literally a way, or path of transit. Thus we extol the Elements of 
 Euclid, or Socrates' discourse with the slave in the Menon, as 
 methodical, a term which no one who holds himself bound to think 
 or speak correctly would apply to the alphabetical order or arrange- 
 ment of a common dictionary. But as, without continuous transi- 
 tion, there can be no method, so without a pre-conception there 
 can be no transition with continuity. The term method cannot, 
 therefore, otherwise than by abuse, be applied to a mere dead 
 arrangeme at, containing in itself no principle of progression. 
 
 There have been many schemes and rules to find the emphatic 
 word. Some of them are good ; but they are good in propor- 
 9
 
 130 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 tion as they conform to the principles of a right logical method. 
 Why not use Vocal Expression as a means of practically study- 
 ing Method? It furnishes a means of studying and comparing 
 the method of the greatest minds in a simple, practical way. So 
 important and so rarely studied is this subject that the famous 
 essay of Coleridge, in the "Friend," is here abridged. The 
 student, in the light of the last few lessons, can easily apply the 
 principles to Vocal Expression. 
 
 What is that which strikes us at once, in a man of education, 
 and which among educated men so instantly distinguishes the man 
 of superior mind, that, as was observed of Edmund Burke, " we 
 cannot stand under the same archway during a shower of rain, 
 without finding him out?" Not the weight or novelty of his re- 
 marks; not any unusual interest of facts communicated by him. 
 The difference will be felt, though the conversation should be 
 confined to the state of the weather or the pavement. Still less 
 will it arise from any peculiarity in his words and phrases. 
 
 Unless where new things necessitate new terms, he will avoid 
 an unusual word as a rock. There remains but one other point of 
 distinction possible, and this must be the true cause of the impres- 
 sion made on us. It is the unpremeditated and evidently habitual 
 arrangement of his words, grounded on the habit of foreseeing in 
 each integral part, or in every sentence, the whole that he intends 
 to communicate. However irregular and desultory his talk, there 
 is method in the fragments. 
 
 Listen, on the other hand, to an ignorant man, though perhaps 
 shrewd and able in his particular calling, whether he be describing 
 or relating. We immediately perceive tbat his memory alone is 
 called into action; and that the objects and events recur in the 
 narration in the same order, and with the same accompaniments, 
 however accidental or impertinent, as they had first occurred to 
 the narrator. The necessity of taking breath, the efforts of recol- 
 lection, and the abrupt rectification of its failures, produce all his 
 pauses; and with exception of the " and then," the " and there," 
 and the still less significant " and so," they constitute likewise all 
 his connections.
 
 METHOD OF THOUGHT AND WORDS. 131 
 
 The difference between the products of a well disciplined and 
 those of an uncultivated understanding, in relation to what we will 
 now venture to call the Science of Method, is often and admirably 
 exhibited by our great dramatist. We scarcely need refer our 
 readers to the clown's evidence, in the first scene of the second act 
 of "Measure for Measure," or to the nurse in "Romeo and 
 Juliet." But not to leave the position without an instance to 
 illustrate it, we will take the " easy-yielding " Mrs. Quickly's rela- 
 tion of the circumstances of Sir John Falstaff's debt to her: — 
 
 145 Falstaff. What is the gross sum that I owe thee? 
 
 Host. Marry, if thou wert an honest man, thyself and the money 
 too. Thou didst swear to me upon a parcel-gift goblet, sitting in my dol- 
 phin chamber, at the round table, by a sea-coal fire, upon Wednesday in 
 Wheeson-week, when the Prince broke thy head for liking his father to 
 a singing-man of Windsor, — thou didst swear to me then, as I was 
 washing thy wound, to marry me, and make me my lady thy wife 
 Canst thou deny it? Did not goodwife Keeck, the butcher's wife, come 
 in then, and call me gossip Quickly? coming in to borrow a mess of 
 vinegar; telling us she had a good dish of prawns; whereby thou didst 
 desire to eat some; whereby I told thee they were ill for a green wound? 
 "Henry IV." part 2, Act II., Scene 1. Shakespeare. 
 
 And this, be it observed, is so far from being carried beyond the 
 bounds of a fair imitation, that "the poor soul's" thoughts and 
 sentences are far more closely interlinked than the truth of nature 
 would have required, but that the connections and sequence, which 
 the habit of method can alone give, have in this instance a substi- 
 tute in the fusion of passion. For the absence of method, which 
 characterizes the uneducated, is occasioned by an habitual submis- 
 sion of the understanding to mere events and images as such, and 
 independent of any power in the mind to classify or appropriate 
 them. The general accompaniments of time and place are the 
 only relations which persons of this class appear to regard in their 
 statements. As this constitutes their leading feature, the contrary 
 excellence, as distinguishing the well-educated man, must be 
 referred to the contrary habit. Method, therefore, becomes natural 
 to the mind which has been accustomed to contemplate not things 
 only, or for their own sake alone, but likewise and chiefly the
 
 132 VOCAL EXPRESSION - . 
 
 relations of things, either their relations to each other, or to the 
 observer, or to the state and apprehension of the hearers. To enum- 
 erate and analyze these relations, with the conditions under which 
 alone they are discoverable, is to teach the science of method. 
 
 The enviable results of this science, when knowledge has been 
 ripened into those habits which at once secure and evince its pos- 
 session, can scarcely be exhibited more forcibly as well as more 
 pleasingly, than by contrasting with the former extract from 
 Shakespeare the narration given by Hamlet to Horatio of the 
 occurrences during his proposed transportation to England, and 
 the events that interrupted the voyage. 
 
 146. HAMLET'S VOYAGE. 
 
 Hamlet. So much for this, sir; now let me see the other; 
 You do remember all the circumstance? 
 
 Horatio. Remember it, my Lord? 
 
 Hamlet. Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting 
 That would not let me sleep : methought I lay 
 Worse than the mutinies in the bilboes. Rashly, — 
 And praised be rashness for it ; let us know, 
 Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well, 
 "When our deep plots do pall : and that should teach us 
 There's a divinity that shapes our ends, 
 Rough-hew them how we will, — 
 
 Horatio. That is most certain. 
 
 Hamlet. Up from my cabin, 
 My sea-gown scarf d about me, in the dark 
 Groped I to find out them; had my desire; 
 Fingered their packet; and, in fine, withdrew 
 To mine own room again : making so bold, 
 My fears forgetting manners, to unseal 
 Their grand commission; where I found, Horatio,-— 
 O royal knavery ! an exact command, 
 Larded with many several sorts of reason, — 
 Importing Denmark's health, and England's too, 
 With, ho! such bugs and goblins in my life, — 
 That, on the supervise, no leisure bated, 
 No, not to stay the grinding of the axe, 
 My head should be struck off.
 
 METHOD OF THOUGHT AND WORDS. 133 
 
 Horatio. Is't possible? 
 
 Hamlet. Here's the commission: read it at more leisure. 
 But wilt thou hear me how I did proceed ? 
 
 Horatio. I beseech you. 
 
 Hamlet. Being thus be-netted round with villainies, — 
 Ere I could make a prologue to my brains, 
 They had begun the play, — I sat me down ; 
 Devis'd a new commission; wrote it fair. 
 I once did hold it, as our statists do, 
 A baseness to write fair, and laboured much 
 How to forget that learning ; but, sir, now 
 It did me yeoman's service. Wilt thou know 
 Th' effect of what I wrote ? 
 
 Horatio. Ay, good my lord. 
 
 Hamlet. An earnest conjuration from the King, — 
 As England was his faithful tributary ; 
 As love between them like the palm might flourish; 
 As peace should still her wheaten garland wear, 
 And stand a cement 'tween their amities; 
 And many such-like ases of great charge, — 
 That, on the view, and knowing of these contents, 
 Without debatement further, more or less, 
 He should the bearers put to sudden death, 
 Not shriving-time allowed. 
 
 Horatio. How was this seal'd ? 
 
 Hamlet. Why, even in that was Heaven ordinant. 
 I had my fathers signet in my purse, 
 Which was the model of that Danish seal ; 
 Folded the writ up in form of th' other; 
 Subscribed it; gave't th' impression; placed it safely, 
 The changeling never known. Now, the next day 
 Was our sea-fight ; and what to this was sequent 
 Thou knowst already. 
 
 Horatio. So Guildenstern and Bosencrantz go to't. 
 
 Hamlet. Why, man, they did make love to this employment: 
 They are not near my conscience; their defeat 
 Does by their own insinuation grow : 
 'Tis dangerous when the baser nature comes 
 Between the pass and fell-incensed points 
 Of mighty opposites. 
 "Hamlet," Act V., Scene 2. Shakespeare.
 
 134 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 Here the events, with the circumstances of time and place, are 
 all stated with equal compression and rapidity, not one introduced 
 which could have been omitted without injury to the intelligibility 
 of the whole process. If any tendency is discoverable, as far as 
 the mere facts are in question, it is the tendency to omission, and, 
 accordingly, the reader will observe that the attention of the 
 narrator is afterwards called back to one material circumstance, 
 which he was hurrying by, by a direct question from the friend to 
 whom the story is communicated, " How was this sealed? " But 
 by a trait which is indeed peculiarly characteristic of Hamlet's 
 mind, ever disposed to generalize, and meditative to excess (but 
 which, with due abatement and reduction, is distinctive of every 
 powerful and methodizing intellect) , all the digressions and enlarge- 
 ments consist of reflections, trutbs, and principles of general and 
 permanent interest, either directly expressed, or disguised in playful 
 satire. 
 
 It would, perhaps, be sufficient to remark of this passage, in 
 connection with the humorous specimen of narration, 
 
 " Fermenting o'er with frothy circumstance," 
 
 in Henry IV., that if, overlooking the different value of matter in 
 each, we considered the form alone, we should find both imme- 
 thodical; Hamlet from the excess, Mrs. Quickly from the want of 
 reflection and generalization; and that method, therefore, must 
 result from the due mean or balance between our passive impres- 
 sions and the mind's own re-action on the same. 
 
 Thus exuberance of mind, on the one hand, interferes with the 
 forms of method; but sterility of mind, on the other, wanting the 
 spring and impulse to mental action, is wholly destructive of 
 method itself. For in attending too exclusively to the relations 
 which the past or passing events and objects bear to general truth 
 and the moods of his own thought, the most intelligent man is 
 sometimes in danger of overlooking that other relation in which 
 they are likewise to be placed to the apprehension and sympathies 
 of his hearers. His discourse appears like soliloquy intermixed 
 with dialogue. But the uneducated and unreflecting talker over- 
 looks all mental relations both logical and psychological; and con- 
 sequently precludes all method that is not purely accidental.
 
 METHOD OF THOUGHT AND "WOKDS. 135 
 
 Hence the nearer the things and incidents in time and place, the 
 more distant, disjointed, and impertinent to each other, and to any 
 common purpose, will they appear in his narration; and this from 
 the want of a staple, or starting-post, in the narrator himself; from 
 the absence of the leading thought, which, borrowing a phrase 
 from the nomenclature of legislation, we may not inaptly call the 
 initiative. On the contrary, wbere the habit of method is present 
 and effective, things the most remote and diverse in time, place, 
 and outward circumstance are brought into mental contiguity and 
 succession, the more striking as the less expected. But while we 
 should impress the necessity of this habit, the illustrations adduced 
 give proof that in undue preponderance, and when the prerogative 
 of the mind is stretched into despotism, the discourse may degene- 
 rate into the grotesque or the fantastical. 
 
 If the excess lead to method misapplied, and to connections of 
 the moment, the absence, or marked deficiency, either precludes 
 method altogether, both form and substance, or retains the outward 
 form only. 
 
 147 Polonius. My liege and madam, to expostulate 
 What majesty should be, what duty is, 
 . Why day is day, night night, and time is time, 
 Were nothing but to waste night, day, and time. 
 Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit, 
 And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, 
 I will be brief: Tour noble son is mad: 
 Mad call I it; for, to define true madness, 
 What is't but to be nothing else but mad? 
 But let that go. 
 
 Queen. More matter, with less art. 
 
 Polonius. Madam, I swear I use no art at all. 
 
 That he is mad, 'tis true: 'tis true, 'tis pity; 
 And pity 'tis 'tis true: a foolish figure; 
 But farewell it, for I will use no art. 
 Mad let us grant him, then: and now remains 
 That we find out the cause of this effect, — 
 Or rather say, the cause of this defect, 
 For this effect defective comes by cause : 
 Thus it remains, and the remainder thus. 
 "Hamlet," Act II., Scene 2. Shakespeare.
 
 136 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 A passage may be written logically, but be perverted in the 
 way it is read. Often in great poems, such as the Book of Job, 
 it is difficult to make clear the continuity of the thought. The 
 argument of the twenty-eighth chapter is often obscured or per- 
 verted. How often are specific ideas given for their own sake ? 
 ' There is a path that no fowl knoweth.' What path ? Perhaps 
 God's Providence. The whole thought has usually been lost. 
 All the first part of the chapter refers to mining as an illustration 
 of man's power, in contrast to his inability to find ' wisdom.'' 
 This is the centre of the chapter ; ' God ' is not referred to till 
 the last, and then the word is very emphatic ; last of all wisdom 
 is defined as ' the fear of the Lord.' ' Wisdom,' ' God,' ' fear of 
 the Lord,' must stand forth as the great central words, or the 
 passage becomes nonsense. Of course, each successive idea in 
 each clause is to be accentuated, but these are the great centres, 
 and when these are made salient, all is clear and simple. A 
 reading of this passage in two ways will show, more clearly than 
 any discussion can possibly suggest, the great importance of 
 method in Vocal Expression, and the great importance of 
 certain words. 
 
 Problem XXVII. Read a passage so as to show clearly the 
 continuity of the thought, making salient the great central words 
 which show the purpose and which carry the thinking forward, 
 and upon which all other words depend for meaning. 
 
 148, SEAEOH FOE WISDOM. 
 Surely there is a mine for silver, and a place for gold which they 
 refine. Iron is taken out of the earth, and brass is molten out of the 
 stone. Man setteth an end to darkness, and searcheth out to the furthest 
 bounds the stones of thick darkness and of the shadow of death. He 
 breaketh open a shaft away from where men sojourn ; they are forgotten 
 of the foot that passeth by ; they hang afar from men, they swing to and 
 fro. As for the earth, out of it cometh bread : and underneath it is 
 turned up as it were by fire. The stones thereof are the place of sapphires, 
 and it hath dust of gold. That path no bird of prey knoweth, neither 
 hath the falcon's eye seen it: the proud beasts have not trodden it, nor
 
 METHOD OF THOUGHT AND WORDS. 137 
 
 hath the fierce lion passed thereby. He putteth forth his hand upon the 
 flinty rock ; he overturneth the mountains by the roots. He cutteth out 
 channels among the rocks ; and his eye seeth every precious thing. He 
 bindeth the streams that they trickle not ; and the thing that is hid bring- 
 eth he forth to light. 
 
 But where shall wisdom be found? And where is the place of under- 
 standing? Man knoweth not the price thereof; neither is it found in the 
 land of the living. The deep saith, It is not in me, and the sea saith, 
 It is not with me. It cannot be gotten for gold, neither shall silver 
 be weighed for the price thereof. It cannot be valued with the gold of 
 Ophir, with the precious onyx or the sapphire. Gold and glass cannot 
 equal it : neither shall the exchange thereof be jewels of fine gold. No 
 mention shall be made of coral or of crystal: Yea, the price of wisdom is 
 above rubies. The topaz of Ethiopia shall not equal it, neither shall it 
 be valued with pure gold. Whence then cometh wisdom? And where is 
 the place of understanding? Seeing it is hid from the eyes of all living, 
 and kept close from the fowls of the air. Destruction and death say, 
 We have heard a rumor thereof with our ears. 
 
 God understandeth the way thereof, and he knoweth the place thereof. 
 For he looketh to the ends of the earth, and seeth under the whole 
 heaven ; to make a weight for the wind ; yea, he meteth out the waters 
 by measure. When he made a decree for the rain, and a way for the 
 lightning of the thunder: then did he see it, and declare it; he established 
 it, yea, and searched it out, and unto man he said, Behold the fear of the 
 Lord, that is wisdom; and to depart from evil is understanding. 
 
 Job XXVIII. 
 
 Problem XXYIII. Contrast a passage having one intellectual 
 centre, manifested in one word, with one which has a simple 
 situation and is chiefly the movement of passion. (135 and 137 ) 
 
 149. CONSIDER, 
 
 Consider the lilies of the field whose bloom is brief: — we are as they; 
 like them we fade away, as doth a leaf. Consider the sparrows of the air 
 of small account : our God doth view whether they fall or mount, — he 
 guards us too. 
 
 Consider the lilies that do neither spin nor toil, yet are most fair: — 
 
 what profits all this care and all this toil? Consider the birds that have 
 
 no barn nor harvest- weeks ; God gives them food: — much more our 
 
 Father seeks to do us good. 
 
 Christina Georgina Rossettu
 
 138 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 150 Rest is not quitting the busy career; rest is the fitting of self to 
 its sphere. 'Tis the brook's motion, clear without strife, fleeing to ocean 
 after its life. Deeper devotion nowhere hath knelt; fuller emotion heart 
 never felt. 'Tis loving and serving the highest and best: 'tis onward! 
 unswerving — and that is true rest. Dwight. 
 
 151 With malice toward none ; with charity for all ; with firmness in 
 the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the 
 work we are in; to bind up the nation's wounds; to care for him who 
 shall have borne the battle, and for his widow, and his orphan — to do all 
 which may achieve and cherish a just and a lasting peace among our- 
 selves, and with all nations. Lincoln. 
 
 XVIII. METHOD IN NAEBATION. 
 
 npHE simplest sequence of ideas or example of method is fur- 
 ■*- nished in narration. A good story-teller is one who can 
 present such ideas as will suggest events, and give movement to 
 the mind. All vocal expression is in time, so that movement or 
 progression is its fundamental law. To be able to tell a story, 
 therefore, is very important. The ability to state ideas simply 
 in relation to events is the highest characteristic of a strong, 
 logical mind, and is a mark of the highest literary excellence. 
 As an illustration of the method of the mind, and the modes 
 by which the voice reveals the successive ideas in narration, 
 take a short story from the greatest prose writer of America. 
 
 152. THE WRECK. 
 We one day descried some shapeless object drifting at a distance. At 
 sea, everything that breaks the monotony of the surrounding expanse 
 attracts attention. It proved to be the mast of a ship that must have 
 been completely wrecked ; for there were the remains of handkerchiefs, 
 by which some of the crew had fastened themselves to this spar, to prevent 
 their being washed off by the waves. There was no trace by which the 
 name of the ship could be ascertained. The wreck had evidently drifted 
 about for many months ; clusters of shell-fish had fastened about it, and 
 long sea-weeds flaunted at its sides. But where, thought I, are the crew? 
 Their struggle has long been over ; they have gone down amidst the roar
 
 METHOD IN NARRATION. 139 
 
 of the tempest; their bones lie whitening in the caverns of the deep. 
 Silence, oblivion, like the waves, have closed over them, and no one can 
 tell the story of their end. 
 
 What sighs have been wafted after that ship ! what prayers offered up 
 at the deserted fireside at home ! How often has the wife, the mother, 
 pored over the daily news to catch some casual intelligence of this rover 
 of the deep ! How has expectation darkened into anxiety, anxiety into 
 dread, and dread into despair ! Alas ! not one memento shall ever return 
 for love to cherish. All that shall ever be known is, that she sailed from 
 her port, " and was never heard of more." 
 
 "The Voyage." Washington Irving. 
 
 We assume that we are on shipboard. What is the central 
 idea ? If I read and accentuate ' day,' " We one day descried 
 some shapeless object?" I set your mind to comparing day and 
 night. If I accent ' descried,' I awaken a false antithesis ; it is 
 only used in a general sense, — ' saw ' would do as well. To 
 accentuate ' shapeless ' causes the mind to compare kinds of 
 objects. Why not ' drifting ? ' Because at sea of course it would 
 drift. ' Object ' is the only word the accentuation of which 
 concentrates the mind, holds it ' in the frame,' and does not 
 carry the thought upon a tangent. The effort of the discovery 
 of this object is shown by ' attention.' We may, however, pre- 
 viously to this, concentrate the mind upon the word ' sea,' for 
 the sake of contrast, implying that it is not so by land, which is 
 true. Others, implying the sea, prefer to emphasize 'every- 
 thing.' There are always such possible steps in the logical 
 action of different minds. Attention is kept constantly upon 
 the object until they discover what it is, — ' the mast of a ship.' 
 After a certain fact is observed, it is natural for the mind to 
 make an inference, and this inference is shown by the word 
 ' wreck.' We then proceed to give the reason for this conclu- 
 sion, — ' handkerchiefs.' The attention of the mind is directed 
 wholly to facts, and immediate and necessary conclusions ; then 
 the crew is kept in the background. The immediate cause of 
 the handkerchiefs is ' waves.' The mind seeks naturally for
 
 140 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 the ' name ' of the ship. If a name can be found, definite news 
 can be reported, which will be of great consequence. To report 
 a mere piece of any ship, floating about on the ocean, would be 
 very indefinite. The mind logically seeks after something defi- 
 nite, and the voice reveals the object of the search. The word 
 which indicates a definite point of progress, or advancement 
 toward a purpose, is emphasized, while that which is vague and 
 indefinite is subordinated. The next advance in observation 
 regards time, indicated by ' months.' Then the reasons, ' shell- 
 fish ' and ' sea- weed,' are added. It is just as logical to give the 
 conclusion first, and the reasons afterward, as it is to give first 
 the reasons and then the conclusion. All possible facts of the 
 wreck have now been observed. As the wreck drifts away, the 
 mind takes in the whole situation, and naturally turns to the 
 crew. Emphasis upon 'where' would be ambiguous. The 
 logical action of the mind emphasizes the word containing least 
 ambiguity. The central point is not the place, but the men. 
 
 There have been three methods by which what is known as 
 the emphatic word can be found. Professor Bell taught that 
 the principle is novelty ; that is to say, " the word is emphatic 
 that contains the additional or new idea." Professor Monroe 
 taught that it was utility ; taking, for example, the question in 
 this extract, you find that you can throw away all except the 
 word ' over,' which alone will answer the question. " Emphatic 
 words are those which are most necessary to the sense." Pro- 
 fessor Raymond always reduced everything to conversation. He 
 said in substance, " turn the sentence into your own words, and 
 observe, when you are talking naturally, where you centre the 
 voice ; this shows the emphatic word." 
 
 The principle beneath all these methods is the logical action 
 of the mind. They are simply modes of testing the mind's 
 action or method. Why not study the process of thinking it- 
 self, find that which is fundamental and natural, train the pene- 
 trative action of the mind, and secure confidence in its method
 
 METHOD IX NARRATION. 141 
 
 or procedure ? To prove the inadequacy of these methods or 
 rules, notice the fact that the word 'crew' occurs very early, 
 but if the mind stc^s to emphasize that and moralize over it, 
 the story will be destroyed. The passengers on the ship are 
 entirely taken up with the observation of the facts, or the 
 objects before the eye. If their minds had turnod aside to 
 sentimentalize over the wreck too early, they would have lost 
 the opportunity to observe the facts. If a speaker does the 
 same for an audience before all the facts are introduced to 
 the mind, the unity of the story and its effect are completely 
 marred. The mind first demands the facts, and after all the 
 facts are gathered it puts them together, supplies missing links, 
 and creates one harmonious whole, to which the heart naturally 
 responds in noble feeling. 
 
 Where is the crew ? ' Over.' This may seem a very general 
 answer ; but such is the aim of the author. In the next sen- 
 tence, many will be tempted to accentuate 'gone down'; but 
 this will spoil the author's climax in the following sentence. It 
 is best to stay the mind upon ' tempest,' as the cause, and then, 
 in strong contrast, the climax will be felt more fully on ' deep.' 
 
 Many speakers emphasize any word which fits the mouth, — 
 as the word ' all,' — wherever it may occur. Such will be very 
 apt to emphasize ' bones ' in this sentence, or ' roar ' in the pre- 
 ceding. Thus the most accidental elements are often made so 
 prominent as to obscure completely the path of mind in the 
 simplest thinking. This is muscular emphasis, rather than the 
 emphasis of thought. 
 
 Again, some minds are more fond of isolated ideas than of 
 thought. Such will desire to emphasize ' caverns.' As an acci- 
 dent, 'caverns' is a very helpful word, enabling the mind to 
 secure a conception or feeling of loneliness, and assisting us to 
 secure truth of feeling ; but made the logical centre of the 
 thought it becomes false. There are no caverns at the bottom 
 of the sea.
 
 142 VOCAL EXPRESSION". 
 
 How naturally the mind penetrates to the central ideas, 
 and moves on to 'silence,' 'oblivion,' 'end!' The mind now 
 naturally turns to the homes of those men, ' sighs,' ' prayers,' 
 1 wife,' 'mother,' all these following in a perfectly natural 
 sequence. A good writer thus awakens thought by stimulating 
 the simplest progressive association of ideas. Will the mind 
 centre its attention upon 'news' or 'intelligence?' 'News' is 
 vague and indefinite. To further the mind's thinking it is 
 necessary to concentrate attention upon the idea most inclusive 
 and most definite. 'Intelligence' is here the most specific ob- 
 ject sought ; news is probably the newspaper. 
 
 There is in this sentence a good illustration of the difference 
 between rhetoric and logic. If the sentence were mechanically 
 formed, it would end in 'of it ' ; but this is not beautiful, so it 
 ends in 'of this rover of the deep.' But 'this rover of the 
 deep,' no less than ' it,' stands for the shrp, and to emphasize 
 such a phrase because it is beautiful is to make the rhetoric 
 predominant rather than the logic. Emphasis is dependent 
 upon logic, and not upon grammar or rhetoric ; such expressions 
 as this are accidental, and are not necessary to the thought. 
 
 The next ideas follow in spontaneous sequence, — ' expecta- 
 tion,' ' anxiety,' ' dread,' ' despair,' — ' not one memento.' 
 
 A negative sentence, unless in immediate contrast to a positive 
 one, is emphasized in the same way as a positive statement. 
 This is illustrated in debate. If a speaker in reply follows the 
 order of the argument of the speaker on the affirmative, he is 
 often only confirming the strength of the arguments on the 
 other side. xEschines said to his judges that Demosthenes must 
 be compelled to answer his charges in the order they were pre- 
 sented, but Demosthenes was too skilful a debater to take up 
 and confirm the arguments of his opponent. Then chief strength 
 was in their order. So he put a strong argument first to change 
 the current of thought in the mind of the judges, a strong argu- 
 ment last, and threw his weak ones in the centre of his speech.
 
 METHOD IN NARRATION. 143 
 
 Unless a negative is in contrast to a positive the negation is only 
 an accident. In this paragraph the whole story is summed up in 
 1 sailed . . . never heard of more.' 
 
 If the words enumerated are the most essential, are the true 
 centres of the mind in the progression of the thought, we can 
 give these words and these only, and still carry the mind over 
 the successive steps of the story. 
 
 Object, — attention, — mast of a ship, — wrecked, — handkerchiefs, — 
 waves, — name, — months, — shell-fish, — sea- weed. 
 
 Crew, — over, — tempest, — deep, — silence, — oblivion, — end. 
 
 Sighs, — prayers, — wife, — mother, — intelligence, — expectation, — 
 anxiety, — dread, — despair, — not one memento, — sailed, — nevermore. 
 
 This is a good illustration of the suggestive power of right 
 words, or of the importance of showing the comparative values 
 of words by the voice. Great writers and speakers are known 
 by the fewness of their words ; the able reader is shown by his 
 power to make a few words reveal and interpret the deepest 
 and most complex thought. Of course some readers will em- 
 phasize one word, some another, some more, some a less number 
 of words, even in such a simple story as this ; but, other things 
 being equal, these words embody the ideas which are the most 
 necessary to the story. 
 
 We fi^.d in narration probably the simplest and most funda- 
 mental sequence of ideas ; but strange to say there are very few 
 good story-tellers. There is a special tendency to dwell upon 
 details, or to fly off upon tangents. Hence the power to select 
 and tell without wandering the fundamental points of a story 
 measures the power of the mind to penetrate to essentials, to 
 control the passive association of ideas and tendency to lose 
 sight of its purpose, — in short, to preserve method and order 
 under the most trying and tempting circumstances. We find 
 also that this logical instinct is a test of a good author. How 
 simply flow the ideas of Chaucer, the best of all story-tellers! 
 The sequence of ideas of Scott or Thackeray is most easily
 
 144 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 found ; but how difficult it is to trace the method of thought or 
 to find the central ideas in a poor writer ! 
 
 Enough of the logical actions of the mind have been illus- 
 trated to summarize a few points. The jnethod of the mind is 
 simply the road it takes through ideas : when this path is 
 natural, it is a good method ; and when it is broken and zig-zag, 
 it is a bad method. We find also that the mind with a penetra- 
 tive insight seizes the central idea and word in every sentence 
 or phrase. This insight is often spontaneous or instinctive. 
 Take, for proof, a little child ; it comes to its mother, and asks 
 for a piece of pie. It never makes a mistake in emphasis. If 
 it has a special idea in its mind, regarding the kind of pie, or 
 the size of the piece, and if it is denied, it can easily call up an 
 antithesis that Jim had a piece. This logical action of the mind 
 is most spontaneously revealed by the voice. The chief cause 
 of bad melodies in public speaking is the failure to concentrate 
 the mind upon each central idea successively, and to make it 
 salient in reference to a definite purpose, at the same time ex- 
 aggerating the simple elements of conversation in the same pro- 
 portion as earnestness accentuates or enlarges those elements of 
 thinking, and to enlarge the rhythmic steps in thinking and the 
 essential elements of conversation harmoniously. The power to 
 speak to a thousand as naturally as when speaking to one is the 
 highest art and the result of the most faithful work. 
 
 Among the most important methods of developing this logical 
 instinct is to have each student teli a story to the class, or to 
 present in a few words the argument of some great poem. The 
 work of selecting and arranging an analysis of good literature 
 affords a most important discipline of the mind, securing insight 
 into fundamentals, and method in the presentation of ideas. At 
 the same time, the student is practically brought face to face 
 with the greatest masters of method and expression. 
 
 Problem XXIX. Head a story and make salient only the most 
 essential points and subordinate all others.
 
 METHOD IN NARRATION. 145 
 
 Problem XXX. Give an account of some event that happened 
 in your own life, being careful to select and present only the salient 
 elements, and to give these movement and life. 
 
 153 The stag at eve had drunk his fill, where danced the moon on 
 Monan's rill, and deep his midnight lair had made in lone Glenartney's 
 hazel shade ; but, when the sun his beacon red had kindled on Benvoir- 
 lich'shead,* the deep-mouth'd bloodhound's heavy bay resounded up the 
 rocky way, and faint, from farther distance borne, were heard the clang- 
 ing hoof and horn. As Chief, who hears his warder call, " To arms! the 
 foemen storm the wall," the antler' d monarch of the waste sprung from 
 his heathery couch in haste. Like crested leader proud and high, toss'd 
 his beam'd frontlet to the sky; a moment gazed adown the dale, a moment 
 snuff' d the tainted gale, a moment listen' d to the cry, that thicken' d as 
 the chase drew nigh; then, as the headmost foes appear' d, with one brave 
 bound the copse he clear' d, and, stretching forward free and far, sought 
 the wild heaths of Uam-Var. Yell'd on the view the opening pack; rock, 
 glen, and cavern paid them back ; to many a mingled sound at once the 
 awaken' d mountain gave response. A hundred dogs bay'd deep and 
 strong, clatter 5 d a hundred steeds along, their peal the merry horns rung 
 out, a hundred voices join'd the shout; with hark and whoop and wild 
 halloo, no rest Benvoirlich's echoes knew. Far from the tumult fled the 
 roe, close in her covert cower' d the doe, the falcon, from her cairn on 
 high, cast on the rout a wondering eye, till far beyond her piercing ken 
 the hurricane had swept the glen. Faint and more faint, its failing din 
 return'd from cavern, cliff, and linn, and silence settled, wide and still, 
 on the lone wood and mighty hill. . . The noble stag was pausing now 
 upon the mountain's southern brow, where broad extended, far beneath, 
 the varied realms of fair Menteith. With anxious eye he wander' d o'er 
 mountain and meadow, moss and moor, and ponder' d refuge from his 
 toil, by far Lochard or Aberfoyle. But nearer was the copsewood grey, 
 that waved and wept on Loch-Achray, and mingled with the pine-trees 
 blue on the bold cliffs of Benvenue, fresh vigour with the hope return'd, 
 with flying foot the heath he spurn' d, held westward with unwearied 
 race, and left behind the panting chase. 'Twere long to tell what steeds 
 gave o'er, as swept the hunt through Cambusmore; what reins were 
 tighten'd in despair, when rose Benledi's ridge in air; t who flagg'd upon 
 Bochastle's heath, who shunn'd to stem the flooded Teith,$ — for twice 
 
 * One of the Grampian mountains at the head of the Valley of the Garry, 
 t Benledi is a high mountain on the north-west of Callender. Its name signifies 
 the mountain of God. % A river giving its name to the territory of Menteith. 
 
 10
 
 146 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 that day, from shore to shore, the gallant stag swam stoutly o'er. Few 
 were the stragglers, following far, that reach' d the lake of Venachar; and 
 when the Brigg * of Turk was won, the headmost horseman rode alone. 
 Alone, but with unbated zeal, that horseman plied the scourge and steel ; 
 for jaded now, and spent with toil, emboss'd with foam, and dark with 
 soil, while every gasp with sobs he drew, the labouring stag strain' d full 
 in view. Two dogs of black St. Hubert's breed, unmatch'd for courage, 
 breath, and speed, fast on his flying traces came, and all but won that 
 desperate game; for, scarce a spear's length from his haunch, vindictive 
 toil'd the bloodhounds staunch; nor nearer might the dogs attain, nor 
 farther might the quarry strain. Thus up the margin of the lake, between 
 the precipice and brake, o'er stock and rock their race they take. The 
 hunter marked that mountain high, the lone lake's western boundary, 
 and deem'd the stag must turn to bay, where that huge rampart barr'd 
 the way; already glorying in the prize, measured his antlers with his 
 eyes; for the death- wound and death-halloo, muster' d his breath, his 
 whinyard drew; — but thundering as he came prepared, with ready arm 
 and weapon bared, the wily quarry shunn'd the shock, and turn'd him 
 from the opposing rock ; then, dashing down a darksome glen, soon lost 
 to hound and hunter's ken, in the deep Trosach's wildest nook his soli- 
 tary refuge took. There, while close couch' d, the thicket shed cold 
 dews and wild-flowers on his head, he heard the baffled dogs in vain 
 rave through the hollow pass amain, chiding the rocks that yell'd again. 
 Close on the hounds the hunter came, to cheer them on the vanish' d 
 game ; but, stumbling in the rugged dell, the gallant horse exhausted fell. 
 The impatient rider strove in vain to rouse him with the spur and rein, 
 for the good steed, his labours o'er, stretch' d his stiff limbs to rise no 
 more; then, touch' d with pity and remorse, he sorrow' d o'er the expiring 
 horse. " I little thought, when first thy rein I slack' d upon the banks of 
 Seine, that Highland eagle e'er should feed on thy fleet limbs, my match- 
 less steed ! Woe worth the chase, woe worth the day, that costs thy life, 
 my gallant grey ! " Then through the dell his horn resounds, from vain 
 pursuit to call the hounds. Back limp'd with slow and crippled pace, the 
 sulky leaders of the chase; close to their master's side they press' d, with 
 drooping tail and humbled crest; but still the dingle's hollow throat pro- 
 long' d the swelling bugle-note. The owlets started from their dream, the 
 eagles answered with their scream, round and around the sounds were 
 cast, till echo seem'd an answering blast; and on the hunter hied his way, 
 to join some comrades of the day ; yet often paused, so strange the road, 
 so wondrous were the scenes it show'd. Scott. 
 
 * Brigg, a bridge.
 
 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 147 
 
 XIX. METHOD m DESCRIPTION. 
 
 154 Where the quiet-coloured end of evening smiles, miles and miles, 
 On the solitary pastures where our sheep half-asleep 
 Tinkle homeward thro' the twilight, stray or stop as they crop — 
 Was the site once of a city great and gay ( so they say ), 
 Of our country's very capital, its prince, ages since, 
 Held his court in, gathered councils, wielding far peace or war. 
 " Love Among the Ruins." Browning. 
 
 "VTEXT to narration, probably the simplest illustration of the 
 -*-* method of the mind is in description. Power in descrip- 
 tion is dependent upon the selection of those fundamental ele- 
 ments which give the definite character of the object. One of 
 the highest characteristics of the artistic faculty hi man is the 
 power to penetrate to those few elements the expression of 
 which gives the object. A penetrative instinct is a part of all 
 logical method and of all power in expression. Suggestion is 
 one of the highest laws of all art, and suggestion is simply de- 
 pendent upon artistic choice, the manifestation not of accidental, 
 but of fundamental elements. In a poem like Kubla Khan, one 
 of the finest descriptive poems in the language, there is also 
 necessary a suggestion of such objects as will idealize and exalt, 
 such as will stimulate the mind to the highest pictorial endeavor. 
 The mind of the reader or speaker must have a similar pro- 
 cess of penetration. If the voice accentuates accidentals, the 
 picture of the mind will be completely perverted. If the mind 
 of the reader accentuates carefully the subtleties or essentials, 
 then the pictorial energy of the minds of the audience will be 
 stimulated. The power of the writer is especially shown in the 
 ability to create, by his imagination, such a living scene, by see- 
 ing it from its elementals, or to penetrate to the elements of a 
 beautiful scene before him. The power of the reader depends 
 upon the re-discovery of these elements, and also more especially 
 upon the realization of the essential words which manifest the 
 elements of the picture. The writer selects words most adequate
 
 148 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 for the representation of the scene ; the reader, in reading the 
 description, accentuates the elemental words in such a way as 
 to dominate the attention of men. 
 
 Problem XXXI. Give some descriptive passage, subordinating 
 all details as much as possible. 
 
 Problem XXXII. Describe some scene, battle-field, building, 
 or picture you have seen, being careful to present only points of 
 special interest and to give a definite impression with as few 
 touches as possible. 
 
 155 I watch the mowers, as they go 
 
 Through the tall grass, a white-sleeved row. 
 With even stroke their scythes they swing, 
 In tune their merry whetstones ring. 
 Behind, the nimble youngsters run, 
 And toss the thick swaths in the sun. 
 The cattle graze, while, warm and still, 
 Slopes the broad pasture, basks the hill, 
 And bright, where summer breezes break, 
 The green wheat crinkles like a lake. 
 The butterfly and bumble-bee 
 Come to the pleasant woods with me; 
 Quickly before me runs the quail, 
 Her chickens skulk behind the rail; 
 High up the lone wood-pigeon sits, 
 And the woodpecker pecks and flits, 
 Sweet woodland music sinks and swells, 
 The brooklet rings its tinkling bells, 
 The swarming insects drone and hum, 
 The partridge beats his throbbing drum. 
 "Midsummer." Trowbridge. 
 
 156. YAKEOW UN VISITED. 
 Fkom Stirling Castle we had seen the mazy Forth unravell'd, 
 Had trod the banks of Clyde and Tay, and with the Tweed had travell'd; 
 And when we came to Clovenford, then said my ' winsome Marrow,' 
 'Whate'er betide, we'll turn aside, and see the Braes of Yarrow.' 
 ' Let Yarrow folk, f rae Selkirk town, who have been buying, selling, 
 Go back to Yarrow, 'tis their own, each maiden to her dwelling! 
 On Yarrow's banks let herons feed, hares couch, and rabbits burrow,
 
 METHOD IX DESCRIPTION. 149 
 
 But we will downward with the Tweed, nor turn aside to Yarrow. 
 
 1 There's Galla "Water, Leader Haughs, both lying right before us; 
 
 And Dryburgh, where with chiming Tweed the lintwhites sing in chorus; 
 
 There's pleasant Tiviotdale, a land made blythe with plough and harrow: 
 
 Why throw away a needful day to go in search of Yarrow ? 
 
 'What's Yarrow but a river bare that glides the dark hills under? 
 
 There are a thousand such elsewhere as worthy of your wonder.' 
 
 — Strange words they seem'd of slight and scorn; my true-love sigh'd for 
 
 sorrow, 
 And look'd me in the face, to think I thus could speak of Yarrow! 
 
 'O green,' said I, 'are Yarrow's holms, and sweet is Yarrow flowing! 
 
 Fair hangs the apple frae the rock, but we will leave it growing. 
 
 O'er hilly path and open strath we'll wander Scotland thorough; 
 
 But, though so near, we will not turn into the dale of Yarrow. 
 
 ' Let beeves and home-bred kine partake the sweets of Burn-mill meadow ; 
 
 The swan on still Saint Mary's Lake float double, swan and shadow ! 
 
 "We will not see them; will not go to-day, nor yet to-morrow; 
 
 Enough if in our hearts we know there's such a place as Yarrow. 
 
 'Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown; it must, or we shall rue it: 
 We have a vision of our own, ah ! why should we undo it ? 
 The treasured dreams of times long past, we'll keep them, winsome Mar- 
 row! 
 For when we're there, although 'tis fair, 'twill be another Yarrow! 
 If care with freezing years should come and wandering seem but folly, — 
 Should we be loth to stir from home, and yet be melancholy ; 
 Should life be dull, and spirits low, 'twill sooth us in our sorrow 
 That earth has something yet to show, the bonny holms of Yarrow ! ' 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 157. YAK&OW VISITED. 
 
 And is this — Yarrow ? — This the Stream of which my fancy cherish'd 
 So faithfully, a waking dream, an image that hath perish' d ? 
 O that some minstrel's harp were near to utter notes of gladness 
 And chase this silence from the air, that fills my heart with sadness ! 
 Yet why ? — a silvery current flows with uncontroll'd meanderings; 
 Nor have these eyes by greener hills been soothed, in all my wanderings 
 And, through her depths, Saint Mary's Lake is visibly delighted; 
 For not a feature of those hills is in the mirror slighted. 
 
 A blue sky bends o'er Yarrow Yale, save where that pearly whiteness 
 Is round the rising sun diffused, a tender hazy brightness ;
 
 150 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 Mild dawn of promise! that excludes all profitless dejection ; 
 
 Though not unwilling here to admit a pensive recollection. 
 
 "Where was it that the famous Flower of Yarrow Yale lay bleeding ? 
 
 His bed perchance was yon smooth mound on which the herd is feeding: 
 
 And haply from this crystal pool now peaceful as the morning, 
 
 The water-wraith ascended thrice, and gave his doleful warning. 
 
 Delicious is the Lay that sings the haunts of happy lovers, 
 
 The path that leads them to the grove, the leafy grove that covers: 
 
 And pity sanctifies the verse that paints, by strength of sorrow, 
 
 The unconquerable strength of love; bear witness, rueful Yarrow! 
 
 But thou that didst appear so fair to fond imagination 
 
 Dost rival in the light of day her delicate creation : 
 
 Meek loveliness is round thee spread, a softness still and holy: 
 
 The grace of forest charms decay'd, and pastoral melancholy. 
 
 That region left, the vale unfolds rich groves of lofty stature, 
 
 With Yarrow winding through the pomp of cultivated Nature; 
 
 And rising from those lofty groves behold a ruin hoary, 
 
 The shatter'd front of Newark's Towers, renown'd in Border story. 
 
 Fair scenes for childhood's opening bloom, for sportive youth to stray in, 
 
 For manhood to enjoy his strength, and age to wear away in ! 
 
 Yon cottage seems a bower of bliss, a covert for protection 
 
 Of studious ease and generous cares, and every chaste affection! 
 
 How sweet on this autumnal day the wild-wood fruits to gather, 
 And on my true-love's forehead plant a crest of blooming heather! 
 And what if I enwreathed my own ? 'Twere no offence to reason; 
 The sober hills thus deck their brows to meet the wintry season. 
 I see — but not by sight alone, loved Yarrow, have I won thee; 
 A ray of Fancy still survives — her sunshine plays upon thee ! 
 Thy ever-youthful waters keep a course of lively pleasure ; 
 And gladsome notes my lips can breathe accordant to the measure. 
 
 The vapours linger round the heights, they melt, and soon must vanish; 
 One hour is theirs, nor more is mine — sad thought ! which I would banish, 
 But that I know, wher'er I go, thy genuine image, Yarrow! 
 Will dwell with me, to heighten joy and cheer my mind in sorrow. 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 158. EVENING AT BOKEBY. 
 The sultry summer day is done, the western hills have hid the sun, 
 but mountain peak and village spire retain reflection of his fire. Old 
 Barnard's towers are purple still, to those that gaze from Toller Hill; dis-
 
 METHOD IN DESCRIPTION. 151 
 
 tant and high, the towers of Bowes like steel upon the anvil glows; and 
 Stanmore's ridge, behind that lay, rich with the spoils of parting day, in 
 crimson and in gold arrayed, streaks yet awhile the closing shade, then 
 slow resigns to darkening heaven the tints which brighter hours have 
 given. Thus aged men, full loth and slow, the vanities of life forego, and 
 count their youthful follies o'er, till Memory lends her light no more. The 
 eve, that slow on upland fades, has darker closed on Rokeby's glades, 
 where, sunk within their banks profound, her guardian streams to meet- 
 ing wound. The stately oaks, whose sombre frown of noontide made a 
 twilight brown, impervious now to fainter light, of twilight make an early 
 night. Hoarse into middle air arose the vespers of the roosting crows, 
 and with congenial murmurs seem to wake the Genii of the stream ; for 
 louder clamoured Greta's tide, and Tees in deeper voice replied, and fit- 
 ful waked the evening wind, fitful in sighs its breath resigned. Scott. 
 
 159. GOOD BYE, 
 Good-bye, proud world! I'm going home: 
 Thou art not my friend, and I'm not thine: 
 Long through thy weary crowds I roam ; 
 A river-ark on the ocean brine ; 
 Long I've been tossed like the driven foam, 
 But now, proud world! I'm going home. 
 
 Good-bye to Flattery's fawning face; 
 
 To Grandeur with his wise grimace ; 
 
 To upstart Wealth's averted eye; 
 
 To supple Office, low and high; 
 
 To crowded halls, to court and street; 
 
 To frozen hearts and hasting feet ; 
 
 To those who go, and those who come ; 
 
 Good-bye, proud world! I'm going home. 
 
 I am going to my own hearth-stone, 
 Bosomed in yon green hills alone, — 
 A secret nook in a pleasant land, 
 Whose groves the frolic fairies planned; 
 Where arches green, the livelong day, 
 Echo the- blackbird's roundelay, 
 And vulgar feet have never trod, — 
 A spot that is sacred to thought and God. 
 
 O, when I am safe in my sylvan home, 
 I tread on the pride of Greece and Rome ;
 
 152 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 And when I am stretched beneath the pines, 
 Where the evening star so holy shines, 
 I laugh at the lore and the pride of man, 
 At the sophist schools, and the learned clan; 
 For what are they all, in their high conceit, 
 When man in the bush with God may meet! 
 
 Emerson. 
 
 XX. ANTITHESIS. 
 
 160 Rome has the West. Let Palmyra possess the East. Not that 
 
 nature prescribes this and no more. The gods prospering, and I swear 
 
 not that the Mediterranean shall hem me in upon the west, or Persia on 
 
 the east. Longinus is right, — I would that the world were mine. I feel, 
 
 within, the will and the power to bless it, were it so. 
 
 Ware. 
 
 161 And yet when all is thought and said, 
 The heart still overrules the head ; 
 Still what we hope we must believe, 
 And what is given us receive; 
 Must still believe, for still we hope 
 That in a world of larger scope, 
 What here is faithfully begun 
 Will be completed, not undone. 
 
 ONE of the simplest means by which we can test the method 
 and processes of the mind, is antithesis. " Antithesis is 
 the soul of oratory." All thinking is dependent upon discrimi- 
 nation ; this is its most fundamental element. The application 
 of antithesis to Vocal Expression and delivery was one of the 
 earliest discoveries in English elocution. Thomas Sheridan dis- 
 cussed it in his lectures in 1754. He writes: — 
 
 The necessity of observing propriety of emphasis is so great, 
 that the true meaning of words cannot be conveyed without it. 
 For the same individual words, ranged in the same order, may 
 have several different meanings, according to the placing of the 
 emphasis. Thus, to use a trite instance, the following sentence 
 may have as many different meanings as there are words in it, by 
 varying the emphasis: " Will you ride to town to-morrow?" If
 
 ANTITHESIS. 153 
 
 the emphasis is on ' will,' as, Will you ride to town to-morrow? it 
 implies that the person spoken to had expressed before such an 
 intention, but that there is some doubt in the questioner whether 
 he be determined on it or not, and the answer may be, " Certainly; " 
 or, " I am not sure." If it be on ' you,' as, Will you ride to town to- 
 morrow? the question implies that some one is to go, and do you 
 mean to go yourself, or send some one in your stead? and the an- 
 swer may be, " No; but my servant will." If on ' ride,' as, "Will you 
 ride, etc., the answer may be, " No; I shall walk, or go in a coach." 
 If on ' town,' as, "Will you ride to town to-morrow ? the answer may 
 be, " No; but I shall ride to the forest." If on ' to-morrow,' as, 
 "Will you ride to town to-morrow? the answer may be, "No; not 
 to-morrow, but the next day." 
 
 Many still regard antithesis as furnishing the whole secret of 
 emphasis. The principle of antithesis may be further illustrated 
 by the simplest sentence we can think of : " You left your book 
 on my table this morning." Any word in this sentence may be 
 made emphatic ; the emphasis in such a case being entirely 
 dependent, not upon the sequence of ideas, but upon the anti- 
 thesis to another idea. " You left your book on my table this 
 morning," implies that the leaving of the book is all understood ; 
 the point of the assertion is upon the individual. Left may be 
 accentuated as the natural central act, but with a more salient 
 emphasis it may be taken as an antithesis in reference to some 
 other act, or to a question as to how it came there. 
 
 " You left your book on my table this morning." Everything 
 is implied except the ownership of the book. The question 
 might be answered, " No ; I left John's book ; " for such em- 
 phasis not only implies an antithesis in the mind of the 
 speaker, but it raises an antithesis in the mind of the hearer. 
 This accentuation also might imply that a mistake had been made, 
 that there had been an intention to leave some other person's 
 book ; still other situations would cause this emphasis. 
 
 " You left your book on my table this morning." The word 
 'book' is the natural centre of the sentence, and emphasis upon
 
 154 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 this may imply the mere statement of the fact to another. Or 
 it may be accentuated still more saliently, and then there is an im- 
 plied antithesis to other objects. An antithesis may be awak- 
 ened, and may be answered, " No ; I left my pencil." 
 
 " You left your book on my table this morning." The atten- 
 tion of the mind now is directed to the place. " I told you to put 
 it under the table, or in the drawer." " You left your book on 
 my table this morning." Instantly the mind's attention is directed 
 to a table belonging to some one else. " You left your book on 
 my table this morning." " That is not the place to leave it." Em- 
 phasis upon ' this ' brings up the antithesis, " No ; it was yester- 
 day morning;" or upon 'morning,' "last night." 
 
 It is a very important discipline, in enabling the mind to grasp 
 an antithesis, to take the simplest sentence like this, and to 
 emphasize every word in succession, holding at the same time a 
 definite antithesis in the mind. 
 
 One of the most important exercises for the development of 
 antithesis is debate. A good debater presents the arguments 
 for a question in a great measure according to the law of anti- 
 thesis. Whenever any idea is presented as a point in a logical 
 argument, it is accentuated with great saliency. Take the simple 
 sentence, " Webster praised Clay." Without emphasis, this sen- 
 tence is a mere copy-book illustration; it is a mere sentence 
 given as a sentence, and not as a thought ; but when some one 
 says, " Webster praised Clay," then it is given as an argument to 
 prove a point. I may possibly be arguing for the nobleness of 
 Clay, and I make the statement to prove it. Again, " Webster 
 praised Clay." Now I must be talking about the relations of the 
 two men, or about Webster's conduct toward Clay. If I should 
 say, " Webster praised Clay" the point which I am trying to 
 prove must be something like the fair-mindedness of Webster. 
 
 Antitheses may be expressed or implied. In the latter case, 
 the emphasis is very strong. There are four degrees of em- 
 phasis: first, the simple accentuation of the successive ideas;
 
 ANTITHESIS. 155 
 
 secondly, emphasis of central ideas, or those which underlie 
 many others; third, emphasis of an expressed antithesis; and 
 fourth, emphasis that will suggest an implied antithesis. The 
 degree of emphasis is least in the first, and strongest in the 
 last. The second, however, may be at times strongest of all. 
 
 Antithesis is a characteristic of all clear and forcible writers. 
 One of the most forcible writers in the English language is 
 Macaulay ; he is also the most antithetic. He is accused of strain- 
 ing an antithesis, or of sacrificing truth sometimes to an antithesis. 
 For example, in this sentence regarding Charles, " We charge 
 him with having broken his coronation oath, and we are told he 
 kept his marriage vow." In reading this, if a strong emphasis 
 is given to * vow,' it may throw a slur upon marriage. It may 
 be read with 'vow' subordinated, that is, synonymous with 
 1 oath,' and the antithesis brought out between ' coronation ' and 
 1 marriage.' This is, I think, Macaulay's meaning. 
 
 162 The Long Parliament could not trust the king. He had no doubt 
 passed salutary laws; but what assurance was there that he would not 
 break them? He had renounced oppressive prerogatives ; but where was 
 the security that he would not resume them? The nation had to deal with 
 a man whom no tie could bind, a man who made and broke promises with 
 equal facility, a man whose honor had been a hundred times pawned, and 
 never redeemed. The Lords and Commons present him with a bill in 
 which the constitutional limits of his power are marked out. He hesitates ; 
 he evades ; at last he bargains to give his assent for five subsidies. The bill 
 receives his solemn assent ; the subsidies are voted ; but no sooner is the 
 tyrant relieved, than he returns at once to all the arbitrary measures which 
 he had bound himself to abandon, and violates all the clauses of the very 
 Act which he had been paid to pass. 
 
 For more than ten years the people had seen the rights which were 
 theirs by a double claim, by immemorial inheritance and by recent pur- 
 chase, infringed by tbe perfidious king who had recognized them. At 
 length circumstances compelled Charles to summon another parliament ; 
 another chance was given to our fathers ; were they to throw it away as 
 they had thrown away the former? Were they again to be cozened? 
 Were they again to advance their money on pledges which had been for-
 
 156 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 feited over and over again? Were they to lay a second Petition of Right 
 at the foot of the throne, to grant another lavish aid in exchange for an- 
 other unmeaning ceremony, and then to take their departure, till, after 
 ten years more of fraud and oppression, their prince should again require 
 a supply, and again repay it with a perjury? They were compelled to 
 choose whether they would trust a tyrant or conquer him. We think that 
 they chose wisely and nobly. 
 
 The advocates of Charles, like the advocates of other malefactors 
 against whom overwhelming evidence is produced, generally decline all 
 controversy about the facts, and content themselves with calling testi- 
 mony to character. He had so many private virtues ! And had James 
 the Second no private virtues? Was Oliver Cromwell, his bitterest 
 enemies themselves being judges, destitute of private virtues? And 
 what, after all, are the virtues ascribed to Charles? A religious zeal, 
 not more sincere than that of his son, and fully as weak and narrow- 
 minded, and a few of the ordinary household decencies which half the 
 tombstones in England claim for those who lie beneath them. A good 
 father ! A good husband ! Ample apologies indeed for fifteen years of 
 persecution, tyranny, and falsehood ! 
 
 We charge him with having broken his coronation oath ; and we are 
 told that he kept his marriage vow! We accuse him of having given up 
 his people to the merciless inflictions of the most hot-headed and hard- 
 hearted of prelates ; and the defence is, that he took his little son on his 
 knee, and kissed him! We censure him for having violated the articles 
 of the Petition of Eight, after having, for good and valuable considera- 
 tion, promised to observe them; and we are informed that he was 
 accustomed to hear prayers at six o'clock in the morning! It is to such 
 considerations as these, together with his Vandyke dress, his handsome 
 face, and his peaked beard, that he owes, we verily believe, most of his 
 popularity with the present generation. 
 From the "Essay on Milton." Macaulay. 
 
 The study of Macaulay is a great help to an undisciplined 
 mind ; and to read aloud from his works counteracts a tendency 
 to chaotic thinking, to drifting, or to a lack of vigorous concep- 
 tion. In fact, " every defect of mind may have its appropriate 
 receipt," and the teacher may prescribe the study of authors in 
 Vocal Expression according to the student's needs. To make 
 authors models is dangerous ; for where a student reads merely
 
 ANTITHESIS. 157 
 
 a favorite author, he unconsciously imitates the faults of that 
 author. It is often much more helpful for a student to read an 
 author who is strong where he himself is weak. In Vocal Ex- 
 pression a study of authors may thus be made a most important 
 means of correcting imperfect thinking, and of eradicating all 
 defects of delivery. 
 
 Every author has a peculiar logical action. Byron, in his 
 " Elegy on Thyrza," furnishes a fine example of the most 
 subtle logical method, though revealed in exquisite verse. Mr. 
 Palgrave calls this " a masterly example of Byron's command 
 of strong thought and close reasoning in verse." Shelley has a 
 more " wayward intensity," and yet he is none the less logical. 
 His is a more passional method. 
 
 Problem XXXIII. Present a strong passage, setting ideas over 
 against each other, or making them strongly antithetic. 
 
 Problem XXXIV. Contrast the logical and antithetic processes 
 of different authors and be true to the spirit of each. 
 
 163. ELEGY ON THYKZA. 
 And thou art dead, as young and fair as aught of mortal birth ; and 
 forms so soft and charms so rare too soon return'd to Earth! Though 
 Earth received them in her bed, and o'er the spot the crowd may tread in 
 carlessness or mirth, there is an eye which could not brook a moment on 
 that grave to look. I will not ask where thou liest low nor gaze upon the 
 spot ; there flowers or weeds at will may grow so I behold them not : it is 
 enough for me to prove that what I loved and long must love like common 
 earth can rot; to me there needs no stone to tell 'tis nothing that I loved 
 so well. Yet did I love thee to the last, as fervently as thou who didst 
 not change through all the past and canst not alter now. The love where 
 Death has set his seal nor age can chill, nor rival steal, nor falsehood dis- 
 avow : and, what were worse, thou canst not see or wrong, or change, or 
 fault in me. The better days of life were ours ; the worst can be but mine : 
 the sun that cheers, the storm that lours shall never more be thine. The 
 silence of that dreamless sleep I envy now too much to weep; nor need I 
 to repine that all those charms have pass'd away I might have watch' d 
 through long decay. The flower in ripen' d bloom unmatch'd must fall 
 the earliest prey; though by no hand untimely snatch' d, the leaves must
 
 158 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 drop away. And yet it were a greater grief to watch it withering, leaf by 
 leaf, than see it pluck'd to-day; since earthly eye but ill can bear to trace 
 the change to foul from fair. I know not if I could have borne to see thy 
 beauties fade ; the night that follow' d such a morn had worn a deeper 
 shade: thy day without a cloud hath past, and thou wert lovely to the 
 last, extinguish' d, not decay' d; as stars that shoot along the sky shine 
 brightest as they fall from high. As once I wept if I could weep, my 
 tears might well be shed to think I was not near, to keep one vigil o'er 
 thy bed : to gaze, how fondly ! on thy face, to fold thee in a faint embrace, 
 uphold thy drooping head ; and show that love, however vain, nor thou 
 nor I can feel again. Yet how much less it were to gain, though thou 
 hast left me free, the loveliest things that still remain than thus remember 
 thee ! The all of thine that cannot die through dark and dread Eternity 
 returns again to me, and more thy buried love endears than aught except 
 
 its living years. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 164 One word is too often profaned for me to profane it, 
 One feeling too falsely disdained for thee to disdain it. 
 One hope is too like despair for prudence to smother, 
 And Pity from thee more dear than that from another. 
 I can give not what men call love, but wilt thou accept not 
 The worship the heart lifts above, and the Heavens reject not, 
 The desire of the moth for the star, of the night for the morrow, 
 The devotion to something afar from the sphere of our sorrow? 
 
 Shelley. 
 
 165 Farewell. My blessing with you! and these few precepts in thy 
 memory look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue, nor any un- 
 proportioned thought his act. Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. 
 The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, grapple them to thy soul 
 with hooks of steel ; but do not dull thy palm with entertainment of each 
 new-hatch' d, unfledg'd comrade. Beware of entrance to a quarrel; but, 
 being in, bear it, that the opposed may beware of thee. Give every man 
 thine ear, but few thy voice: take each man's censure, but reserve thy 
 judgment. Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, but not express' d in 
 fancy ; rich, not gaudy : for the apparel oft proclaims the man ; and they 
 in France, of the best rank and station are most select and generous, 
 chief in that. Neither a borrower, nor a lender be: for loan oft loses 
 both itself and friend; and borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. This 
 above all, — to thine own self be true; and it must follow, as the night 
 the day, thou canst not then be false to any man. 
 
 From "Hamlet." Shakespeare.
 
 SOLILOQUY. 159 
 
 166 Earth gets its price for what Earth gives us; 
 The beggar is taxed for a corner to die in, 
 The priest hath his fee who comes and shrives us, 
 
 We bargain for the graves we lie in. 
 At the devil's booth all things are sold, 
 Each ounce of dross costs its ounce of gold; 
 
 For a cap and bells our lives we pay, 
 Bubbles we buy with a whole soul's tasking; 
 
 'Tis heaven alone that is given away, 
 'Tis only God may be had for the asking. 
 No price is set on the lavish summer; 
 June may be had by the poorest comer. 
 " Vision of Sir Launfal." James Jiussell Lowell. 
 
 167 Sometimes a-dropping from the sky, I heard the skylark sing; 
 
 sometimes all little birds that are, how they seemed to fill the sea and air 
 
 with their sweet jargoning! And now 'twas like all instruments; now 
 
 like a lonely flute ; and now it is an angel's song, that makes the heavens 
 
 be mute. It ceased; yet still the sails made on a pleasant noise till 
 
 noon, — a noise as of a hidden brook in the leafy month of June, that to 
 
 the sleeping woods all night singeth a quiet tune. 
 
 Coleridge. 
 
 XXI. SOLILOQUY. 
 
 168 O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I! 
 
 Is it not monstrous that this player here, 
 
 But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, 
 
 Could force his soul so to his own conceit, 
 
 That from her working all his visage wann'd, 
 
 Tears in his eyes, distraction in's aspect, 
 
 A broken voice, and his whole function suiting 
 
 With forms to his conceit? and all for nothing! 
 "Hamlet." Shakespeare. 
 
 /^VNE of the simplest illustrations of the method of the mind 
 ^-^ in Vocal Expression, is found in rendering a soliloquy. 
 Shakespeare is almost the only one who has been able to express 
 in literary form the difference between speaking to ourselves 
 and speaking to others. When we speak to ourselves, there is 
 a more transparent manifestation of thinking than when we
 
 160 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 are speaking to others. When we are talking to others we have 
 more definite purpose; we proceed along a more prescribed 
 path ; there is more definiteness in thinking. If we are alone, 
 this purpose is not so manifest. The spontaneous leap of the 
 mind from one idea to another is more free ; there is not the same 
 domination over the mind or direction of its action. Although 
 there is always a spontaneous self-direction, yet in soliloquy the 
 self-direction is more spontaneous, — it has less to do with will 
 than when we are speaking to others. 
 
 A soliloquy, then, will manifest to us the subjective methods 
 of the mind, the free sequence of ideas, far better than the study 
 of the mind in talking. There is more ease, repose, and more 
 flexibility, — there is a more direct and complete manifestation of 
 the mind. Thus there is more accentuation in soliloquy than broad, 
 interpretative emphasis. Of course, as the mind dwells on each 
 successive idea for its own sake, as the sequence of ideas is 
 more passive and spontaneous, so will the voice manifest each 
 successive idea more for its own sake, and in direct relation 
 to the preceding one. In speaking to others, however, there is 
 a manifestation of each idea for the sake of a purpose, and a 
 greater subordination of several successive accentuations to one 
 great emphatic word, which lies at the basis of all that is said. 
 Speaking to others is more consciously progressive. Thus, inter- 
 pretative emphasis is not so manifest in soliloquy as simple suc- 
 cessive accentuations. 
 
 Another difference between soliloquy and conversation is the 
 fact that there are more pauses in soliloquy. The mind rests 
 longer upon the ideas, because thinking is spontaneous and 
 without preparation ; because the mind has not previously passed 
 over the successive ideas, or arranged them in a special order ; 
 and also because there is no other mind present to modify the 
 passive flow of ideas, causing some points to be accentuated and 
 others to be subordinated, so as to awaken the idea in another. 
 The successive ideas are more equally accentuated. The rhythm
 
 SOLILOQUY. 161 
 
 of the thought is determined by the subjective passion and con- 
 ditions of the speaker ; so the law of association of ideas is more 
 completely dominant. The mind in soliloquy questions or in- 
 terrogates itself while resting on one idea, and then answers with 
 the next. 
 
 169 To be or not to be: that is the question: whether 'tis nobler in 
 the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take 
 arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them ? To die : to 
 sleep; no more ; and by a sleep to say we end the heart-ache and the 
 thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to: 'tis a consummation de- 
 voutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep; to sleep: perchance to dream! — 
 ay, there's the rub; for in that sleep of death what dreams may come 
 when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause: there's 
 the respect that makes calamity of so long life ; for who would bear the 
 whips and scorns of time, the oppressor's wrong, the proud man's con- 
 tumely, the pangs of disprized love, the law's delay, the insolence of 
 office and the spurns that patient merit of the unworthy takes, when he 
 himself might his quietus make with a bare bodkin? who'd these fardels 
 bear, to grunt and sweat under a weary life, but that the dread of some- 
 thing after death, the undiscover'd country from whose bourn no traveller 
 returns, puzzles the will and makes us rather bear those ills we have than 
 fly to others that we know not of ? Thus conscience does make cowards 
 of us all; and thus the native hue of resolution is sicklied o'er with the 
 pale cast of thought, and enterprises of great pith and moment with this 
 
 regard their currents turn awry, and lose the name of action. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 ' To be, or not to be.' Yes, ' that is the question.' ' To die,' 
 what is it ? ' To sleep,' — we all say ; ' no more ; ' ' and by a sleep 
 to say we end the heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks 
 that flesh is heir to,' — then, ' 'tis a consummation devoutly to be 
 wish'd.' ' To die, — to sleep ; — to sleep ! ' Ah, there's some- 
 thing more, — 'perchance to dream!' — 'ay, there's the rub;' 
 over each idea the mind lingers and questions, often looks in many 
 directions for the answer, and then seizes upon one, and gives it. 
 
 In talking to some one, the speaker interrogates another, and 
 consciously or unconsciously adapts an idea to another mind. 
 By contrasting a monologue with a soliloquy, we may find an 
 
 11
 
 162 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 artistic illustration of the difference between thinking alone and 
 thinking with reference to another mind. A monologue is the 
 expression of one speaker to a hearer who is implied always, but 
 whose words are not recorded. In soliloquy no hearer is present; 
 the man simply thinks aloud. In a monologue, only one speaks, 
 but he speaks in relation to another mind. In order to interpret 
 or read a monologue, the presence of the other mind must be felt. 
 All thought must be understood in relation to this other mind. 
 
 The study of monologues is a great help to speakers. There 
 is a transparency in the method of the thought, and also a direct 
 and dramatic relating of thought to another mind. 
 
 The monologues of Douglas Jerrold give an insight into the 
 working of a type of mind. Insight into the working of the 
 mind is the true basis of all expression. There can be no great 
 speaking, reading, or acting of any kind without a simple mani- 
 festation of the process or method of thinking. 
 
 Browning's monologues are still more important, and rise into 
 the highest realm of metaphysical and psychological study. 
 Characters are presented more forcibly, possibly, than anywhere 
 outside of Shakespeare. 
 
 Problem XXXV. Study the action of the mind in meditation, 
 and give some soliloquy with a truthful revelation of the process 
 of thinking. 
 
 170 Brutus. What, Lucius! ho! — 
 I cannot, by the progress of the stars, 
 Give guess how near to-day. — Lucius, I say! 
 I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly. 
 When, Lucius, when? Awake, I say! what, Lucius! 
 Enter Lucius. 
 
 Lucius. Call'd you, my lord? 
 
 Brutus. Get me a taper in my study, Lucius : 
 When it is lighted, come and call me here. 
 
 Lucius. I will, my lord. [Exit. 
 
 Brutus. It must be by his death : and, for my part, 
 I know no personal cause to spurn at him, 
 But for the general. He would be crown'd:
 
 SOLILOQUY. 163 
 
 How that might change his nature, there's the question: 
 
 It is the bright day that brings forth the adder ; 
 
 And that craves wary walking. Crown him ! — that ; — 
 
 And then, I grant, we put a sting in him, 
 
 That at his will he may do danger with. 
 
 Th' abuse of greatness is, when it disjoins 
 
 Remorse from power; and, to speak truth of Caesar, 
 
 I have not known when his affections sway'd 
 
 More than his reason. But 'tis a common proof 
 
 That lowliness is young ambition's ladder, 
 
 Where to the climber-upward turns his face ; 
 
 But, when he once attains the upmost round, 
 
 He then unto the ladder turns his back, 
 
 Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees 
 
 By which he did ascend: so Csesar may; 
 
 Then, lest he may, prevent. And, since the quarrel 
 
 Will bear no colour for the thing he is, 
 
 Fashion it thus; that what he is, augmented, 
 
 Would run to these and these extremities: 
 
 And therefore think him as a serpent's egg, 
 
 Which, hatched, would, as his kind, grow mischievous; 
 
 And kill him in the shell. [Re-enter Lucius. 
 
 Lucius. The taper burneth in your closet, sir. 
 Searching the window for a flint, I found 
 This paper thus seal'd up; and I am sure 
 It did not lie there when I went to bed. 
 
 Brutus. Get you to bed again ; it is not day. 
 Is not to-morrow, boy, the ides of March? 
 
 Lucius. I know not, sir. 
 
 Brutus. Look in the calendar, and bring me word. 
 
 Lucius. I will, sir. [Exit. 
 
 Brutus. The exhalations, whizzing in the air, 
 Give so much light that I may read by them. — 
 
 [Opens the paper, and reads. 
 "Brutus, thou sleep' st: awake and see thyself. 
 Shall Rome, etc. Speak, strike, redress! — 
 Brutus, thou sleep'st: awake!" — 
 Such instigations have been often dropp'd 
 Where I have took them up. 
 " Shall Rome, etc." Thus must I piece it out:
 
 164 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 Shall Rome stand under one man's awe? What! Rome? 
 
 My ancestor did from the streets of Rome 
 
 The Tarquin drive, when he was call'd a king. — 
 
 "Speak, strike, redress!" — Am I entreated 
 
 To speak and strike? O Rome, I make thee promise, 
 
 If the redress will follow, thou receivest 
 
 Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus! [Re-enter Lucius. 
 
 Lucius. Sir, March is wasted fourteen days. [Knocking within. 
 
 Brutus. 'Tisgood. Go to the gate; somebody knocks. — 
 
 [Exit Lucius. 
 Since Cassius first did whet me against Caesar, 
 
 I have not slept. 
 
 Between the acting of a dreadful thing 
 
 And the first motion, all the interim is 
 
 Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream : 
 
 The genius, and the mortal instruments 
 
 Are then in council ; and the state of man, 
 
 Like to a little kingdom, suffers then 
 
 The nature of an insurrection. 
 
 "Julius Csesar." Shakespeare. 
 
 171. A CURTAIN LECTUKE OF MES. CAUDLE, 
 
 Bah! that's the third umbrella gone since Christmas. — What were 
 you to do? Why, let him go home in the rain, to be sure. I'm very 
 certain there was nothing about him that could spoil. — Take cold, indeed ! 
 He doesn't look like one of the sort to take cold. Besides, he'd have 
 better taken cold than taken our umbrella. — Do you hear the rain, Mr. 
 Caudle? I say, do you hear the rain? And, as I'm alive, if it isn't St. 
 Swithin's day! Do you hear it against the window? 
 
 Nonsense: you don't impose upon me; you can't be asleep with such 
 a shower as that! Do you hear it, I say? Oh, you do hear it! — Well, 
 that's a pretty flood, I think, to last for six weeks; and no stirring all the 
 time out of the house. Pooh! don't think me a fool, Mr. Caudle; don't 
 insult me! he return the umbrella! Anybody would think you were 
 born yesterday. As if anybody ever did return an umbrella ! 
 
 There : do you hear it? Worse and worse. Cats and dogs, and for six 
 weeks ; always six weeks ; and no umbrella ! I should like to know how the 
 children are to go to school to-morrow. They shan't go through such 
 weather; I am determined. No ; they shall stop at home, and never learn 
 anything, the blessed creatures ! sooner than go and get wet ! And when 
 they grow up, I wonder who they'll have to thank for knowing nothing;
 
 SOLILOQUY. 165 
 
 who, indeed, but their father? People who can't feel for their own 
 children ought never to be fathers. 
 
 But I know why you lent the umbrella. Oh, yes, I know very well. 
 I was going out to tea at dear mother's to-morrow: you knew that, and 
 you did it on purpose. Don't tell me; you hate to have me go there, 
 and take every mean advantage to hinder me. But don't you think it, 
 Mr. Caudle; no, sir; if it comes down in buckets' full, I'll go all the 
 more. . . . No, sir; I won't borrow an umbrella: no; and you shan't 
 buy one. Mr. Caudle, if you bring home another umbrella I'll throw it 
 into the street. . . . Men, indeed! Call themselves lords of the crea- 
 tion ! pretty lords, when they can' t even take care of an umbrella ! . . . 
 The children, dear things! they'll be sopping wet; for they shan't stay 
 at home; they shan't lose their learning; it's all their father will leave 
 them, I' m sure. — But they shall go to school. Don't tell me they 
 needn't: you are so aggravating, Caudle, you'd spoil the temper of an 
 angel ; they shall go to school ! mark that : and if they get their deaths 
 
 of cold, it's not my fault; I didn't lend the umbrella. 
 
 Douglas Jerrold. 
 
 Problem XXXVI. Study the action of your mind in conversa- 
 tion, then give a monologue and show the effect of another's 
 presence and words upon your own expression. 
 
 172. MY LAST DUCHESS. 
 
 (FERRAKA.) 
 
 That's my last Duchess painted on the wall, 
 Looking as if she were alive. I call 
 That piece a wonder, now : Fra Pandolf ' s hands 
 Worked busily a day, and there she stands. 
 Will 't please you sit and look at her? I said 
 " Fra Pandolf" by design, for never read 
 Strangers like you that pictured countenance, 
 The depth and passion of its earnest glance, 
 But to myself they turned (since none puts by 
 The curtain I have drawn for you, but I) 
 And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst, 
 How such a glance came there ; so, not the first 
 Are you to turn -and ask thus. Sir, 't was not 
 Her husband's presence only called that spot 
 Of joy into the Duchess' cheek : perhaps 
 Fra Pandolf chanced to say, " Her mantle laps 
 Over my lady's wrist too much," or, "Paint
 
 166 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 Must never hope to reproduce the faint 
 
 Half -flush that dies along her throat:" such stuff 
 
 Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough 
 
 For calling up that spot of joy. She had 
 
 A heart — how shall I say? — too soon made glad, 
 
 Too easily impressed; she liked whate'er 
 
 She looked on, and her looks went everywhere. 
 
 Sir, 'twas all one! My favour at her breast, 
 
 The dropping of the daylight in the West, 
 
 The bough of cherries some officious fool 
 
 Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule 
 
 She rode with round the terrace, — all and each 
 
 Would draw from her alike the approving speech, 
 
 Or blush at least. She thanked men, — good! but thanked 
 
 Somehow — I know not how — as if she ranked 
 
 My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name 
 
 With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blame 
 
 This sort of trifling? Even had you skill 
 
 In speech — (which I have not) — to make your will 
 
 Quite clear to such an one, and say, " Just this 
 
 Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss, 
 
 Or there exceed the mark " — and if she let 
 
 Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set 
 
 Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse, 
 
 E'en then would be some stooping; and I choose 
 
 Never to stoop. Oh sir, she smiled, no doubt, 
 
 When'er I passed her; but who passed without 
 
 Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands ; 
 
 Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands 
 
 As if alive. Will 't please you rise? We'll meet 
 
 The company below, then. I repeat, 
 
 The Count your master's known munificence 
 
 Is ample warrant that no just pretence 
 
 Of mine for dowry will be disallowed; 
 
 Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed 
 
 At starting, is my object. Nay, we'll go 
 
 Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, though, 
 
 Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity, 
 
 Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me! 
 
 Browning.
 
 SOLILOQUY. 167 
 
 173 When an old bachelor marries a young wife, what is he to expect? 
 'Tis now six months since Lady Teazle made me the happiest of men — 
 and I have been the most miserable dog ever since! We tift a little going 
 to church, and fairly quarrelled before the bells had done ringing. I was 
 more than once nearly choked with gall during the honeymoon, and had 
 lost all comfort in life before my friends had done wishing me joy. Yet 
 I chose with caution — a girl bred wholly in the country, who never knew 
 luxury beyond one silk gown, nor dissipation above the annual gala of a 
 race ball. Yet she now plays her part in all the extravagant fopperies of 
 fashion and the town, with as ready a grace as if she never had seen a 
 bush or a grass-plot out of Grosvenor Square ! I am sneered at by all my 
 acquaintance, and paragraphed in the newspapers. She dissipates my 
 fortune, and contradicts all my humours ; yet the worst of it is, I doubt I 
 love her, or I should never bear all this. However I'll never be weak 
 enough to own it. 
 
 "School for Scandal." Sheridan. 
 
 174 Didn't know Flynn — Flynn of Virginia — long as he's been 
 'yar? Look'ee here, stranger, whar hev you been? Here in this tunnel, 
 he was my pardner, that same Tom Flynn — working together, in wind 
 and weather, day out and in. Didn't know Flynn! Well, that is queer. 
 Why, it's a sin to think of Tom Flynn — Tom with his cheer, Tom with- 
 out fear — stranger, look 'yar! Thar in the drift back to the wall he held 
 the timbers ready to fall; then in the darkness I heard him call — " Run 
 for your life, Jake! Run for your wife's sake! Don't wait for me." 
 And that was all heard in the din, heard of Tom Flynn — Flynn of 
 Virginia. That's all about Flynn of Virginia — that lets me out here in 
 the damp — out of the sun — that ar' dern'd lamp makes my eyes run — 
 well, there — I'm done! But, sir, when you'll hear the next fool asking 
 of Flynn — Flynn of Virginia — just you chip in, say you knew Flynn ; 
 say that you've been 'yar. Bret Harte. 
 
 175. A WISH. 
 Mine be a cot beside the hill; 
 A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear; 
 A willowy brook that turns a mill, 
 With many a fall shall linger near. 
 
 The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch 
 Shall twitter from her clay-built nesfr; 
 Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch, 
 And share my meal, a welcome guest.
 
 168 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 Around my ivied porch shall spring 
 Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew; 
 And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing 
 In russet-gown and apron blue. 
 
 The village church among the trees, 
 Where first our marriage-vows were given, 
 With merry peals shall swell the breeze 
 And point with taper spire to Heaven. 
 
 Rogers. 
 
 XXII, INFLECTIONAL MODULATION. 
 
 176 I find earth not grey but rosy, heaven not grim but fair oi hue. 
 Do I stoop? I pluck a posy. Do I stand and stare? All's blue. 
 
 Browning. 
 
 npHE method by which the voice reveals the action of the 
 -*- mind in thinking has been found to be by means of the 
 conversational form. The elements of this form are very com- 
 plex, but each element or variation has a meaning, though it 
 may be difficult always to define it. To develop the highest effi- 
 ciency in Vocal Expression, it is necessary to study the specific 
 meaning of each of these elements, and the various modulations 
 of each in the delivery of thought or passion. 
 
 Reading over these lines of Browning, we find that there are 
 not only changes of pitch and pauses, but there are also changes 
 in the accented vowel itself. The pitch varies during the emis- 
 sion of the sound. This is called inflection ; technically it is due 
 to changes in the length of the sound waves : if they gradually 
 shorten, the voice rises ; if they lengthen, it falls. 
 
 Inflection is the most important of all the elements of conver- 
 sational form. Inflection bears the same relation to the modula- 
 tion of the qualities and textures of the voice that drawing does 
 to color in painting, or that melody bears to harmony and 
 polyphony in music. It is not only the fundamental element 
 of naturalness, but the accentuation of inflection is also the fun- 
 damental mode of showing an increased degree of attention or
 
 rNTLECTIONAL MODULATION. 169 
 
 vigor of thinking. It manifests the most subtle relations of ideas 
 to each other, and to the person speaking, — his intensity, his 
 earnestness, his purpose, and also his relation to his hearer. 
 The subject of inflection has received very little attention from 
 scientists. Herbert Spencer says, " Cadence is a running com- 
 mentary by the emotions upon the propositions of the intellect." 
 This is a good definition of all the modulations of the voice in 
 Vocal Expression ; but when we come to a specific application 
 of it to cadence or inflection, it is very inadequate and inaccu- 
 rate. The commentary on the part of the emotions is shown 
 chiefly by the modulation of resonance. The inflectional mod- 
 ulation of the voice manifests more the intellectual relations of 
 the speaker. While the length of the inflection and the degree 
 of abruptness may manifest degrees of earnestness, conviction, 
 excitement, or control over emotion, still the direction of inflec- 
 tion is more mental. Such a statement entirely overlooks the 
 most important functions of inflection ; it fails to discriminate 
 between elements which, though simultaneous in the voice, are 
 far apart in meaning. 
 
 Mr. Gurney has said in his book, " The Power of Sound," 
 that we may say ' I love you ' and ' I hate you ' with exactly the 
 same inflection. This is true, because the intellectual attitude 
 of the speaker may be the same. He may make either a posi- 
 tive statement, an excited statement, or a hesitating statement, 
 and each of these would vary the inflection ; but the difference 
 between the emotions of love and hate are definitely shown by the 
 texture or color of the voice. Such emotional differences are 
 shown not by the modulation of inflection, but by the modulation 
 of the texture and resonance of the voice. The statement, how- 
 ever, is true when applied to modulations of the voice taken as a 
 totality as in comparison with words. 
 
 To comprehend the meaning of inflection, it is important to 
 find the elemental modulations among the infinite variations. 
 There are others, no doubt, but the chief ones are direction,
 
 170 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 length, abruptness, and straightness. The most casual observa- 
 tion of inflection reveals the fact that the voice rises and falls. 
 These two directions of inflection have usually been represented 
 thus : — 
 
 \ / / \ 
 
 Again, inflections vary in length. They may be short or long, 
 which may be represented thus : — 
 
 < \ ' / 
 
 Thirdly, they may vary in rapidity ; that is, while two inflec- 
 tions may be of the same relative length or direction, one may 
 be quick or abrupt, and the other slower, or the change of pitch 
 may be more gradual : — 
 
 ^ \ • / 
 
 Further, they may be straight or crooked. We have straight 
 or direct inflections, and circumfle:: Inflections of various 
 kinds : — 
 
 V /\ / V/A/ 
 
 It is necessary to understand the meaning, the enlargement, 
 accentuation, or subordination of all these in order to be able to 
 trace faults to their fundamental elements, and to secure a 
 deeper consciousness of form, or naturalness, as well as to be 
 able to command effectively all linguistic modulations of tone. 
 
 The action of the mind in inflection is entirely different from 
 that of symbolizing ideas in words; it is more unconscious, 
 more spontaneous, more instinctive. To teach inflection or any 
 modulations of the voice in Vocal Expression by rule, as gram- 
 mar or words are taught, is one of the greatest blunders in 
 education. Inflection stands for no process of symbolization of 
 ideas : it reveals the process and not the product of thought ; it
 
 INFLECTIONAL MODULATION. 171 
 
 shows the relation of thought to others ; it shows the degree of 
 clearness, the centre of attention, the point of the mind's con- 
 centration ; it reveals the man himself with his idea. While 
 words reveal the ideas, inflections reveal the mind's attitude 
 toward them. It shows also the man's relation to his auditors ; 
 whether he presents his ideas to them, or appeals to them; 
 whether he dominates their attention and endeavors to concen- 
 trate then minds upon an idea of his own selection, or expresses 
 his astonishment or surprise at an idea presented by his hearers. 
 
 Problem XXXVII. Bead some extract with the simplicity of 
 conversation, and observe the variation of the voice and pitch 
 within the accented vowels. 
 
 177 MUCKLE-MOUTH MEG. 
 Frowned the Laird on the Lord: "So, red-handed I catch thee? 
 
 Death-doomed by our Law of the Border ! 
 We've a gallows outside, and a chiel to dispatch thee: 
 
 Who trespasses, hangs; all's in order." 
 
 He met frown with smile, did the young English gallant: 
 Then the Laird's dame: "Nay, husband, I beg! 
 
 He's comely : be merciful ! Grace for the callant, 
 If he marries our Muckle-mouth Meg! " 
 
 "No mile-wide-mouthed monster of yours do I marry; 
 
 Grant rather the gallows ! ' ' laughed he. 
 "Foul fare kith and kin of you — why do you tarry?" 
 
 " To tame your fierce temper! " quoth she. 
 
 " Shove him quick in the Hole, shut him fast for a week: 
 
 Cold, darkness, and hunger work wonders ; 
 Who lion-like roars now, mouse-fashion will squeak, 
 
 And 'it rains' soon succeeds to ' it thunders.' " 
 A week did he bide in the cold and the dark — 
 
 Not hunger : for duly at morning 
 In flitted a lass, and a voice like a lark 
 
 Chirped, "Muckle-mouth Meg still ye're scorning? 
 
 "Go hang, but here's parritch to hearten ye first!" 
 
 " Did Meg's muckle-mouth boast within some 
 Such music as yours, mine should match it or burst: 
 
 No frog-jaws ! So tell folk, my Winsome ! "
 
 172 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 Soon week came to end, and, from Hole's door set -wide, 
 Out he marched, and there waited the lassie : 
 
 "Yon gallows, or Muckle-mouth Meg for a bride! 
 Consider ! Sky ' s blue and turf ' s grassy : 
 
 "Life's sweet: shall I say ye wed Muckle-mouth Meg?" 
 "Not I," quoth the stout heart; " too eerie 
 
 The mouth that can swallow a bubblyjock's egg: 
 Shall I let it munch mine? Never, Dearie!" 
 
 "Not Muckle-mouth Meg? Wow, the obstinate man! 
 
 Perhaps he would rather wed me!" 
 " Ay, would he — with just for a dowry your can ! " 
 
 "I'm Muckle-mouth Meg," chirruped she. 
 
 ' ' Then so — so — so — so — " as he kissed her apace — 
 " Will I widen thee out till thou turnest 
 
 From Margaret Minnikin-mou' , by God's grace, 
 To Muckle-mouth Meg in good earnest!" 
 
 Robert Browning. 
 
 XXIII. DIEECTION OF INFLECTION. 
 
 178 Not always fall of leaf, nor ever Spring; 
 No endless night, yet no eternal day ; 
 The saddest birds a season find to sing; 
 The roughest storm a calm may soon allay : 
 Thus with succeeding turns God tempereth all, 
 That man may hope to rise, yet fear to fall. 
 
 Southwell. 
 
 T 
 
 HE rising or the falling: of the voice indicates the attitude 
 of the speaker either toward the thought he utters, or 
 toward the person addressed. For example, a rising inflection 
 may show that the mind is looking forward ; a falling inflection, 
 that the mind is looking backward. If we give the statement 
 of a truth in respect to something that is to come, we generally 
 make a rising inflection ; if we make a statement of truth com- 
 plete in itself, we make a falling inflection. A rising inflection, 
 therefore, indicates incompleteness; a falling inflection, complete- 
 ness. The rising is prospective, the falling is retrospective.
 
 DIRECTION OF INFLECTION. 173 
 
 Again, if the mind is questioning another, or making an ap- 
 peal to another as to the truth of a statement, or as to a simple 
 question of fact, " Did you say this ? " " This is John, did you 
 say? " a rising inflection is made ; but when the mind is asserting 
 and expressing that of which it is certain in itself, it finds ex- 
 pression in a falling inflection. The rising inflection indicates 
 doubt, and the falling inflection indicates certainty. 
 
 Again, the rising inflection indicates confusion in the mind ; 
 the falling asserts or presents a definite conclusion of the mind. 
 Thus, if I say, " I must have left my book on this table last 
 night," when I am not certain at all of the statement, but am 
 looking for the book, there is a rising inflection ; but if I say, 
 with a falling inflection, "I must have left my book on the table 
 last night," I have found the book, or I am perfectly sure of it. 
 If I meet a man, but am not sure I know him, I may say, " This is 
 Mr. Smith ? " I look into his face, and indicate my doubt by a 
 rising inflection ; but when I introduce him to another man, and 
 say, " This is Mr. Smith," stating a definite fact of which I am 
 positive, a falling inflection is heard. Phraseology manifests 
 simply the grammatical relation of words ; inflection manifests 
 more the logical relation of ideas. Hence, inflection has to do 
 with the attitude of the mind, its degree of certainty, its relation 
 to another mind, and has nothing to do with phraseology. The 
 phraseology may sometimes express the same thing, but the in- 
 flection is more flexible, and is directly governed by the mental 
 attitude of the man. 
 
 Words show the product of thought, but inflections show the 
 process ; words express the opinions of the man, inflections 
 show the man himself ; words are symbols of ideas, inflections 
 show the relation of the man to his thought, his conviction or 
 doubt of its truth, or the relation of the mind of the speaker to 
 the mind of the hearer, his attitude of interrogation or assertion. 
 
 Again, the direction of inflection indicates the relation of the 
 mind to several ideas in succession. I say, " I hold here a pencil,
 
 174 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 a knife, and a key." If I give each of these objects specific at- 
 tention, or present one at a time, each will have a falling inflec- 
 tion, but if I group all of the three objects at once in my mind, 
 the first two will have a rising, and the last one a falling inflec- 
 tion. This is another proof that the direction of inflection is 
 indicated and regulated by the action of the mind. 
 
 179 There are three pleasures pure and lasting, and all derived from 
 inanimate things — books, pictures, and the face of nature. 
 
 Hazlitt. 
 
 In reading this sentence, if the mind takes the three ideas at 
 once, that is to say, if we group these ideas, we make a rising 
 inflection upon ' books ' and ' pictures ' and a f ailing inflection 
 on ' nature.' If, on the contrary, we detach each idea as an 
 object of attention, or take each one by the mind individually, 
 we give a falling inflection upon each of the three. 
 
 The development of inflection, therefore, does not consist in 
 the acquisition of rules of any kind. It must consist chiefly in 
 developing flexibility of the voice and the logical instincts of the 
 mind ; the power to contrast and relate ideas to each other and 
 to an underlying purpose must be trained. There must be 
 secured such versatility in thinking and such responsiveness of 
 voice that an act of the mind will cause an act of the voice. 
 
 Thus the voice is inflected according to the process or attitude 
 of the mind. If we take an idea for its own sake, we make a 
 falling inflection upon the central idea or word which stands for 
 it ; if we take an idea in relation to another idea, it is apt to re- 
 ceive a rising inflection. 
 
 Problem XXXVIII. Bead some simple extract, accentuating 
 certain ideas as questions, and others as answers. Realize as 
 much as possible the attitude of the mind in a simple current of 
 ideas, and allow every change of mental attitude to show itself in 
 an inflection. 
 
 180 We are perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; 
 cast down, but not destroyed.
 
 DIRECTION" OF INFLECTION. 175 
 
 181 In peace, Love tunes the shepherd's reed; 
 
 In war, he mounts the warrior's steed; 
 
 In halls, in gay attire is seen; 
 
 In hamlets, dances on the green. 
 
 Love rules the court, the camp, the grove, 
 
 And men below, and saints above; 
 
 For love is heaven, and heaven is love. 
 
 Scott. 
 
 182 When I look upon the tombs of the great, every emotion of envy 
 dies in me; when I read the epitaphs of the beautiful, every inordinate 
 desire goes out; when I meet with the grief of parents upon a tombstone, 
 my heart melts with compassion; when I see the tomb of the parents them- 
 selves, I consider the vanity of grieving for those whom we must quickly 
 follow. When I see kings lying by those who deposed them, when I con- 
 sider rival wits placed side by side, or the holy men that divided the world 
 with their contests and disputes, I reflect with sorrow and astonishment 
 on the little competitions, factions, and debates of mankind. When I 
 read the several dates of the tombs, of some that died yesterday, and some 
 six hundred years ago, I consider that great day when we shall all of us 
 be contemporaries, and make our appearance together. 
 
 " The Spectator." Addison. 
 
 183 Did ye not hear it? — No; 'twas but the wind, 
 
 Or the car rattling o'er the stony street; 
 
 On with the dance ! Let joy be unconfined ; 
 
 No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet 
 
 To chase the glowing hours with flying feet — 
 
 But, hark ! — that heavy sound breaks in once more, 
 
 As if the clouds its echo would repeat; 
 
 And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before ! 
 
 Arm! arm! it is — it is the cannon's opening roar! 
 
 Byron. 
 
 184 What right have you, O passer by the way, to call any flower a 
 weed? Do you know its merits? its virtues? its healing qualities? Be- 
 cause a thing is common, shall you despise it? If so, you might despise 
 the sunshine for the same reason. 
 
 185 Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 
 
 Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; 
 Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd, 
 Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre ; 
 
 Oray.
 
 176 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 186 Cassius. When Caesar liv'd he durst not thus have mov'd me. 
 
 Brutus. Peace, peace ! you durst not so have tempted him. 
 
 Cassius. I durst not? 
 
 Brutus. No. 
 
 Cassius. What ! durst not tempt him? 
 
 Brutus. For your life you durst not. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 187 No sound of joy or sorrow was heard from either bank, but friends 
 and foes in dumb surprise, with parted lips and straining eyes, stood 
 gazing where he sank; and when above the surges they saw his crest 
 appear, all Rome sent forth a rapturous cry, and even the ranks of Tus- 
 cany could scarce forbear to cheer. 
 
 Macaulay. 
 
 188. WANTING IS -WHAT? 
 
 Wanting is — what? 
 
 Summer redundant, 
 
 Blueness abundant, — 
 
 Where is the blot? 
 Beamy the world, yet a blank all the same, — 
 Framework which waits for a picture to frame : 
 What of the leafage, what of the flower? 
 Roses embowering with naught they embower! 
 Come then, complete incompletion, O comer, 
 Pant through the blueness, perfect the summer! 
 
 Breathe but one breath 
 
 Rose-beauty above, 
 
 And all that was death 
 
 Grows life, grows love, 
 
 Grows love! 
 
 Browning, 
 
 189. UP-HILL. 
 Does the road wind up-hill all the way? 
 
 Yes, to the very end. 
 Will the day's journey take the whole long day? 
 
 From morn to night, my friend. 
 But is there for the night a resting-place? 
 
 A roof for when the slow dark hours begin. 
 May not the darkness hide it from my face? 
 
 You cannot miss that inn. 
 Shall I meet other wayfarers at night? 
 
 Those who have gone before.
 
 LENGTH OF INFLECTION. 177 
 
 Then must I knock, or call when just in sight? 
 
 They will not keep you standing at the door. 
 Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak? 
 
 Of labor you shall find the sum. 
 
 Will there be beds for me and all who seek? 
 
 Yea, beds for all who come. 
 
 Christina Georgina ltossetti. 
 
 XXIV. LENGTH OF INFLECTION. 
 
 190 Memory is the only Paradise from which we cannot be driven. 
 
 191 To arms! they come! the Greek! the Greek! 
 
 IF we read the first of the above extracts simply and naturally, 
 and then give the second with intensity and spirit, what 
 differences do we find in the action of the voice ? One is a 
 greater variation of pitch, due not only to the change of pitch 
 between the words, but to a greater length in the inflections of 
 the accented vowels. 
 
 Length of inflection is the means usually adopted in conver- 
 sation and all natural speaking to make salient some specific 
 idea. It shows the degree of accentuation, the positiveness of 
 conviction or excitement, and the intensity of interrogation or 
 assertion. 
 
 In developing skill to lengthen inflection there is danger of 
 making it labored. All should be as easy and flexible as possible. 
 Ease and naturalness should be preserved, as there is a tendency 
 not only to force the inflection but also to eliminate changes of 
 pitch between subordinate words. In strong, natural emphasis 
 length of inflection and changes of pitch are always found 
 together. Whenever the elements of loudness are increased 
 without increasing the length of inflection, all is made abnormal, 
 and we have the fault known as declamation. In all increase of 
 emphasis there should be as little increase in loudness as possi- 
 ble ; because loudness is merely physical. Increase of emphasis, 
 if dignity and intensity of thought are to characterize expression, 
 12
 
 178 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 must result from greater changes of pitch, longer pauses, and 
 greater saliency of inflection. In all natural and noble speech 
 increase of earnestness is shown not by increase of loudness, but 
 by lengthening the pauses and increasing the range of voice by 
 means of wider intervals of pitch between the words and longer 
 inflections in the vowels. 
 
 Problem XXXIX. Speak the simplest sentence with as much 
 conversational ease as possible , then give in contrast an emphatic 
 passage, and observe the difference in the action of the voice. 
 
 192 Simplicity of character is the natural result of profound thought. 
 
 Hazlitt. 
 
 193 Come as the winds come, when forests are rended, 
 Come as the waves come, when navies are stranded. 
 "Pibroch." ■ . — - Scott. 
 
 194 "Who dares" — this was the patriot's cry, as striding from the 
 desk he came — " Come out with me, in Freedom's name, for her to live, 
 for her to die!" A hundred hands flung up reply, a hundred voices 
 answered, "I!" T. B. Read. 
 
 Problem XL. Give some simple passage, first indifferently, and 
 then with genuine earnestness, without increasing loudness, and 
 observe the effect upon the inflections. 
 
 195 Most wretched men are cradled into poetry by wrong ; they learn 
 in suffering what they teach in song. 
 "Julian and Maddalo." Shelley. 
 
 Problem XLI. Give some passage simply, as to one person, 
 and then with great earnestness, so as to dominate the attention of 
 a thousand people, without changing the elements of naturalness. 
 
 196 Hast not thy share? On winged feet, lo! it rushes thee to meet: 
 And all that Nature made thine own, floating in air or pent in stone, 
 Will rive the hills and swim the sea, and, like thy shadow, follow thee. 
 
 Emerson. 
 
 Problem XLII. Contrast the earnestness and excitement of a 
 noble with those of a less noble character, also one with great self- 
 control with another with nervous excitability.
 
 LENGTH OF INFLECTION". 179 
 
 197 Brutus. Go to ; you are not Cassius. 
 
 Cassius. I am. 
 
 Brutus. I say you are not. 
 
 Cassius. Urge me no more, I shall forget myself; 
 Have mind upon your health, tempt me no further. 
 
 Brutus. Away, slight man 1 
 
 Cassius. Is't possible? 
 
 Brutus. Hear me, for I will speak. 
 
 Must I give way and room to your rash choler? 
 Shall I be frighted when a madman stares? 
 
 108 Cassius. I denied you not. Brutus. You did. Cassius. I did not. 
 
 Problem XLIII. Bead passages with various degrees of earnest- 
 ness, excitement, and dignity, and make the contrasts by inflectional 
 modulations rather than by loudness. 
 
 199 New occasions teach new duties ; -Time makes ancient good uncouth ; 
 They must upward still, and onward, who would keep abreast with Truth; 
 Lo, before us gleam her camp-fires ! we ourselves must Pilgrims be, 
 Launch our Mayflower, and steer boldly through the desperate winter sea, 
 Nor attempt the Future's portal with the Past's blood-rusted key. 
 "The Present Crisis." , James Russell Lowell. 
 
 200. SOLITUDE 
 Solitude, though it may be silent as light, is, like light, the mightiest 
 of agencies; for solitude is essential to man. All men come into this 
 world alone; all leave it alone. Even a little child has a dread, whisper- 
 ing consciousness, that, if he should be summoned to travel into God's 
 presence, no gentle nurse will be allowed to lead him by the hand, nor 
 mother to carry him in her arms, nor little sister to share his trepidations. 
 King and priest, warrior and maiden, philosopher and child, all must 
 walk those mighty galleries alone. The solitude, therefore, which in 
 this world appalls or fascinates a child's heart, is but the echo of a far 
 deeper solitude, through which already he has passed, and of another soli- 
 tude deeper still, through which he has to pass: reflex of one solitude — 
 prefiguration of another; 
 
 - Deep is 'the solitude of millions who, with hearts welling forth love, 
 have none to love them. Deep is the solitude of those who, under secret 
 griefs, have none to pity them. Deep is the solitude of those who, 
 fighting with doubts or darkness, have none to counsel them. But deeper
 
 180 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 than the deepest of these solitudes is that which broods over childhood 
 under the passion of sorrow — bringing before it, at intervals, the final 
 solitude which watches for it, and is waiting for it within the gates of 
 death. O mighty and essential solitude, that wast, and art, and art to 
 be, thy kingdom is made perfect in the grave; but even over those that 
 keep watch outside the grave, thou stretchest out a scepter of fascination. 
 
 DeQuincy. 
 
 XXV. ABRUPTNESS OF INFLECTION. 
 
 rpHE abruptness of an inflection, or the rapidity with which 
 -*- the sound-waves change then- length in an inflection, is in 
 proportion to the excitement, or, at times, to the lack of control. 
 In one who is deliberate, the inflection changes its pitch inside 
 of the vowel more slowly and gradually, while in one who is in 
 an explosive mood of mind, all changes, but especially the con- 
 crete changes of pitch in the inflection, are more rapid. Again, 
 the degree of abruptness shows the kind of excitement. Where 
 the excitement is superficial, the tendency will be to quick in- 
 flections. In proportion as the excitement is deep and under 
 control of will, the inflections will be more gradual, or will have 
 less abruptness, and will be longer. 
 
 Abruptness in inflection may also vary with temperament. A 
 man of nervous temperament, who is very quick in his thought, 
 usually has more abrupt inflections, while one who is more 
 deliberative and slow in thinking not only tends to speak more 
 slowly, but the changes of pitch in his inflections are more 
 gradual. Abruptness may sometimes be nervous jerkiness, 
 which may amount to a fault. Again, definiteness of touch and 
 decision of execution require that there shall be no drag in 
 inflection : every inflection must be definite and decided. 
 
 A certain degree of abruptness of inflection manifests vigor 
 of thought. Where inflections are too long, we have a tire- 
 some drawl, which is a very serious defect. Again, where 
 inflections are too slow, there is a tendency to circumflex or 
 minor inflection, and various cadences of weakness. It is most
 
 ABRUPTNESS OF INFLECTION. 181 
 
 important that inflections should have the element of decision, 
 A certain degree of abruptness is a fundamental characteristic 
 of decision in touch ; but the variation of the abruptness of in- 
 flection must never go so far as to become a jerk on the one 
 hand or a drag on the other. Colloquial inflections, as a rule, 
 are short and abrupt. Whenever a speaker has depth of mean- 
 ing, when his appeal is to spiritual or noble motives, and when 
 he asks for contemplative attention, his inflections tend to be more 
 gradual or less abrupt. 
 
 Problem XLIV. Observe the effect of abandon to excitement 
 upon the inflections when Hamlet speaks to his companions, and 
 the effect of resolution and reverence when he speaks to the ghost. 
 
 201 Unhand me, gentlemen! 
 By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me! 
 I say away! — Go on; I'll follow thee! 
 
 Problem XLV. Note the effect of excitement upon the abrupt- 
 ness of Hamlet's inflections. At first, he is indifferent, and the 
 inflections are slow, but in his second speech, surprise and excite- 
 ment cause them to be quick and abrupt. 
 
 202 "Saw who?" " My Lord, the king, your father." "The king, 
 
 my father? " 
 
 Problem XLVI. Bead a simple sentence, and appeal only to the 
 understanding as in ordinary conversation; and then give the same, 
 or another, and endeavor to awaken spiritual insight or mystic con- 
 templation. 
 
 203 The seat of knowledge is in the head; of wisdom, in the heart 
 
 We are sure to judge wrong if we do not feel right. 
 
 Hazlitt. 
 
 204 Pbttne thou thy words, thy thoughts control, 
 That o'er thee swell and throng; 
 They will condense within thy soul, 
 And change to purpose strong. 
 
 Newman
 
 182 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 205 Fight, gentlemen of England! fight, bold yeomen! 
 Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head : 
 Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood; 
 Amaze the welkin with your broken staves. 
 "Richard III." _____ Shakespeare. 
 
 206 Flowers laugh before thee on their beds, and fragrance in thy 
 footing treads; thou dost preserve the Stars from wrong; and the most 
 ancient Heavens, through Thee, are fresh and strong. 
 "Ode to Duty." Wordsworth. 
 
 207 King Charles, and who'll do him right now? 
 King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now? 
 Give a rouse : here's, in hell' s despite now, 
 King Charles ! 
 " Give a Rouse." ^^^^ Browning. 
 
 208 We drink the downfall of an accursed land ! 
 
 " The night is growing darker, ere one more day is flown, 
 Bregenz, our foeman's stronghold, Bregenz shall be our own!" 
 The women shrank in terror (yet pride, too, had her part), 
 But one poor Tyrol maiden felt death within her heart. 
 
 209. FARTING OF MAEMION AND DOUGLAS. 
 
 . . . The train from out the castle drew, but Marmion stopp'd to bid 
 adieu: — " Though something I might plain," he said, "of cold respect 
 to stranger guest, sent hither by your King's behest, while in Tantallon's 
 towers I staid; part we in friendship from your land, and, noble Earl, 
 receive my hand." But Douglas round him drew his cloak, folded his 
 arms, and thus he spoke: — " My manors, halls, and bowers shall still be 
 open, at my Sovereign's will, to each one whom he lists, howe'er unmeet 
 to be the owner's peer. My castles are my King's alone, from turret to 
 foundation-stone; the hand of Douglas is his own, and never shall in 
 friendly grasp the hand of such as Marmion clasp." Burn'd Marmion' s 
 swarthy cheek like fire, and shook his very frame for ire, and — " This to 
 me! " he said, — " and 'twere not for thy hoary beard, such hand as Mar- 
 mion' s had not spared to cleave the Douglas' head ! And first I tell thee, 
 haughty Peer, he, who does England's message here, although the meanest 
 n her state, may well, proud Angus, be thy mate : and, Douglas, more I 
 tell thee here, even in thy pitch of pride, here in thy hold, thy vassals 
 near, — nay, never look upon your lord, and lay your hands upon your 
 eword, — I tell thee, thou'rt defied! And if thou said'st I am not peer to
 
 EMOTION AND INFLECTION. . 183 
 
 any lord in Scotland here, lowland or highland, far or near, Lord Angus, 
 thou hast lied!" On the Earl's cheek the flush of rage o'ercame the 
 ashen hue of age: fierce he broke forth, — "And darest thou, then, to 
 beard the lion in his den, the Douglas in his hall? And hopest thou hence 
 unscathed to go? — No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no ! Up drawbridge, 
 grooms — what, Warder, ho! let the portcullis fall." Lord Marmion 
 turn'd, — well was his need, and dash'd the row sis in his steed, like 
 arrow through the archway sprung, the ponderous grate behind him rung : 
 to pass there was such scanty room, the bars, descending, razed his plume. 
 The steed along the drawbridge flies, just as it trembled on the rise; nor 
 lighter does the swallow skim along the smooth lake's level brim: and 
 when Lord Marmion reach' d his band, he halts, and turns with clenched 
 hand, and shout of loud defiance pours, and shook his gauntlet at the 
 towers. 
 
 "Horse! horse!" the Douglas cried, "and chase!" But soon he 
 rein'd his fury's pace: "A royal messenger he came, though most un- 
 worthy of the name. . . . Old age ne'er cools the Douglas blood, I thought 
 to slay him where he stood. 'Tis pity of him too," he cried: " Bold can 
 he speak, and fairly ride, I warrant him a warrior tried." With this his 
 
 mandate he recalls, and slowly seeks his castle halls. 
 
 Scotf. 
 
 XXVL EMOTION AND INFLECTION. 
 
 210 I am astonished, shocked, to hear such principles confessed, — to 
 hear them avowed in this house, or even in this country; — principles 
 equally unconstitutional, inhuman, and unchristian ! 
 
 211 Pity the sorrows of a poor old man, 
 
 Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door. 
 
 rpHERE is a tendency in certain emotions to modify the 
 -*- abruptness of the inflection. Sorrow", for example, tends 
 to less abruptness than joy. The chief difference, however, be- 
 tween the expression of two emotions is in the tone-color, and 
 not in the modulation of the inflections. Inflection is more the 
 manifestation or language of thought, and the relation of thought 
 to the thinker or to his audience, while tone-color manifests the 
 feeling. The modulation of the textures of the muscles causing
 
 184 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 the resonance of the voice manifests the feeling and emotional 
 conditions, while the inflections give the more intellectual rela- 
 tions. Inflection is the chief element of form, and form does not 
 change with color. Color reveals the depth of feeling, the form 
 shows the essential meaning. 
 
 In studying the abruptness or gradation of inflection, the 
 nature of minor inflections and the distinction between major 
 and minor inflections will be mrde clearer. Minor inflections 
 present many difficulties ; in general they suggest the chromatic 
 scale, while major inflections suggest the diatonic scale. Minor 
 inflections are manif estive of weakness. Such weakness may be 
 physical or mental, or it may be due to a lack of volitional con- 
 trol. Major inflections predominate in the expression of all 
 normal emotions and characters. To say that sorrow is to be 
 rendered by minor inflections is to misconceive wholly the nature 
 of expression. It is not the sorrow, but the lack of control over 
 it, the weak yielding to it, that causes minor inflections. The 
 true expression of sorrow in a noble man implies a struggle to 
 control it. Manly courage and resolution are important elements 
 in the expression of sorrow. A pathetic poem is read with de- 
 cided touch and inflection, or it is the expression of weakness. 
 
 The chief requisite for the proper expression of sorrow is con- 
 trol of breath. Pathos requires more effort to secure control 
 over breath, and hence requires more breath : it has a stronger 
 " vocal struggle " than any other emotion. The struggle with 
 the sorrow shows itself in a struggle with the breath. Such a 
 struggle requires time ; hence pauses are prolonged in all ex- 
 pression of pathos. This retention of breath with the muscles 
 soft gives true tone color, and is the most effective expression 
 of pathos. It is the way a strong man speaks when in great 
 sorrow ; he does not ' whine.' Minor inflections are one of the 
 worst faults of Vocal Expression. The cure for them depends 
 upon the development of strength and control, — control over 
 breath and over emotion.
 
 EMOTION - AND INFLECTION. 185 
 
 Take Scott's " Maid of Neidpath," a poem, as Tennyson once 
 remarked, " almost more pathetic than a man has a right to be," 
 and try how any median stress or minor inflections, semitonic 
 melodies or tremolos, will degrade it. Then, using natural 
 touch, inflections, and intervals, express the feeling with the 
 simplest modulation of the voice, but with great intensity. 
 
 Problem XLYII. Contrast the sorrow of a weak character with 
 that of a strong one. Give pain with weakness and also with heroic 
 endurance. (See No. 211.) 
 
 Problem XLVIII. Head sorrow and manifest the strength to 
 control it, the strength that awakens to bear it, rather than the 
 tendency to passively yield to it. Preserve definiteness of inflec- 
 tion as the means of revealing the thought, and manifest the feel- 
 ing by modulation of texture and color. 
 
 212. THE MAID OF NEIDPATH. 
 O lovers' eyes are sharp to see, and lovers' ears in hearing; 
 And love, in life's extremity, can lend an hour of cheering. 
 Disease had been in Mary's bower and slow decay from mourning, 
 Though now she sits on Neidpath' s tower to watch her Love's returning. 
 All sunk and dim her eyes so bright, her form decay' d by pining, 
 Till through her wasted hand, at night, you saw the taper shining. 
 By fits a sultry hectic hue across her cheek was flying; 
 By fits so ashy pale she grew her maidens thought her dying. 
 Yet keenest powers to see and hear seem'd in her frame residing; 
 Before the watch-dog prick' d his ear she heard her lover's riding; 
 Ere scarce a distant form was kenn'd she knew and waved to greet him, 
 And o'er the battlement did bend as on the wing to meet him. 
 
 He came — he pass' d — an heedless gaze as o'er some stranger glancing; 
 Her welcome, spoke in faltering phrase, lost in his courser's prancing — 
 The castle-arch, whose hollow tone returns each whisper spoken, 
 Could scarcely catch the feeble moan which told her heart was broken. 
 
 Scott. 
 
 213 Earl. March look'd on his dying child, 
 And smit with grief to view her — 
 The youth, he cried, whom I exiled, 
 Shall be restored to woo her.
 
 186 VOCAL EXPEESSION. 
 
 She's at the window many an hour 
 
 His coming to discover: 
 And he look'd up to Ellen's bower, 
 
 And she look'd on her lover — 
 
 But ah ! so pale, he knew her not, 
 
 Though her smile on him was dwelling — 
 And am I then forgot — forgot? 
 
 It broke the heart of Ellen. 
 In vain he weeps, in vain he sighs, 
 
 Her cheek is cold as ashes; 
 Nor love's own kiss shall wake those eyes 
 
 To lift their silken lashes. T. Campbell. 
 
 Problem XLIX. Contrast emotions and note the true and the 
 false differences that may occur. 
 
 214 Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day : 
 
 It was the nightingale, and not the lark, 
 
 That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear; 
 
 Nightly she sings in yon pomegranate-tree: 
 
 Believe me, love, it was the nightingale. 
 "Romeo and Juliet." Shakespeare. 
 
 215 The moving moon went up the sky, and nowhere did abide: 
 
 softly she was going up, and a star or two beside — her beams bemocked 
 
 the sultry main, like April hoar-frost spread; but where the ship's huge 
 
 shadow lay, the charmed water burnt alway, a still and awful red. 
 
 Coleridge. 
 
 216 Love had he found in huts where poor men lie; 
 
 His daily teachers had been woods and rills, 
 
 The silence that is in the starry sky, 
 
 The sleep that is among the lonely hills. Wordsworth. 
 
 217 Strew on her roses, roses, and never a spray of yew. 
 
 In quiet she reposes : ah ! would that I did too. 
 
 Her mirth the world required : she bathed it in smiles of glee, 
 
 But her heart was tired, tired, and now they let her be. 
 
 Her life was turning, turning, in mazes of heat and sound. 
 
 But for peace her soul was yearning, and now peace laps her round. 
 
 Her cabined, ample spirit, it fluttered and failed for breath. 
 
 To-night it doth inherit the vasty Hall of Death. 
 "Requiescat," Matthew Arnold.
 
 EMOTION AND INFLECTION. 
 
 218. TO THE SKYLABK. 
 Awake ere the morning dawn, — skylark, arise! 
 The last of the stars hath waxed dim in the skies; 
 The peak of the mountain is purpled in light, 
 And the grass with the night dew is diamonded white ; 
 The young flowers at morning's call open their eyes — 
 Then up ere the break of day, skylark, arise ! 
 Earth starts like a sluggard half roused from a dream; 
 Pale and ghost-like the mist floats away from the stream, 
 And the cataract hoarsely, that all the night long 
 Poured forth to the desolate darkness its song, 
 Now softens to music as brighten the skies — 
 Then up ere the dawn of day, skylark, arise ! 
 Arise from the clover, and up to the cloud, 
 Ere the sun leaves his chamber in majesty proud, 
 And, ere his light lowers to earth's meaner things, 
 Catch tbe stainless effulgence of heaven on thy wings, 
 While thy gaze as thou soarest and singest shall feast 
 On the innermost shrine of the uttermost east. 
 Up, up with a loud voice of singing ! the bee 
 Will be out to the bloom, and the bird to the tree; 
 The trout to the pool, and the par to the rill, 
 The flock to the plain, and the deer to the hill; 
 Soon the marsh will resound to the plover's lone cries — 
 Then up ere the dawn of day, skylark, arise ! 
 Up, up with thy praise-breathing anthem ! alone 
 The drowsyhead, man, on his bed slumbers prone; 
 The stars may go down, and the sun from the deep 
 Burst forth, still his hands they are folded in sleep. 
 Let the least in creation the greatest despise — 
 Then up to heaven's threshold, blithe skylark, arise! 
 
 187 
 
 David M. Moir. 
 
 219. BEFORE SEDAN. 
 " The dead hand clasped a letter." 
 
 Hebe, in this leafy place, quiet he lies, cold, with his sightless face 
 turned to the skies; 'tis but another dead; all you can say is said. Carry 
 his body hence, — kings must have slaves ; kings climb to eminence over 
 men's graves: so this man's eye is dim; throw the earth over him. What 
 was the white you touched, there, at his side? Paper his hand had clutched
 
 188 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 tight ere he died ; — message or wish, may be ; — smooth the folds out and 
 see. Hardly the worst of us here could have smiled ! — only the tremulous 
 words of a child; — prattle, that has for stops just a few ruddy drops. 
 Look. She is sad to miss, morning and night, his — her dead father's — 
 kiss; tries to be bright, good to mamma, and sweet. That is all. "Mar- 
 guerite." Ah, if beside the dead slumbered the pain! Ah, if the hearts 
 that bled slept with the slain! If the grief died; — but no; — death will 
 not have it so. Henry Austin Dobson. 
 
 Problem L. Intensify and lift the sorrow of a weakness into 
 the realm of the ideal and the noble. 
 
 220 Dear master, I can go no farther: oh, I die for food! Here lie 
 I down, and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master ! 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 221 "It's time for me to go to that there berryin' -ground, sir," he 
 returns, with a wild look. 
 
 " Lie down, and tell me. What burying-ground, Joe?" 
 "Where they laid him as wos wery good to me; wery good to me, in- 
 deed, he wos. It's time fur me to go down to that there berryin' -ground, 
 sir, and ask to be put along with him. I wants to go there and be berried. 
 He used fur to say to me, ' I am as poor as you, to-day, Jo,' he sez. I 
 wants to tell him that I am as poor as him, now, and have come there to 
 be laid along with him." 
 
 XXVII. STRAIGHTNESS OF INFLECTION. 
 
 rpHE straightness or directness of an inflection is in proportion 
 -*- to the dignity, genuineness, or sincerity of the speaker. Ir* 
 colloquial or trivial speech there is a tendency to circumflexef, 
 but when the speech is noble, direct, intense, or earnest, the in- 
 flections are straight. 
 
 In the expression of abnormal emotions also, such as anger, 
 contempt, sarcasm, or playful mischief, where there is a double 
 antithesis in the mind, or a double meaning, we find that there 
 is a tendency to circumiiex inflections. But in manifesting deep 
 conviction, simple and genuine thought, deep and sincere feeling, 
 wherever " the eye is single," the inflections of the voice tend to 
 be straight and direct.
 
 STRAIGHTNESS OF INFLECTION. 18S 
 
 The principle underlying straightness of inflection, therefore, 
 is that when there is a crook in the mind, there is a crook in 
 the voice. When the mind is direct and single, the inflection 
 is direct and single; the straightness of inflection is a direct 
 manifestation of the degree of sincerity and singleness of aim or 
 attention, and of the degree of nobility in the relation of the 
 speaker to the truth and to his audience. 
 
 Circumflex inflections should be rarely used. Except in char- 
 acterization and abnormal emotions, they should be avoided. 
 Their too frequent use is a very common and a very serious 
 fault. Students should struggle to keep inflections as straight 
 as possible. Even the simplest and most colloquial conversa- 
 tion may be made more simple and unaffected, more noble and 
 dignified by using straight inflections : notice the difference in 
 the inflections of the cobbler in the extract from Julius Caesar 
 when he is punning and quibbling, and in his last speech when 
 he frankly states, " We come to see Caesar." The use of cir- 
 cumflex inflections to appear tender and kindly is one of the 
 worst affectations. Those who teach small children and in- 
 feriors must make efforts to be manly and womanly, and to feel 
 that all who are taught, however humble, are objects worthy 
 of reverent interest. The fault of using circumflex inflections 
 must be overcome by nobleness, frankness, and simplicity. 
 
 Problem LI. Contrast a simple attitude of mind with a complex 
 one, or a direct aim with an indirect one. 
 
 222 Queen. Hamlet, you have your father much offended. 
 Hamlet. Madame, you have my father much offended. 
 
 223 Sir Peter. Very well, ma'am, very well! So a husband is to 
 have no influence, — no authority ! 
 
 Lady Teazle. Authority? No, to be sure ! If you wanted authority 
 over me, you should have adopted me, and not married me; I am sure you 
 were old enough. Sheridan. 
 
 Problem LII. Contrast noble with ignoble emotion, a normal 
 or ideal character with a low or abnormal one.
 
 190 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 224 They are slaves who fear to speak 
 
 For the fallen and the weak : 
 
 They are slaves who will not choose 
 
 Hatred, scoffing, and abuse, 
 
 Rather than in silence shrink 
 
 From the truth they needs must think; 
 
 They are slaves who dare not be 
 
 In the right with two or three. 
 "Stanzas on Freedom." James Russell Lowell. 
 
 225 " I gbant you I was down, and out of breath; and so was he." 
 
 226 We were gettin' on nicely up here to our village, 
 
 With good old idees o' wut's right an' wut ain't; 
 We kind o' thought Christ went agin war an' pillage, 
 An' that eppyletts worn't the best mark of a saint. 
 But John P. 
 Robinson he 
 Sez this kind o' thing's an exploded idee. 
 "Bigelow Papers." Lotcell. 
 
 227 Flavius. Hence ! home, you idle creatures, get you home ! 
 Is this a holiday? What ! know you not, 
 
 Being mechanical, you ought not walk 
 
 Upon a laboring-day without the sign 
 
 Of your profession? Speak, what trade art thou? 
 First Citizen. Why, sir, a carpenter. 
 Marullus. Where is thy leather apron and thy rule? 
 
 What dost thou with thy best apparel on? — 
 
 You, sir; what trade are you? 
 Second Citizen. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as 
 you would say, a cobbler. 
 Marullus. But what trade art thou? Answer me directly. 
 Second Citizen. A trade, sir, that I hope I may use with a safe con- 
 science; which is indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles. 
 Marullus. What trade, thou knave? thou naughty knave, what trade? 
 Second Citizen. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me: yet, if 
 you be out, sir, I can mend you. 
 Marullus. What meanest thou by that? Mend me, thou saucy fellow! 
 Second Citizen. Why, sir, cobble you. 
 Flavius. Thou art a cobbler, art thou?
 
 STRAIGHTNESS OF INFLECTION. 191 
 
 Second Citizen. Truly, sir, all that I live by is with the awl: I meddle 
 with no tradesman's matters, nor women's matters, but with awl. I am 
 indeed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes ; when they are in great danger, I re- 
 cover them. As proper men as ever trod upon neat's-leather have gone 
 upon my handiwork. 
 
 Flavius. But wherefore art not in thy shop to-day? 
 Why dost thou lead these men about the streets? 
 
 Second Citizen. Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself into 
 more work. But, indeed, sir, we make holiday, to see Caesar, and to re- 
 joice in his triumph. 
 Marullus. Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he home? 
 
 What tributaries follow him to Rome, 
 
 To grace in captive bonds his chariot-wheels? 
 
 You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things! 
 
 O, you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, 
 
 Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft 
 
 Have you climb' d up to walls and battlements, 
 
 To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops, 
 
 Tour infants in your arms, and there have sat 
 
 The livelong day, with patient expectation, 
 
 To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome. 
 
 And when you saw his chariot but appear, 
 
 Have you not made an universal shout, 
 
 That Tiber trembled underneath her banks, 
 
 To hear the replication of your sounds 
 
 Made in her concave shores? 
 
 And do you now put on your best attire? 
 
 And do you now cull out a holiday? 
 
 And do you now strew flowers in his way 
 
 That comes in triumph over Pompey' s blood? 
 
 Be gone ! 
 
 Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, 
 
 Pray to the gods to intermit the plague 
 
 That needs must light on this ingratitude. 
 From " Julius Csesar." 
 
 Problem LIII. Contrast simple and noble conversation with af- 
 fected and superficial colloquial speech. 
 
 228 Hamlet. Do you see yonder cloud, that's almost in shape of a 
 camel?
 
 192 VOCAL EXPEESSION. 
 
 Polonius. By the mass, and 'tis like a camel, indeed. 
 
 Hamlet. Methinks, it is like a weasel. 
 
 Polonius. It is backed like a weasel. 
 
 Hamlet. Or like a whale? 
 
 Polonius. Very like a whale. 
 
 Hamlet. Then I will come to my mother by and by. They fool, 
 me to the top of my bent. — I will come by and by s 
 
 Polonius. I will say so. [Exit Polonius. 
 
 Hamlet. By and by is easily said. 
 
 'Tis now the very witching time of night, 
 
 When churchyards yawn, and hell itself breathes out 
 
 Contagion to this world: now could I drink hot blood, 
 
 And do such business as the bitter day 
 
 Would quake to look on. Soft : now to my mother. 
 
 O, heart, lose not thy nature; let not ever 
 
 The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom. 
 
 229 Falstaff. God save thy grace, King Hal! my royal Hal! 
 
 Pistol. The heavens thee guard and keep, most royal imp of fame! 
 
 Falstaff. God save thee, my sweet boy ! 
 
 King. My Lord Chief Justice, speak to that vain man. 
 
 Chief Justice. Have you your wits? Know you what 'tis you speak? 
 
 Falstaff. My king! my Jove! I speak to thee, my heart! 
 
 King. I know thee not, old man. Fall to thy prayers. 
 
 How ill white hairs become a fool and jester! 
 
 I have long dream' d of such a kind of man, 
 
 So surfeit-swell' d, so old, and so profane; 
 
 But, being awake, I do despise my dream. 
 
 Make less thy body, hence, and more thy grace; 
 
 Leave gormandising : know, the grave doth gape 
 
 For thee tbrice wider than for other men. 
 
 Keply not to me with a fool-born jest ; 
 
 Presume not that I am the thing I was : 
 
 For Heaven doth know, so shall the world perceive, 
 
 That I have turn'd away my former self; 
 
 So will I those that kept me company. 
 
 When thou dost hear I am as I have been, 
 
 Approach me; and thou shalt be as thou wast, 
 
 The tutor and the feeder of my riots: 
 
 Till then, I banish thee, on pain of death, — 
 
 As I have done the rest of my misleaders, —
 
 FBEEDOM OF INFLECTION. 
 
 Not to come near our person by ten mile. 
 For competence of life, I will allow you, 
 That lack of means enforce you not to evil ; 
 And, as we hear you do reform yourselves, 
 We will, — according to your strength and qualities, — 
 Give you advancement. 
 From " Henry IV.," Part II. 
 
 XXVIII. FREEDOM OF INFLECTION. 
 
 193 
 
 230 The sun, — his rise and set we know; 
 
 The sea, — we mark its ebb and flow; 
 
 The moon, — her wax and wane ; 
 
 The stars, — man knows their courses well ; 
 
 The comet's vagrant paths can tell; — 
 
 But you his search disdain. 
 "To the Winds." Barton. 
 
 IN this extract the word ' sun ' may have a rising or a falling 
 inflection. That is to say, it may be presented as an 
 object of attention, and after a pause the explanatory clause 
 added as the result of thought ; and so of ' sea,' ' moon,' and 
 1 stars.' Or, on the other hand, we may have a rising inflection 
 upon these words, presenting the idea as a question, while the 
 clauses may be given as answers. Again, some of these words 
 may have a rising and others a falling inflection. These differ- 
 ences depend upon the personality of the speaker, upon the 
 current of thought or association of ideas at the time, upon the 
 occasion or upon the person addressed. No rules can be laid 
 down by authority whereby the passage must be read in any 
 one special way. 
 
 It is helpful to realize the special function of these four most 
 important modulations of inflection, — length, rapidity, direction, 
 and straightness. But inflection is a free, spontaneous language. 
 No two speakers ever inflect in exactly the same way. Such 
 similarity as is often found is the result of mechanical teaching. 
 Ever since inflections were discovered, in 1775, by Sir Joshua 
 Steele, the endeavor to apply grammatical and mechanical rules 
 13
 
 194 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 to them has caused one of the greatest evils in elocution, and 
 has awakened great prejudices in artistic and observant minds. 
 Inflectional modulations continually and infinitely vary in con- 
 versation; they vary with every sentence, every clause, and 
 every word ; they differ with every personality and with every 
 mood ; in fact, flexibility of inflection is one of the most funda- 
 mental characteristics of naturalness. Inflections directly mani- 
 fest the simplest and most spontaneous actions of the human 
 soul. They must, therefore, always be free. 
 
 Accordingly, inflections cannot be taught by mechanical rules; 
 nor can they be taught by imitation. Whenever inflections have 
 been taught by imitation, there has been a tendency to warp 
 one personality to the peculiarities of another. Whenever they 
 have been taught by rule, there has been a tendency to make 
 them all alike. All true spontaneous variation of the direction, 
 the length, and gradation of inflection has been eliminated. 
 
 The variation of inflection according to personality was well 
 illustrated in Wendell Phillips and Emerson. Phillips, the orator 
 who had the greatest power of dominating a popular audience, 
 made many falling inflections, while Emerson, on the contrary, 
 made a great many rising inflections. Things were given by him 
 more in the attitude of wonder, more in the attitude of ques- 
 tioning. The one presented things with the attitude of domi- 
 nation, of positive certainty ; Emerson, on the other hand, ap- 
 pealed to the intuition of men ; he was ever in the attitude of 
 discovery. He did not dominate attention and conviction, he 
 endeavored to awaken spiritual insight and intuitive feeling. 
 
 The elder Russell said that a good, firm falling inflection was 
 a speaker's best capital. It is this which is the means of show- 
 ing the centre of the speaker's attention and winning the 
 attention of others. He counted sixty successive falling inflec- 
 tions in a speech by Daniel Webster in Faneuil Hall. 
 
 The development of inflection is very important. A good 
 inflection is dependent primarily upon proper action of the mind,
 
 FREEDOM OF INFLECTION. 195 
 
 and also upon control of the breath, the free emission of the 
 tone, and the right use of the voice. The ear also needs to be 
 trained to recognize inflection. Of all faults, the worst is mo- 
 notony, and this often results from a poor ear. The ear is a kind 
 of vocal conscience ; an animal that has no ear is dumb. 
 
 There must, however, be a direct practice of all attitudes of 
 the mind, a careful observation of conversation in all its forms, 
 and a study of human nature in all its aspects. The power of 
 one mind to appreciate the attitude of another, the sympathetic 
 instinct by which we can appreciate another's point of view 
 must be developed. All forms of literature need to be practised. 
 The student must develop his dramatic instinct, and must not 
 disdain to act dialogues. He must read and recite and discuss 
 those things in which he is especially interested. Compelling 
 students to speak extracts from great orations to try to expand 
 themselves into imaginary Websters, has tended to pervert the 
 natural inflections of the voice. Declamation is an invaluable 
 exercise, and also a very dangerous one. It must be devoted, 
 at first at least, to simple passages such as will develop com- 
 mand of naturalness. 
 
 True inflection is only possible where there is sincerity and 
 genuineness, simplicity and earnestness. Revealing as it does, 
 the man's attitude toward truth and toward his fellow men, it 
 must be developed by developing its cause. Whatever tends to 
 enable men to show their convictions simply and directly, or to 
 manifest their simple earnestness and desire to awaken an 
 interest and to win the attention of their fellow men, will tend 
 to develop inflection. Whatever tends to free the mind from 
 artificial shackles, to lead it to trust its own instincts ; whatever 
 tends to make a man simple and natural, or to cause him to be 
 himself ; whatever brings him into sympathetic relationship with 
 his fellow man, or causes him to give specific attention to an- 
 other mind or to adapt thought and conviction to another ; or 
 whatever brings the mind into direct communion with the
 
 196 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 deepest convictions of other minds, will tend to develop the 
 right use of vocal modulations and inflection. 
 
 Problem LIV. For the development of inflectional agility, prac- 
 tice a great variety of emotions, with many degrees of earnestness, 
 intensity, and emphasis. 
 
 231 But who the melodies of morn can tell? The wild brook babbling 
 down the mountain side; the lowing herd; the sheepfold's simple bell; 
 tlhe pipe of early shepherd dim descried in the lone valley; echoing far 
 a ad wide the clamorous horn along the cliffs above ; the hollow murmur 
 oif the ocean tide; the hum of bees, the linnet's lay of love, and the full 
 choir that wakes the universal grove. The cottage curs at early pilgrim 
 biirk; crowned with her pail the tripping milkmaid sings; the whistling 
 pi pughman stalks afield ; and, hark ! down the rough slope the ponderous 
 wngon rings, through rustling corn the hare astonished springs ; slow tolls 
 th e village clock the drowsy hour ; the partridge bursts away on whirring 
 wings; deep mourns the turtle in sequestered bower, and shrill lark carols 
 ckiar from her aerial tower. James Beattie. 
 
 232 Came the relief, " What, sentry, ho! 
 
 How passed the night through thy long waking? " 
 "Cold, cheerless, dark, — as may befit 
 
 The hour before the dawn is breaking." 
 " No sight? no sound? " " No ; nothing save 
 
 The plover from the marshes calling. 
 And in yon western sky, about 
 
 An hour ago, a star was falling," 
 " A star? There's nothing strange in that." 
 
 "No, nothing; but, above the thicket, 
 Somehow it seemed to me that God 
 
 Somewhere had just relieved a picket." Bret Harte. 
 
 233. VIRTUE. 
 S ateet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, the bridal of the earth and sky, 
 the ( lew shall weep thy fall to-night ; for thou must die. Sweet rose, whose 
 hue, angry and brave, bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, thy root is ever in 
 its guave, and thou must die. Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, 
 a bO(t where sweets compacted lie, my music shows ye have your closes, 
 and all must die. Only a sweet and virtuous soul, like seasoned timber, 
 nev«ir gives ; but though the whole world turn to coal, then chiefly lives. 
 
 George Herbert.
 
 FREEDOM OF INFLECTION. 197 
 
 Problem LV. Practise selections with simple conversational 
 flexibility, also practise the same extract in a variety of ways, with 
 changes in point of view, situation, and purpose. 
 
 234 Twist ye, twine ye! even so, mingle shades of joy and woe, 
 
 Hope and fear and peace and strife, in the thread of human life. 
 
 From " Guy Mannering" 
 
 235. A MODEST WIT. 
 
 A supercilious nabob of the east, haughty, being great, purse-proud, 
 being rich, a governor, or general, at the least, I have forgotten which, 
 had in his family a humble youth, who went from England in his patron's 
 suite, an unassuming boy, and in truth a lad of decent parts and good 
 repute. This youth had sense and spirit; but yet, with all his sense, ex- 
 cessive diffidence obscured his merit. 
 
 One day at table, flushed with pride and wine, his honor, proudly free, 
 severely merry, conceived it would be vastly fine to crack a joke upon his 
 secretary. " Young man," he said, " by what art, craft, or trade did your 
 father gain a livelihood?" "He was a saddler, sir," Modestus said, 
 " and in his time was reckoned good." " A saddler, eh! and taught you 
 Greek instead of teaching you to sew ! Pray why did your father not 
 make a saddler of you?" 
 
 Each parasite then, as in duty bound, the joke applauded, and the 
 laugh went round. At length Modestus, bowing low, said (craving pardon 
 if too free he made), " Sir, by your leave, I fain would know your father's 
 trade." "My father's trade! By heaven, that's too bad! My father's 
 trade? Why, blockhead, are you mad? My father, sir, did never stoop 
 so low, he was a gentleman, I'd have you know." " Excuse the liberty 
 I take," Modestus said, with archness on his brow, "Pray, why did not 
 your father make a gentleman of you?" 
 
 236 Hamlet. O that this too too solid flesh would melt, 
 Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew ! 
 Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd 
 His canon 'gainst self -slaughter! O God! OGod! 
 How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable 
 Seem to me all the uses of this world ! 
 Fie on't! O fie! His an unweeded garden 
 That grows to seed ; things rank and gross in nature 
 Possess it merely. That it should come to this ! 
 But two months dead ! nay, not so much, not two ; 
 So excellent a king; that was, to this,
 
 198 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 Hyperion to a satyr ; so loving to my mother, 
 
 That he might not beteem the winds of heaven 
 
 Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth ! 
 
 Must I remember? why, she would hang on him, 
 
 As if increase of appetite had grown 
 
 By what it fed on ; and yet. within a month, — 
 
 Let me not think on't, — Frailty, thy name is woman! — 
 
 A little month ! or ere those shoes were old 
 
 With which she follow' d my poor father's body, 
 
 Like Niobe, all tears ; — why she, even she, — 
 
 O God ! a beast, that wants discourse of reason, 
 
 Would have mourned longer, — married with my uncle, 
 
 My father's brother, but no more like my father 
 
 Than I to Hercules ; within a month, 
 
 Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears 
 
 Had left the flushing in her galled eyes, 
 
 She married. O most wicked speed, to post 
 
 With such dexterity to incestuous sheets ! 
 
 It is not, nor it cannot come to good! — 
 
 But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue! 
 
 Enter Horatio, Marcellus, and Bernardo. 
 
 Horatio. Hail to your lordship ! 
 
 Hamlet. I am glad to see you well ; — ■ 
 
 Horatio, or I do forget myself. 
 
 Horatio. The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever. 
 
 Hamlet. Sir, my good friend; I'll change that name with you; 
 And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio? 
 Marcellus? 
 
 Marcellus. My good lord, — 
 
 Hamlet. I am very glad to see you. (To Bernardo.) Good 
 eveu, sir. 
 But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg? 
 
 Horatio. A truant disposition, good my lord. 
 
 Hamlet. I would not hear your enemy say so, 
 Nor shall you do mine ear that violence, 
 To make it truster of your own report 
 Against yourself; I know you are no truant. 
 But what is your affair in Elsinore? 
 We '11 teach you to drink deep ere you depart. 
 
 Horatio. My lord, I came to see your father's funeral.
 
 FKEEDOM OF INFLECTION. 199 
 
 Hamlet. I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow-student; 
 I think it was to see my mother's wedding. 
 
 Horatio. Indeed, my lord, it followed hard upon. 
 
 Hamlet. Thrift, thrift, Horatio ! the funeral baked-meats 
 Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables. 
 Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven 
 Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio : 
 My father, — methinks I see my father. 
 
 Horatio. Where, my lord? 
 
 Hamlet. In my mind's eye, Horatio. 
 
 Horatio. I saw nim — once, he was a goodly king. 
 
 Hamlet. He was a man, take him for all in all, 
 I shall not look upon his like again. 
 
 Horatio. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight. 
 
 Hamlet Saw! who? 
 
 Horatio. My lord, the king, your father. 
 
 Hamlet. The king my father! 
 
 Horatio. Season your admiration for a while 
 With an attent ear, till I may deliver, 
 Upon the witness of these gentlemen, 
 This marvel to you. 
 
 Hamlet. For God's love, let me hear. 
 
 Horatio. Two nights together had these gentlemen, 
 Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch, 
 In the dead vast and middle of the night, 
 Been thus encounter' d. A figure like your father, 
 Armed at point exactly, cap-a-pe, 
 Appears before them, and with solemn march 
 Goes slow and stately by them; thrice he walk'd 
 By their oppress' d and fear-surprised eyes, 
 Within his truncheon's length; whilst they, distill'd 
 Almost to jelly with the act of fear, 
 Stand dumb, and speak not to him. This to me 
 In dreadful secrecy impart they did; 
 And I with them the third night kept the watch; 
 Where, as they had deliver' d, both iu time, 
 Form of the thing, each word made true and good, 
 The apparition comes : I knew your father ; 
 These hands are not more like. 
 
 Hamlet. But where was this?
 
 200 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 Marcellus. My lord, upon the platform where we watch' d. 
 
 Hamlet. Did you not speak to it? 
 
 Horatio. My lord, I did; 
 
 But answer made it none; yet once methought 
 It lifted up its head, and did address 
 Itself to motion, like as it would speak: 
 But even then the morning cock crew loud, 
 And at the sound it shrunk in haste away, 
 And vanish' d from our sight. 
 
 Hamlet. 'Tis very strange. 
 
 Horatio. As I do live, my honour' d lord, 'tis true; 
 And we did think it writ down in our duty 
 To let you know of it. 
 
 Hamlet. Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles me. 
 Hold you the watch to-night? 
 
 Marcellus and Bernardo. We do, my lord. 
 
 Hamlet. Arm'd, say you? 
 
 Marcellus and Bernardo. Arm'd, my lord. 
 
 Hamlet. From top to toe? 
 
 Marcellus and Bernardo. My lord, from head to foot. 
 
 Hamlet. Then saw you not his face? 
 
 Horatio. O, yes, my lord ; he wore his beaver up. 
 
 Hamlet. What, look'd he frowningly? 
 
 Horatio. A countenance more 
 
 In sorrow than in anger. 
 
 Hamlet. Pale, or red? 
 
 Horatio. Nay, very pale. 
 
 Hamlet. And fix'd his eyes upon you? 
 
 Horatio. Most constantly. 
 
 Hamlet. I would I had been there. 
 
 Horatio. It would have much amazed you. 
 
 Hamlet. Very like, very like. Stay' d it long? 
 
 Horatio. While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred. 
 
 Marcellus and Bernardo. Longer, longer. 
 
 Horatio. Not when I saw't. 
 
 Hamlet. His beard was grizzled ! no? 
 
 Horatio. It was as I have seen it in his life, 
 A sable silver' d. 
 
 Hamlet. I will watch to-night; 
 
 Perchance 'twill walk again.
 
 INTERVALS OF PITCH. 201 
 
 Horatio. I warrant it will. 
 
 Hamlet. If it assume my noble father's person, 
 I'll speak to it, though hell itself should gape 
 And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all, 
 If you have hitherto conceal' d this sight, 
 Let it be tenable in your silence still; 
 And whatsoever else shall hap to-night, 
 Give it an understanding, but no tongue, 
 I will requite your loves. So fare you well ; 
 Upon the platform 'twixt eleven and twelve 
 I'll visit you. 
 
 All. Our duty to your honor. [Exeunt. 
 
 Hamlet. Your loves, as mine to you; farewell. 
 My father's spirit in arms ! all is not well; 
 I doubt some foul play ; would the night were come ! 
 Till then sit still, my soul ; foul deeds will rise, 
 Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes. [Exit. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 XXIX. INTEEVALS OF PITCH. 
 
 A NOTHER element of conversational form which is less often 
 -*--*- recognized, but which is very important, is changes of 
 pitch between words or phrases. Intervals are the most variable 
 and free element of delivery, and hence their function or meaning 
 is the most difficult to define. 
 
 Probably the first meaning observed is that which has already 
 been found ; it simply shows a change or departure of the mind 
 from conception to conception. It shows also animation or 
 exultation of any kind ; it reveals, too, a change of feeling, or 
 point of view, or degree of control. 
 
 Note, for example, in the following extract how ' bower,' ' sky,' 
 ' winter,' and the objects of attention are by joyous exultation 
 put in different parts of the voice. 
 
 237 Sweet bird ! thy bower is ever green, thy sky is ever clear ; 
 Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, no winter in thy year ! 
 Oh! could I fly, I'd fly with thee! we'd make, with joyful wing, 
 Our annual visit o'er the globe, attendants on the spring. 
 " To the Cuckoo." Logan.
 
 202 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 The animation, however, is not always gentle ; if we compare 
 this with the next extract, we find that there is here a greater 
 change of pitch, much more abrupt ; and the fact that we put 
 4 hills,' ' caves,' and ' rocks ' all on different pitches makes the 
 thought far more emphatic. It shows not only the clearness 
 and vividness of the thought, but it shows also the degree of 
 excitement, the intensity and earnestness of the speaker. 
 
 238 Away to the hills, to the caves, to the rocks — 
 Ere I own a usurper, I'll couch with the fox; 
 And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of your glee, 
 Tou have not seen the last of my bonnet and me. 
 
 In these lines we find also that changes of pitch have close 
 correspondence to inflections. In the change between ' caves ' 
 and ' rocks,' for example, the intervals may be abrupt or slow, 
 short or long, — in fact, they may vary in the same ways as the 
 inflections themselves. 
 
 As in case of length of inflection, the extent of the change of 
 pitch and the length of time between the two pitches is a 
 measure of self-control and dignity. Read, for example, an ex- 
 cited passage in two ways, with and without great changes of 
 pitch, and see how dignified it can be made on the one hand, or 
 how degraded on the other ; or note the wide extent of pitch 
 which can be introduced into a most dignified passage. 
 
 When there is a repetition of a word, as in the next illustra- 
 tion, if it is used merely in a representative way, — that is, if it 
 merely stands for sound, — there is no change of pitch ; but if 
 it stands for a new idea, an increase of intensity in feeling or 
 passion, then there is change of pitch. 
 
 239 Clang, clang! The massive anvils ring. 
 Clang, clang! A hundred hammers swing. 
 
 Again, where the mind is kept sustained upon one idea and 
 in the same emotional state, as in the next illustration, there is 
 definite touch and attack, but there is little change of pitch. 
 
 240 Mebbily, merrily, mingle they, " waken, lords and ladies gay."
 
 INTERVALS OF PITCH. 203 
 
 But where there is a change in the degree of passion or an 
 increase in intensity or excitement, though the same words may 
 be repeated, still the change of pitch is quite marked, as in the 
 following illustration : — 
 
 241 "To arms! to arms! to arms!" they cry; "grasp the shield and 
 draw the sword; lead us to Philippi's lord; let us conquer him or die! " 
 
 Again, in the extract from " Barbara Frietchie," the attention 
 of the mind is on the flag ; there is no change of attention with 
 its ' silver stars ' or ' crimson bars,' which merely contribute to 
 the sustaining and vivifying of the picture in the mind ; hence 
 there is very little change of pitch. But when we come to c the 
 sun at noon looked down,' there is a great change of thought, 
 conceptions, and ideas, and we have more change of pitch. 
 
 242 Forty flags with their silver stars, 
 Forty flags with their crimson bars, 
 Flapped in the morning wind ; the sun 
 Of noon looked down, and saw not one. 
 
 Thus change of pitch is due to the variation or the movement oi 
 the mind from one situation or idea to another. It shows the 
 relation of an idea to another that has already been uttered. We 
 can also see that there is a difference in meaning between in- 
 tervals and inflection. Change of pitch is more the variation of 
 the thought or situation, while the increase in the length or the 
 abruptness of inflections means greater control of the will over 
 thought and feeling, increased earnestness, or desire to dominate 
 the attention of another mind. Change of pitch is thus the ex- 
 pression of the rational in man. Whenever there is an increase 
 in the intensity of the thinking or the reasoning, change of pitch 
 is present ; whenever there is a mere increase of force without 
 any stimulation of the thinking, or a mere repetition of a sound, 
 then there is a tendency to eliminate changes of pitch. 
 
 Hence, change of pitch is one of the most dignified of all 
 forms of emphasis. If we take any passage, no matter how ex- 
 cited, and express its meaning by changes of pitch rather than by
 
 204 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 loudness or even length or abruptness of inflection, we can, by 
 using this means, at once lift the passage into dignity and noble- 
 ness. Besides it is chiefly by change of pitch that range of voice 
 is secured. Inflection is change of pitch in the vowel, but inflec- 
 tion alone may be found with a narrow compass of voice. Too 
 great length of inflection would be deleterious to the dignity of 
 a thought, especially in certain delicate lyrics. But there is no 
 form of composition, however serious, however solemn, however 
 tender and delicate, which is not elevated, ennobled, and intensi- 
 fied by changes of pitch between its ideas. Thus change of pitch 
 is associated with all noble emphasis and with all noble thinking. 
 Inflection without changes of pitch loses its meaning. Inflec- 
 tions and change of pitch should always go together ; by their 
 co-operation they give rise to form. The wider the range, the 
 greater the dignity and free play of thought and emotion. 
 
 All sorts of pieces and extracts, the most delicate and subtle 
 especially, should be practised with the widest possible range, in 
 order to develop the flexibility of the voice, and to co-ordinate 
 change of pitch with change of ideas. 
 
 Problem L VI. Read a simple passage and preserve its char- 
 acter, yet read it so as to be heard by a large number, and increase 
 its intensity by intervals and inflections, but without increase of 
 
 loudness. 
 
 243. AONES. 
 I saw her in childhood — a bright gentle thing, 
 Like the dawn of the morn, or the dews of the spring: 
 The daisies and hare-bells her playmates all day; 
 Herself as light-hearted and artless as they. 
 
 I saw her again — a fair girl of eighteen, 
 Fresh glittering with graces of mind and of mien. 
 Her speech was all music; like moonlight she shone; 
 The envy of many, the glory of one. 
 
 Years, years fleeted over — I stood at her foot: 
 The bud had grown blossom, the blossom was fruit. 
 A dignified mother, her infant she bore; 
 And look'd, I thought, fairer than ever before.
 
 INTERVALS OF PITCH. 
 
 205 
 
 I saw her once more — 't was the day that she died ; 
 
 Heaven's light was around her, and God at her side; 
 
 No wants to distress her, no fears to appal — 
 
 O then, I felt, then she was fairest of all ! H. F. Lyte. 
 
 Problem LVII. Contrast words used imitatively or representa- 
 tively with words in the same line used as the expression of think- 
 ing, and note the effect upon the voice. 
 
 244 Of old hast thou laid the foundation of the earth ; and the heavens 
 are the work of thy hands. They shall perish, but thou shalt endure: 
 yea, all of them shall wax old like a garment ; as a vesture shalt thou 
 change them, and they shall be changed : but thou art the same, and thy 
 years shall have no end. 
 
 245 . . . The Kettle, growing mellow and musical, began to have irre- 
 pressible gurglings in its throat, and to indulge in short vocal snorts, 
 which it checked in the bud, as if it hadn't quite made up its mind yet 
 to be good company. Now it was, that after two or three such vain 
 attempts to stifle its convivial sentiments, it threw off all moroseness, all 
 reserve, and burst into a stream of song so cosy and hilarious, as never 
 maudlin nightingale yet formed the least idea of. 
 
 And here, if you like, the Cricket did chime in with a chirrup, chirrup, 
 chirrup, of such magnitude, by way of chorus, — with a voice so astound- 
 ingly disproportionate to its size as compared with the Kettle ( size ! you 
 couldn't see it! ) —that if it had then and there burst itself like an over- 
 charged gun, if it had fallen a victim on the spot, and chirruped its little 
 body into fifty pieces, it would have seemed a natural and inevitable con- 
 sequence, for which it had expressly labored. 
 
 There was all the excitement of a race about it. Chirp, chirp, chirp! 
 Cricket a mile ahead. Hum, hum, hum — m — m! Kettle making play 
 in the distance, like a great top. Chirp, chirp, chirp! Cricket round the 
 corner. Hum, hum, hum — m — m! Kettle sticking to him in his own 
 way ; no idea of giving in. Chirp, chirp, chirp! Cricket fresher than 
 ever. Hum, hum, hum — m — m! Kettle slow and steady. Chirp, 
 chirp, chirp ! Cricket going in to finish him. Hum, hum, hum, — m — m ! 
 Kettle not to be finished." Until, at last, they got so jumbled together 
 in the hurry-skurry, helter-skelter of the match, that whether the Kettle 
 chirped and the Cricket hummed, or the Cricket chirped and the Kettle 
 hummed, or they both chirped and both hummed, it would have taken a 
 clearer head than yours or mine to decide with anything like certainty.
 
 206 VOCAL EXPBESSION. 
 
 But of this there is no doubt, that the Kettle and the Cricket, at one 
 and the same moment, and by some power of amalgamation best known 
 to themselves, sent each his fireside song of comfort streaming into a ray 
 of the candle that shone out through the window, and a long way down 
 the lane. And this light, bursting ou a certain person who, on the 
 instant, approached towards it through the gloom, expressed the whole 
 thing to him, literally in a twinkling, and cried, " Welcome home, old 
 fellow I Welcome home, my boy!" Dickens. 
 
 XXX. SUBORDINATION. 
 
 A NOTHER most important element of naturalness, which is 
 -*--*- a combination of both inflection and change of pitch, is 
 subordination. Neither good inflections alone, nor changes of 
 pitch apart from inflection, can produce natural subordination. 
 This must result from a certain relationship of both to each 
 other. In fact, the form of the voice and the emphasis will be 
 imperfect without the co-operation of both. 
 
 As has been shown, in speaking a simple sentence such as "I 
 saw your father this morning," the voice progresses toward the 
 emphatic word 'father' by means of rising inflections and inter- 
 vals ; the emphatic word has a falling inflection from a higher 
 pitch, and the unemphatic words following this have also falling 
 inflections, with intervals causing each to be successively lower 
 in pitch. (See diagram on page 119.) If, on the contrary, the 
 emphatic word has a rising inflection, the following words are 
 also rising, and successively higher in pitch. 
 
 Subordination gives the greatest beauty to speech. It is also 
 one of the chief elements in the expression of thought, and the 
 most important means of securing a greater degree of emphasis 
 and dignity. 
 
 Subordination gives the effect of a background. It shows 
 discrimination and clear thinking. If the central idea is brought 
 out, and others subordinated to it, the mind is led to conceive 
 clearly and definitely the central idea with its proper relations.
 
 SUBORDINATION. 
 
 207 
 
 Subordination is the natural and effective expression of a 
 mental painting of a scene. It gives the background or the 
 perspective by which the mind is enabled to bring a scene into 
 unity. The listening mind is by it given the right centre or 
 point of view, and thus is awakened to respond creatively to the 
 successive scenes and situations. 
 
 It is the lack of power to give subordination which often leads 
 to vulgar and declamatory methods of emphasis. In trying to 
 make a word salient, and failing to get that beautiful perspective 
 or modulation of the form or melody by subordination, there is 
 necessarily an increase of force or push upon the emphatic word, 
 and emphasis by form is destroyed. Unless the change of pitch 
 is salient, unless it is varied, unless the unemphatic words are 
 put into the background, it is impossible for us to realize the real 
 centre of the mind's attention without the use of unnecessary 
 force, and a sacrifice of dignity. Ability to subordinate is also 
 essential to the acquisition of range. To try to secure range by 
 very long inflections or by sudden changes of pitch makes all 
 results labored, constrained, and unnatural. 
 
 A lack of subordination is the chief cause of monotony. The 
 voice gets upon one pitch and stays there ; even inflection alone 
 cannot prevent monotony. We change from the fixed pitch not 
 merely by the saliency of the emphatic word, but by subordi- 
 nating the words which are not emphatic. 
 
 The development of subordination is dependent upon securing 
 definite thinking, upon the power to sustain attention upon one 
 conception while relating others to this central idea ; upon the 
 flexibility of voice, and an ear trained to recognize this element 
 of naturalness. 
 
 Most of the problems which have been already stated for the 
 development of range and inflection may be used as a means of 
 developing subordination. To make salient certain words, and 
 to put others in the most extreme subordination, must be the 
 purpose of practice. 

 
 208 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 Subordination cannot be too greatly insisted upon, or too much 
 exaggerated. We may speak too loud or with too much force, 
 but the greater the subordination, the greater the emphasis of 
 the central idea, and the greater the dignity, clearness, and 
 beauty of speech. 
 
 Problem L VIII. Make the emphatic word of a clause salient by 
 a falling inflection, and subordinate the unemphatic words by giving 
 them the same inflection, but shorter and upon a much lower pitch. 
 Keverse the form, and give rising inflections. 
 
 246 Man can have the gift of life but once, for he waited a whole 
 eternity to be born, and now has a whole eternity waiting to see what he 
 will do when born. Carlyle. 
 
 Problem LIX. Make one word very salient by inflection, then, 
 after a pause, give many words upon a lower pitch and with shorter 
 inflections, for the purpose of training the ear and securing the 
 power to subordinate the voice. 
 
 247 Thou art like the bird that alights and sings, 
 Though the frail spray bends — for he knows he has wings. 
 
 Victor Hugo. 
 
 248 We should conceive of poetry worthily, and more highly than it 
 has been the custom to conceive of it. We should conceive of it as capable 
 of higher uses, and called to higher destinies, than those which, in general, 
 men have assigned to it hitherto. More and more mankind will discover 
 that we have to turn to poetry to interpret life for us, to console us, to 
 sustain us. Without poetry, our science will appear incomplete; and 
 most of what now passes with us for religion and philosophy will be re- 
 placed by poetry. Matthew Arnold. 
 
 249. ABOU BEN ADHEM. 
 Abou Ben Adhem — may his tribe increase — 
 Awoke one night from a sweet dream of peace, 
 And saw, within the moonlight in his room, 
 Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom, 
 An angel writing in a book of gold. 
 Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, 
 And to the presence in the room he said, 
 " What writest thou? " The vision raised its head,
 
 SILENCE AS A MEANS OF EMPHASIS. 209 
 
 And, with a look made all of sweet accord, 
 
 Answered, " The names of those who love the Lord." 
 
 " And is mine one? " said Abou. " Nay, not so," 
 
 Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, 
 
 But cheerily still; and said, " I pray thee, then, 
 
 Write me as one that loves his fellow-men." 
 
 The angel wrote and vanished. The next night 
 
 It came again, with a great wakening light, 
 
 And showed the names whom love of God had blest; 
 
 And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest. 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 XXXL SILENCE AS A MEANS OF EMPHASIS. 
 
 ANOTHER mode of emphasis is pause. This, especially when 
 associated with inflection and change of pitch, is a most 
 powerful means of expression. Just what is meant by the em- 
 phatic pause may be difficult to explain. Pauses have been shown 
 to be universal characteristics of all natural speech; but the 
 accentuation of a pause, the prolongation of silence, or especially 
 the introduction of a pause in the midst of a phrase after an 
 emphatic word or inflection, and associated with a corresponding 
 change in pitch, becomes a means of emphasis. Thus pauses are 
 not only an important sign of natural or conversational speech, 
 but are often the most effective means of manifesting the im- 
 portance of a thought. 
 
 The special province of the pause in emphasis is to manifest 
 the weight of an idea. It shows that the mind not only centers 
 its attention upon an idea, but that it lingers over it meditatively 
 and with intense interest. Pause is an essential element when- 
 ever there is breadth of vision, whenever a mind sincerely tries 
 to manifest a higher feeling. It is the most spiritual mode of 
 emphasis. " Speech is silvern, silence is golden." A pause is 
 man's only means of suggesting the infinite and the eternal. 
 
 Like change of pitch, pause is a noble and dignified form of 
 emphasis, but its dignity is of another kind. It is imaginative 
 dignity, dignity of character, dignity of emotion, dignity and 
 14
 
 210 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 weight of thought. It is the strongest and most reposeful appeal 
 to the deepest faculties and feelings of man. 
 
 Pause and change of pitch are always found together ; when- 
 ever there is a pause without change of pitch, it means hesitation 
 and weakness. It is change of pitch united to the pause that 
 furnishes the greatest power and significance ; in fact, the noblest 
 form of emphasis. There is thus an intimate connection between 
 change of pitch and pause ; still their significance can be more 
 or less distinguished. Change of pitch primarily shows a change 
 in the attention of the mind, a variation in the progress of the 
 thought ; but the pause shows the moral intensity or the depth 
 of realization of an idea. The one manifests the variation of 
 thinking ; the other the spiritual weight of the idea. One gives 
 clearness, definiteness, and relation ; the other gives weight and 
 importance to thought. 
 
 Pause is associated with the most dignified forms of reading. 
 It is one of the most important means of expression in reading 
 the Scriptures. The more satisfactory the reading of the Bible, 
 the more frequently will pauses be found present. 
 
 Pause has great significance also, because in all emotional 
 passages there is a struggle for breath, a struggle for control ; 
 the pause suggests this struggle, and thus gives the mind an 
 appreciation of the cause of the expression. Struggle with the 
 breath is the first effect emotion causes in the man. Without a 
 pause, the struggle is eliminated ; the breath cannot be controlled 
 nor can the texture of the voice be modulated by the emotion. 
 It is thus associated with all manifestation of deep feeling. 
 
 Problem LX. Make long pauses after the emphatic words in 
 some passage of deep thought, sustaining the weight of the idea in 
 the mind, and then add the unemphatic words with such subordi- 
 nation in pitch as to justify the pause. 
 
 250 Two hands upon the breast, and labour's done; 
 
 Two pale feet crossed in rest, the race is won. 
 [t 2iou> and Afterwards.'" Dinah Muloch-Craik,
 
 SILENCE AS A MEANS OF EMPHASIS. 211 
 
 251 Thou art, O God, the life and light of all this wondrous world we 
 
 see ; its glow by day, its smile by night, are but reflections caught from 
 
 thee. Where'er we turn, thy glories shine, and all things fair and bright 
 
 are thine. When day, with farewell beam, delays among the opening 
 
 clouds of even, and we can almost think we gaze through opening vistas 
 
 into heaven, those hues that make the sun's decline so soft, so radiant, 
 
 Lord, are thine. When night, with wings of starry gloom, o'ershadows 
 
 all the earth and skies, like some dark, beauteous bird, whose plume is 
 
 sparkling with unnumbered eyes, that sacred gloom, those fires divine, 
 
 so grand, so countless, Lord, are thine. When youthful spring around 
 
 us breathes, thy spirit warms her fragrant sigh, and every flower that 
 
 summer wreathes is born beneath thy kindling eye: where'er we turn, 
 
 thy glories shine, and all things fair and bright are thine. 
 
 Moore. 
 
 252. THE LESSONS OP NATUEE. 
 
 Of this fair volume which we World do name 
 
 If we the sheets and leaves could turn with care, 
 
 Of him who it corrects, and did it frame, 
 
 We clear might read the art and wisdom rare: 
 
 Find out his power which wildest powers doth tame, 
 
 His providence extending everywhere, 
 
 His justice which proud rebels doth not spare, 
 
 In every page, no period of the same. 
 
 But silly we, like foolish children, rest 
 
 Well pleased with colour' d vellum, leaves of gold, 
 
 Fair dangling ribbands, leaving what is best, 
 
 On the great writer's sense ne'er taking hold; 
 
 Or if by chance we stay our minds on aught, 
 
 It is some picture on the margin wrought. 
 
 Drummond. 
 
 253. DEDICATION OF GETTYSBUKG- CEMETERY. 
 
 Fotjkscore and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth upon this 
 continent a new nation, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the propo- 
 sition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a great 
 civil war, testing whether that nation — or any nation so conceived and 
 so dedicated — can long endure. I 
 
 We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We are met to dedicate 
 a portion of it as the final resting-place of those who have given their 
 lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that 
 we should do this.
 
 212 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we 
 cannot hallow, this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who strug- 
 gled here, have consecrated it, far above our power to add or to detract. 
 The world will very little note nor long remember what we say here ; but 
 it can never forget what they did here. 
 
 It is for us, the living, rather, to be dedicated here, to the unfinished 
 work they have thus far so nobly carried on. It is rather for us to be here 
 dedicated to the great task remaining before us ; that from these honored 
 dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they here gave 
 the last full measure of devotion ; that we here highly resolve that these 
 dead shall not have died in vain; that the nation shall, under God, have 
 a new birth of freedom, and that government of the people, by the people, 
 and for the people, shall not perish from the earth. Lincoln. 
 
 Problem LXI. Show intense passion or the deep spiritual ele- 
 ment of a sublime passage by using pauses to indicate the centres 
 
 of attention and struggle for control. 
 
 254 Now, men of death, work forth your will, for I can suffer, and 
 be still ; and come he slow, or come he fast, it is but Death who comes at last. 
 
 Constance in "Marmion." Scott. 
 
 255 O lord, thou hast searched me, and known me. Thou knowest 
 my downsitting and mine uprising, thou understandest my thought afar 
 off. Thou searchest out my path and my lying down, and art acquainted 
 with all my ways. For there is not a word in my tongue, but, lo, O Lord, 
 thou knowest it altogether. Thou hast beset me behind and before, and 
 laid thine hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me ; it 
 is high, I cannot attain unto it. Whither shall I go from thy spirit? Or 
 whither shall I flee from thy presence? If I ascend up into heaven, thou 
 art there : if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there. If I take 
 the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; 
 even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me. If 
 I say, Surely the darkness shall overwhelm me, and the light about me 
 shall be night; even the darkness hideth not from thee, but the night 
 shineth as the day: the darkness and the light are both alike to thee. 
 
 Psalm CXXXIX. 
 
 256 Not from a vain or shallow thought 
 
 His awful Jove young Phidias brought, 
 The hand that rounded Peter's dome, 
 And groined the aisles of Christian Romf
 
 MOVEMENT. 213 
 
 Wrought in a sad sincerity; 
 Himself from God he could not free; 
 He builded better than he knew;— 
 The conscious stone to beauty grew. . . 
 These temples grew as grows the grass; 
 Art might obey, but not surpass. 
 The passive Master lent his hand 
 To the vast soul that o'er him planned. 
 
 Smerton. 
 
 XXXII. MOVEMENT. 
 
 PAUSE as a method of emphasis is important because it is a 
 modulation of time. Time is the sphere of all histrionic 
 expression ; so it is the medium in vocal expresssion, as space 
 is the medium in painting. Painting emphasizes by making an 
 object salient through a suggestion of space ; but an art in time 
 must emphasize by showing some means of valuing time. But 
 pause is not the only means of measuring time. It belongs to 
 individual words or phrases ; it is confined more or less to specific 
 ideas. There is another method which does not apply so much 
 to specific ideas as to clauses, sentences, and even paragraphs. 
 This is what is called movement. 
 
 Man's means of measuring time is rhythm. Movement does 
 not mean merely going slower or more rapidly ; it is a suggestion 
 of the rhythmic pulsation of force. Rhythm is proportion in 
 time, as symmetry is proportion in space. 
 
 Two serious defects of vocal expression are hurry on the one 
 hand, and tediousness on the other. Movement is the revelation 
 of the pulsation of force in such a way as to avoid either of these 
 extremes. True movement is continually varying. Sameness 
 or monotony of movement is the negation of movement and the 
 worst of faults. Movement is the immediate effect of the pro- 
 pulsion of a living, present force. 
 
 Movement or change in the rhythmic pulsation of the voice 
 is an important means of expression. Man moves slowly when
 
 214 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 he carries a heavy load, and rapidly when he is free or light of 
 heart. So man moves slowly in the delivery of his thought in 
 proportion to his sense of its importance, its dignity, intensity, 
 and weight, or to the element of control. He moves rapidly, on 
 the contrary, over that which is trivial and relatively unimpor- 
 tant, and in proportion to the uncontrolled excitement that may 
 dominate him. 
 
 Thus movement can contrast one thought or sentence with 
 another thought or sentence. It can show one to be weighty 
 and the other to be light ; one to be the point at issue, and the 
 other to be illustrative or a side issue ; one to be important, and 
 the other trite and familiar. It can show one part in the realm 
 of the commonplace, and the other in the realm of wonder. By 
 movement, the subjective is contrasted with the objective, the 
 spiritual with the physical, the known with the unknown, the 
 insignificant with the significant. 
 
 257 And there was mounting in hot haste : the steed, 
 The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, 
 Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, 
 And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; 
 And the deep thunder, peal on peal, afar, — 
 And near, the beat of the alarming drum, 
 Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; — 
 While thronged the citizens with terror dumb, 
 Or whispering with white lips — " The foe ! they come ! they come ! ' ' 
 
 Movement is directly expressive, as well as expressive by con- 
 trast. Take for example, the first line of the above illustration, 
 " There was mounting in hot haste." This can be read so as to 
 suggest an individual going on a hunt ; going for a doctor ; going 
 to give warning ; to save a life ; to make an escape ; as a part of 
 a mock parade or play : but it can also be read so as to suggest 
 that it is a part of the battle of Waterloo. These various con- 
 ceptions are shown by the difference in the movement. It is 
 chiefly the rhythmic pulsation which gives the sense of the 
 breadth of the situation.
 
 MOVEMENT. 215 
 
 Problem ~LX.II. Show by change of rhythm change in situation, 
 in the nature and importance of thought, in the kind of excitement, 
 depth of feeling, or in degree of control over passion. 
 
 258 What is time? — the shadow on the dial, the striking of the 
 clock, the running of the sand, day and night, summer and winter, 
 months, years, centuries? These are but arbitrary and outward signs, — 
 the measure of time, not time itself. Time is the life of the soul. If not 
 this, — then tell me, what is time? 
 
 259 " By the God that made thee, Randolph, 
 
 Tell us what mischance hath come!" 
 
 Then he lifts his riven banner, 
 
 And the asker's voice is dumb. 
 "Flodden Field." Aytoun. 
 
 260 A king sat on the rocky brow which looks o'er sea-born Salamis; 
 
 and ships by thousands lay below, and men in nations; — all were his! 
 
 He counted them at break of day — and when the sun set, where were 
 
 they? And where are they? And where art thou, my country? On 
 
 thy voiceless shore the heroic lay is tuneless now — the heroic bosom 
 
 beats no more ! And must thy lyre, so long divine, degenerate into hands 
 
 like mine? 
 "Song of the Greek." Byron 
 
 261 The friar crawled up the mouldy stair 
 
 To his damp cell, that he might look 
 Once more on his beloved Book. 
 
 And there it lay upon the stand, 
 Open ! — he had not left it so. 
 
 He grasped it with a cry ; for, lo 
 He saw that some angelic hand 
 
 While he was gone had finished it ! 
 "Friar Jerome's Beautiful Book." T. B. Aldrlch. 
 
 262 Cursed is the man that trusteth in man, and maketh flesh his 
 arm, and whose heart departeth from the Lord. For he shall be like the 
 heath in the desert, and shall not see when good cometh ; but shall inhabit 
 the parched places in the wilderness, a salt land and not inhabited. 
 Blessed is the man that trusteth in the Lord, and whose hope the Lord 
 is. For he shall be as a tree planted by the waters, and that spreadeth 
 out his roots by the river, and shall not fear when heat cometh, but his 
 leaf shall be green ; and shall not be careful in the year of drought, neither 
 shall cease from yielding fruit. Jeremiah, XVII. 5-8.
 
 216 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 Problem LXIII. Contrast something familiar and in the ordi- 
 nary line of thought with something unusual, — something that is 
 a matter of faith or wonder. 
 
 263 Fob now we see in a mirror, darkly; but then face to face: now I 
 know in part ; but then shall I know even as also I have been known. 
 
 First Corinthians, XIII. 12. 
 
 Problem LXIV. Bead some description involving a conception 
 of some physical movement, and by sympathetic identification 
 suggest the spirit of this movement by the voice. 
 
 264 Now the world slopes away to the afternoon sun — steady one 1 
 
 steady all ! The down grade has begun. Let the engines take breath, 
 
 they have nothing to do, for the law that swings worlds will whirl the 
 
 train through. Streams of fire from the wheels, like flashes from the 
 
 fountains; and the dizzy train reels as it swoops down the mountains : 
 
 and fiercer and faster, as if demons drove tandem, engines " Death" and 
 
 "Disaster.". . From dumb winter to spring in one wonderful hour; from 
 
 Nevada's white wing to creation in flower! December at morning tossing 
 
 wild in its might — a June without warning and blown roses at night ! 
 "Overland Train." Taylor. 
 
 265 Listen to the water-mill; through the livelong day, how the 
 clicking of its wheel wears the hours away ! Languidly the autumn wind 
 stirs the forest leaves, from the fields the reapers sing, binding up their 
 sheaves; and a proverb haunts my mind, as a spell is cast; " The mill can- 
 not grind with the water that is past." Autumn winds revive no more 
 leaves that once are shed, and the sickle cannot reap corn once gathered; 
 flows the ruffled streamlet on, tranquil, deep and still ; never gliding back 
 again to the water-mill: truly speaks that proverb old, with a meaning 
 vast, — " The mill cannot grind with the water that is past." 
 
 "Lesson of the Water-mill." Doudney. 
 
 266 Away, away ! for the stars are forth, and on the pure snows of 
 the valley, in a giddy trance, the moonbeams dance — come, let us our 
 comrades rally ! 
 
 "Skater's Song." Peabody. 
 
 267. CROSSING THE BAR. 
 Sunset and evening star, and one clear call for me! 
 And may there be no moaning of the bar when I put out to sea, 
 But such a tide as moving seems asleep, too full for sound and foam, 
 When that which drew from out the boundless deep turns again home.
 
 MOVEMENT. 217 
 
 Twilight and evening bell, and after that the dark! 
 
 And may there he no sadness of farewell, when I embark; 
 
 For tho' from out our bourne of time and place the flood may bear me far, 
 
 I hope to see my Pilot face to face when I have crost the bar. 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 268. CAPTAIN, MY CAPTAIN! 
 
 O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done; 
 
 The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won; 
 
 The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, 
 
 While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; 
 
 But, O heart ! heart ! heart ! O the bleeding drops of red, 
 
 Where on the deck my Captain lies, fallen, cold and dead. 
 
 O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; 
 Rise up — for you the flag is flung — for you the bugle trills, 
 For you bouquets and ribbon' d wreaths — for you the shores a-crowdingj 
 For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; 
 Here Captain! dear father! this arm beneath your head! 
 It is some dream that on the deck, you've fallen cold and dead. 
 My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still ; 
 My Captain does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will; 
 The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage is closed and done; 
 From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won; 
 Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells ! but I with mournful tread 
 Walk the deck my Captain lies, fallen cold and dead. 
 "On Lincoln." Walt Whitman. 
 
 269 A fool, a fool !— I met a fool i' the forest, 
 A motley fool; — a miserable world! — 
 As I do live by food. I met a fool, 
 Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun, 
 And rail'd on lady Fortune in good terms. 
 In good set terms, — and yet a motley fool. 
 "Good morrow, fool!" quoth I: "No, sir," quoth he. 
 " Call me not fool, till Heaven hath sent me fortune." 
 And then he drew a dial from his poke, 
 And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye, 
 Says, very wisely, " It is ten o'clock. 
 Thus may we see," quoth he, " how the world wags, 
 'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine, 
 And after one hour more 'twill be eleven; 
 And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe,
 
 218 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 And then from hour to hour we rot and rot, 
 And thereby hangs a tale." When I did hear 
 The motley fool thus moral on the time, 
 My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, 
 That fools should be so deep-contemplative; 
 And I did laugh, sans intermission, 
 An hour by his dial — O noble fool 1 
 A worthy fool ! Motley's the only wear. 
 
 Shakespeare, 
 
 XXXIII. TEXTURE AND TONE-COLOR, 
 
 270 Some murmur when their sky is clear and wholly bright to view, 
 If one small speck of dark appear in their great heaven of blue : 
 And some with thankful love are filled, if but one streak of light, 
 One ray of God's good mercy gild the darkness of their night. 
 In palaces are hearts that ask, in discontent and pride, 
 Why life is such a dreary task, and all good things denied: 
 And hearts in poorest huts admire how Love has in their aid, 
 Love that not ever seems to tire, such rich provision made. 
 
 Trench. 
 
 A NY change or modulation of the voice may be made a means 
 -*■•*• of expression by being made salient in relation to thought 
 or feeling. The possible changes seem infinite, but may be 
 reduced to a few elementals, each of which discharges a specific 
 function in expression. The modulation of the texture and color 
 of the voice reveal the tenderness and delicacy of feeling. It 
 emphasizes changes of emotion and sympathy. 
 
 Tone-color is the emotional modulation of resonance. Res- 
 onance is the result of sympathetic vibrations in the production 
 of tone ; a voice is resonant in proportion to the richness of its 
 over-tones. On the one hand the resonance of the voice is the 
 source of the greatest pleasure to the hearer, and on the other 
 hand the destruction or perversion of the harmony of the sympa- 
 thetic vibrations or over-tones causes faults of voice, and is 
 always associated with the most disagreeable of all qualities. 
 
 The resonance of the voice is capable of almost infinite vari-
 
 TEXTURE AND TONE-COLOE. 219 
 
 ation and modulation. Among the many causes of these changes, 
 the chief is the diffusion of emotional energy through the muscles 
 of the body, especially those controlling the breath. Thus emo- 
 tion changes the texture of the muscles, and necessarily the 
 resonance of the voice. As every part of a violin vibrates sym- 
 pathetically, the beauty of the tone depending upon the texture 
 of the wood, so the beauty and resonance of the voice are caused 
 by the modulation texture of the muscles by emotion. 
 
 If any one doubts the influence of the expressive actions of 
 the body over the voice, let him try an illustration suggested by 
 Dr. Taylor in his book, " Researches into the Early History of 
 Mankind." Laugh heartily, then keep all the ordinary vocal 
 conditions the same as nearly as possible, and draw down the 
 corners of the mouth into the attitude of displeasure, and then 
 laugh again ; the result will convince any one. This change is 
 more extreme and harsh than the ordinary contrasts and natural 
 changes in true vocal expression. But though ordinary changes 
 are more subtle, they are none the less real. Every emotion 
 causes a texture of the muscles peculiar to itself. Love softens 
 the muscles and so the voice ; anger hardens the muscles, and so 
 makes harsh the tone. Thus resonance is simply the material of 
 tone-color. Tone-color is only its emotional modulation ; at least 
 that is the sense in which the word is here used. 
 
 While the resonance of the violin is fixed and constant, the 
 resonance of the voice is continually being modulated by emo- 
 tion. Hence, tone-color, or the modulation of this resonance, is 
 one of the most important means of vocal expression. It is, 
 however, the most unconscious and the least voluntary of all 
 modes of vocal expression. A mechanical, artificial, or even 
 deliberative use of tone-color is often offensive, as when a clergy- 
 man, in rendering the Litany, in some imaginary transition goes 
 down suddenly into sepulchral tones, and tries to make it very 
 impressive and solemn. Thus the least mechanical of modes can 
 be made the most artificial.
 
 220 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 Tone-color is most subtle and unconscious ; it cannot be regu- 
 lated by rule. Hence it is entirely overlooked in mechanical 
 and artificial systems of elocution, such as that of Rush. It is the 
 crowning glory, however, of true vocal art. It is that in vocal 
 expression which reveals culture and imagination, nobleness of 
 vision, and delicacy of feeling. It is the least intellectual of all 
 modes of emphasis. It is not a means of manifesting the idea 
 which is the centre of attention and the logical sequence of 
 thought. It reveals rather the sympathy and point of view. 
 
 As a mode of emphasis it is emotional, — a change in the texture 
 or color of the voice shows a change in the emotional conditions 
 or situations. It manifests the man's point of view, the relations 
 of the truth he utters to his ideals and his character; it expresses 
 his sympathetic response to thought. 
 
 The function of tone-color is most important. A change in 
 texture and a change in color may suggest marvellous changes 
 in situation, and even the character of the subject of the mind's 
 contemplation. Not only so, but it is always used in connection 
 with the other modes of emphasis and displaces none that are 
 sufficiently noble and dignified, ideal and suggestive. 
 
 Notice how Shakespeare expresses the two lines of passion 
 swaying Queen Catherine. Not only is each made more em- 
 phatic by contrast with the other, but the immediate grasp of 
 each situation in direct contrast enables the reader to express 
 each more easily. 
 
 271 Queen Catherine. Peat you keep your way ; 
 
 When you are called, return. Now the Lord help me; 
 They vex me past my patience ! Pray you pass on. 
 
 Problem LXV. Read and enter into definite sympathy with 
 each successive situation, and allow the texture of the voice to 
 change so as to emphasize strongly the contrasts the author wishes 
 to make. 
 
 272 " O Father! I see a gleaming light; O say, what may it be? " 
 But the father answered never a word, a frozen corpse was he.
 
 TEXTUBE AND TONE-COLOE. 221 
 
 273 A little spring had lost its way amid the grass and fern ; a pass- 
 ing stranger scooped a well, where weary men might turn; he walled it 
 in, and hung with care a ladle at the brink: he thought not of the deed 
 he did, but judged that toil might drink. He passed again — and lo! the 
 well, by summers never dried, had cooled ten thousand parching tongues, 
 and saved a life beside. 
 
 274 Is Sparta dead? Is the old Grecian spirit frozen in your veins, 
 that ye do crouch and cower like base-born slaves beneath your master's 
 lash? O comrades! warriors! Thracians! if we must fight, let us fight 
 for ourselves ; if we must slaughter, let us slaughter our oppressors ; if we 
 must die, let us die under the open sky, by the bright waters, in noble, 
 honorable battle." " Kellogg. 
 
 275 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. 
 
 276 They grew in beauty side by side, they filled one home with glee ; 
 Their graves are severed far and wide, by mount, and stream, and sea. 
 " The Graves of a Household." Mrs. Remans. 
 
 277 When the tide comes in, at once the shore and sea begin together 
 to be glad. What the tide has brought no man has asked, no man has 
 sought: what other tides have had the deep sand hides away; the last bit 
 of the wrecks they wrought was burned up yesterday. 
 
 When the tide goes out, the shore looks dark and sad with doubt. The 
 landmarks are all lost. For the tide to turn, men patient wait, men rest- 
 less yeam. Sweet channels they have crossed, in boats that rocked with 
 glee, stretch now bare stony roads that burn and lead away from sea. 
 
 When the tide comes in in hearts, at once the hearts begin together to 
 be glad. What the tide has brought they do not care, they have not 
 sought, all joy they ever had the new joy multiplies; all pain by which it 
 may be bought seems paltry sacrifice. 
 
 When the tide goes out, the hearts are wrung with fear and doubt: all 
 trace of joy seems lost. Will the tide return? In restless questioning 
 they yearn with hands unclasped, uncrossed, they weep, on separate ways. 
 Ah! darling, shall we ever learn love's tidal hours and days? 
 
 Helen Hunt Jackton.
 
 222 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 Problem LXVL Show by the texture and color of the voice the 
 difference between the objective and the subjective, the literal and 
 the figurative, or the spiritual. 
 
 278 Come down, ye graybeard mariners, unto the wasting shore! 
 
 The morning winds are up, — the gods bid me to dream no more. 
 
 Come, tell me whither I must sail, what peril there may be, 
 
 Before I take my life in hand and venture out to sea I 
 
 " We may not tell thee where to sail, nor what the dangers are; 
 
 Each sailor soundeth for himself, each hath a separate star: 
 
 Each sailor soundeth for himself, and on the awful sea 
 
 What we have learned is ours alone ; we may not tell it thee." 
 
 Come back, O ghostly mariners, ye who have gone before! 
 I dread the dark impetuous tides ; I dread the farther shore. 
 Tell me the secret of the waves ; say what my fate shall be — 
 Quick! for the mighty winds are up, and will not wait for me. 
 "Hail and farewell, O voyager! thyself must read the waves; 
 What we have learned of sun and storm lies with us in our graves: 
 What we have learned of sun and storm is ours alone to know. 
 The winds are blowing out to sea, take up thy life and go." 
 
 Ellen M. Hutchinson. 
 
 279 The day is dark and the night to him that would search their 
 heart, no lips of cloud that will part, nor morning song in the light: only, 
 gazing alone, to him wild shadows are shown, deep under deep unknown, 
 and height above unknown height. . . . 
 
 The sky leans dumb on the sea aweary with all its wings — and oh! 
 the song the sea sings is dark everlastingly. Our past is clean forgot, our 
 present is and is not, our future's a sealed seed-plot, and what betwixt 
 them are we? We who say as we go, "Strange to think by the way, 
 whatever there is to know, that we shall know one day." Rossetti. 
 
 280 The ground of a certain rich man brought forth plentifully: and 
 he thought within himself, saying, What shall I do, because I have not 
 where to bestow my fruits? And he said, This will I do : I will pull down 
 my barns, and build greater; and there will I bestow all my corn and my 
 goods. And I will say to my soul, Soul, thou hast much goods laid up 
 for many years; take thine ease, eat, drink, be merry. But God said 
 unto him, Thou fool, this night is thy soul required of thee; and the 
 things which thou hast prepared, whose shall they be? So is he that 
 layeth up treasure for himself, and is not rich toward God. And he said
 
 FORCE AND LOUDNESS. 223 
 
 unto his disciples, Therefore say I unto you, Be not anxious for your life, 
 what ye shall eat; nor yet for your body, what ye shall put on. For the 
 life is more than the food, and the body than the raiment. Consider the 
 ravens, that they sow not, neither reap; which have no store-chamber 
 d or barn; and God feedeth them: of how much more value are ye than 
 the birds ! And which of you by being anxious can add a cubit unto his 
 stature? If then ye are not able to do even that which is least, why are 
 ye anxious concerning the rest? Consider the lilies, how they grow : they 
 toil not, neither do they spin ; yet I say unto you, Even Solomon in all 
 his glory was not arrayed like one of these. But if God doth so clothe 
 the grass in the field, which to-day is, and to-morrow is cast into the 
 oven, how much more shall he clothe you, O ye of little faith? 
 
 XXXIV. POECE AND LOUDNESS. 
 
 EMPHASIS has been defined as " a greater stress of voice 
 placed upon a word or syllable." This, however, except 
 when stress is used in the sense of touch, is an undignified form 
 of emphasis. To emphasize by merely increasing the stress of 
 voice upon a word is the way a dog emphasizes a bark or a growl. 
 It is a mode of emphasis common to all ranters and demagogues. 
 The use of loudness or a thrust of force is a method employed 
 by undisciplined and uncultured men. 
 
 Hamlet's speech to the players, the noble words of Henry 
 Fifth at Harfleur, or the most dignified sentences of a prince 
 or king, delivered with mere stress are made those of a vulgar 
 clown. Loudness is a purely physical element, and does not 
 manifest thought. It is not even the chief means by which a 
 speaker makes himself heard. Support, purity of tone, good 
 vocal quantity, changes of pitch between words, resonance, and 
 distinct articulation are much more important. 
 
 Emphasis by loudness is an appeal to the animal instinct. It 
 is expressive of anger, uncontrolled excitement, and the lower 
 emotions. But inflection, changes of pitch, pause, and move- 
 ment appeal to the rational nature of man. The extension of 
 the conversational melody or form is the most dignified and
 
 224 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 most normal method of emphasis. In proportion to the dignity 
 of any character, the sincerity and nobleness of any human 
 being, will these elements predominate over loudness and mere 
 force in delivery. In proportion to the nobleness of an emotion 
 or thought, we find a tendency to accentuate these elements. 
 Such a method of emphasis is appropriate to all forms of litera- 
 ture. The highest is not degraded but exalted by it ; the most 
 sublime and most tender are made more noble. 
 
 Force and loudness, however, degrade any form of literature 
 which is not already low. These modes of emphasis, therefore, 
 are used by undignified characters, and manifest that which is 
 degraded. Such methods, therefore, are only appropriate in the 
 dramatic representation of that which is ignoble. They may be 
 adopted by an actor or a reader to show a moment of uncon- 
 trolled passion, where there is no appeal to reason but an aim to 
 awaken fear or to dominate another by force ; to contrast a 
 vulgar man with one who is noble. But even here they must 
 be only suggestive. Loudness of itself will divert and not win 
 attention. Its use as a mode of emphasis must be rare. 
 
 Problem LXVII. Give a noble speech first with stress and force, 
 as directed in many books on elocution, then give it with a simple 
 natural tone, accentuating the inflections, and extending the 
 changes of pitch, range, and pauses, and note the difference. 
 
 281 Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, — trip- 
 pingly on the tongue ; but if you mouth it, as many of our players do, I 
 had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too 
 much with your hand, thus; but use all gently : for in the very torrent, 
 tempest, and, as I may say, whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire 
 and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness. 
 
 282 Consider all that lies in that one word, Past! What a pathetic, 
 sacred, in every sense poetic, meaning is implied in it ; a meaning growing 
 ever the clearer, the farther we recede in Time, — the more of that same 
 Past we have to look through ! . . . History, after all, is the true Poetry; 
 Reality, if rightly interpreted, is grander than Fiction; nay, even in the 
 right interpretation of Reality and History does genuine Poetry consist.
 
 FORCE AND LOUDNESS. 225 
 
 Problem LXVIII. Take the speech of a queen or a prince and 
 see how easily the dignity may he destroyed by the use of force 
 as a means of emphasis; and how indignation can be given by 
 pause, inflection, and change of pitch without losing the character. 
 
 283 I will not tarry ; no, nor ever more, upon this business my ap- 
 pearance make in any of their courts. 
 
 Queen Catherine in "Henry VIII." Shakespeare. 
 
 284 Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more, 
 Or close the wall up with our English dead ! 
 In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man 
 As modest stillness and humility: 
 But when the blast of war blows in our ears, 
 Then imitate the action of the tiger; 
 Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, 
 Disguise fair nature with hard-favoured rage. . . . 
 Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit 
 To his full height! — on, on, ye noblest English, 
 Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof! 
 Fathers, that, like so many Alexanders, 
 Have in these parts from morn till even fought, 
 And sheathed their swords for lack of argument. . . . 
 I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, 
 Straining upon the start. The game's afoot: 
 Follow your spirit; and, upon this charge 
 Cry — Heaven for Harry ! England ! and Saint George ! 
 
 "Henry V." 
 
 Problem LXIX. Show how an ignoble speech may be ennobled 
 by giving it the emphasis by form and inflection; and show also 
 the difference in expression between anger and indignation. 
 
 285 Pale, trembling coward ! there I throw my gage. 
 
 286 Hotspur. I'll keep them all, — by Heaven! he shall not have a 
 Scot of them: no, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not: I'll keep 
 them, by this hand ! - 
 
 287 If ye are brutes, then stand here like fat oxen waiting for the 
 butcher's knife; if ye are men, follow me! strike down yon sentinel, and 
 gain the mountain-passes, and there do bloody work as did your sires at 
 old Thermopylae ! 
 
 15
 
 226 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 288 " Halt!" once more came the voice of dread; 
 " Halt ! or your blood be on your bead ! " 
 
 Problem LXX. Show how a noble passage may be perverted 
 by loudness and force, and how the most exquisite passage may be 
 emphasized by form without perverting its spirit. 
 
 289. A LOST LOVE. 
 I meet tby pensive, moonlight face; thy thrilling voice I hear; 
 And former hours and scenes retrace, too fleeting, and too dear! 
 Then sighs and tears flow fast and free, though none is nigh to share ; 
 And life has naught beside for me so sweet as this despair. 
 
 There are crush'd hearts that will not break; and mine, methinks, is one; 
 Or thus I should not weep and wake, and thou to slumber gone. 
 I little thought it thus could be in days more sad and fair — 
 That earth could have a place for me, and thou no longer there. 
 
 Yet death cannot our hearts divide, or make thee less my own: 
 'Twere sweeter sleeping at thy side than watching here alone. 
 Yet never, never can we part, while Memory holds her reign ; 
 Thine, thine is still this wither* d heart till we shall meet again. 
 
 H. F. Lytc. 
 
 XXXV. MODES OF EMPHASIS. 
 
 rpHERE are many ways by which a word or phrase may be 
 -*- made salient, or an idea emphatic. Among these the most 
 important have been discussed: inflection, change of pitch, 
 pause, movement, texture, and tone-color. These express men- 
 tal, imaginative, or emotional activity. There are others which 
 show merely physical action, that tend to degrade thought, such 
 as stress, loudness, and muscular force. 
 
 Rarely, if ever, is one of the true psychic modes of emphasis 
 found isolated from the others. They are found in free and 
 complex combination ; often all of them are present at the same 
 time. Each of them manifests some special aspect of the human 
 being; some, degree of earnestness, or intensity; some, special 
 action or attitude of the man.
 
 MODES OF EMPHASIS. 227 
 
 It is helpful in the development of emphasis to analyze and 
 study each mode separately, and to practise extracts that illus- 
 trate each of them separately and successively, in order to realize 
 and develop the special expressive power of each. This practice 
 develops these various forms and secures an increased vocabulary 
 of vocal actions. 
 
 It is well also to practice occasionally some of the undignified 
 modes of emphasis in contrast with the nobler modes, in order 
 to develop a sense of their nature and place in expression, and 
 also to make us realize the effectiveness of inflection, change of 
 pitch, pause, and tone-color, as compared with mere force and 
 volume of voice. 
 
 When the practice of all these various modes is neglected, 
 there is a tendency to drift into a monotonous use of one form of 
 emphasis ; one mode is exaggerated, and that generally the most 
 undignified one. But even the noblest of these modes, when 
 used to the exclusion of the others, will deteriorate into an arti- 
 ficial and ineffective mannerism. Many have lost the use of the 
 several modes of expression through neglect, and have become 
 totally unconscious of them as natural modes of emphasis. Train- 
 ing stimulates and awakens what is latent; it builds upon 
 nature ; it develops nature's highest possibilities according to her 
 own laws and principles. 
 
 Artistic power is not the necessary result of mere artistic 
 impulses ; a sense of correct form must be awakened, and the 
 ability to manifest this form must be developed. Practice is 
 requisite to master the use of all the modes of expression, but 
 their employment should be spontaneous and natural, and in 
 accordance with the requirements of the thought. Therefore 
 training is preliminary to expression. TVe may be analytic, and 
 exaggerate in consciousness one specific element in training, but 
 in the act of expression there must be harmonious co-operation. 
 The mind, for example, except in practice for a special aim or 
 need, should not dwell too much upon the length of inflections
 
 228 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 or the degree of their abruptness. The attention in expression 
 must be upon the progress of the ideas. There must be developed 
 an instinctive command of form and technical means, and the 
 mind must be concentrated upon the central ideas ; otherwise 
 there will be self-consciousness and artificiality. But this facility 
 in the employment of technical actions can only be gained by 
 the faithful practice of definite and adequate exercises. 
 
 There are three general ways by which emphasis may be 
 improved. First, by developing flexibility and responsiveness of 
 the voice so that every act of the mind or change of attitude 
 shall cause a change in the voice. Second, by acquiring the use 
 of all the natural modes of emphasis and by developing the 
 ability to distinguish those which are noble from those which are 
 ignoble in significance. Third, by cultivating the penetrative 
 instinct or the proper method of the mind in thinking ; by se- 
 curing earnestness, sincerity, and simplicity ; in short, by devel- 
 oping the right action of the powers concerned in expression. 
 
 Let the student take the extracts and problems already given 
 and practice them with each mode of emphasis successively, and 
 also with various combinations of these modes. Such practice 
 is helpful, because it does not confine the student to one mode 
 and cause him to become conventional and artificial, but awakens 
 his instincts, and gives him consciousness of his powers and con- 
 trol over his natural modes of expression. 
 
 Problem LXXI. Render some strong passage by the harmoni- 
 ous union of all possible modes of emphasis, and also show that 
 by using any one mode exclusively the thought may not only lose 
 its force and beauty, but may be rendered obscure and indefinite. 
 
 290. EPILOGUE TO AS0LAND0. 
 
 At the midnight, in the silence of the sleep-time, 
 
 When you set your fancies free, 
 Will they pass to where — by death, fools think, imprisoned — 
 Low he lies who once so loved you, whom you loved so, 
 Pity me?
 
 MODES OF EMPHASIS. 229 
 
 Oh to love so, be so loved, yet so mistaken! 
 
 What had I on earth to do 
 With the slothful, with the mawkish, the unmanly? 
 Like the aimless, helpless, hopeless, did I drivel. 
 Being who? 
 
 One who never turned his back, but marched breast forward, 
 
 Never doubted clouds would break, 
 Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph, 
 Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better, 
 Sleep to wake. 
 
 No, at noonday, in the battle of man's work-time, 
 
 Greet the unseen with a cheer ! 
 
 Bid him forward, breast and back as either should be, 
 
 " Strive and thrive ! " cry, " Speed, — fight on, fare ever 
 
 There as here!" 
 
 Browning. 
 
 Problem LXX1I. Contrast passages entirely different, and show 
 that the modes of emphasis and all the various elements of vocal 
 expression must also vary according to the character of the thought. 
 
 291. A DEAD MAN'S MESSAGE. 
 He who died at Azan sends this, to comfort faithful friends. 
 
 Faithful friends ! It lies, I know, pale and cold, and still as snow; 
 and you say, "Abdullah's dead!" weeping at its feet and head. lean 
 see your falling tears, I can hear your sighs and prayers; yet I smile and 
 whisper this, " I am not the thing you kiss; cease your wail and let it lie, 
 it was mine; — it is not I!" Sweet friends! what the women lave for its 
 last bed in the grave was a hut which I am quitting — was a garment, no 
 more fitting — was a cage, wherefrom, at last like a bird, my soul hath 
 past. Love the inmate, not the room, the wearer, not the garb — the 
 plume of the eagle, not the bars whicn kept Mm from the splendid stars. 
 Loving friends ! be wise and dry straightway every weeping eye ! What 
 you lift upon the bier is not worth a single tear; 'tis a simple sea-shell, 
 one out of which the pearl is gone; the shell is nothing — leave it there 
 — the pearl, the soul, the all is here! 'Tis an earthen pot, whose lid 
 Allah sealed, the while it hid that treasure of His treasury — a mind that 
 loved Him; let it be! Let the shard be earth's once more, since the gold 
 goes to His store! Allah glorious, Allah good, now Thy world is under- 
 stood ! Now the long, long wgnder «ads ; yet you weep, my foolish friends,
 
 230 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 while the man you say "is dead" in unspoken bliss instead lives and loves 
 
 you; — lost, 'tis true, for any light that shines with you; but, in that light 
 
 you do not see, raised to full felicity, in a perfect Paradise, and a life 
 
 which never dies. Farewell friends ! yet not farewell : where I am you 
 
 too shall dwell; I am gone beyond your face, a moment's march, a single 
 
 pace. When you come where I have stepped, you will wonder why you 
 
 wept; you will see by true life taught, that here is all, and t here is nought 
 
 Weep a while, if you are fain, sunshine still must follow rain, only not at 
 
 death ; for death now, I see, is that long breath which our souls draw 
 
 when they enter life that is of all life centre. Be ye certain — all seems 
 
 love viewed from Allah's seat above; be ye stout of hope, and come 
 
 bravely onward to your home. From its happy gate my ken sees you, 
 
 struggling "souls," not "men," all for nameless joys decreed, which your 
 
 wills may stay or speed; but not one — at last — to fail, since at last Love 
 
 must prevail. "La Allah, ilia Allah," yea, thou Love divine! thou Lord 
 
 alway ! He that died at Azan gave this — to those who made his grave. 
 
 Edwin Arnold. 
 
 292 Under the slighting light of the yellow sun of October, 
 
 Close by the side of the car track, a gang of Dagos were working ; 
 
 Pausing a moment to catch a note of their liquid Italian, 
 
 Faintly I heard an echo of Rome's imperial accents, 
 
 Broken-down forms of Latin words from the Senate and Forum, 
 
 Now smoothed over by use to the musical lingua Romana. 
 
 Then the thought came, why, these are the heirs of the Romans ; 
 
 These are the sons of the men who founded the empire of Caesar ; 
 
 These are they whose fathers carried the conquering eagles 
 
 Over all Gaul and across the sea to Ultima Thule. 
 
 The race-type persists unchanged in their eyes and profiles and figures. 
 
 Muscular, short and thick-set, with prominent noses, recalling 
 
 "Romanes rerum dominos, gentemque togatam." 
 
 See, Labienus is swinging a pick with rhythmical motion ; 
 
 Yonder one pushing the shovel might be Julius Caesar, 
 
 Lean, deep-eyed, broad-browed, and bald, a man of a thousand; 
 
 Further along stands the jolly Horatius Flaccus ; 
 
 Grim and grave, with rings in his ears, see Cato the Censor. 
 
 On the side of the street, in proud and gloomy seclusion, 
 Bossing the job, stood a Celt: the race enslaved by the legions, 
 Sold in the markets of Rome to meet the expenses of Csesur. 
 And, as I loitered, the Celt cried out: " Warruk, ye Dagos!" 
 " Full up your shovel, Paythro, ye hathen ! I'll dock yees a quarther."
 
 DEGREES OF EMPHASIS. 231 
 
 This he said to the one who resembled the great imperator ; 
 Meekly the dignified Koman kept on patiently digging. 
 Such are the changes and chances the centuries bring to the nations; 
 Surely the ups and downs of the world are past calculation. 
 "Possibly," thus I thought to myself, "the yoke of the Irish 
 May in turn be lifted from us, in the tenth generation. 
 Now the Celt is on top ; but time may bring his revenges, 
 Turning the Fenian down, once more to be bossed by a Dago." 
 
 Hartford Courant. 
 
 XXXVL DEGREES OF EMPHASIS. 
 
 npHE word ' emphasis ' is used in at least two different senses. 
 -■- The term is applied to the manifestation of the successive 
 centres of the mind's attention ; it names the process of reveal- 
 ing the method of the mind in thinking, the logical sequence of 
 ideas through inflection and other modulations of the voice. 
 This usage of the word applies to the intellectual aspects of 
 vocal expression in the simplest conversation as well as in the 
 highest oratory. 
 
 But the term * emphasis ' is also employed to designate some 
 unusual development of this vocal form in revealing the process 
 of thought, or to degrees higher than are required to manifest 
 the actions of the mind in ordinary conversation. To use em- 
 phasis in this sense is to make the central ideas more salient ; it 
 enlarges the conversational form in order to show or win greater 
 attention, to make manifest some deeper meaning or broader 
 relation, or to give saliency to a sentence or phrase or word. 
 According to this view a sentence may be spoken naturally and 
 simply but without emphasis, or the same sentence may be 
 spoken with emphasis. 
 
 In any art it is best to confine a word to a specific idea. 
 Hence is it not best to use the word ' emphasis ' as the name of 
 the manifestation through the voice of the sequence of the mind 
 in thinking, but to employ the phrase ' degrees of emphasis ' in 
 the second sense of the enlargement of conversational form ?
 
 232 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 Emphasis can be increased in proportion to the extension or 
 enlargement of the elements of conversational form. The in- 
 flections and changes of pitch are lengthened, the pauses are 
 extended, the rhythmic movement is more varied according to 
 the degree of earnestness or emphasis. The emphatic words are 
 made more prominent, and those not emphatic are made more 
 subordinate, normally by greater range of voice. 
 
 It is important to study and to practice degrees of emphasis, 
 because it is the endeavor to increase the degree of emphasis that 
 causes a great many faults in delivery. There is often a tendency 
 to submerge all the elements of form in mere loudness ; to throw 
 all the energy into some abnormal push or swell, and to elimi- 
 nate change of pitch, inflection, and range ; this tendency is the 
 cause of rant and stilted delivery, and develops the declamatory 
 and unnatural methods so common among speakers. 
 
 A young speaker who aims to correct these defects or to avoid 
 the formation of obnoxious mannerisms should read some of the 
 simple, dignified passages which have been illustrated, with con- 
 versational ease and repose, and then give them so they can be 
 heard by a thousand people, being careful to increase emphasis 
 by simply extending the range, length of inflection, changes of 
 pitch, and pauses. 
 
 The contrasts which have already been mentioned between 
 the simplest and plainest conversation and the largest and most 
 emphatic extension of the elements of vocal form, preserving 
 naturalness in both cases, constitute also an important exercise 
 for practice. 
 
 Of course, with increase of emphasis there is increase of 
 intensity. Intensity is manifested by means of simple decisive- 
 ness of touch, inflections, and changes of pitch, or by extending 
 the pauses and the range of voice. Dignity and intensity in em- 
 phasis are destroyed by loudness. They are preserved in direcf 
 proportion as the increase in degrees of emphasis is obtained by 
 extending range, and not by increase of loudness.
 
 DEGREES OP EMPHASIS. 233 
 
 In order to prevent declamatory stiltedness and to develop 
 sensitiveness to the nobleness and dignity of naturalness and 
 simplicity, it is a good practice to give the speech of a king, 
 prince, or other exalted personage without lowering his dignity 
 or losing the character, or acting in any way inconsistent with 
 its spirit. Though the royal speech be excited or earnest, it 
 should be in harmony with his dignity and bearing. 
 
 Problem LXXIII. Read a most emphatic passage with its true 
 spirit of earnestness and energy, but by increasing the touch and 
 extending the range, without increasing the volume of tone above 
 the ordinary conversational degree of loudness. 
 
 293 But, my lords, who is the man that, in addition to the disgrace 
 and mischiefs of the war, has dared to authorize and associate to our arms 
 the tomahawk and scalping-knife of the savage? — to call into civilized 
 alliance the wild and inhuman inhabitants of the woods? — to delegate to 
 the merciless Indian the defence of disputed rights, and to wage the 
 horrors of his barbarous war against our brethren? My lords, these 
 enormities cry aloud for redress and punishment. Pitt. 
 
 294 We are in God's hand, brother, not in theirs; march to the bridge. 
 
 295 Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide, 
 In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or evil side. 
 
 . Lowell. 
 
 Problem LXXIV. Read a series of extracts, giving the first as 
 if to only one friend, and increase or vary the audience and the 
 earnestness, till at last a passage can be given to a vast audience of 
 the representatives of a great nation upon an important issue. 
 
 296 Excellence, in human art as in human character, has from the 
 beginning of things been even more uniform than Mediocrity, by virtue 
 of the closeness of its approach to Nature. Palgrave. 
 
 297 A dewdkop, falling on the wild sea-wave, 
 Exclaimed in fear, " I perish in this grave!" 
 But, in a shell received, that drop of dew 
 Unto a pearl of marvellous beauty grew ; 
 And, happy, now the grave did magnify 
 Which thrust it forth, as it had feared, to die;
 
 234 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 Until again, " I perish quite!" it said, 
 Torn by rude diver from its ocean bed. 
 Oh, unbelieving! So it came to gleam 
 Chief jewel in a monarch's diadem. 
 "Life Through Death." Richard Chenevix Trench. 
 
 298 We sit as in a boundless Phantasmagoria and Dream-grotto; 
 boundless, for the faintest star, the remotest century, lies not even nearer 
 the verge thereof : sounds and many-coloured visions flit round our sense ; 
 but Him, the Unslumbering, whose work both Dream and Dreamer are, 
 we see not ; except in rare half -waking moments, suspect not. Creation, 
 says one, lies before us, like a glorious Rainbow ; but the Sun that made 
 it lies behind us, hidden from us. Then, in that strange Dream, how we 
 clutch at shadows as if they were substances; and sleep deepest while 
 fancying ourselves most awake ! Carlyle. 
 
 299. THE CONVENTION OF FRANCE, 1789. 
 
 I hear much said of patriotism, appeals to patriotism, transports of 
 patriotism. Gentlemen, why prostitute this noble word? Is it so very 
 magnanimous to give up a part of your income in order to save your 
 whole property? This is very simple arithmetic ; and he that hesitates, 
 deserves contempt rather than indignation. 
 
 Yes, gentlemen, it is to your immediate self-interest, to your most 
 familiar notions of prudence and policy, that I now appeal. I say not to 
 you now, as heretofore, beware how you give the world the first example 
 of an assembled nation untrue to the public faith. I ask you not, as here- 
 tofore, what right you have to freedom, or what means of maintaining it, 
 if, at your first step in administration, you outdo in baseness all the old 
 and corrupt governments. I tell you, that unless you prevent this catas- 
 trophe, you will all be involved in the general ruin ; and that you are 
 yourselves the persons most deeply interested in making the sacrifices 
 which the government demands of you. 
 
 I exhort you, then, most earnestly, to vote these extraordinary sup- 
 plies ; and God grant they may prove sufficient ! Vote them, I beseech 
 you ; for, even if you doubt the expediency of the means, you know per- 
 fectly well that the supplies are necessary, and that you are incapable of 
 raising them in any other way. Vote them at once, for the crisis does not 
 admit of delay; and, if it occurs, we must be responsible for the conse- 
 quences. 
 
 Beware of asking for time. Misfortune accords it never. While you 
 are lingering, the evil day will come upon you. Why, gentlemen, it is
 
 FAULTS OF EMPHA8IS. 235 
 
 but a few days since, that upon occasion of some foolish bustle in the 
 Palais Royal, some ridiculous insurrection that existed nowhere but in 
 the heads of a few weak or designing individuals, we were told with em- 
 phasis, " Catiline is at the gates of Rome, and yet we deliberate." We 
 know, gentlemen, that this was all imagination. We are far from being 
 at Rome ; nor is there any Catiline at the gates of Paris. But now are we 
 threatened with a real danger : bankruptcy, national bankruptcy, is before 
 you; it threatens to swallow up your persons, your property, your honor, 
 
 — and yet you deliberate. 
 
 Mirabeau. 
 
 XXXVII. FAULTS OF EMPHASIS. 
 
 rpHE chief faults of emphasis are a lack of decision of touch, 
 -*- a lack of directness or straightness of inflection, the sub- 
 stitution of force for form, a lack of range of voice, a constant 
 use of some one mode, no definite centres of attention and the 
 elimination of all emphasis, or the making of too many words 
 emphatic. It is impossible in writing to explain these, or even to 
 enumerate a tenth of the common faults among speakers. The 
 detection of specific faults must be the work of a teacher. 
 
 One specific fault may be illustrated: a drop of the voice 
 upon the emphatic word instead of a salient falling inflection 
 from a higher pitch. There is a rising of the voice towards the 
 emphatic word, but when that is reached, the voice drops upon 
 the word, and the interval is not an upward interval before the 
 emphatic falling inflection, but a downward one in the same di- 
 rection as the inflection. This fault is the chief element in what 
 is called ' ministerial ' melody. It gives the impression of a kind 
 of passive sadness. It is caused by a lack of saliency, absence 
 of control, or a vague ecstatic condition of the mind. 
 
 In the development of emphasis it is better to be positive 
 rather than negative. The general steps and methods here 
 arranged will tend to prevent as well as to eliminate all faults. 
 In the correction of mannerisms, there must be a definite diag- 
 nosis by the teacher and a special application of principles so as 
 to eradicate causes of faults.
 
 236 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 The chief causes of faults are found in a lack of definite 
 thinking, a failure to relate ideas to each other, a lack of 
 methodic insight, a failure to concentrate and hold the mind 
 upon a single idea and to subordinate others, the absence of 
 progression toward an idea held in the mind during the sequence 
 of sentences or paragraphs, lack of control over emotion, and 
 inflexibility of the voice. 
 
 No amount of technical work, no amount of diagnosis as to 
 the nature of any fault or acquisition of some right mechanical 
 action will correct faults without the removal of the cause. Un- 
 less the cause is removed, the fault will return, even though 
 the man may see it and may consciously avoid it for a time. 
 The true secret of naturalness in emphasis is to give each idea 
 specific value in relation to the thought. The student must be 
 true to the process of his mind ; he must mean what he says and 
 say what he means, and make each step manifest. Faults often 
 arise from a wholesaling of ideas instead of giving each central 
 idea individual force or in detail. The student must think one 
 idea at a time, and so present it that another mind cannot fail 
 to receive it; he should be simple, sincere and direct in his 
 mental attitude toward each idea and specific in the presenta- 
 tion of it to his auditor. 
 
 The mind must be trained to carry what has been given, what 
 is familiar, and to penetrate to the ' additional point,' or to select 
 the right word ; and to introduce to the audience the one idea in 
 each clause, and to give the right degree of accentuation that 
 will cause progress towards a purpose. 
 
 One of the simplest and most effective methods of correcting 
 defects of emphasis, is to assign dialogues from standard dramas. 
 By this means a student is led to study the action of the mind 
 and its effect upon the voice. Scenes may be chosen with more 
 or less of animation, and with varying degrees of dignity and 
 intensity, to suit each individual need. The student should listen 
 to his interlocutor and relate every word and idea to him.
 
 FAULTS OF EMPHASIS. 237 
 
 A monologue is also helpful. It gives a specific character in 
 a specific situation, and speaks to a specific though imaginary- 
 hearer. In general, students should be assigned different forms 
 of literature and speaking. All should be made to reproduce 
 simply the thought of good literature. 
 
 300. SCENES FROM THE "SCHOOL FOE SCANDAL." 
 
 I. 
 
 Sir Peter. Lady Teazle, Lady Teazle, I'll not bear it ! 
 
 Lady Teazle. Sir Peter, Sir Peter, you may bear it or not, as you 
 please; but I ougbt to bave my own way in everything, and what's more, 
 I will too. What though I was educated in the country, I know very well 
 that women of fashion in London are accountable to nobody after they 
 are married. 
 
 Sir Peter. Very well, ma'am, very well; so a husband is to have no 
 influence, no authority? 
 
 Lady Teazle. Authority! No, to be sure; if you wanted authority 
 over me, you should have adopted me, and not married me ; I am sure you 
 were old enough. 
 
 Sir Peter. Old enough ! — ay — there it is. "Well, well, Lady Teazle, 
 though my life may be made unhappy by your temper, I'll not be ruined 
 by your extravagance. 
 
 Lady Teazle. My extravagance! I'm sure I'm not more extravagant 
 than a woman ought to be. 
 
 Sir Peter. No, no, madam, you shall throw away no more sums on 
 such unmeaning luxury. 'Slife! to spend as much to furnish your dress- 
 ing-room with flowers in winter as would suffice to turn the Pantheon 
 into a green-house. 
 
 Lady Teazle. Lud, Sir Peter, am I to blame, because flowers are dear 
 in cold weather? You should find fault with the climate, and not with 
 me. For my part, I'm sure, I wish it was spring all the year round, and 
 that roses grew under our feet ! 
 
 Sir Peter. Zounds! madam — if you had been born to this, I shouldn't 
 wonder at your talking thus ; but you forget what your situation was when 
 I married you. 
 
 Lady Teazle. No, no, I don't; 'twas a very disagreeable one, or I 
 should never have married you. 
 
 Sir Peter. Yes, yes, madam, you were then in somewhat a humbler 
 style,— the daughter of a plain country squire. Kecollect, Lady Teazle,
 
 238 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 when I saw you first sitting at your tambor, in a pretty figured linen 
 gown, with a bunch of keys at your side ; your hair combed smooth over 
 a roll, and your apartment hung round with fruits in worsted of your 
 own working. 
 
 Lady Teazle. Oh yes! I remember it very well, and a curious life I 
 led, — my daily occupation to inspect the dairy, superintend the poultry, 
 make extracts from the family receipt-book, and comb my Aunt Deb- 
 orah's lap dog. 
 
 Sir Peter. Yes, yes, ma'am, 'twas so indeed. 
 
 Lady Teazle. And then, you know, my evening amusements; — to 
 draw patterns for ruffles, which I had not materials to make up ; to play 
 Pope Joan with the curate ; to read a novel to my aunt ; or to be stuck 
 down to an old spinnet to strum my father to sleep after a fox-chase. 
 
 Sir Peter. I am glad you have so good a memory. Yes, madam, these 
 were the recreations I took you from; but now you must have your coach 
 — vis-a-vis — and three powdered footmen before your chair; and, in sum- 
 mer, a pair of white cats to draw you to Kensington Gardens. No recol- 
 lection, I suppose, when you were content to ride double, behind the 
 butler, on a docked coach-horse. 
 
 Lady Teazle. No — I never did that: I deny the butler and the coach- 
 horse. 
 
 Sir Peter. This, madam, was your situation ; and what have I done 
 for you? I have made you a woman of fashion, of fortune, of rank; in 
 short, I have made you my wife. 
 
 Lady Teazle. Well, then ; and there is but one thing more you can 
 make me add to the obligation, and that is — 
 
 Sir Peter. My widow, I suppose? 
 
 Lady Teazle. Hem! hem! 
 
 Sir Peter. I thank you, madam; but don't flatter yourself; for though 
 your ill conduct may disturb my peace of mind, it shall never break my 
 heart, I promise you: however, I am equally obliged to you for the hint. 
 
 Lady Teazle. Then why will you endeavor to make yourself so dis- 
 agreeable to me, and thwart me in every little elegant expense? 
 
 Sir Peter. 'Slife, madam, I say, had you any of these little elegant 
 expenses when you married me? 
 
 Lady Teazle. Lud, Sir Peter ! would you have me be out of the fashion? 
 
 Sir Peter. The fashion, indeed ! What had you to do with the fashion 
 before you married me? 
 
 Lady Teazle. For my part, I should think you would like to have 
 your wife thought a woman of taste.
 
 FAULTS OF EMPHASIS. 239 
 
 Sir Peter. Ay ; there again — taste. Zounds ! madam, you had no taste 
 when you married me ! 
 
 Lady Teazle. That's very true indeed, Sir Peter; and after having 
 married you, I should never pretend to taste again, I allow. But now, 
 Sir Peter, since we have finished our daily jangle, I presume I may go to 
 my engagement at Lady Sneerwell's? 
 
 Sir Peter. Ay, there's another precious circumstance — a charming 
 set of acquaintance you have made there. 
 
 Lady Teazle. Nay, Sir Peter, they are all people of rank and fortune, 
 and remarkably tenacious of reputation. 
 
 Sir Peter. Yes, egad, they are tenacious of reputation with a ven- 
 geance; for they don't choose anybody should have a character but them- 
 selves ! — Such a crew ! Ah ! many a wretch has rid on a hurdle who has 
 done less mischief than these utterers of forged tales, coiners of scandal, 
 and clippers of reputation. 
 
 Lady Teazle. What! would you restrain the freedom of speech? 
 
 Sir Peter. Ah ! they have made you just as bad as any one of the society. 
 
 Lady Teazle. Why, I believe I do bear a part with a tolerable grace. 
 
 Sir Peter. Grace, indeed ! 
 
 Lady Teazle. But I vow I bear no malice against the people I abuse. 
 When I say an ill-natured thing, 'tis out of pure good-humor; and I take 
 it for granted, they deal exactly in the same manner with me. But, Sir 
 Peter, you know you promised to come to Lady Sneerwell's too. 
 
 Sir Peter. Well, well, I'll call in just to look after my own character. 
 
 Lady Teazle. Then indeed you must make haste after me, or you'll 
 be too late. So, good-by to you. [Exit Lady Teazle. 
 
 Sir Pet°.r. So — I have gained much by my intended expostulation: 
 yet, with what a charming air she contradicts everything I say, and how 
 pleasingly she show3 her contempt for my authority! Well, though I 
 can't make her love me, there is great satisfaction in quarrelling with 
 her; and I think she never appears to such advantage, as when she is 
 doing everything in her power to plague me. [Exit. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Lady Teazle. Lud! Sir Peter, I hope you haven't been quarrelling 
 with Maria? It is not using me well to be ill-humored when I am not by. 
 
 Sir Peter. Ah! Lady Teazle, you might have the power to make me 
 good-humored at all times. 
 
 Lady Teazle. I am sure I wish I had ; for I want you to be in a charm- 
 ing sweet temper at this moment. Do be good-humored now, and let me 
 have two hundred pounds, will you?
 
 240 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 Sir Peter. Two hundred pounds ! What, ain't I to be in a good humor 
 without paying for it? But speak to me thus, and i' faith there's nothing 
 I could refuse you. Tou shall have it [gives her notes] ; but seal me a 
 bond of repayment. 
 
 Lady Teazle. Oh no; there — my note of hand will do as well. 
 
 Sir Peter. And you shall no longer reproach me with not giving you 
 an independent settlement. I mean shortly to surprise you: — but shall 
 we always live thus, hey? 
 
 Lady Teazle. If you please. I'm sure I don't care how soon we leave 
 off quarrelling, provided you'll own you were tired first. 
 
 Sir Peter. Well ; then let our future contest be, who shall be most 
 obliging. 
 
 Lady Teazle. I assure you, Sir Peter, good-nature becomes you : you look 
 now as you did before we were married, when you used to walk with me 
 under the elms, and tell me stories of what a gallant you were in your 
 youth, and chuck me under the chin, you would; and ask me if I thought 
 I could love an old fellow, who would deny me nothing — didn't you? 
 
 Sir Peter. Yes, yes, and you were kind and attentive — 
 Lady Teazle. Ay, so I was, and would always take your part when my 
 acquaintance used to abuse you, and turn you into ridicule. 
 
 Sir Peter. Indeed ! 
 
 Lady Teazle. Ay ; and when my cousin Sophy has called you a stiff, 
 peevish old bachelor, and laughed at me for thinking of marrying one 
 who might be my father, I have always defended you, and said, I didn't 
 think you so ugly by any means. 
 
 Sir Peter. Thank you. 
 
 Lady Teazle. And I dared say you'd make a very good sort of a 
 husband. 
 
 Sir Peter. And you prophesied right : and we shall now be the happiest 
 couple — 
 
 Lady Teazle. And never differ again? 
 
 Sir Peter. No, never! — though at the same time, indeed, my dear 
 Lady Teazle, you must watch your temper very seriously; for in all our 
 little quarrels, my dear, if you recollect, my love, you always begin first. 
 
 Lady Teazle. I beg your pardon, my dear Sir Peter; indeed, you 
 always gave the provocation. 
 
 Sir Peter. Now see, my angel! take care — contradicting isn't the way 
 to keep friends. 
 
 Lady Teazle. Then don't you begin it, my love. 
 
 Sir Peter. There, now ! you — you are going on. You don' t perceive,
 
 FAULTS OF EMPHASIS. 241 
 
 my life, that you are just doing the very thing which you know always 
 makes me angry. 
 
 Lady Teazle. Nay, you know if you will be angry without any reason, 
 my dear — 
 
 Sir Peter. There ! now you want to quarrel again. 
 
 Lady Teazle. No, I am sure I don't; but if you will be so peevish — 
 
 Sir Peter. There now! who begins first? 
 
 Lady Teazle. Why, you, to be sure. I said nothing — but there's no 
 bearing your temper. 
 
 Sir Peter. No, no, madam; the fault's in your own temper. 
 
 Lady Teazle. Ay, you are just what my cousin Sophy said you 
 would be. 
 
 Sir Peter. Tour cousin Sophy is a forward, impertinent gipsy. 
 
 Lady Teazle. Tou are a great bear, I'm sure, to abuse my relations. 
 
 Sir Peter. Now may all the plagues of marriage be doubled on me, if 
 ever I try to be friends with you any more. 
 
 Lady Teazle. So much the better. 
 
 Sir Peter. No, no, madam: 'tis evident you never cared a pin for me, 
 and I was a madman to marry you — a pert, rural coquette that had re- 
 fused half the honest squires in the neighborhood. 
 
 Lady Teazle. And I am sure I was a fool to marry you — an old 
 dangling bachelor, who was single at fifty, only because he never could 
 meet with anyone who would have him. 
 
 Sir Peter. Ay, ay, madam; but you were pleased enough to listen to 
 me : you never had such an offer before. 
 
 Lady Teazle. No! didn't I refuse Sir Tivy Terrier, who everybody 
 said would have been a better match? for his estate is just as good as 
 yours, and he has broke his neck since we have been married. 
 
 Sir Peter. I have done with you, madam ! Tou are an unfeeling, un- 
 grateful — but there's an end of everything. I believe you capable of 
 everything that is bad. Tes, madam, I now believe the reports relative 
 to you and Charles, madam. Tes, madam, you and Charles are — not 
 without grounds. 
 
 Lady Teazle. Take care, Sir Peter ! you had better not insinuate any 
 such thing! I'll not be suspected without cause, I promise you. 
 
 Sir Peter. Very well, madam! very well! A separate maintenance as 
 soon as you please! Tes, madam, or a divorce! — I'll make an example 
 of myself for the benefit of all old bachelors. 
 
 Lady Teazle. Agreed! agreed! And now, my dear Sir Peter, we are 
 of a mind once more, we may be the happiest couple — and never differ 
 
 16
 
 242 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 again, you know — ha! ha! ha! Well, you are going to be in a passion, I 
 see, and I shall only interrupt you: so, bye — bye. 
 
 Sir Peter. Plagues and tortures! Can't I make her angry either! Oh, 
 I am the most miserable fellow! But I'll not bear her presuming to keep 
 her temper : no ! she may break my heart, but she shan't keep her temper. 
 
 Sheridan. 
 
 301. THE ITALIAN IN ENGLAND. 
 
 That second time they hunted me from hill to plain, from shore to 
 sea, and Austria, hounding far and wide her blood-hounds thro' the 
 country-side, breathed hot and instant on my trace, — I made six days a 
 hiding-place of that dry green old aqueduct where I and Charles, when 
 boys, have plucked the fire-flies from the roof above, bright creeping thro' 
 the moss they love : — how long it seems since Charles was lost ! Six days 
 the soldiers crossed and crossed the country in my very sight; and when 
 that peril ceased at night, the sky broke out in red dismay with signal 
 fires; well, there I lay close covered o'er in my recess, up to the neck in 
 ferns and cress, thinking on Metternich our friend, and Charles's miserable 
 end, and much beside, two days; the third, hunger o'ercame me when I 
 heard the peasants from the village go to work among the maize; you 
 know, with us in Lombardy, they bring provisions packed on mules, a 
 string with little bells that cheer their task, and casks, and boughs on 
 every cask to keep the sun's heat from the wine; these I let pass in jing- 
 ling line, and, close on them, dear noisy crew, the peasants from the 
 village, too; for at the very rear would troop their wives and sisters in a 
 group to help, I knew. When these had passed, I threw my glove to 
 strike the last, taking the chance: she did not start, much less cry out, 
 but stooped apart, one instant rapidly glanced round, and saw me beckon 
 from the ground. A wild bush grows and hides my crypt ; she picked my 
 glove up while she stripped a branch off, then rejoined the rest with that; 
 my glove lay in her breast. Then I drew breath ; they disappeared : it 
 was for Italy I feared. 
 
 An hour, and she returned alone exactly where my glove was thrown. 
 Meanwhile came many thoughts : on me rested the hopes of Italy. I had 
 devised a certain tale which, when 'twas told her, could not fail persuade 
 a peasant of its truth ; I meant to call a freak of youth this hiding, and 
 give hopes of pay, and no temptation to betray. But when I saw that 
 woman's face, its calm simplicity of grace, our Italy's own attitude in 
 which she walked thus far, and stood, planting each naked foot so firm, 
 to crush the snake and spare the worm — at first sight of her eyes, I said, 
 "lam that man upon whose head they fix the price, because I hate the
 
 FAULTS OF EMPHASIS. 243 
 
 Austrians over us : the State will give you gold — oh, gold so much ! — if 
 you betray me to their clutch, and be your death, for aught I know, if 
 once they find you saved their foe. Now, you must bring me food and 
 drink, and also paper, pen and ink, and carry safe what I shall write to 
 Padua, which you'll reach at night before tbe duomo shuts; go in, and 
 wait till Tenebrae begin; walk to the third confessional, between the 
 pillar and the wall, and kneeling whisper, ' Whence comes peace ? ' Say 
 it a second time, then cease; and if the voice inside returns, 'From 
 Christ and Freedom; what concerns the cause of Peace? ' — for answer, 
 slip my letter where you placed your lip ; then come back happy we have 
 done our mother service — I, the son, as you the daughter of our land! " 
 
 Three mornings more, she took her stand in the same place, with the 
 same eyes : I was no surer of sunrise than of her coming. We conferred 
 of her own prospects, and I heard she had a lover — stout and tall, she 
 said — then let her eyelids fall, " He could do much " — as if some doubt 
 entered her heart, — then, passing out, " she could not speak for others, 
 who had other thoughts; herself she knew; " and so she brought me drink 
 and food. After four days, the scouts pursued another path; at last 
 arrived the help my Paduan friends contrived to furnish me : she brought 
 the news. For the first time I could not choose but kiss her hand, and 
 lay my own upon her head — " This faith was shown to Italy, our mother ; 
 she uses my hand and blesses thee." She followed down to the sea-shore; 
 I left and never saw her more. 
 
 How very long since I have thought concerning — much less wished 
 for — aught beside the good of Italy, for which I live and mean to die! I 
 never was in love ; and since Charles proved false, what shall now con- 
 vince my inmost heart I have a friend? However, if I pleased to spend 
 real wishes on myself — say, three — I know at least what one should be. 
 I would grasp Metternich until I felt his red wet throat distil in blood 
 thro' these two hands. And next, — nor much for that am I perplexed 
 — Charles, perjured traitor, for his part, should die slow of a broken 
 heart under his new employers. Last — ah, there, what should I wish? 
 For fast do I grow old and out of strength. If I resolved to seek at length 
 my father's house again, and scared they all would look, and unprepared! 
 My brothers live in Austria's pay — disowned me long ago, men say ; and 
 all my early mates who used to praise me so — perhaps induced more 
 than one early step of mine — are turning wise : while some opine " Free- 
 dom grows license," some suspect "Haste breeds delay," and recollect 
 they always said, such premature beginnings never could endure! So, 
 with a sullen " All's for best," the land seems settling to its rest. I think
 
 244 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 then, I should wish to stand this evening in that dear, lost land, over the 
 sea the thousand miles, and know if yet that woman smiles with the calm 
 smile; some little farm she lives in there, no doubt: what harm if I sat 
 on the door-side bench, and, while her spindle made a trench fantastically 
 in the dust, inquired of all her fortunes — just her children's ages and 
 their names, and what may be the husband's aims for each of them. I'd 
 talk this out, and sit there, for an hour about, then kiss her hand once 
 more, and lay mine on her head, and go my way. 
 
 So much for idle wishing — how it steals the time ! To business now. 
 
 Browning. 
 
 XXXVIIL DEVELOPMENT OF METHOD. 
 
 rpHE penetrative logical or methodic action of the mind is an 
 ■*- element in all expression. It is both conscious and uncon- 
 scious. It is not only a characteristic of reason but of instinct. 
 Method is simply the mode of action or the natural sequence of 
 ideas in the human mind. It belongs to ah thinking. It is a 
 characteristic not only of oratory but of all poetry, of all dra- 
 matic composition, of all stories, of all literature. 
 
 Chaotic action of the mind in reading and speaking is very 
 common and takes many forms. One violation of true logical 
 action, in Vocal Expression, consists in confused wandering off 
 upon tangents during the calling of words, with occasional 
 images, but without a definite sequence of thought. Reading 
 may be only the repeating of words, or the giving of each idea 
 without any relation to other ideas. 
 
 Natural and effective speaking and reading is primarily de- 
 pendent upon the logical sequence of the mind in thinking. 
 The conceptions must succeed each other according to the law 
 of association of ideas, and must dominate the feeling and the 
 act of expression. 
 
 The development of this power is very important. All the 
 steps so far taken are intended for the development of the method 
 of the mind. The orderly sequence of ideas, the relation of 
 ideas to each other, and the relation of this to conversation, is a 
 practical study of a most important phase of logic.
 
 DEVELOPMENT OF METHOD. 245 
 
 Logical method cannot be developed, however, by mere 
 analysis ; it must be developed practically by speaking upon the 
 feet, by conversation, and by the simple and natural rendering 
 of the best literature. 
 
 There are many exercises which furnish simple and effective 
 means of practically developing the logical actions of the mind 
 in relation to expression. Logical method is primarily an in- 
 stinct, and must be trained in connection with the presentation 
 of thoughts to other minds. Hence there should be long con- 
 tinued practice and strict discipline in logical conversation or 
 discussion and various kinds of speaking. 
 
 Aside from the steps already given, a few problems may be 
 enumerated for the development of this action of the mind. 
 
 Problem LXXV. Tell some simple story in as few words as 
 possible, with the events arranged in a natural order. 
 
 Problem LXXVI. Give, after careful observation, an adequate 
 but simple and brief description of some object or scene, some his- 
 torical building, or battle-field. 
 
 Problem LXXV1I. Visit some great picture or work of art, 
 study it contemplatively and sympathetically, and suggest in a few 
 words its meaning and its spirit. 
 
 Problem LXXVIII. Give the argument of some great poem 
 as definitely and adequately as possible, but in a few words. 
 
 Problem LXXIX. Give the argument of a Greek play, or that 
 of some strong drama, retaining as much as possible its dramatic 
 spirit and movement. 
 
 Problem LXXX. State the arguments on both sides of some 
 vital question of the day. 
 
 Problem LXXXI. State the arguments and their order in JEs- 
 chines' oration against Ktestiphon, and those which Demosthenes 
 used in his defense" in his great Oration on the Crown. 
 
 Problem LXXXII. Debate with another, stating definitely but 
 courteously every argument. Be sure to recognize and state with 
 their true force the arguments of an opponent.
 
 246 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 Such exercises as these will test and train the insight of a 
 student into fundamentals and cultivate his power of observa- 
 tion. They will also test his ability to awaken interest in other 
 minds. They will also reveal the student's mind more clearly 
 to the teacher and to himself, and steps can be taken to improve 
 any weak action. They also develop self-possession and power 
 to think upon his feet. Such methods test the range of the 
 reading of the student. They bring him into close contact with 
 the greatest and best thoughts of his race. 
 
 There is no need to speak of the mental discipline to be ac- 
 quired from such work as this, or of its aid in the study of litera- 
 ture. Much of the study of literature is too mechanical and 
 artificial, and tends merely to be philological. This method will 
 lead to deeper participation in the fundamental spirit, and secure 
 a broader comprehension and appreciation of a poem or work 
 of literary art. A student by this means may be led to a prac- 
 tical study of the literature of all times ; he may be given a 
 drama of the Greeks, or some book in French or German. The 
 teacher of elocution may also in this case use the studies the 
 student is pursuing with other teachers. The teacher of ex- 
 pression will strive to study the minds of students in expressing 
 those things in which they are most interested. For this reason, 
 he needs often to seek advice from teachers in other depart- 
 ments, to find the real needs of students ; and if he has done his 
 duty, he may also be able in turn to give counsel of great 
 value to other teachers. 
 
 The subjects for discussion can be taken from a great many 
 sources. Students should often be left to select for themselves. 
 As in most colleges they do not have a great deal of time to 
 prepare for Vocal Expression and speaking, it is important that 
 they should speak upon something in which they are most inter- 
 ested. The teacher's business is to criticise, to give the student 
 practice, and to see that his ideas have logical sequence and that 
 he is thinking upon his feet.
 
 DEVELOPMENT OP METHOD. 247 
 
 Nothing, however, in the development of the penetrative 
 action of the mind in Vocal Expression can take the place of the 
 thorough study of the best authors. There must not only be a 
 study of the process of the thought in all f onus of literature, but 
 there must be a practical interpretation of this thought in the 
 author's own words through Vocal Expression. 
 
 The student may also be led by this means to study an author 
 who will be essentially helpful to him. An author can be se- 
 lected who is strong where the student is weak. By an earnest 
 endeavor to give the thought of such an author, to express the 
 process of his mind, his manner will be more or less uncon- 
 sciously assimilated, and the weaknesses corrected. 
 
 Problem LXXXII1. Study the method of different authors, the 
 logical sequence of their ideas, and their selection of the right 
 words to express these ideas, and interpret the spirit of each author 
 truthfully in vocal expression. 
 
 302. JOHN HAMPDEN. 
 
 In Hampden, and in Hampden alone, were united all the qualities 
 which at such a crisis were necessary to save the state — the valor and 
 energy of Cromwell, the discernment and eloquence of Vane, the humanity 
 and moderation of Manchester, the stern integrity of Hale, the ardent 
 public spirit of Sydney. 
 
 Others might possess all the qualities which were necessary to save the 
 popular party in the crisis of danger; Hampden alone had both the power 
 and the inclination to restrain its excesses in the hour of triumph. Others 
 could conquer; he alone could reconcile. A heart as bold as his brought 
 up the cuirassiers who turned the tide of battle on Marston Moor. As 
 skilful an eye as his watched the Scotch army descending from the 
 heights over Dunbar. But it was when to the sullen tyranny of Laud and 
 Charles had succeeded the fierce conflict of sects and factions, ambitious 
 of ascendency and burning for revenge, it was when the vices and the 
 ignorance which the old tyranny had generated had threatened the new 
 freedom with destruction, that England missed the sobriety, the self- 
 command, the perfect soundness of judgment, the perfect rectitude of in- 
 tention to which the history of revolutions furnishes no parallel, or 
 furnishes a parallel in Washington alone. Macaulay.
 
 248 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 303. EFFECT OF DISTANCE. 
 
 Are not all natural things, it may be asked, as lovely near as far away? 
 By no means. Look at the clouds and watch the delicate sculpture of 
 their alabaster sides, and the rounded lustre of their magnificent rolling. 
 They are meant to be beheld far away : they are shaped for their place 
 high above your nead : approach them and they diffuse into vague mists, 
 or whirl away in fierce fragments of thunderous vapor. Look at the crest 
 of the Alp from the far-away plains over which its light is cast, whence 
 human souls have communed with it by myriads. It was built for its 
 place in the far-off sky : approach it, and as the sound of the voice of man 
 dies away about its foundations, and the tide of human life is met at last 
 by the eternal " Here shall thy proud waves be stayed," the glory of its 
 aspect fades into blanched f earf ulness ; its purple walls are rent into grisly 
 rocks, its silver fretwork saddened into wasting snow; the stormbrands of 
 ages are on its breast, the ashes of its own ruin lie solemnly on its white 
 raiment. 
 
 If you desire to perceive the great harmonies of the form of a rocky 
 mountain, you must not ascend upon its sides. All there is disorder and 
 accident, or seems so. Eetire from it, and as your eye commands it more 
 and more, you see the ruined mountain world with a wider glance ; be- 
 hold! dim sympathies begin to busy themselves in the disjointed mass: 
 line binds itself into stealthy fellowship with line : group by group the 
 helpless fragments gather themselves into ordered companies: new cap- 
 tains of hosts, and masses of battalions, become visible one by one ; and 
 far-away answers of foot to foot and bone to bone, until the powerless is 
 seen risen up with girded loins, and not one piece of all the unregarded 
 heap can now be spared from the mystic whole. Ruskin. 
 
 304 He faced his audience with a tranquil mien, and a beaming aspect 
 that was never dimmed. He spoke, and in the measured cadence of his 
 quiet voice there was intense feeling, but no declamation, no passionate 
 appeal, no superficial and feigned emotion. It was simple colloquy — a 
 gentleman conversing. How was it done? Ah ! how did Mozart do it — 
 how Kaphael? The secret of the rose's sweetness, of the bird's ecstacy, 
 of the sunset's glory — that is the secret of genius and eloquence. What 
 was heard, what was seen, was the form of noble manhood, the courteous 
 and self-possessed tone, the flow of modulated speech, sparkling with 
 matchless richness of illustration, with apt allusion, and happy anecdote, 
 and historic parallel, with wit and pitiless invective, with melodious 
 pathos, with stinging satire, with crackling epigram, and limpid humor,
 
 CLEARNESS. 249 
 
 like the bright ripples that play around the sure and steady prow of the 
 resistless ship. Like an illuminated vase of odors, he glowed with con- 
 centrated and perfumed fire. The divine energy of his conviction utterly 
 possessed him, and his 
 
 " Pure and eloquent blood 
 Spoke in his cheek, and so distinctly wrought, 
 That one might almost say his body thought." 
 
 Was it Pericles swaying the Athenian multitude? Was it Apollo breath- 
 ing the music of the morning from his lips? It was an American patriot, 
 a modern son of liberty, with a soul as firm and as true as was ever con- 
 secrated to unselfish duty, pleading with the American conscience for the 
 chained and speechless victims of American inhumanity. 
 
 " Wendell Phillips." Curtis. 
 
 XXXIX. CLEARNESS, 
 
 rpHE cause of language and expression is the desire to com- 
 -*- municate with other minds. Hence, the essential requisite 
 of all writing, speaking, or reading is that everything shall be 
 clear. Delivery aims to make people hear, understand, and 
 feel. The clear comprehension of meaning lies at the founda- 
 tion of all expression. Without this there can be no true feeling 
 or adequate thought. 
 
 Clearness in Vocal Expression, aside from the mechanical 
 elements of articulation and the right qualities of voice, is de- 
 pendent chiefly upon the saliency of the central words and the 
 subordination of adjunctive words or phrases. There must be 
 such a variety of inflections and changes of pitch, emphasis, and 
 subordination, that the logical sequence of the thought shall be 
 clearly shown. All ideas must be brought into right relation- 
 ship with each other. There must be a simple and definite pro- 
 gression from idea to idea. One idea must be introduced at a 
 time, however complex its relations as an object of specific at- 
 tention. Every antithesis, comparison, or logical sequence of 
 ideas must be made definitely manifest through the voice. All 
 the elements of Vocal Expression, all modulations of the voice, 
 must have direct relationship to the process of thinking.
 
 250 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 There are many causes of a lack of clearness. Emphasis of 
 too many words, a lack of emphasis, and a lack of subordination 
 are among the most common. 
 
 In general, clearness in Vocal Expression is dependent upon 
 clearness of thinking and the enlarged and clear accentuation of 
 the processes of thought and its direct domination of the modu- 
 lations of the voice. An idea may be clear to the speaker ; but 
 on account of the failure to think slowly and to modulate his 
 voice according to his thought, he may confuse the minds of his 
 hearers. 
 
 Problem LXXXIV. Take a passage which is full of depth and 
 subtlety of thought, and by definite thinking and emphasis mak» 
 it clear to another mind. 
 
 305. THE FUNCTION OF AET. 
 Our human speech is naught, 
 Our human testimony false, our fame 
 And human estimation words and wind. 
 Why take the artistic way to prove so much? 
 Because, it is the glory and good of Art, 
 That Art remains the one way possible 
 Of speaking truth, to mouths like mine, at least. 
 How look a brother in the face and say 
 " Thy right is wrong, eyes hast thou, yet art blind, 
 Thine ears are stuffed and stopped, despite their length, 
 And, oh, the foolishness thou countest faith! " 
 Say this as silvery as tongue can troll — 
 The anger of the man may be endured, 
 The shrug, the disappointed eyes of him 
 Are not so bad to bear — but here's the plague, 
 That all this trouble comes of telling truth, 
 Which truth, by when it reaches him, looks false, 
 Seems to be just the thing it would supplant, 
 Nor recognizable by whom it left; 
 While falsehood would have done the work of truth. 
 But Art, — wherein man nowise speaks to men, 
 Only to mankind, — Art may tell a truth 
 Obliquely, do the thing shall breed the thought,
 
 CLEARNESS. 251 
 
 Nor wrong the thought, missing the mediate word. 
 
 So may you paint your picture, twice show truth, 
 
 Beyond mere imagery on the wall, — 
 
 So, note by note, bring music from your mind, 
 
 Deeper than ever the Adante dived, — 
 
 So write a book shall mean, beyond the facts, 
 
 Suffice the eye, and save the soul besides. 
 "The Ring and the Book." Browning. 
 
 306 Just in proportion as the writer's aim, consciously or uncon- 
 sciously, comes to be the transcribing, not of the world, not of mere fact, 
 but of his sense of it, he becomes an artist, his workjtne art; and good 
 art in proportion to the truth of his presentment of that sense. Truth I 
 there can be no merit, no craft at all, without that. And further, all 
 beauty is in the long run only fineness of truth, or what we call expres- 
 sion, the finer accommodation of speech to that vision within. 
 
 Walter Pater. 
 
 307. NATUEAL SUPERNATURALISM. 
 
 Sweep away the illusion of Time ; glance, if thou have eyes, from the 
 near moving-cause to its far-distant Mover: The stroke that came trans- 
 mitted through a whole galaxy of elastic balls, was it less a stroke than 
 if the last ball only had been struck, and sent flying? O, could I trans- 
 port thee direct from the Beginnings to the Endings, how were thy eye- 
 sight unsealed, and thy heart set flaming in the Light-sea of celestial 
 wonder! Then sawest thou that this fair Universe, were it in the meanest 
 province thereof, is in very deed the star-domed City of God ; that through 
 every star, through every grass-blade, and most through every Living 
 Soul, the glory of a present God still beams. But Nature, which is the 
 Time-vesture of God, and reveals Him to the wise, hides Him from the 
 foolish. 
 
 Again, could anything be more miraculous than an actual authentic 
 Ghost? The English Johnson longed, all his life, to see one ; but could 
 not, though he went to Cock Lane, and thence to the church-vaults, and 
 tapped on coffins. Foolish Doctor! Did he never, with the mind's eye 
 as well as with the body's, look round him into that full tide of human 
 Life he so loved ; did he never so much as look into Himself? The good 
 Doctor was a Ghost, as actual and as authentic as heart could wish ; well- 
 nigh a million of Ghosts were travelling the streets by his side. Once 
 more I say, sweep away the illusion of Time ; compress the threescore 
 years into three minutes: what else was he, what else are we? Are we 
 not Spirits, that are shaped into a body, into an Appearance ; and that
 
 252 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 fade away again into Air and Invisibility? This is no metaphor, it is a 
 simple scientific fact : we start out of Nothingness, take figure, and are 
 Apparitions ; round us, as round the veriest spectre, is Eternity ; and to 
 Eternity minutes are as years and seons. Come there not tones of Love 
 and Faith, as from celestial harp-strings, like the Song of beatified Souls? 
 And again, do not we squeak and gibber; and glide bodeful, and feeble, 
 and fearful; or uproar, and revel in our mad Dance of the Dead, — till 
 the scent of the morning air summons us to our still Home; and dreamy 
 Night becomes awake and Day? Where now is Alexander of Macedon: 
 does the Steel Host, that yelled in fierce battle-shouts at Issus and Arbela, 
 remain behind him; or have they all vanished utterly, even as perturbed 
 Goblins must? Napoleon too, and his Moscow Retreats and Austerlitz 
 Campaigns ! Was it all other than the veriest Spectre-hunt ; which has 
 now, with its howling tumult that made Night hideous, flitted away? — 
 Ghosts ! There are nigh a thousand-million walking the Earth openly at 
 noontide; some half-hundred have vanished from it, some half -hundred 
 have arisen in it, ere thy watch ticks once. 
 
 O Heaven, it is mysterious, it is awful to consider that we not only 
 carry each a future Ghost within him ; but are, in very deed, Ghosts ! 
 These Limbs, whence had we them; this stormy Force; this life-blood 
 with its burning Passion? They are dust and shadow; a Shadow-system 
 gathered round our Me; wherein, through some moments or years, the 
 Divine Essence is to be revealed in the Flesh. That warrior on his strong 
 war-horse, fire flashes through his eyes; force dwells in his arm and heart: 
 but warrior and war-horse are a vision; a revealed Force, nothing more. 
 Stately they tread the Earth, as if it were a firm substance: fool! the 
 Earth is but a film; it cracks in twain, and warrior and war-horse sink 
 beyond plummet's sounding. Plummet's? Fantasy herself will not follow 
 them. A little while ago, they were not; a little while, and they are not, 
 their very ashes are not. 
 
 So has it been from the beginning, so will it be to the end. Generation 
 after generation takes to itself the Form of a Body ; and forth-issuing 
 from Cimmerian Night, on Heaven's mission APPEARS. What Force 
 and Fire is in each he expends: one grinding in the mill of Industry; one 
 hunter-like climbing the giddy Alpine heights of Science; one madly 
 dashed in pieces on the rocks of Strife, in war with his fellow: — and 
 then the Heaven-sent is recalled; his earthly vesture falls away, and soon 
 even to Sense becomes a vanished Shadow. Thus, like some wild-flaming^ 
 wild-thundering train of Heaven's Artillery, does this mysterious MAN- 
 KIND thunder and flame, in long-drawn, quick-succeeding grande?ir,
 
 EARNESTNESS. 253 
 
 through the unknown Deep. Thus, like a God-created, fire-breathing 
 Spirit-host, we emerge from the Inane ; haste stormf ully across the aston- 
 ished Earth; then plunge again into the Inane. Earth's mountains are 
 levelled, and her seas filled up, in our passage : can the Earth, which is 
 but dead and a vision, resist Spirits which have reality and are alive? On 
 the hardest adamant some footprint of us is stamped-in ; the last Eear of 
 the host will read traces of the earliest Van. But whence? O Heaven, 
 whither? Sense knows not; Faith knows not; only that it is through 
 Mystery to Mystery, from God and to God. 
 
 " We are such stuff 
 As dreams are made of, and our little Life 
 Is rounded with a sleep." Carlylc 
 
 XL. EARNESTNESS. 
 
 rTIHE word ' earnestness ' comes from a root meaning to 
 ' excite.' It means an eager desire of the heart for the 
 cause of truth ; the deep longing that other men shall accept a 
 truth which is realized by the speaker. The earnest man feels 
 so intensely the importance of a truth that he longs to share it 
 with his race. 
 
 Earnestness is the secret of success in any department of life. 
 It is only the earnest man who wins his cause. The indifferent 
 or passive waiting for things to happen, failure to realize the deep 
 importance of truth or to have conviction, are marks of a man 
 who has no power over his fellow men. 
 
 The vivid conception, the intense realization of truth, awakens 
 the impulse to express. Noble expression is the manifestation of 
 the whole man. Its fundamental condition must be that all the 
 faculties and powers be awake ; hence, earnestness of thought 
 lies at the basis of all naturalness and power. 
 
 In all speaking earnestness is essential, because expression is 
 the conveying of a truth, and if a truth is conveyed without any 
 desire to have it accepted, it becomes insipid and lifeless. One 
 who sees and realizes a truth has an earnest desire that others 
 shall realize it. Earnestness in life and art is the desire for
 
 254 VOCAL EXPRESSION, 
 
 achievement, it is the longing to accomplish something better, 
 to actualize something ideal. 
 
 Earnestness can be developed. One step for its improvement 
 is meditation ; he who meditates or holds an idea or truth before 
 the mind awakens every faculty. The whole nature responds so 
 that he speaks with life and power. It is only by continuous 
 dwelling upon ideas that we feel their importance. Earnestness 
 implies that there is an ideal as well as an actual, that there are 
 possibilities to be attained. Meditation over an ideal, or a com- 
 parison of the ideal with the actual, awakens a desire to modify 
 and transform the actual. 
 
 Earnestness is important in all speaking, because it implies 
 purpose. It is the yearning desire to accomplish a purpose. 
 Animation results from an intense realization of an idea for its 
 own sake ; earnestness adds to this the realization of a purpose 
 or desire to express so as to sway the hearts of men. 
 
 All speaking is in time ; earnestness gives the rhythmic pulsa- 
 tions to mind and voice, and thus develoj)s movement, — the 
 highest characteristic of art. 
 
 Every noble speaker must have a cause : he may desire to 
 teach or to rouse men ; he may desire simply to cause them to 
 realize a truth, to persuade them. His appeal may be to some 
 special part of man's nature, to his head or to his heart, to intel- 
 lect, emotion, or will. Sometimes it is to all of these. Earnest- 
 ness is that intense and instinctive reaching out for the part in 
 the nature of another man which is awake in our own. 
 
 All expression is dependent upon awakening the same faculty 
 in another man which is active in ourselves. Expression cannot 
 give a truth ; it only draws it out. Expression shows the action 
 of a faculty or set of faculties in one man to another in such a 
 way as to awaken the same faculties or powers in another soul. 
 Earnestness is thus the secret of magnetism. 
 
 The opposite of earnestness is indifference. An indifferent 
 man cares no more for one thing than for another. All things
 
 EARNESTNESS. 255 
 
 to him are the same ; he does not care whether men around him 
 are better or worse. 
 
 Earnestness has been called the moral quality of art, because 
 it corresponds to sincerity and nobleness. An earnest man 
 means what he says and says what he means. He so realizes a 
 truth that he sacrifices himself and his manner for a cause. 
 
 There is a tendency at the present time, and there always has 
 been, for culture to end in indifference. A cultivated man tends 
 to separate himself from the world, to look on merely as a spec- 
 tator, and to take an interest in things merely from the outside. 
 He has no pity for the unfortunate, no great desire for the amel- 
 ioration of the race. There is also a tendency to regard all art 
 as having an element of moral indifference, as having nothing to 
 do with right or wrong. Art must be for Art's sake ; its highest 
 aim is simply beauty. Whatever is pleasing is the fundamental 
 law of right art. 
 
 This is not wholly true. Art deals with the ideal, and in 
 pleasing, man seeks to please with what is highest. It makes a 
 distinction between what is low and what is high, because that 
 which pleases merely the physical is not artistic. That which 
 appeals to the imagination and the higher faculties of men is the 
 more artistic. Art is thus concerned with the aspirations of men. 
 
 There are other opposites to earnestness besides indifference. 
 Doubt of any kind, uncertainty as to the thought or to the truth, 
 a lack of conviction, all these tend to destroy earnestness. Ear- 
 nestness implies a simple attitude of soul towards truth ; it implies 
 loyalty, truthfulness, sincerity ; it implies the giving of the man's 
 whole nature for truth ; it implies the willingness to suffer for 
 the cause of truth. 
 
 There are many misconceptions of earnestness. Some regard 
 all earnestness as merely synonymous with loudness or violence, 
 an exaggerated use of gestures, or an extravagant amount of force. 
 
 It is very important to distinguish between muscular earnest- 
 ness and mental earnestness. An earnestness which is merely
 
 256 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 assumed, which merely aggregates outward extravagant actions, 
 which tries to show signs of energy, — this is not the true earnest- 
 ness. All true earnestness must be in the man. 
 
 308 What the poet has to cultivate above all things is love and 
 truth ; — what he has to avoid, like poison, is the fleeting and the false. 
 He will get no good by proposing to be in earnest at the moment. His 
 earnestness must be innate and habitual ; born with him, and felt to be 
 his most precious inheritance. Leigh Hunt. 
 
 True earnestness is not manifested by loudness, not shown by 
 rant, not revealed by noise. It is shown by the development of 
 the intensity of touch, the changes of pitch and the inflections, 
 or the range of the voice. 
 
 Hence, in the development of emphasis, we must give atten- 
 tion to the nature of true earnestness. Professor Monroe once 
 said, " Earnestness covers a multitude of elocutionary sins." It 
 does not so much cover them, however, as it prevents them. 
 
 There are certain faults of emjmasis, such as declamation and 
 rant, which are due to a perversion or a misconception of earnest- 
 ness. In declamation the earnestness is assumed, or at any rate, 
 there is a desire to make the earnestness visible. Genuine ear- 
 nestness does not waste itself or its energy in trying to show it- 
 self to others. Genuine earnestness unites thought and feeling:; 
 the whole man is harmoniously aroused. There is, of course, an 
 emotional earnestness as well as an intellectual earnestness, but 
 both are united in the highest and most genuine earnestness. 
 
 In the development of emphasis the student should practise 
 those passages which he most truly believes and most intensely 
 feels. He should take a thought which he himself firmly believes, 
 and endeavor to convey it so as to convince other minds who do 
 not realize it. 
 
 Earnestness must not be confounded with vague impulsiveness 
 or wild extravagance. Genuine earnestness is a co-operative 
 activity of the whole man. Hence, it is self-contained and re-
 
 EARNESTNESS. 257 
 
 strained. Like all great energy it proceeds without great show. 
 Nor must earnestness be confounded with antagonism. True 
 earnestness is sympathetic and kindly disposed towards all men 
 and all phases of truth. 
 
 Problem LXXXV. Study a passage of noble literature full of 
 earnestness and intensity until its spirit is fully assimilated and 
 made adequately manifest through the voice. 
 
 309. ON HIS BLINDNESS. 
 
 When I consider how my light is spent 
 
 Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, 
 
 And that one talent which is death to hide 
 
 Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent 
 
 To serve therewith my Maker, and present 
 
 My true account, lest He returning chide, — 
 
 Doth God exact day-labour, light denied? 
 
 I fondly ask: — But Patience, to prevent 
 
 That murmur, soon replies ; God doth not need 
 
 Either man's work, or His own gifts: who best 
 
 Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best : His state 
 
 Is kingly ; thousands at His bidding speed 
 
 And post o'er land and ocean without rest: — 
 
 They also serve who only stand and wait. Milton. 
 
 310 Oh, we're sunk enough here, God knows ! But not quite so sunk 
 that moments, sure tho' seldom, are denied us, when the spirit's true 
 endowments stand out plainly from its false ones, and apprise it if pur- 
 suing or the right way or the wrong way, to its triumph or undoing. 
 There are flashes struck from midnights, there are fire-flames noondays 
 kindle, whereby piled-up honours perish, whereby swollen ambitions 
 dwindle, while just this or that poor impulse, which for once had play 
 unstifled, seems the sole work of a life-time that away the rest have trifled. 
 
 "Cristitia." Browning. 
 
 311 Let our object be our country, our whole country, and nothing 
 but our country. And, by the blessing of God, may that country itself 
 become a vast and splendid monument, not of oppression ana terror, but 
 of wisdom, of peace, and of liberty, upon which the world may gaze with 
 admiration forever! Daniel Webster. 
 
 17
 
 258 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 312 We know not what we are, any more than what we shall he. It 
 is a high, solemn, most awful thought for every individual man, that his 
 earthly influence, which has had a commencement, will never through all 
 ages, were he the very meanest of us, have an end ! What is done is 
 done; has already blended itself with the boundless, ever-living, ever- 
 working Universe, and will also work there for good or for evil, openly or 
 secretly, throughout all time. Carlyle. 
 
 313. THE CASTLE OF CHILLON.* 
 
 Eternal, Spirit of the chainless Mind ! 
 
 Brightest in dungeons ! Liberty, thou art, 
 
 For there thy habitation is the heart — 
 
 The heart which love of Thee alone can bind; 
 
 And when thy sons to fetters are consign' d, 
 
 To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom, 
 
 Their country conquers with their martyrdom, 
 
 And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind. 
 
 Chillon ! thy prison is a holy place 
 
 And thy sad floor an altar, for 'twas trod, 
 
 Until his very steps have left a trace 
 
 Worn as if thy cold pavement were a sod, 
 
 By Bonnivard ! May none those marks efface ! 
 
 For they appeal from tyranny to God. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 314, SHAKESPEARE AND GOETHE. 
 This theory of the moral indifference of art originated, I believe, 
 in great measure, with Goethe, and has been propagated chiefly by his 
 too exclusive admirers. I should be content to rest the whole question 
 on a comparison of the moral spirit that pervades the dramas of Goethe 
 and those of Shakespeare. It has been asserted, I believe with truth, 
 that it was the existence of this very theory in Goethe, or rather of that 
 element in him whence this theory was projected, which shuts him out 
 from the highest place as a dramatist, and marks the vast interval between 
 him and Shakespeare. Goethe's moral nature was, it has been said, of a 
 somewhat limp texture, with few strong "natural admirations," so that 
 his dramas are wanting in those moral lights and shadows which exist in 
 the actual world, and give life and outline to the most manly natures. 
 
 * Bonnivard, a Genevese, was imprisoned by the Duke of Savoy in Chillon for 
 the defence of his country against the tyranny with which Piedmont threatened 
 it during the first half of the seventeenth century.
 
 EARNESTNESS. 259 
 
 His groups of characters are most of them morally feeble and shadowy. 
 Shakespeare, on the other hand, being a whole, natural man, " the moral, 
 imaginative, and intellectual parts of him do not lie separate," but move 
 at once and all together. Being wholly unembarrassed with aesthetic 
 theories, his "poetical impulse and his moral feelings are one." He does 
 not conceal or explain away the great moral elevations and depressions 
 that you see in the world. He paints men and women as they are, with 
 great moral differences, not withholding admiration from the noble, con- 
 tempt and aversion from the base. Therefore, though we do not say that 
 he is faultless, do not deny that there are things in him we could wish 
 away, yet, taken as a whole, there breathes from his works a natural, 
 healthy, bracing, elevating spirit, not to be found in the works of Goethe. 
 Every side, every phase of human nature is there faithfully set down, but 
 to the higher and better side is given its natural predominance. With 
 the largest tolerance ever man had for all human infirmity, the widest 
 sympathy with all men, seeing even the soul of good that may lie iD 
 things evil, there is in him nothing of that neutral moral tint, which is 
 weakness in poetry as truly as in natural life. 
 
 Poetry refuses to be made over as the handmaid of any one philosophy 
 or view of life or system of belief. But it is equally true that it naturally 
 allies itself only with what is highest and best in human nature ; and in 
 whatever philosophy or belief this is enshrined, thence poetry will draw 
 its finest impulses. 
 
 "Aspects of Poetry." Shairp. 
 
 315. TEE BIVEB DUDDON. 
 
 I thought of Thee, my partner and my guide, 
 
 As being past away. — Vain sympathies ! 
 
 For, backward, Duddon, as I cast my eyes, 
 
 I saw what was, and is, and will abide ; 
 
 Still glides the Stream, and shall forever glide ; 
 
 The Form remains, the Function never dies ; 
 
 "While we, the brave, the mighty , and the wise, 
 
 We Men, who in our morn of youth defied 
 
 The elements, must vanish; — be it so! 
 
 Enough, if something from our hands have power 
 
 To live, and act-, and serve the future hour ; 
 
 And if, as toward the silent tomb we go, 
 
 Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower, 
 
 We feel that we are greater than we know. 
 
 Wordsworth.
 
 260 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 316 Heab a word, a word in season, for the day is drawing nigh 
 When the Cause shall call upon us — some to live, and some to die! 
 He that dies shall not die lonely, many an one hath gone before, 
 He that lives shall bear no burden heavier than the life they bore. 
 Oft, when men and maids are merry, ere the sunlight leaves the earth, 
 And they bless the day beloved, all too short for all their mirth, 
 Some shall pause awhile and ponder on the bitter days of old, 
 Ere the toil of strife and battle overthrew the curse of gold; 
 Then 'twixt lips of loved and lover solemn thoughts of us shall rise; 
 We who once were fools and dreamers, then shall be the brave and wise; 
 Hear a word, a word in season, for the day is drawing nigh, 
 When the Cause shall call upon us, some to live and some to die ! 
 % All For The Cause." Morris. 
 
 317. ODE TO THE WEST WIND. 
 
 O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being, 
 Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead 
 Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing, 
 Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, 
 Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou 
 Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed 
 The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low, 
 Each like a corpse within its grave, until 
 Thine azure sister of the spring shall blow 
 Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill 
 (Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air) 
 With living hues and odours plain and hill: 
 Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere; 
 Destroyer and preserver; Hear, oh, hear! 
 
 Thou on whose stream, 'mid the steep sky's commotion, 
 
 Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are shed, 
 
 Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean, 
 
 Angels of rain and lightning, there are spread 
 
 On the blue surface of thine airy surge, 
 
 Like the bright hair uplifted from the head 
 
 Of some fierce Maenad, ev'n from the dim verge 
 
 Of the horizon to the zenith's height — 
 
 The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge 
 
 Of the dying year, to which this closing night 
 
 Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre, 
 
 Vaulted with all thy congregated might
 
 EARNESTNESS. 261 
 
 Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere 
 
 Black rain, and fire, and hail, will burst: Oh, hear! 
 
 Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams 
 The blue Mediterranean, where he lay, 
 Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams, 
 Beside a pumice isle in Bail's bay, 
 And saw in sleep old palaces and towers 
 Quivering within the wave's intenser day, 
 All overgrown with azure moss and flowers 
 So sweet, the sense faints picturing them ! Thou 
 For whose path the Atlantic's level powers 
 Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below 
 The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear 
 The sapless foliage of the ocean, know 
 Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear, 
 And tremble and despoil themselves: Oh, hear! 
 
 If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear; 
 
 If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee; 
 
 A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share 
 
 The impulse of thy strength, only less free 
 
 Than Thou, O uncontrollable ! If even 
 
 I were as in my boyhood, and could be 
 
 The comrade of thy wanderings over heaven, 
 
 As then, when to outstrip the skyey speed 
 
 Scarce seem'd a vision, I would ne'er have striven 
 
 As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need. 
 
 lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud 1 
 
 1 fall upon the thorns of life ! I bleed ! 
 
 A heavy weight of hours has chain'd and bow'd 
 One too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud. 
 
 Make me thy lyre, ev'n as the forest is: 
 What if my leaves are falling like its own! 
 The tumult of thy mighty harmonies 
 Will take from both a deep autumnal tone, 
 Sweet though-in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce, 
 My spirit ! be thou me, impetuous one ! 
 Drive my dead thoughts over the universe 
 Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth;
 
 262 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 And, by the incantation of this verse, 
 Scatter, as from an unextinguish'd hearth 
 Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind! 
 Be through my lips to unawaken'd earth 
 The trumpet of a prophecy ! O Wind, 
 If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind? 
 
 Shelley. 
 
 318 All the processes of the ages are God's science; all the flow of 
 history is his poetry. His sculpture is not in marble, but in living and 
 speech-giving forms, which pass away, not to yield place to those that 
 come after, but to be perfected in a nobler studio. What he has done 
 remains, although it vanishes ; and he never either forgets what he has 
 once done, or does it even once again. As the thoughts move in the mind 
 of a man, so move the worlds of men and women in the mind of God, and 
 make no confusion there, for there they had their birth, the offspring of 
 his imagination. Man is but a thought of God. 
 
 "The imagination." MacDonald. 
 
 319 Thy tyranny, 
 Together working with thy jealousies, — 
 Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle 
 For girls of nine, O, think, what they have done, 
 And then run mad indeed, — stark mad! for all 
 Thy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it. 
 
 That thou betrayedst Polixenes, 'twas nothing; . . . 
 Thou wouldst have poison'd good Camillo's honor, 
 To have him kill a king; poor trespasses, 
 More monstrous standing by: whereof I reckon 
 The casting forth to crows thy baby daughter 
 To be or none or little, — though a devil 
 Would have shed water out of fire ere done't, 
 Nor is't directly laid to thee, the death 
 Of the young Prince, whose honorable thoughts — 
 Thoughts high for one so tender — cleft the heart 
 That could conceive, a gross and foolish sire 
 Blemish'd his gracious dam: this is not, no, 
 Laid to thy answer: but the last, — O lords, 
 When I have said, cry, Woe! — the Queen, the Queen, 
 The sweet' st, dear'st creature 's dead; and vengeance for 't 
 Not dropp'd down yet. 
 "Winter's Tale." Shakespeare.
 
 III. 
 
 MODES OF DEVELOPMENT. 
 
 ILL POEMS OF EXPEESSIOK. 
 
 Q OME of the elemental actions of the mind which cause mod- 
 ^ ulations of the voice have been studied for the bettei 
 understanding of the true nature of Vocal Expression. We 
 have found that the actions or attitudes of the mind direct'iv, and 
 more or less spontaneously, cause these modulations, and that no 
 artificial system of vocal signs or system of rules can be arranged 
 independent of the direct domination of mind over voice. 
 
 The question now arises, what method should be adopted to 
 develop the right actions of the voice, or secure right processes ? 
 
 Some of the leading elemental acts of expression are these: 
 to talk, to read, to recite, to address an audience, to act and to 
 write, to draw and to sing. Which of these is most effective in 
 developing the expressive power of the man ? All should be used. 
 The reason for this is that each of them calls into more imme- 
 diate activity some special set of the faculties. Practice merely 
 upon one is apt to develop one-sidedness ; besides the develop- 
 ment of the greatest power in any one of them cannot be attained 
 without some mastery of the others, if ot only must the well- 
 rounded man have all of them in some degree, but the special 
 master of each one of them must also have more or less knowl- 
 edge and command of each of the others. The good speaker, 
 for example, must be "able to write, or he will lack accuracy. A 
 little acting also will help him to develop naturalness, and read- 
 ing and reciting will give a more all-sided discipline to his 
 powers. These exercises will cause him to realize the processes
 
 264 TOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 of the greatest writers and speakers, and will develop the powei 
 to see from a different point of view, and even to think in a 
 foreign language. 
 
 Exercise in each of these various acts tends to develop that 
 command of the special powers which are necessary for special 
 forms of expression. For instance, to develop the greatest power 
 in acting, the actor must be able to read well and to recite well. 
 A reader, unless he is able to act, will be led into exaggeration, 
 without power to modulate his positions or to make his char- 
 acter think. He must also be able to understand every point of 
 view : he must be able to appreciate the speaker's attitude of 
 mind as well as that of the actor. Even the writer, since all 
 style is founded upon conversation, will receive great help from 
 speaking. Exercise in speaking will enable him to feel the fun- 
 damental qualities of naturalness; for the spoken word brings 
 man nearest to a realization of one mind in a state of active 
 communication with another. 
 
 The greatest artists have always sought for more than one 
 point of view. The best artists have always studied, and have 
 been noted for their power of appreciating, other arts. In fact, 
 many great artists have practised more than one form of art. 
 The art faculty is broadened by this comparative study. This 
 is true of all the arts, but it is especially true of all forms of 
 speaking. The student should converse, speak, read, recite, 
 debate, and act. Work in all of these acts will develop a flex- 
 ible and versatile use of the faculties of the mind. Such union 
 of different acts will develop the power to see truth from every 
 possible point of view, to modulate all modes of expression, and 
 to fit every kind of subject and experience, and to adapt them to 
 every kind of audience. 
 
 Again, work in all modes of expression tends to prevent arti- 
 ficiality and mannerisms. Work in recitation alone often tends 
 to develop stiltedness ; practice in speaking alone often tends to 
 develop an unsympathetic action relative to subject and audi-
 
 FORMS OF EXPRESSION. 265 
 
 ence ; reading alone tends to eliminate the process of progressive 
 thinking ; acting alone tends to develop staginess. As has been 
 already shown, all work in Vocal Expression tends to artificiality 
 and affectation, and to a lack of genuineness in thinkiug. The 
 same is true of Rhetoric. The reason for this is the tendency 
 of most minds to separate form from thought. The practice in 
 different modes of expression tends to prevent this superficiality 
 and one-sidedness, and to develop simplicity, genuineness and 
 power. It gives greater discipline of the faculties, greater self- 
 control, and greater ability to vary and adapt as well as to em- 
 ploy all modes of expression. 
 
 Again, such a method prevents the tendency to mere imita- 
 tion. If a student is made to read only, he will tend, possibly, 
 to read like his teacher ; but if he is made to speak on familiar 
 subjects, his vocal modulations in conversation are so spontane- 
 ous, so freely natural, that he rarely imitates. By having him 
 converse upon his feet to the class, and then read or recite, he 
 can be made to feel when he is natural, and when unnatural. 
 Thus the student, as well as the teacher, will be enabled to 
 recognize his fundamental needs and difficulties. 
 
 Again, work in different forms of expression will develop 
 originality. The student is not only enabled to study himself, 
 not only prevented from imitation and made natural, but his 
 faculties and powers are stimulated to act in their own way. 
 Some of them will necessarily call for the expression of his own 
 views and convictions. 
 
 The method for Vocal Expression here unfolded seeks to keep 
 continually before the student the thought, and especially the 
 process of its creation or realization, as well as modes of delivery. 
 Such a method can be easily applied to speaking or to any form 
 of Vocal Expression". It is notorious that mechanical elocution 
 can only be applied to certain forms of recitation and to a cer- 
 tain kind of literature, and cannot be applied to extemporaneous 
 speaking. This fact proves that such a method is inadequate,
 
 266 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 and that the whole subject needs to be placed upon a different 
 basis and lifted to a higher. 
 
 Every one of the steps which have been laid down applies to 
 all of these modes of expression, and nearly every one of the 
 problems may be illustrated by speaking, reading, recitation, and 
 in fact by all the elemental acts of Vocal Expression. 
 
 XLIL CONVEBSATION. 
 
 HHHE question arises, with which of these several modes of 
 -*- expression should work begin in the development of delivery? 
 
 A child learns to speak before it learns to recite or to write. 
 Conversation is the first and fundamental mode by which one 
 man reveals himself to another. It is also the simplest and most 
 direct. It brings the mind into immediate contact with another 
 mind. The speaker himself can realize the nature of the action 
 of his own mind, and its relations to the modulations of his voice. 
 Conversation also gives the teacher the best possible means of 
 judging the mental, as well as the vocal action of his pupil. 
 Hence, one of the first exercises which the teacher should use 
 is conversation. Students should speak to the teacher and the 
 class upon the simplest subjects. They should discuss, in the 
 simplest possible way, those topics in which they are the most 
 vitally interested. 
 
 An important means of developing the power of conversation 
 is story-telling. Stories are the first form of literature that the 
 child learns to love ; and the very latest development of art uses 
 stories as the highest means of embodying the conceptions of 
 the imagination. Men rarely, if ever, outgrow their love for them. 
 There must be something in them, therefore, of fundamental 
 importance to the development of the human mind. A story 
 that pleases a child is nearly always full of vivid pictures, and 
 has a simple movement of events or scenes which awakens the 
 association of ideas in the mind. A good story must be simple,
 
 CONVERSATION. 267 
 
 real, without affectation or stiltedness ; its sequence of ideas 
 should move with genuine life. These are the very qualities that 
 should characterize conversation. 
 
 The sources from which stories may be drawn, suited to the 
 age and needs of a student or a class, are boundless. Folk-lore, 
 personal experience, current literature, some particular phase of 
 history or art, are among those which come at once to mind. 
 One method is to assign poems, adapted to the needs and ad- 
 vancement of the student, and have the student give the argu- 
 ment or meaning in his own language. Such problems may be 
 selected from poems as simple as Longfellow's " Tales of a Way- 
 side Inn," or from those as difficult as the " Faery Queen," or 
 "The Ring and the Book." 
 
 Poems may be selected to meet the needs of the student ; for 
 example, to a student who has no love for poetry, and who lacks 
 imagination, can be given some beautiful poem the story of which 
 he cannot help but like ; his imagination may be thus quickened, 
 and he be started in the right path to reach a higher plane of 
 culture. Sometimes a student jshould be left to his own selec- 
 tion, that his tastes and tendencies may be observed and studied 
 by the teacher. 
 
 There are many advantages in this use of stories. The student 
 will be brought into contact with the greatest literary art. He 
 will be enabled to feel the real characteristics of true expression in 
 the best authors, their simplicity, ease, repose, and power. His lit- 
 erary taste will be stimulated, and he will unconsciously assim- 
 ilate these qualities in his own execution. Again, he will have 
 something to say, something a class will desire to hear, and ho 
 will be stirred to do his best. 
 
 Another advantage is to bring the work of expression into 
 contact with literature. As a matter of fact, poetry and litera- 
 ture are the highest modes of expression, and in the development 
 of all art a sense of a right standard can be best gained by con- 
 tact with them. Besides, conversation may be made an impor-
 
 268 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 tant aid in studying literature ; not in a mechanical or analytic 
 way, but in accordance with the principles of all true education ; 
 not on a basis of gaining information merely, but also power to 
 execute. It obeys the principle that " to know any thing we 
 must do it," — the principle which underlies all manual training 
 and all reforms in education. Instead of being crammed with 
 facts about a poem, the student will be enabled to enter directly 
 into sympathy with its spirit. Literature must be studied by di- 
 rect contact and assimilation. Whatever keeps us away from 
 reading literature itself is bad. Whatever brings us into direct, 
 sympathetic contact with the ideas of a literary work is good. 
 Such a course, in short, develops that true literary appreciation 
 which lies at the basis not only of all criticism, but of all artistic 
 power and of all culture and development. 
 
 While story-telling is one of the simplest forms of expression, 
 it is one of the most difficult. A good story-teller is rare. Car- 
 lyle says that this power is a sign of a great mind. Simplicity is 
 always difficult, for it is the charm of the greatest art, and sim- 
 plicity is the fundamental characteristic of a good story. Students 
 should, therefore, often be led to study the great story-tellers, 
 such as Chaucer, so as to learn from example the power of simple 
 truth when told in the most direct way. 
 
 The preparation of a stoiy should vary with each individual ; 
 but it should consist chiefly in deciding upon where to begin, 
 and upon the fundamental points or purpose. A good story must 
 be definite and concise. There will always be great temptation 
 to wander, or to take up too much time. It is very important, 
 therefore, that a student should be timed, that he may present 
 just what is interesting, just what is important, and may begin 
 to have the power of pre-conceiving his thought in form and of 
 knowing the amount of time each part will take. All art must 
 be founded upon just such foresight. 
 
 In the act of telling a story, all the powers of the mind must 
 be active. Every true story is dramatic, and the imagination and
 
 EXTEMPORANEOUS SPEAKING. 269 
 
 sympathy, as the two elements of the dramatic instinct, must 
 especially be awake. There should be little theorizing about 
 conversation ; all should be as free and simple as possible. The 
 student should not feel that he is getting up to make a speech, but 
 that he is simply facing his class to speak of something in which 
 he is interested. His heart must burn with his thought, and he 
 must make them feel and see what he feels and sees, and awaken 
 their interest in the poem so that they will themselves be led 
 to read it. 
 
 It would be an invaluable discipline for parents or teachers 
 from the earliest years to lead children to tell the stories about 
 that which they are reading. If steps were taken to interest 
 children in reading books, and in talking about them from early 
 years, their education and culture would be more satisfactory. 
 
 Many hints have been thrown out as to the educational value 
 of telling stories, and of discussions ; but in general it may be 
 said, that there is no step which has been shown, no problem 
 which has been laid down in the last lessons, to which some form 
 of speaking, conversation, or discussion cannot be applied. 
 
 XLIIL EXTEMPORANEOUS SPEAKING. 
 
 OTUDENTS should be trained as early as possible to present 
 ^ their thoughts and ideas upon their feet. All conversa- 
 tion, of course, is extemporaneous speaking. Conversation, how- 
 ever, is more free and simple than speaking ; and while work 
 should begin with the simple forms of conversation, it should be 
 lifted as early as possible into systematic logical discussion. 
 
 What is meant by extemporaneous speaking? It does not 
 mean speaking without preparation, without study or arrange- 
 ment of ideas ; the words only are impromptu. It means that 
 free action of the mind in speaking in which the words and the 
 form of presentation are more or less modified by the presenoe 
 of an audience.
 
 270 VOCAI, EXPRESSION. 
 
 Dr. Edward Everett Hale makes two valuable suggestions 
 for extemporaneous speaking. First : speak whenever any one 
 asks you ; and, secondly, no one will ever make a speaker until 
 he is ready to make a fool of himself for the sake of his subject. 
 He has given also the following points : — 
 
 " Study carefully what you have to say, and put into words in 
 writing, or by speaking aloud to an imaginary person. 
 
 " Say nothing about yourself, least of all in the introduction. 
 
 " Arrange your points in order. 
 
 " Stick to your order. 
 
 "Divide your time among your points according to their 
 importance. 
 
 " Give each point the time you have appointed for it. 
 
 " Stop when you are through." 
 
 These points are similar to Professor Monroe's " Laws " of 
 Extemporaneous Speaking : — 
 
 " Have something to say. 
 
 " Say it. 
 
 " Stop." 
 
 Dr. Hale advises a student to sit down and write a letter to 
 a friend, and to say, "I am to speak on a certain subject, and I 
 wish to make these points ; " then let him enumerate the points 
 and put them into words. " If the student finds he has nothing 
 to say in his letter, he had better write to the committee that 
 invited him, and say that the probable death of his grandmother 
 will possibly prevent his being present on the occasion." 
 
 " The first great temptation of a speaker is to begin with him- 
 self and to talk about himself. Another temptation is to dwell 
 upon the points which are most difficult to him, or upon some- 
 thing in which he is personally interested, and not upon that 
 which is most important to his theme." A speaker rises to ac- 
 complish a certain end. He wishes to drive home a certain 
 point, and to win the conviction of his audience. For this 
 reason he must divide his time, not according to his own pleas-
 
 EXTEMPORANEOUS SPEAKING. 271 
 
 ure, but according to the importance of his subject, or according 
 to the relation of his discussion to the accomplishment of the end. 
 
 The importance of holding to the order of thought cannot be 
 over-estimated, because there are many temptations for the mind 
 to wander from the path it has laid down ; but yielding to such 
 temptations will destroy all power in speaking. 
 
 All art requires the artist to foresee results. He must conceive 
 an ideal, and then hold it until he embodies it as definitely as 
 possible. The speaker must be able in his calm moments to 
 foresee just what he has to say. In the heat of passion he is apt 
 to be one-sided, and, in pursuing a train of ideas of interest 
 only to himself, to neglect those which are most important to 
 bis theme. Hence the speaker must be able in cold blood to 
 choose what he has to say, and the order of his jioints. His own 
 personal interest and enjoyment must be sacrificed to his cause. 
 
 It is still more difficult and important to cling to the time 
 previously appointed. Many a speech consists in a long discus- 
 sion of the first point. If the result could be compared with the 
 speaker's intention, it would be found one-sided, and his real aim 
 wholly lost from view. 
 
 Speakers generally think they have occupied a very short time. 
 Dr. Hale says, that if you ride home with six or eight people 
 who havo just spoken on the same platform, and consult each 
 one separately, each man will think he made the shortest speech. 
 This is because every man enjoys so much his own speaking. 
 Hence there is a universal tendency to speak too long. 
 
 After a speaker has spoken he should compare what he has 
 done with what he intended, and rigidly rein himself up the 
 next time to achieve exactly what he intends. 
 
 The preparation for extemporaneous speaking is of great im- 
 portance. A subject heeds meditation. It is astonishing how 
 the mind goes on working in meditation, arranging illustrations 
 and points, and gradually probing to the very depth of the most 
 complex theme.
 
 272 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 XLIV. DISCUSSION AND DEBATE. 
 
 /^VNE of the most important exercises for the development of 
 ^-^ delivery is discussion upon subjects of the student's own 
 choice, which may be simple and commonplace, or the greatest 
 and most important of living issues. Such exercises develop the 
 insight and general knowledge of students. They form one of 
 the most important aids in inspiring them to keep posted upon 
 current events. Newspapers at the present time are so large, 
 and the scope of news so extended, that it is difficult to keep 
 up with the leading events of the world. Some, however, do 
 keep posted by reading only a few paragraphs in the papers 
 daily. By giving students the leading topics of national or in- 
 ternational interest, a means is found to develop their power to 
 select and to grasp broad living questions ; the mind is set to 
 work upon complex problems, and trained to right methods 
 of selection and arrangement. The same exercise may also 
 be made an aid in training students to make investigations in 
 libraries. 
 
 Another exercise in speaking, which is also very important in 
 developing the right mental action and stimulating natural de- 
 liverv, is debate. 
 
 In preparing for debate the student should study carefully 
 both sides of the question. Webster, the ablest of debaters, 
 was always prepared on every question that arose. The reason 
 was, that whenever any question came up in Congress, he was 
 accustomed to debate to himself both sides. Webster, with his 
 great mind, could state the arguments for either side better than 
 any one else. Having therefore argued it out to himself, and 
 stated both sides, when any opponent stated an argument, he 
 was prepared to answer it. It is said that he often stated an 
 opponent's position better than that opponent did himself. 
 
 One who wishes to debate must not blind himself, or endeavor 
 to ignore the other side of the question. He must be fair ; he
 
 DISCUSSION AND DEBATE. 273 
 
 must recognize all legitimate arguments. He must debate for 
 truth's sake ; he must himself look upon all sides of the question 
 before he ventures to speak upon any one side. 
 
 Often the best way to win the audience to his cause, is to speak 
 frankly and to recognize the arguments of the other side. All 
 men love frankness and honesty. Such a course awakens the 
 judicial faculty in the minds of his auditors ; it disarms antago- 
 nism and leads them to look calmly or with sympathy upon his 
 arguments. But one who refuses to see any but his own side, 
 and tries to blind the minds of his auditors to the fact that there 
 are other sides, will be likely to find that they rebel against all 
 the arguments he may offer. The first great object in debate is to 
 disarm this tendency of the hearer to oppose and to argue against 
 a speaker ; in starting out the debater should often touch those 
 points upon which all agree, or in some way cause the audience 
 to look fairly at all sides of any question. There are very few 
 propositions which can be stated which have not more than one 
 side. There are some who seem to think that no man who is 
 honest, no lawyer who is really true can undertake the case of 
 a man whom he knows to be guilty. But this is a misconception 
 of the nature of an advocate, or even of justice. Even the law 
 requires that the criminal shall not be condemned without 
 counsel ; some one must take his side or injustice may be done 
 him. He must have an advocate to state those conditions and 
 circumstances which soften the severity of the sentence of the 
 most hardened criminal. 
 
 All goes by approximation in this world, and no statement 
 of any truth is completely perfect. For this reason, all minds 
 should be led to debate and discuss the different sides of any 
 given subject in order to judge where lies the preponderance of 
 truth in this approximation, and thus be enabled to see where 
 lies the real depth of truth. 
 
 The subject of debate has been so often discussed that it is 
 only necessary to add a few words regarding its power to develop 
 18
 
 274 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 naturalness in delivery. Debate disciplines the antithetic action 
 of the mind. It disciplines the mind also to penetrate to funda- 
 mentals. As there is a present point to win, there is a tendency 
 to cause the speaker to make salient his central ideas, to en- 
 deavor to give them clearly. The speaker is helped, too, by 
 being compelled to speak to some one. 
 
 Debate tends to prevent declamation and stiltedness. The 
 speaker soon learns that in order to win his case he must be sim- 
 ple, concise, and direct. Debate thus not only awakens mental 
 energy and develops the logical sequence of ideas, but it also 
 gives self-possession, and tends to discipline the man to speak 
 with his whole nature and with all his body and with every lan- 
 guage. Thus it becomes one of the most effective exercises in 
 developing directness of delivery. 
 
 XLV. KECITATION. 
 
 ri^HE importance of Recitation can hardly be over-estimated. 
 -*- The universal custom in the schools of the Greeks was to re- 
 cite continually from then- poets. Many assign this as the chief 
 cause of the high development of the artistic nature of the Greeks. 
 Recitation has always been held as one of the most important 
 means of developing the imagination, and especially the memory. 
 In the recitation, however, of any form of literature from memory 
 there are many dangers. One of the chief of these is, the ten- 
 dency to repeat mere words, thus developing accidental or verbal 
 memory. All memory should be of ideas. The thought should 
 be reproduced, idea should follow idea by a natural and logical 
 sequence, that is to say, true recitation must always use the phil- 
 osophic memory. A mechanical use of memory will make all 
 expression artificial. 
 
 The custom in our schools and colleges of mechanically reci- 
 ting extracts often half learned, cannot be too strongly con- 
 demned. The mind is simply recalling words, and does not
 
 EECITATION. w £l tl 
 
 re-create the ideas ; such practice encourages the student to speak 
 without thought, causes his voice to become cold, his memory to 
 become superficial, and his relation to literature to become one of 
 indifference. 
 
 The first requisite, therefore, in the recitation of poetry or 
 literature, must be an endeavor to stimulate philosophic rather 
 than mechanical or verbal memory. Consciousness, in delivery, 
 must centre in the thought. " Ideas, not words," must be the 
 motto. A recitation must simply reproduce the process of the 
 mind. Idea must follow idea according to the law of associa- 
 tion of ideas. The mind must be concentrated successively upon 
 each idea by a natural and simple progressive transition. Too 
 much importance cannot be attached to a proper method of 
 preparation. To prepare a poem or any form of literature for 
 recitation requires careful meditation. The student must read 
 it over to himself, and get its meaning and the sequence of ideas. 
 If the methods and steps so far explained have been properly 
 practised, the mind has formed the habit of giving attention 
 primarily to ideas and not to mere words. 
 
 Poor memories can be improved by this method. The memoiy, 
 when exercised philosophically, will grow normally and rapidly, 
 and furnish material for the imagination ; when exercised me- 
 chanically and artificially it will become dissociated from the 
 imagination. All of the patent methods for improving the 
 memory which have been advanced in the last few years are 
 vicious, because they violate the laws of mental action. When 
 the mind remembers merely by accidents, the power of thinking is 
 stifled. Memory can only truly act according to the great law 
 of association of ideas. 
 
 The benefits of the best work in recitation can be seen at once. 
 As the student practises a good piece of literature, with clear 
 ideas, simply and progressively expressed, he will find his logical 
 power improved. The law of association of ideas will begin to 
 dominate him and affect his expression ; he will find the meth-
 
 276 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 odic transitions of his mind clearer, his power to concentrate his 
 faculties stronger. Expression will begin to be the result of an 
 act of thought, and not a mere mechanical act. While artificial 
 and mechanical methods of recitation develop verbal or accidental 
 memory, true methods of vocal expression are the best modes of 
 developing the power of philosophic memory. Besides, the 
 teacher, with an understanding of the proper action of the mind 
 and its relation to expression, will be able to test the mental 
 action of the student. He can see whether the student is merely 
 repeating words, whether all attention is upon accidents, or 
 whether he really thinks each idea adequately. 
 
 Thus, true work in Vocal Expression can be made an impor- 
 tant aid to education. There is no process of recitation, no 
 form of explanation in any department which does not, more or 
 less, use Vocal Expression. It is, in fact, a phase of all depart- 
 ments of education rather than a department in itself. But it is 
 also a separate department, and though it is so universally mis- 
 understood and neglected, it must find a definite place in any 
 true educational system. 
 
 The teacher of Vocal Expression must be broad enough to 
 give general counsel on the evil tendencies in the thought 
 processes of students. He can be an aid to other teachers in 
 other departments, and they to him. When such evil tenden- 
 cies are pointed out to him, he is the one to eradicate them most 
 directly. While the correction of such evils belongs in a sec- 
 ondary sense to all forms of education, the work belongs pri- 
 marily and essentially to the teacher of expression. 
 . With what subject, what form of literature, and what kind of 
 literature should a student begin ? With the simplest and best ; 
 the simplest lyrics. Songs are the first, most essential, and 
 most fundamental expression of the spontaneous action of the 
 creative faculties and emotional powers of man. The lyrics of 
 a people show their spirit more adequately than any other means ; 
 their loves and hates, their patriotism and ambitions, their ideas
 
 RECITATION. 277 
 
 and aims. Next to this is the story. The latest popular move- 
 ment in literature, the short story, is a very important one in its 
 bearing upon Vocal Expression. These short stories can be easily 
 abridged, or arranged for recitation. They are often simple and 
 truly dramatic. 
 
 Forms of literature can of course be selected for the student 
 so as to meet his needs ; yet ordinarily, for criticism, the work 
 chosen should be the student's own ; at any rate, the arrangement 
 of it. His own taste must guide him. The teacher can thus see 
 his needs and note his growth and progress, and the develop- 
 ment of his taste for the best literature. Care must be taken, 
 however, that the selections are not too difficult. A selection 
 too subtle or complex to be assimilated by the student may cause 
 stiltedness and destroy simplicity. 
 
 Ballads, too, are well adapted for practice in Vocal Expression. 
 Old ballads are simple in form, dramatic in spirit, and are the 
 fountain-head of modern English poetry. The events of the story 
 in all true ballads, ancient or modern, are simply told. Old ballads 
 may be made the means of leading the student to appreciate 
 later and higher literary art. For example, a study of the old 
 ballad on the death of Arthur may lead the student to a higher 
 appreciation of " The Passing of Arthur," by Tennyson, which 
 is a species of translation of the old story into modern imagery 
 and modern poetry. 
 
 Longfellow is a good author to study for poetic stories. His 
 language is beautiful and easy to understand. The " Tales of a 
 Wayside Inn" and many of his other narrative poems are simple 
 and universally popular. No one who has any love for poetry 
 whatever will fail to appreciate them. Students whose imagina- 
 tions have been repressed may have their love of poetry stimu- 
 lated by the study of such simple work. 
 
 One important point must not be forgotten; the student 
 must have little or no help in the preparation of selections for 
 criticism. Specific lessons must be given, and definite steps in
 
 1578 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 training taken ; to these too much attention can hardly be given. 
 A line or a part of a poem may be required to be given at times in 
 a specific way. But when a student is preparing a recitation, he 
 must be absolutely free from all rules and restraints ; he must be 
 alone. Each heart must commune with poetry and art, as far 
 as possible, without dictation. 
 
 One chief cause of the degradation of elocution is the custom 
 of coaching. If a student wishes to make a speech, he immedi- 
 ately goes to some teacher. He must be told when and where 
 to make a gesture ; he must be told every inflection he is to 
 make ; he must be told even what piece to select ; he must be 
 told everything. He pays his teacher to give him these that he 
 may obtain this or that prize. So long as elocution allows itself to 
 be a slave to such a custom as coaching, so long as some of 
 our leading institutions expect the teacher of elocution to pre- 
 pare a show at the close of school, by coaching and cramming the 
 students for a special occasion, instead of developing their per- 
 sonality and power, so long will elocution be despised. It can- 
 not rise above such shackles ; for as long as the public holds 
 success in coaching as the highest conception of the practice of 
 elocution, so long will it be considered outside of the realm of 
 true education ; it will be recognized simply as a necessary evil, 
 something to be tolerated, but not encouraged beyond a certain 
 point ; as something which may serve at a pinch as a substitute 
 for poor work in other departments, but of no real educational 
 advantage in itself. 
 
 Of course there is a form of coaching where the teacher care- 
 fully observes and shows the student the effort and conception 
 of his own mind. But he never dictates, — he draws out. He 
 gives no gesture, no inflection ; he simply observes the student, 
 and shows him where he fails to actualize his own conceptions 
 and ideals. He does not cram, does not dominate ; never de- 
 mands of the student to imitate him. He lets the student select 
 his own extract, arrange it himself, and study it alone. The
 
 CEITICISM AND APPRECIATION. 279 
 
 work must be the student's own ; he must be true to his own 
 temperament and to his own personality. The teacher only tries 
 to awaken his instincts, to inspire him with a conception of his 
 highest possibilities. 
 
 But such work is rare, and students are often impatient with 
 it. Such a method, however, is the only one in accord with true 
 principles of education ; the only one that will truly develop the 
 man, and be of permanent value. 
 
 XLVL CRITICISM AND APPRECIATION. 
 
 A FTER execution comes the necessity of suggestion and criti- 
 ■^*- cism on the part of the teacher. Here we come to a very 
 important phase of the subject. No word is more abused than 
 criticism ; no work is more misconceived. 
 
 Criticism is not fault-finding. Of course, there are a few ex- 
 ternal faults, such as pronunciation, qualities of the voice, the 
 hand behind the back, or in the pocket, on which almost anyone 
 can make suggestions. But these are not important faults ; they 
 are only accidental, and do not belong to the real problem of 
 delivery. But even in these things there is great danger of 
 confusing peculiarities with faults. If every imperfect feather 
 was removed from the most beautiful oriole, there would not be 
 one feather left. There is no such thing as absolute perfection 
 except in mechanical work. Things may be made alike ; me- 
 chanical work may be made so as to seem absolutely perfect ; 
 but a measuring rod of correctness cannot be applied to anything 
 in nature. The limbs of a tree cannot be measured. The diam- 
 eter of the tree or the height may possibly be given ; but to 
 measure the angles, the directions, and multitudinous variations 
 of the million little twigs is wholly impossible. There is no such 
 thing as a perfect leaf among all the forests of earth. " All goes 
 by approximation in this world." 
 
 Thus artistic criticism cannot be judicial. Judicial criticism,
 
 280 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 or comparing one thing with another, is of very little consequence. 
 It is not a question even with the student himself as to how he 
 ranks with other students. The entire idea of ranking must be 
 forgotten in the work of recitation. The fact is, " prize declama- 
 tions" and other "contests" do more harm than good. All 
 students cannot be measured by one standard. 
 
 The teacher must appreciate first of all the temperament and 
 special powers, the intention, and the ideals of the student. 
 True criticism is a comparison of the actual with the ideal. It 
 is first necessary to understand the possibilities of a student. 
 The greatest faults may be signs of the greatest power. Criti- 
 cism is not finding fault, nor passing judgment. It is an endeavor 
 to show the student wherein he actualizes his own ideal, and 
 wherein he fails to do his best. 
 
 There are two great dangers in criticising; first, finding fault; 
 and second, trying to compare judicially everything with an 
 abstract general standard. But there are other faults, one of 
 which is flattery ; this is one of the greatest dangers in elocution. 
 It is an endeavor to encourage the student; but there is no 
 greater discouragement to an earnest pupil than the fact that 
 there is a failure to appreciate his effort and struggle, or the 
 possibility and necessity of his growth. The fundamental desire of 
 the student is to have his teacher penetrate through his strug- 
 gles, failures as well as successes, to his ideal intention. To be 
 told that all is well is most discouraging to the one who has a 
 noble ideal. He knows that this is not true ; he longs to know 
 why his grasp fell so far short of his reach. Browning's expres- 
 sion, " A man's reach should exceed his grasp," states a universal 
 experience. One of the first requisites of criticism is to show 
 the student the direction of his own reach and the character of 
 his grasp : wherein they agree, and wherein they are antagonistic. 
 If the grasp is in the direction of the reach, and the reach is in 
 the right direction, or if it is in accordance with the student's 
 own instinct, intuition, and ideal, then a recitation is a great
 
 CRITICISM AND APPRECIATION. 281 
 
 suceess. But the greatest hindrance to the student is passing 
 over faults, tempting him to lower his ideal, to feel that he has 
 reached his highest possibilities. The true student's desire is 
 criticism. He hungers for it. He begins to recognize his own 
 ideal, and he will criticise himself more severely than anyone 
 else, because he begins to realize his failure to actualize his ideal. 
 The true teacher penetrates to this consciousness of shortcoming, 
 and the causes of the lack of grasp, and here begins to work. 
 He inspires the student to feel his own ideal, and helps him to 
 struggle toward it. At times the teacher must make him more 
 conscious of the place ,where he did his best ; but never fail to 
 show where he did his worst. Then, and then only, will there 
 be growth and progress. 
 
 Teachers and students should, if possible, learn how painters 
 and sculptors criticise each other, how severely they criticise 
 themselves. They should learn the true spirit of art criticism, 
 or of dramatic criticism, such as that of Mr. William Winter. 
 In some way students must be made to feel the true nature of 
 art work : that it is a continual struggle, that the highest compli- 
 ment is an appreciation of the struggle. There must never be 
 blindfold admiration, but an admiration that is founded on in- 
 sight. When a student is not satisfied with himself, it only 
 vexes him. the more to have some one flatter him and try to 
 prove to him that his work is all right. He knows it is not all 
 right. His discontent is the despair that has stirred every artis- 
 tic soul. When a student feels an echo of his own needs com- 
 ing to him from another soul, a recognition of what he intended, 
 then he is most encouraged, because he knows that at some time 
 he will reach and achieve that conception. Our struggle is mir- 
 rored to us ; we know more f uUy, and then we try to do, and 
 then we become. 
 
 These few principles at the start will enable the student to 
 begin properly. It is the hardest work to secure a right begin- 
 ning. There are so many misconceptions, so many side-tracks
 
 282 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 by which we are apt to be led astray in work in Vocal Expres- 
 sion, that it is very important first of all to remember that it is 
 art work ; and that though, like all art work, it is very discour- 
 aging, yet a certain sense of oft recurring discouragement is 
 necessary to all true progress in art, and naturally precedes all 
 true artistic satisfaction. 
 
 320. NATUBE. 
 O solitude ! if I must with thee dwell, 
 Let it not be among the jumbled heap 
 Of murky buildings : climb with me the steep, — 
 Nature's observatory — whence the dell, 
 In flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell. 
 May seem a span ; let me thy vigils keep 
 'Mongst boughs pavilion'd, where the deer's swift leap 
 Startles the wild bee from the foxglove bell. 
 But though I'll gladly trace these scenes with thee, 
 Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind, 
 Whose words are images of thoughts refined, 
 Is my soul's pleasure; and it sure must be 
 Almost the highest bliss of human-kind, 
 
 When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee. 
 
 Keats. 
 
 321. THE TWO VOICES. 
 Two Voices are there ; one is of the Sea, 
 One of the Mountains; each a mighty voice: 
 In both from age to age thou didst rejoice, 
 They were thy chosen music, Liberty ! 
 There came a tyrant, and with holy glee 
 Thou fought' st against him, — but hast vainly striven 
 Thou from thy Alpine holds at length art driven, 
 Where not a torrent murmurs heard by thee. 
 — Of one deep bliss thine ear hath been bereft; 
 Then cleave, O cleave to that which still is left — 
 For, high-soul' d Maid, what sorrow would it be 
 That Mountain floods should thunder as before, 
 And Ocean bellow from his rocky shore, 
 And neither awful Voice be heard by Thee ! 
 
 W. Wordsworth.
 
 TONE-COLOR. 283 
 
 Sing loud, bird in the tree ! bird, sing loud in the sky ! 
 
 And honey-bees, blacken the clover seas ! there are none of you glad as I. 
 
 Life is no idle dream, but a solemn reality, based upon Eternity and 
 encompassed by Eternity. Carlyie. 
 
 Day is dying ! Float, song, down the westward river ! 
 Requiems chanting to the Day — Day, the mighty Giver. 
 
 Oh, Brignall banks are wild and fair, and Greta woods are green, 
 And you may gather garlands there would grace a summer queen. 
 
 Higher still and higher from the earth thou springest, 
 Like a cloud of fire the blue deep thou wingest, 
 And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. 
 
 Still, through our paltry stir and strife glows down the wished Ideal, 
 And Longing moulds in clay what Life carves in the marble Real. 
 
 Lowell 
 
 Oh ! the bells of Shandon sound far more grand on 
 The pleasant waters of the river Lee. 
 
 The last link is broken that bound me to thee, 
 
 And the words thou hast spoken have rendered me free. 
 
 Merrily, merrily goes the bark 
 
 On a breeze from the northward free : 
 
 So shoots through the morning sky the lark, 
 Or the swan through the summer sea. 
 
 Scoli. 
 
 March to the battle-field ! the foe is now before us ; 
 
 Each heart is Freedom's shield, and heaven is shining o'er us. 
 
 O'Meara. 
 
 I held it truth, with him who sings 
 
 To one clear harp in divers tones, 
 
 That nien may rise on stepping-stones 
 Of their dead selves to higher things. 
 
 Ah ! that lady of the villa — and I loved her so - — 
 Near the city of Se villa — years and years ago. 
 
 Waller.
 
 284 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 Never pay any attention to the understanding when it stands in 
 opposition to any other faculty of the mind. The mere understanding, 
 however useful and indispensable, is the meanest faculty in the human 
 mind, and the most to be distrusted ; and yet the great majority of 
 people trust to nothing else. 
 
 What ho, my jovial mates ! come on ! we '11 frolic it 
 Like fairies frisking in the merry moonshine i 
 
 I cor/LD not love thee half so much, loved I not honour more. 
 
 Ah, well ! for us all some sweet hope lies 
 Deeply buried from human eyes ; 
 And in the hereafter angels may 
 Roll the stone from its grave away ! 
 
 Whitlier. 
 
 Up ! comrades, up ! in Eokeby's halls 
 Ne'er be it said our courage falls. 
 
 One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill, 
 Along the heath, and near his favourite tree : 
 Another came ; nor yet beside the rill, 
 Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he. 
 
 A song, oh a song for the merry May ! 
 The cows in the meadow, the lambs at play, 
 A chorus of birds in the maple-tree, 
 And a world in blossom for you and me. 
 
 The mossy marbles rest on the lips that he has press'd in their bloom ; and 
 the names he loved to hear have been carved for many a year on the tomb. 
 
 Holmes. 
 
 The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces, 
 The solemn temples, the great globe itself, 
 Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, 
 And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, 
 Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff 
 As dreams are made on, and our little life 
 Is rounded with a sleep.
 
 TONE-COLOR. 285 
 
 No ray is dimmed, no atom worn, 
 
 My oldest force is good as new | 
 
 And the fresh rose on yonder thorn 
 
 Gives back the bending heavens in dew. 
 
 Emerson. 
 
 Shall I, wasting in despair, die because a woman's fair ? Or my cheeks 
 make pale with care 'cause another's rosy are ? Be she fairer than the day, 
 or the flowery meads in May — if she be not so to me, what care I how fair 
 slle be ? George Wither. 
 
 Hence ! home, you idle creatures ! get you home ! 
 
 We can show you where he lies, fleet of foot, and tall of size ; 
 You shall see him brought to bay : waken, lords and ladies gay. 
 The Hunters. Scott. 
 
 And so beside the Silent Sea I wait the muffled oar ; 
 No harm from him can come to me on ocean or on shore. 
 I know not where His islands lift their fronded palms in air ; 
 I only know I cannot drift beyond His love and care. 
 
 Modest and shy as a nun is she ; one weak chirp is her only note : 
 Braggart and prince of braggarts is he, pouring boasts from his little throat. 
 
 Back, ruffians ! back ! nor dare to tread 
 Too near the body of my dead. 
 
 — Wake ! oh, wake ! and utter praise ! 
 
 Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth ? 
 
 Who filled thy countenance with rosy light ? 
 
 Who made thee parent of perpetual streams ? 
 Mont Blanc. Coleridge. 
 
 Oh, and proudly stood she up ! Her heart within her did not fail : 
 She looked into Lord Ronald's eyes, and told him all her nurse's tale. 
 
 The silent organ loudest chants the master's requiem. 
 
 Emerson, 
 
 Our birds of song are silent now ; few are the flowers blooming ; 
 Yet life is in the frozen bough, and Freedom's Spring is coming. 
 
 Motiey. 
 
 Firm-paced and slow, a horrid front they form, — 
 Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm 1
 
 286 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 With foreheads unruffled the conquerors come — but why have they muf- 
 fled the lance and the drum ? ... Ye saw him at morning how gallant and 
 gay ! in bridal adorning the star of the day : now weep for the lover, — his 
 triumph is sped ; his hope it is over ! the chieftain is dead ! But, oh for 
 the maiden who mourns for that chief, . . . she sinks on the meadow, — in 
 one morning-tide a wife and a widow, a maid and a bride ! 
 
 Change as ye list, ye winds ! my heart shall be 
 The faithful compass that still points to thee. 
 Black-eyed Susan. Gay. 
 
 I 've wandered east, I 've wandered west, through many a weary way ; 
 
 But never, never can forget the love of life's young day. 
 
 Motherwell. 
 
 I told her how he pined : and ah ! the deep, the low, the pleading tone 
 With which I sang another's love, interpreted my own. 
 
 Too low they build who build below the stars. 
 
 Young. 
 
 So nigh is grandeur to our dust, so near is God to man, 
 When Duty whispers low, Thou must, the youth replies, I can. 
 
 Emerson. 
 
 The bee to the heather, the lark to the sky, the roe to the greenwood, and 
 whither shall I ? Oh, Alice ! ah, Alice ! so sweet to the bee are the moor- 
 land and heather by Cannock and Leigh ! Oh, Alice ! ah, Alice ! o'er 
 Teddesley Park the sunny sky scatters the notes of the lark ! Oh, Alice ! 
 ah, Alice ! in Beaudesert glade the roes toss their antlers for joy of the shade ! 
 But Alice, dear Alice ! glade, moorland, nor sky without you can content me, 
 and whither shall I ? Sir Henry Taylor. 
 
 Where shall the lover rest, whom the fates sever, from his true maiden's 
 breast parted forever ? Where, through groves deep and high, sounds the far 
 billow, where early violets die, under the willow. There, through the sum- 
 mer day, cool streams are laving ; there, while the tempests sway, scarce are 
 boughs waving ; there, thy rest shalt thou take, parted forever, never 
 again to wake, never, never ! 
 
 Where shall the traitor rest, he, the deceiver, who could win maiden's 
 breast, ruin, and leave her ? In the lost battle, borne down by the flying, 
 where mingles war's rattle with groans of the dying. Her wing shall the 
 eagle flap o'er the false-hearted ; his warm blood the wolf shall lap ere life be 
 parted. Shame and dishonour sit by his grave ever, blessing shall hallow it 
 never, never ! Scott.
 
 THE LADIES OF ST. JAMES'S. 287 
 
 Roll on, and with thy rolling crust 
 
 That round thy poles thou twirlest, 
 Roll with thee, Earth! this grain of dust, 
 
 As through the Vast thou whirlest : 
 On, on through zones of dark and light 
 
 Still waft me, blind and reeling, 
 Around the Sun, and with his flight 
 
 In wilder orbits wheeling. Tennyson, 
 
 THE LADIES OF ST. JAMES'S. 
 A PROPER NEW BALLAD OF THE COUNTRY AND THE TOWN. 
 
 The ladies of St. James's go swinging to the play ; 
 
 Their footmen run before them, with a " Stand by ! Clear the way ! ,: 
 But Phyllida, my Phyilida ! she takes her buckled shoon, 
 
 When we go out a-courtiug beneath the harvest moon. 
 
 The ladies of St. James's wear satin on their backs ; 
 
 They sit all night at Ombre, with candles all of wax: 
 But Phyllida, my Phyllida! she dons her russet gown, 
 
 And runs to gather May dew before the world is down. 
 
 The ladies of St. James's ! they are so fine and fair, 
 You 'd think a box of essences was broken in the air : 
 
 But Phyllida, my Phyllida ! the breath of heath and furze, 
 When breezes blow at morning, is not so fresh as hers. 
 
 The ladies of St. James's ! they 're painted to the eyes ; 
 
 Their white it stays for ever, their red it never dies : 
 But Phyllida, my Phyllida ! her color comes and goes ; 
 
 It trembles to a lily, — it wavers to a rose. 
 
 The ladies of St. James's ! You scarce can understand 
 The half of all their speeches, their phrases are so grand : 
 
 But Phyllida, my Phyllida ! her shy and simple words 
 Are clear as after rain-drops the music of the birds. 
 
 The ladies of St. James's ! they have their fits and freaks ; 
 
 They smile on you — for seconds, they frown on you — for weeks : 
 But Phyllida, my Phyllida ! come either storm or shine, 
 
 From Shrove-tide unto Shrove-tide, is always true — and mine. 
 
 My Phyllida ! my Phyllida ! I care not though they heap 
 The hearts of all St. James's, and give me all to keep ; 
 
 I care not whose the beauties of all the world may be, 
 For Phyllida — for Phyllida is all the world to me ! 
 
 Austin Dobson,
 
 288 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 There rolls the deep where grew the tree. 
 
 O Earth, what changes hast thou seen ! 
 
 There where the long street roars, hath been 
 The stillness of the central sea. 
 The hills are shadows, and they flow 
 
 From form to form, and nothing stands ; 
 
 They melt like mist, the solid lands, 
 Like clouds they shape themselves and go. 
 
 GENEVIEVE. 
 
 Maid of my Love, sweet Genevieve ! 
 
 In Beauty's light you glide along ; 
 
 Your eye is like the star of eve, 
 
 And sweet your Voice as Seraph's song. 
 
 Yet not your heavenly Beauty gives 
 
 This heart with passion soft to glow : 
 
 "Within your soul a Voice there lives ! 
 
 It bids you hear the tale of Woe. 
 
 When sinking low the Sufferer wan 
 
 Beholds no hand outstretch'd to save, 
 
 Fair, as the bosom of the Swan 
 
 That rises graceful o'er the wave, 
 
 I 've seen your breast with pity heave, 
 
 And therefore love I you, sweet Genevieve ! 
 
 Coleridge. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Blow, blow, thou winter wind, thou art not so unkind as man's ingrati- 
 tude ; thy tooth is not so keen, because thou art not seen, although thy 
 breath be rude. 
 
 Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, that dost not bite so nigh as benefits for- 
 got : though thou the waters warp, thy sting is not so sharp, as friend 
 remembered not. 
 
 Heigh, ho ! sing, heigh, ho ! unto the green holly : most friendship is 
 feigning, most loving mere folly: then, heigh, ho! the holly! this life is 
 most jolly. Shakespeare. 
 
 THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS. 
 
 Oft in the stilly night ere slumber's chain has bound me, fond Memory 
 brings the light of other days around me : the smiles, the tears of boyhood's 
 years, the words of love then spoken ; the eyes that shone, now dimm'd and 
 gone, the cheerful hearts now broken ! Thus in the stilly night ere slumber's 
 chain has bound me, sad Memory brings the light of other days around me.
 
 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 289 
 
 "When I remember all the friends so link'd together I Ve seen around me 
 fall like leaves in wintry weather, I feel like one who treads alone some ban- 
 quet-hall deserted, whose lights are fled, whose garlands dead, and all but he 
 departed I Thus in the stilly night ere slumber's chain has bound me, sad 
 
 Memory brings the light of other days around me. 
 
 Moore. 
 
 We wander'd underneath the young gray dawn, 
 And multitudes of dense white fleecy clouds 
 Were wandering in thick flocks along the mountains, 
 Shepherded by the slow, unwilling wind. 
 
 Rome ! my country ! city of the soul ! 
 
 The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, 
 
 Lone Mother of dead empires ! and control 
 
 In their shut breasts their petty misery. 
 
 What are our woes and sufferance ? Come and see 
 
 The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way 
 
 O'er steps of broken thrones and temples, ye ! 
 
 Whose agonies are evils of a day ! 
 
 A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay. 
 
 The Niobe of nations! there she stands, 
 
 Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe, 
 
 An empty urn within her withered hands, 
 
 Whose holy dust was scattered long ago. 
 
 The Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now; 
 
 The very sepulchres lie tenantless 
 
 Of their heroic dwellers: dost thou flow, 
 
 Old Tiber, through a marble wilderness ? 
 
 Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress ! 
 
 • Byron 
 
 We have not wings, we cannot soar ; 
 
 But we have feet to scale and climb 
 
 By slow degrees, by more and more, 
 
 The cloudy summits of our time. 
 
 Longfellow 
 
 By wells and rills, in medowes greene, 
 We nightly sing our heydey guise ; 
 And to our fairy king and queene 
 We chant our moonlight minstrelsies : 
 When larks 'gin sing, away we fling ; 
 And babes new-borne steal as we go, 
 And elfe in bed we leave instead, 
 And wend us laughing, ho, ho, ho ! 
 19
 
 290 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 Hark ! hark ! the lark at Heaven's gate sings, 
 
 And Phoebus 'gins arise, 
 His steeds to water at those springs 
 
 On chalieed flowers that lies ; 
 And winking Mary-buds begin 
 
 To ope their golden eyes ; 
 With everything that pretty bin, 
 
 My lady sweet, arise ! 
 
 Arise ! arise ! 
 Cymbeline. Shakespeare. 
 
 New voices come to me where'er I roam ; 
 
 My heart, too, widens with its widening home : 
 
 The former songs seem little ; yet no more 
 
 Can soul, hand, voice, with interchanging lore, 
 
 Tell what the earth is saying unto me : 
 
 The secret is too great. George Eliot. 
 
 In a valiant suffering for others, not in a slothful making of others suffer 
 for us, did nobleness ever lie. Every noble crown is, and on Earth will ever 
 be, a crown of thorns. Carlyle. 
 
 THE THREE FISHERS. 
 
 Three fishers went sailing out into the West — 
 
 Out into the West as the sun went down ; 
 Each thought of the woman who loved him the best, 
 
 And the children stood watching them out of the town : 
 For men must work, and women must weep ; 
 And there 's little to earn, and many to keep, 
 
 Though the harbor bar be moaning. 
 
 Three wives sat up in the light-house tower 
 
 And trimmed the lamps as the sun went down ; 
 
 And they looked at the squall, and they looked at the shower, 
 And the rack it came rolling up, ragged and brown. 
 
 But men must work, and women must weep, 
 
 Though storms be sudden and waters deep, 
 And the harbor bar be moaning. 
 
 Three corpses lay out on the shining sands 
 
 In the morning gleam as the tide went down, 
 
 And the women are watching and wringing their hands 
 For those who will never come back to the town : 
 
 For men must work, and women must weep — 
 
 And the sooner it 's over, the sooner to sleep — 
 
 And good-bye to the bar and its moaning. 
 
 Charles Kingdey.
 
 CHRISTMAS HYMN. 29] 
 
 In my distress I called upon the Lord, and cried unto my God : he heard 
 my voice out of his temple, and my cry before him came into his ears. Then 
 the earth shook and trembled, the foundations also of the mountains moved 
 and were shaken, because he was wroth. There went up a smoke out of his 
 nostrils, and fire out of his mouth devoured : coals were kindled by it. He 
 bowed the heavens also, and came down ; and thick darkness was under his 
 feet. And he rode upon a cherub and did fly : yea, he flew swiftly upon the 
 wings of the wind. He made darkness his hiding-place, his pavilion round 
 about him ; darkness of waters, thick clouds of the skies. At the bright- 
 ness before him his thick clouds passed, hailstones and coals of fire. The 
 Lord also thundered in the heavens, and the Most High uttered his voice ; 
 hailstones and coals of fire. And he sent out his arrows, and scattered them ; 
 yea, lightnings manifold, and discomfited them. Then the channels of waters 
 appeared, and the foundations of the earth were laid bare, at thy rebuke, 
 Lord, at the blast of the breath of thy nostrils. He sent from on high, 
 he took me ; he drew me out of many waters. He delivered me from my 
 strong enemy, and from them that hated me ; for they were too mighty for 
 me. They came upon me in the day of my calamity: but the Lord was 
 my stay. 
 
 From Psalm xviii. 
 
 CHRISTMAS HYMN. 
 
 It was the calm and silent night ! 
 
 Seven hundred years and fifty-three 
 Had Rome been growing up to might, 
 
 And now was Queen of land and sea. 
 No sound was heard of clashing wars ; 
 
 Peace brooded o'er the hushed domain ; 
 Apollo, Pallas, Jove, and Mars, 
 
 Held undisturb'd their ancient reign, 
 
 In the solemn midnight 
 
 Centuries ago. 
 
 'T was in the calm and solemn night ! 
 
 The senator of haughty Rome 
 Impatient urged his chariot's flight, 
 
 From lordly revel rolling home. 
 Triumphal arches gleaming swell 
 
 His breast with thoughts of boundless sway ; 
 What re'ck'd the Roman what befell 
 
 A paltry province far away, 
 
 In the solemn midnight 
 Centuries ago ?
 
 292 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 Within that province far away 
 
 Went plodding home a weary boor : 
 A streak of light before him lay, 
 
 Fall'n through a half-shut stable door 
 Across his path. He passed — for nought 
 
 Told what was going on within ; 
 How keen the stars ! his only thought ; 
 
 The air how calm and cold and thin, 
 
 In the solemn midnight 
 
 Centuries ago. 
 
 O strange indifference ! — low and high 
 
 Drows'd over common joys and cares : 
 The earth was still — but knew not why ; 
 
 The world was listening — unawares. 
 How calm a moment may precede 
 
 One that shall thrill the world forever ! 
 To that still moment none would heed 
 
 Man's doom was linked, no more to sever, 
 In the solemn midnight 
 Centuries ago. 
 
 It is the calm and solemn night ! 
 
 A thousand bells ring out, and throw 
 Their joyous peals abroad, and smite 
 
 The darkness, charmed and holy now. 
 The night that erst no name had worn, 
 
 To it a happy name is given ; 
 For in that stable lay new-born 
 The peaceful Prince of Earth and Heaven, 
 In the solemn midnight 
 Centuries ago. 
 
 Domett. 
 
 DOMESTIC ASIDES. 
 
 I really take it very kind — this visit, Mrs. Skinner — 
 I have not seen you such an age — (the wretch has come to dinner !) 
 Your daughters, too — what loves of girls ! what heads for painters' easels ! 
 Come here, and kiss the infant, dears — (and give it, p'rhaps, the measles !) 
 
 Your charming boys I see are home from Reverend Mr. Russell's — 
 
 'T was very kind to bring them both — (what boots for my new Brussels !) 
 
 What ! little Clara left at home ? well, now, I call that shabby ! 
 
 I should have loved to kiss her so — (a flabby, dabby babby!)
 
 keenan's charge. 293 
 
 And Mr. S., I hope he 's well ? but, though he lives so handy, 
 He never once drops in to sup — (the better for our brandy !) 
 Come, take a seat — 1 long to hear about Matilda's marriage ; 
 You 've come, of course, to spend the day (thank Heaven ! I hear the carriage !) 
 
 What ! must you go ? — next time I hope you '11 give me longer measure. 
 
 Nay, I shall see you down the stairs — (with most uncommon pleasure !) 
 
 Good bye ! good bye ! Kemember, all, next time you '11 take your dinners — 
 
 (Now, David — mind, I 'm not at home, in future, to the Skinners.) 
 
 Hood. 
 
 KEENAN'S CHARGE. 
 
 The sun had set ; the leaves with dew were wet ; down fell a bloody dusk 
 on the woods that second of May, where Stonewall's corps, like a beast of 
 prey, tore through with angry tusk. "They have trapped us, boys!" rose 
 from our flank a voice. With a rush of steel and smoke, on came the thou- 
 sands straight, eager as love and wild as hate ; and our line reeled and broke, 
 — broke and fled; no one stayed— but the dead ! With curses, shrieks, and 
 cries, horses, wagons, and men tumbled back through the shuddering glen, 
 and above us the fading skies. 
 
 There's one hope still, — those batteries parked on the hill ! "Battery 
 wheel ['mid the roar] ! Pass pieces ; fix prolonge to fire retiring. Trot ! " In 
 the panic dire a bugle rings "Trot ! " — and no more. The horses plunged, the 
 cannon lurched and lunged, to join the hopeless rout. But suddenly rode a form 
 calmly in front of the human storm, with a stern, commanding shout, "Align 
 those guns " [We knew it was Pleasonton's] ! The cannoneers bent to obey, 
 and worked with a will, at his word ; and the black guns moved as if they 
 had heard. But, ah, the dread delay ! "To wait is crime ; God, for ten 
 minutes' time ! " The general looked around ; there Keenan sat, like a stone, 
 with his three hundred horse alone, — less shaken than the ground. " Major, 
 your men ? " — " Are soldiers, General." " Then, charge, Major ! Do your 
 best ; hold the enemy back at all cost, till my guns are placed, — else the 
 army is lost. You die to save the rest ! " 
 
 By the shrouded gleam of the Western skies brave Keenan looked in 
 Pleasonton's eyes for an instant, — clear, and calm, and still ; then, with a 
 smile, he said, "I will. —Cavalry, charge !" Not a man of them shrank. 
 Their sharp full cheer, from rank on rank, rose joyously, with a willing 
 breath, — rose like a greeting hail to death. Then forward they sprang, and 
 spurred and clashed ; shouted the officers crimson-sash'd ; rode well the men, 
 each brave as his fellow" in their faded coats of the blue and yellow ; and 
 above in the air, with an instinct true, like a bird of war their pennon flew. 
 With clank of scabbards and thunder of steeds, and blades that shine like 
 sun-lit reeds, and strong brown faces bravely pale, for fear their proud attempt 
 shall fail, three hundred Pennsylvaniaus close on twice ten thousand foes.
 
 294 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 Line after line the troopers carne to the edge of the wood, that was ring'd with 
 flame, — rode in and sabred and shot and fell ; nor came one back his wounds 
 to tell. And full in the midst rose Keenan, tall in the gloom, like a martyr 
 awaiting his fall, while the circle stroke of his sabre, swung 'round his head, 
 like a halo there luminous hung. Line after line ; ay, whole platoons, struck 
 dead in their saddles, of brave dragoons by the maddened horses were onward 
 borne and into the vortex flung, trampled and torn. As Keenan fought with 
 his men side by side, so they rode, till there were no more to ride. But over 
 them, lying there shattered and mute, what deep echo rolls ? — 'T is a death 
 salute from the cannon in place ; for, heroes, you braved your fate not in 
 vain : the army was saved ! 
 
 Over them now — year following year — over their graves the pine cones 
 fall, and the whip-poor-will chants his spectre call ; but they stir not again, 
 they raise no cheer, they have ceased. But their glory shall never cease, 
 nor their light be quenched in the light of peace ; for the rush of that charge 
 is resounding still that saved the army at Chancellorsville. 
 
 THE HUNT. 
 
 In the bright October morning Savoy's duke had left his bride. 
 From the castle, past the drawbridge, flow'd the hunters' merry tide. 
 Steeds are neighing, gallants glittering, gay her smiling lord to greet, 
 From her mullion'd chamber-casement smiles the Duchess Marguerite. 
 From Vienna, by the Danube, here she came, a bride, in spring, 
 Now the autumn crisps the forest ; hunters gather, bugles ring. 
 Hounds are pulling, prickers swearing, horses fret, and boar-spears glance. 
 Off, — they sweep the marshy forests, westward on the side of France. 
 Hark ! the game's on foot ; they scatter, — down the forest-ridings lone, 
 Furious, single horsemen gallop. Hark ! a shout, — a crash, — a groan. 
 Pale and breathless came the hunters — on the turf dead lies the boar. 
 Ah ! the duke lies stretched beside him senseless, weltering in his gore. 
 
 In the dull October evening, down the leaf-strewn forest-road, 
 
 To the castle, past the drawbridge, came the hunters with their load. 
 
 In the hall, with sconces blazing, ladies waiting round her seat, 
 
 Clothed in smiles, beneath the dais sate the Duchess Marguerite. 
 
 Hark ! below the gates unbarring, tramp of men, and quick commands. 
 
 " 'Tis my lord come back from hunting," — and the duchess claps her hands. 
 
 Slow and tired came the hunters ; stopp'd in darkness in the court. 
 
 " Ho ! this way, ye laggard hunters. To the hall. What sport ! what sport ! " 
 
 Slow they entered with their master ; in the hall they laid him down. 
 
 On his coat were leaves and blood-stains, on his brow an angry frown. 
 
 Dead her princely youthful husband lay before his youthful wife, 
 
 Bloody 'neath the flaring sconces : and the sight froze all her life.
 
 BARBARA FRIETCHIE. 295 
 
 In Vienna, by the Danube, kings bold revel, gallants meet. 
 Gay of old amid the gayest was the Duchess Marguerite. 
 In Vienna, by the Danube, feast and dance her youth beguiled : 
 Till that hour she never sorrow'd, but from then she never smiled. 
 
 The Church of Brou. Matthew Arnold. 
 
 Ye sons of Freedom, wake to glory ! 
 
 Hark ! hark ! what myriads bid ye rise ! 
 Your children, wives, and grandsires hoary, 
 
 Behold their tears and hear their cries. 
 
 BARBARA FRIETCHIE. 
 
 Up from the meadows rich with corn, clear in the cool September morn, 
 the clustered spires of Frederick stand green- walled by the hills of Mar y land. 
 Round about them orchards sweep, apple and peach tree fruited deep, fair as 
 the garden of the Lord to the eyes of the famished rebel horde, on that pleas- 
 ant morn of the early fall when Lee marched over the mountain-wall, — over 
 the mountain winding down, horse and foot, into Frederick town. 
 
 Forty flags with their silver stars, forty flags with their crimson bars, 
 flapped in the morning wind : the sun of noon looked down, and saw not 
 one. Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, bowed with her fourscore years 
 and ten ; bravest of all in Frederick town, she took up the flag the men 
 hauled down ; in her attic window the staff she set, to show that one heart 
 was loyal yet. 
 
 Up the street came the rebel tread, Stonewall Jackson riding ahead. 
 Under his slouched hat left and right he glanced : the old flag met his sight. 
 "Halt!" — the dust-brown ranks stood fast. "Fire!" — out blazed the 
 rifle-blast. It shivered the window, pane and sash ; it rent the banner with 
 seam and gash. Quick, as it fell, from its broken staff dame Barbara snatched 
 the silken scarf. She leaned far out on the window-sill and shook it forth 
 with a royal will. " Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, but spare your 
 country's flag," she said. A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, over the face 
 of the leader came ; the nobler nature within him stirred to life at that 
 woman's deed and word. " Who touches a hair of yon gray head dies like a 
 dog ! March on ! "' he said. 
 
 All day long through Frederick street sounded the tread of marching feet ; 
 
 all day long that free flag tost over the heads of the rebel host. Ever its 
 
 torn folds rose and fell on the loyal winds that loved it well ; and through 
 
 the hill-gaps sunset light shone over it with a warm good-night. Barbara 
 
 Frietchie's work is o'er, and the Rebel rides on his raids no more. Honor to 
 
 her ! and let a tear fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier. Over Barbara 
 
 Frietchie's grave, flag of Freedom and Union, wave ! peace and order and 
 
 beauty draw round thy symbol of light and law ; and ever the stars above 
 
 look down on thy stars below in Frederick town ! 
 
 Whitlier.
 
 296 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 Move eastward, happy Earth ! and leave 
 Yon orange sunset waning slow : 
 
 From fringes of the faded eve, 
 happy planet ! eastward go ; 
 
 Till over thy dark shoulder glow 
 Thy silver sister-world, and rise 
 To glass herself in dewy eyes 
 
 That watch me from the glen below. 
 
 THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 
 
 It was the schooner Hesperus that sail'd the wintry sea ; 
 And the skipper had taken his little daughter to bear him company. 
 Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax, her cheeks like the dawn of day, 
 And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds that ope in the month of May. 
 
 The skipper he stood beside the helm, his pipe was in his mouth, 
 
 And he watch'd how the veering flaw did blow the smoke now west, now south. 
 
 Then up and spake an old sailor, — had sail'd the Spanish main, — 
 
 " I pray thee, put into yonder port, for I fear a hurricane. 
 
 " Last night the Moon had a golden ring, and to-night no Moon we see ! " 
 The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe, and a scornful laugh langh'd he. 
 Colder and louder blew the wind, a gale from the north-east ; 
 The snow fell hissing in the brine, and the billows froth'd like yeast. 
 
 Down came the storm, and smote amain the vessel in its strength ; 
 
 She shudder'd and paused, like a frighten'd steed, then leap'd her cable's 
 
 length. 
 " Come hither ! come hither ! my little daughter, and do not tremble so ; 
 For I can weather the roughest gale, that ever wind did blow." 
 
 He wrapp'd her warm in his seaman's coat against the stinging blast ; 
 
 He cut a rope from a broken spar, and bound her to the mast. 
 
 " father ! I hear the church-bells ring, say, what may it be ? " 
 
 " ' T is a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast ! " and he steer'd for the open sea. 
 
 " father ! I hear the sound of guns, say, what may it be ?" 
 " Some ship in distress, that cannot live in such an angry sea ! " 
 "0 father ! I see a gleaming light, say, what may it be ?" 
 But the father answer'd never a word, a frozen corpse was he. 
 
 Lash'd to the helm, all stiff and stark, with his face turn'd to the skies, 
 The lantern gleam'd through the gleaming snow on his fix'd and glassy eyes. 
 Then the maiden clasp'd her hands and pray'd, that saved she might be ; 
 And she thought of Christ, who still'd the wave on the Lake of Galilee.
 
 THE CAVALIER'S ESCAPE. 297 
 
 And fast thro' the midnight dark and drear, thro' the whistling sleet and snow, 
 Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept towards the reef of Norman's Woe. 
 And ever, the fitful gusts between, a sound came from the land ; 
 It was the sound of the trampling surf on the rocks and the hard sea-sand. 
 
 The breakers were right beneath her bows, she drifted a dreary wreck, 
 And a whooping billow swept the crew like icicles from her deck. 
 She struck where the white and fleecy waves look'd soft as carded wool, 
 But the cruel rocks, they gored her side like the horns of an angry bull. 
 
 Her rattling shrouds, all sheath'd in ice, with the masts went by the board ; 
 Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank. Ho ! ho ! the breakers roar'd ! 
 At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, a fisherman stood aghast, 
 To see the form of a maiden fair lash'd close to a drifting mast. 
 
 The salt sea was frozen on her breast, the salt tears in her eyes ; 
 And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed, on the billows fall and rise. 
 Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, in the midnight and the snow ! 
 Christ save us all from a death like this, on the reef of Norman's Woe ! 
 
 Longfellow 
 
 THE CAVALIER'S ESCAPE. 
 
 Trample ! trample ! went the roan, trap ! trap ! went the gray ; 
 
 But pad ! pad ! pad ! like a thing that was mad, my chestnut broke away. 
 
 It was just five miles from Salisbury town, and but one hour to day. 
 
 Thud ! thud ! came on the heavy roan, rap ! rap ! the mettled gray ; 
 
 But my. chestnut mare was of blood so rare, that she showed them all the way. 
 
 Spur on ! spur on ! I doffed my hat, and wished them all good-day. 
 
 They splashed through miry rut and pool, splintered through fence and rail ; 
 But chestnut Kate switched over the gate — I saw them droop and fail. 
 To Salisbury town — but a mile of down, once over this brook and rail. 
 
 Trap ! trap \ I heard their echoing hoofs past the walls of mossy stone ; 
 The roan flew on at a staggering pace, but blood is better than bone. 
 I patted old Kate, and gave her the spur, for I knew it was all my own. 
 
 But trample ! trample ! came their steeds, and I saw their wolfs eyes burn ; 
 
 I felt like a royal hart at bay, and made me ready to turn. 
 
 I looked where highest grew the may, and deepest arched the fern. 
 
 I flew at the first knave's sallow throat, — ■ one blow, and he was down. 
 The second rogue fired twice, and missed ; I sliced the villain's crown. 
 Clove through the rest, and flogged brave Kate, fast, fast to Salisbury town I 
 
 Pad ! pad ! they came on the level sward, thud ! thud ! upon the sand ; 
 With a gleam of swords, and a burning match, and a shaking of flag and hand : 
 But one long bound, and I passed the gate, safe from the canting band. 
 
 George Waller Thornbury.
 
 298 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 To-day my lord of Amiens and myself 
 
 Did steal behind him, as he lay along 
 
 Under an oak, whose antique root peeps out 
 
 Upon the brook that brawls along this wood ; 
 
 To the which place a poor sequestered stag, 
 
 That from the hunters' aim had ta'en a hurt, 
 
 Did come to languish ; . . . thus the hairy fool, 
 
 Much marked of the melancholy Jaques, 
 
 Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook, 
 
 "Poor deer," quoth he, " thou mak'st a testament 
 
 As worldings do, giving thy sum of more 
 
 To that which Jiad too much; " then, being there alone, 
 
 Left and abandoned of his velvet friends : 
 
 " ' Tis right," quoth he, " thus misery doth part 
 
 The flux of company ; " anon, a careless herd, 
 
 Full of the pasture, jumps along by him, 
 
 And never stays to greet him : "Ay," quoth Jaques, 
 
 " Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens ; 
 
 ' T is just the fashion : wherefore do you look 
 
 Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there ? " 
 
 Thus most invectively he pierceth through 
 
 The body of the country, city, court, 
 
 Yea, and of this our life ; swearing that we 
 
 Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and what 's worse, 
 
 To fright the animals, and to kill them up, 
 
 In their assigned and native dwelling-place. 
 
 Shakespeare, 
 
 ADAM AND ORLANDO. 
 
 Orlando. "Who 's there ? 
 
 Adam. What, my young master ? — O my gentle master ' 
 O my sweet master ! you memory 
 Of old Sir Rowland ! why, what make you here ? 
 Why are you virtuous ? Why do people love you ? 
 And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant ? 
 Why would you be so fond to overcome 
 The bony priser of the humorous duke ? 
 Your praise is come too swiftly home before you. 
 Know you not, master, to some kind of men 
 Their graces serve them but as enemies ? 
 No more do yours : your virtues, gentle master, 
 Are sanctified and holy traitors to you. 
 Oh, what a world is this, when what is comely 
 Envenoms him that bears it !
 
 ADAM AND ORLANDO. 299 
 
 Orl. Why, what 's the matter ? 
 
 Adam. O unhappy youth, 
 
 Come not within these doors ; within this roof 
 The enemy of all your graces lives. 
 Your brother — (no, no brother ; yet the son — 
 Yet not the son — I will not call him son 
 Of him I was about to call his father), — 
 Hath heard your praises ; and this night he means 
 To burn the lodging where you used to lie, 
 And you within it : if he fail of that, 
 He will have other means to cut you off : 
 I overheard him, and his practices. 
 This is no place ; this house is but a butchery : 
 Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it. 
 
 Orl. "Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go ? 
 
 Adam. No matter whither, so you come not here. 
 
 Orl. What ! wouldst thou have me go and beg my food ? 
 Or with a base and boist'rous sword enforce 
 A thievish living on the common road ? 
 This I must do, or know not what to do : 
 Yet this I will not do, do how I can ; 
 I rather will subject me to the malice 
 Of a diverted blood, and bloody brother. 
 
 Adam. But do not so. I have five hundred crowns, 
 The thrifty hire I saved under your father, 
 Which I did store, to be my fostef-nurse 
 When service should in my old limbs lie lame, 
 And unregarded age in corners thrown : 
 Take that ; and He that doth the ravens feed, 
 Yea, providently caters for the sparrow, 
 Be comfort to my age ! Here is the gold ; 
 All this I give you, Let me be your servant : 
 Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty ; 
 For in my youth I never did apply 
 Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood, 
 Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo 
 The means of weakness and debility ; 
 Therefore my age is as a lusty winter, 
 Frosty, but kindly : let me go with you ; 
 I *11 do the service of a younger man 
 In all your business and necessities. 
 
 Orl. good old man, how well in thee appears 
 The constant service of the antique world,
 
 300 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 When service sweat for duty, not for meed ! 
 Thou art not for the fashion of these times, 
 Where none will sweat but for promotion ; 
 And having that, do choke their service up 
 Even with the having : it is not so with thee. 
 But, poor old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree, 
 That cannot so much as a blossom yield, 
 In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry. 
 But come thy ways ; we '11 go along together ; 
 And ere we have thy youthful wages spent, 
 We '11 light upon some settled low content. 
 
 Adam. Master, go on, and I will follow thee, 
 To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty. — 
 From seventeen years, till now almost fourscore, 
 Here lived I, but now live here no more. 
 At seventeen years many their fortunes seek ; 
 But at fourscore it is too late a week ; 
 Yet fortune cannot recompense me better 
 Than to die well, and not my master's debtor. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 PAIN IN A PLEASURE BOAT. 
 
 Boatman. Shove off there ! — ship the rudder, Bill — cast off ! she 's under 
 
 way ! 
 Mrs. F. She 's under what ? — I hope she 's not ! good gracious, what a sprayl 
 B. Run out the jib, and rig the boom ! keep clear of those two brigs ! 
 M. I hope they don't intend some joke by running of their rigs ! 
 B. Bill, shift them bags of ballast aft — she 's rather out of trim ! 
 M. Great bags of stones ! they 're pretty things to help a boat to swim ! 
 B. The wind is fresh — if she don't scud, it 's not the breeze's fault 1 
 M. Wind fresh, indeed ! I never felt the air so full of salt ! 
 JS. That schooner, Bill, harn't left the roads, with oranges and nuts. 
 M. If seas have roads, they 're very rough — I never felt such ruts ! 
 B. It 's neap, ye see, she 's heavy lade, and could n't pass the bar. 
 M. The bar ! what, roads with turnpikes too ? I wonder where they are t 
 B. Ho ! Brig ahoy ! hard up ! hard up ! that lubber cannot steer I 
 M. Yes, yes — hard up upon 5 rock ! I know some danger 's near ! 
 
 Lord, there *s a wave ! it 's coming in ! and roaring like a bull ! 
 B. Nothing, ma'am, but a little slop ! Go large, Bill ! keep her full ! 
 M. What, keep her full ! what daring work ! when full, she must go down ! 
 B. Why, Bill, it lulls ! ease off a bit — it 's coming off the town ! 
 
 Steady your helm ! we '11 clear the Pint I lay right for yonder pink ! 
 M. Be steady — well, I hope they can ! but they 've got a pint of drink !
 
 hotspur's defence. 301 
 
 B. Bill, give that sheet another haul — she '11 fetch it up this reach. 
 M. I 'm getting rather pale, I know, and they know it by that speech ! 
 
 I wonder what it is, now, but — I never felt so queer ! 
 B. Bill, mind your luff — why, Bill, I say, she 's yawing — keep her near ! 
 M. Keep near ! we 're going farther off ; the land 's behind our backs. 
 B. Be easy, ma'am, it 's all correct, that 's only 'cause we tacks ; 
 
 We shall have to beat about a bit — Bill, keep her out to sea. 
 
 M. Beat who about ? keep who at sea ? — how black they look at me ! 
 
 B. It 's veering round — I knew it would ! off with her head ! stand by ! 
 
 M. Off with her head ! whose ? where ? what with ? — an axe I seem to spy ! 
 
 B. She can't keep her own, you see ; we shall have to pull her in ! 
 
 M. They '11 drown me, and take all I have ! my life 's not worth a pin ! 
 
 B. Look out, you know, be ready, Bill — just when she takes the sand ! 
 
 M. The sand — Lord ! to stop my mouth ! how everything is planned ! 
 
 B. The handspike, Bill — quick, bear a hand ! now, ma'am, just step ashore ! 
 
 M. What ! ain't I going to be killed — and weltered in my gore ? 
 
 Well, Heaven be praised ! but I '11 not go a-sailing any more ! 
 
 Hood. 
 
 HOTSPUR'S DEFENCE. 
 
 My liege, I did deny no prisoners, 
 But, I remember, when the fight was done, 
 When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil, 
 Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, 
 Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dress'd, 
 Fresh as a bridegroom ; and his chin new reap'd, 
 Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home ; 
 He was perfumed like a milliner ; 
 And 'twixt his finger and thumb he held 
 A pouncet-box which ever and anon 
 He gave his nose, and took 't away again ; — 
 Who, therewith angry, when it next came there, 
 Took it in snuff ; — and still he smil'd and talk'd ; 
 And, as the soldiers bore dead bodies by, 
 He called them — untaught knaves, unmannerly, 
 To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse 
 Betwixt the wind and his nobility. 
 With many holyday and lady terms 
 He question'd me ; among the rest demanded 
 My prisoners, in your majesty's behalf. 
 I then, all smarting, with my wounds being cold, 
 To be so pester* d with a popinjay,
 
 302 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 Out of my grief and ray impatience, 
 Answer'd neglectingly, I know not what ; 
 He should, or he should not ; — for he made me mad 
 To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet, 
 And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman, 
 Of guns, and drums, and wounds (God save the mark !), 
 And telling me, the sovereign'st thing on earth 
 Was parmaceti for an inward bruise ; 
 And that it was great pity, so it was, 
 That villanous saltpetre should be digg'd 
 Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, 
 "Which many a good tall fellow had destroyed 
 So cowardly ; and but for these vile guns, 
 He would himself have been a soldier. 
 This bald, disjointed chat of his, my lord, 
 I answer'd indirectly, as I said ; 
 And I beseech you, let not his report 
 Come current for an accusation, 
 Betwixt my love and your high majesty. 
 Henry IV. Part I. Shakespeare 
 
 'TWIXT AXE AND CROWN 
 
 Elizabeth. Methinks I see my England, like the eagle, 
 Pruning her unchained wing for freer flight, 
 Fuller in focus of the glorious sun 
 Than e'er she flew till now. Great deeds, great words, 
 That make great deeds still greater ! Poesy 
 Fired with new life ; her soldiers conquering, 
 Her sailors braving unknown seas, to plant 
 The germ of a new England in the West — 
 Acorn, it may be, of a daughter oak, 
 Broader and stronger than the parent tree ! 
 But I speak wildly, yet speak what I think, 
 As friend may speak to friend, and not be chidden. 
 
 Paget. Ashes of age are gray upon my head. 
 Methought they had smothered my heart's fires as well : 
 But something glows beneath them, hearing you. 
 May Heaven speed the good time, and guard you, madam, 
 To make our England great and glorious 
 In man's deeds, as your words. For what 't is now 
 I lay most charge upon the Spanish match. 
 Pray Heaven your Highness lend no ear to those 
 That work on you to wed a foreign prince.
 
 'TWIXT AXE AND CROWN. 303 
 
 Eliz. Elizabeth mates not — or she mates in England. 
 I have a vow for that. 
 
 Paget. Heaven grant you keep it, 
 
 And me to bless your mating, when it come. 
 And now, farewell, sweet lady. I will take 
 Much comfort to our friends from this good news 
 Of your fair health and firm fix'd resolution. 
 
 [He bows, kisses her hand, and exit 
 
 Eliz. Fare you well ! 
 
 Ah, Courtenay, he dreams not that 't is love's vow 
 I hold, not policy's ! Oh, my true lord, 
 How heavy drags the time, waiting for thee ! 
 Three whole months, and no tidings ! I am sick 
 Of longing for his letter — ■ but this audience 
 Of Master Renard. I see in his coming 
 111 omen to my peace ; but I am armed, 
 I think, against him, and all enemies, 
 With love and loyalty for talisman. [Enter Renard and three of his suite. 
 
 Renard. [Kneeling. ] Most gracious lady ! — .' . . 
 There 's nothing stands between the crown and you 
 But a few sad hours of a sick Queen's life — 
 Which, let 's pray, may be mercifully shortened ! 
 It is that crown Philip would help you bear 
 With strength of policy and stay of love. 
 
 Eliz. [With bitter irony.] Even such love as he has showed my sister, 
 Turning from her untended bed of death 
 
 With this unnatural tender of his hand ! [ With contempt, rising to wrath. 
 Say, did you take me for a fool or beast ? 
 A monster without brains or without heart ? 
 To come to me — you, and your worthy master, 
 With offers so accursed, and gifts so vile ! 
 Out of my sight, lest I forget my sex 
 And strike thee ! 
 
 Ren. Have a care, my passionate madam. 
 
 The Queen still lives, and a Queen's dying arm 
 Can strike, when others guide. Even now a warrant 
 Of treason hangs suspended o'er your head. 
 
 Eliz. Treason ! 
 
 Ren. Aye, treason. Courtenay is in England — 
 Has raised all Suffolk, in your name and his. 
 His treason is your treason ; the first stroke 
 That Courtenay strikes finds echo in the fall 
 Of your head on the scaffold 1
 
 304 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 Eliz. So be it ! 
 
 When Courtenay strikes that blow, let my head fall. 
 My life upon his loyalty ! 
 
 Ben. You hare staked 
 
 And lost ! Without there ! [One of his suite advances. 
 
 This to Lord Chandos ! [Gives warrant.] . . . [Enter Sussex. 
 
 Eliz. My Lord of Sussex ! [Sussex kneels. 
 
 Rise, my good lord ! Your face of gloom but tells 
 What we have heard already — the Queen 's dead. 
 
 Sussex. The Queen ne'er dies, and so long live the Queen ! 
 
 Eliz. You come in time ; an hour, and you had met us, 
 Escorted to the tower. 
 
 Sussex. The Tower ? 
 
 Eliz. For treason — 
 
 In aiding and abetting Edward Courtenay, 
 Who, Master Renard late declared, has landed 
 And risen in arms in Suffolk. 
 
 Sussex. So 't was bruited. 
 
 Eliz. But 't is not true ? 
 
 Sussex. No. 'T was one Thomas Cleobury, 
 
 Who took my Lord of Devonshire's arms and title. 
 His levies are dispersed, and himself ta'en. 
 
 Eliz. Ha ! said I not ? Courtenay was not in England ! 
 See a post straight dispatched to him at Padua. 
 We would he first had news of our accession. 
 
 Sussex. My liege, no post can reach him now ! 
 
 Eliz. What mean you ? 
 
 Sussex. He is dead. 
 
 Eliz. Dead ! Nay, my Lord, 
 
 Here 's too much death : one death that crowns a queen, 
 And one that robs a woman's heart of more 
 Than crowns can give. Dead ! When ? Where ? tell me all. 
 
 Sussex. He died at Padua. His servants brought 
 The tidings to the court just as I left. 
 
 Eliz. Dead ! Was there naught — no word for me — no token ? 
 
 Sussex. Pardon, madam. 
 
 This ring and letter — [Holds them out 
 
 Eliz. [Passionately grasping them.] And thou keep'st them from me, 
 And let 'st me prate and pule when I might hold 
 Something he has touched, and breathed upon, 
 
 And wanned with his last breath of dying love ! [Looking at the, letter. 
 
 True friend ! lost lord ! sole love ! 't is thy dear hand ; 
 And these blurred spots are tears methinks — or kisses. 
 Thus let me put my tears and kisses to them. [Kisses letter.
 
 UP AT A VILLA — DOWN IN THE CITY. 305 
 
 Thus only are we fated to be joined. 
 
 [Beads.] Dear love and lady, — When thou read'st these lines 
 The hand that scarce can trace them will be cold. 
 My last breath went to pray all blessings on thee : 
 For thee my heart beat, till it beat no more. 
 They that severed hauds have wedded souls : 
 We are one now and forever — aye, one now — 
 
 And ever — and no separation more ! [Sinks into cliair. Burst of trumpets. 
 
 What 's that ? [Enter Harrington. 
 
 Harrington. The Lords of the Council and the great ones 
 Of the City come to hail their gracious Queen Elizabeth. 
 
 Eliz. [Sadly.] — What love is left to me now 
 But their love ? What to live for but to make 
 Them happier than their Queen can ever be. [Trumpets. Enter procession. 
 
 Omnes [Kneeling]. Long live Elizabeth ! Long live the Queen ! 
 
 Eliz. [Rising with great emotion — lays her hand upon the crown.] 
 
 Great King of Kings ! 't is thou hast willed it me. 
 
 Guide me that I may wear it, by thy will. [Trumpets and cJiecrimj. 
 
 Taylor. 
 
 UP AT A VILLA — DOWN IN THE CITY. 
 [As distinguished by an Italian Person of Quality.] 
 
 Had I but plenty of money, money enough and to spare, 
 The house for me, no doubt, were a house in the city-square ; 
 Ah, such a life, such a life, as one leads at the window there ! 
 
 Something to see, by Bacchus, something to hear, at least ! 
 
 There, the whole day long, one's life is a perfect feast ; 
 
 While up at a villa one lives, I maintain it, no more than a beast. 
 
 Well now, look at our villa ! stuck like the horn of a bull 
 
 Just on a mountain's edge as bare as the creature's skull, 
 
 Save a mere shag of a bush with hardly a leaf to pull ! 
 
 — I scratch my own, sometimes, to see if the hair 's turned wool. 
 
 But the city, oh the city — the square with the houses ! Why ? 
 
 They are stone-faced, white as a curd, there 's something to take the eye ! 
 
 Houses in four straight lines, not a single front awry ! 
 
 You watch who crosses and gossips, who saunters, who hurries by : 
 
 Green blinds, as a matter of course, to draw when the sun gets high ; 
 
 And the shops with fanciful signs which are painted properly. 
 
 What of a villa ? Though winter be over in March by rights, 
 'T is May perhaps ere the snow shall have withered well off the heights. 
 You 've the brown ploughed land before, where the oxen steam and wheeze, 
 And the hills over-smoked behind by the faint gray olive trees. 
 
 20
 
 306 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 Is it better in May, I ask you ? you 've summer all at once ; 
 In a day he leaps complete with a few strong April suns ! 
 'Mid the sharp short emerald wheat, scarce risen three fingers well, 
 The wild tulip, at end of its tube, blows out its great red bell, 
 Like a thin clear bubble of blood, for the children to pick and sell. 
 
 Is it ever hot in the square ? There 's a fountain to spout and splash ! 
 In the shade it sings and springs ; in the shine such foam-bows flash 
 On the horses with curling fish-tails, that prance and paddle and pash 
 Round the lady atop in the conch — fifty gazers do not abash, 
 Though all that she wears is some weeds round her waist in a sort of sash ! . 
 
 All the year long at the villa, nothing 's to see though you linger, 
 
 Except yon cypress that points like Death's lean lifted forefinger. 
 
 Some think fireflies pretty, when they mix in the corn and mingle 
 
 Or thrid the stinking hemp till the stalks of it seem a-tingle. 
 
 Late August or early September, the stunning cicala is shrill, 
 
 And the bees keep their tiresome whine round the resinous firs on the hill. 
 
 Enough of the seasons, — I spare you the months of the fever and chill. 
 
 Ere opening your eyes in the city, the blessed church-bells begin : 
 
 No sooner the bells leave off, than the diligence rattles in : 
 
 You get the pick of the news, and it costs you never a pin. 
 
 By and by there 'sthe travelling doctor gives pills, lets blood, draws teeth ; 
 
 Or the Pulcinello-trumpet breaks up the market beneath. 
 
 At the post-office such a scene-picture — the new play, piping hot! 
 
 And a notice how, only this morning, three liberal thieves were shot. 
 
 Above it, behold the archbishop's most fatherly of rebukes, 
 
 And beneath, with his crown and his lion, some little new law of the Duke's ! 
 
 Or a sonnet with flowery marge, to the Reverend Don So-and-so 
 
 Who is Dante, Boccaccio, Petrarca, Saint Jerome, and Cicero, 
 
 "And moreover," (the sonnet goes rhyming,) "the skirts of Saint Paul 
 
 has reached, 
 Having preached us those six Lent-lectures more unctuous than ever he 
 
 preached." 
 Noon strikes, — here sweeps the procession! our Lady borne smiling and 
 
 smart 
 With a pink gauze gown all spangles, and seven swords stuck in her heart ' 
 Bang, whang, whang, goes the drum, tootle-te-tootle the fife ; 
 No keeping one's haunches still : it 's the greatest pleasure in life. 
 
 But bless you, it 's dear — it 's dear ! fowls, wine, at double the rate. 
 They have clapped a new tax upon salt, and what oil pays passiug the gate 
 It 's a horror to think of. And so, the villa for me, not the city ! 
 Beggars can scarcely be choosers — but still — ah, the pity, the pity !
 
 BASSANIO AND SHYLOCK. 307 
 
 Look, two and two go the priests, then the monks with cowls and sandals, 
 
 And the penitents dressed in white shirts, a-holding the yellow candles. 
 
 One, he carries a flag up straight, and another a cross with handles, 
 
 And the Duke's guard brings up the rear, for the better prevention of 
 
 scandals. 
 
 Bang, whang, whang, goes the drum, tootle-te-tootle the fife. 
 
 Oh, a day in the city-square, there is no such pleasure in life! 
 
 Browning. 
 
 BASSANIO AND SHYLOCK. 
 
 Shylock. Three thousand ducats, — well. 
 
 Bassanio. Ay, sir, for three months. 
 
 Shy. For three months, — well. 
 
 Bass. For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be bound. 
 
 Shy. Antonio shall be bound, — well. 
 
 Bass. May you stead me ? Will you pleasure me ? Shall I know youi 
 answer ? 
 
 Shy. Three thousand ducats for three months, and Antonio bound. 
 
 Bass. Your answer to that. 
 
 Shy. Antonio is a good man. 
 
 Bass. Have you heard any imputation to the contrary ? 
 
 Shy. Ho ! no, no, no, no ; — my meaning, in saying he is a good man, is to 
 have you understand me that he is sufficient. Yet his means are in supposi- 
 tion ; he hath an argosy bound to Tripolis, another to the Indies ; I un- 
 derstand moreover upon the Rialto, he hath a third at Mexico, a fourth for 
 England; and other ventures he hath, squandered abroad. But ships are 
 but boards, sailors but men ; there be land-rats and water-rats, land-thieves 
 and water-thieves, — I mean, pirates : and then there is the peril of waters, 
 winds, rocks. The man is, notwithstanding, sufficient. Three thousand 
 ducats ; — I tbink I may take his bond. 
 
 Bass. Be assured you may. 
 
 Shy. I will be assured I may ; and, that I may be assured, I will bethink me. 
 May I speak with Antonio ? 
 
 Bass. If it please you to dine with us. 
 
 Shy. Yes, to smell pork ; to eat of the habitation which your prophet the 
 Nazarite conjured the Devil into. I will buy with you, sell with you, talk 
 with you, walk with you and so following ; but I will not eat with you, drink 
 with you, nor pray with you. What news on the Rialto ? — Who is he comes 
 here ? [Enter Antonio. 
 
 Bass. This is Signior Antonio. 
 
 Shy. [Aside.] How like a fawning publican he looks ! 
 I hate him for he is a Christian ; 
 But more, for that in low simplicity
 
 308 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 7 He lends out money gratis, and brings down 
 The rate of usance here with us in Venice. 
 If I can catch him once upon the hip, 
 I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. 
 He hates our sacred nation; and he rails, 
 Even there where merchants most do congregate, 
 On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift, 
 Which he calls interest : Cursed be my tribe, 
 If I forgive him ! 
 Bass. Shylock, do you hear ? 
 ,S%. I am debating of my present store , 
 
 And, by the near guess of my memory, I cannot instantly raise up 
 
 the gross 
 Of full three thousand ducats : What of that ? 
 Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe, 
 Will furnish me. But, soft ; how many months 
 Do you desire ? — [To Ant.] Rest you fair, good Signior ; 
 Your worship was the last man in our mouths. 
 Merchant of Venice. Shakespeare. 
 
 STORY OF ELIJAH. 
 
 And it came to pass after many days, that the word of the Lord came 
 to Elijah, in the third year, saying, Go, shew thyself unto Ahab ; and I 
 will send rain upon the earth. And Elijah went to shew himself unto 
 Ahab. And the famine was sore in Samaria. And Ahab called Obadiah, 
 which was over the household. (Now Obadiah feared the Lord greatly: 
 for it was so, when Jezebel cut off the prophets of the Lord, that 
 Obadiah took an hundred prophets, and hid them by fifty in a cave, and 
 fed them with bread and water.) And Ahab said unto Obadiah, Go 
 through the land, unto all the fountains of water, and unto all the brooks : 
 peradventure we may find grass and save the horses and mules alive, 
 that we lose not all the beasts. So they divided the land between them 
 to pass throughout it : Ahab went one way by himself, and Obadiah 
 went another way by himself. And as Obadiah was in the way, behold, 
 Elijah met him : and he knew him, and fell on his face, and said, Is it 
 thou, my lord Elijah ? And he answered him, It is I : go, tell thy 
 lord, Behold, Elijah is here. And he said, Wherein have I sinned, that 
 thou wouldest deliver thy servant into the hand of Ahab, to slay me ? 
 As the Lord thy God liveth, there is no nation or kingdom, whither my 
 lord hath not sent to seek thee : and when they said, He is not here, he 
 took an oath of the kingdom and nation, that they found thee not. And 
 now thousayest, Go, tell thy lord, Behold, Elijah is here. And it shall
 
 STORY OF ELIJAH. 309 
 
 eome to pass, as soon as I am gone from thee, that the spirit of the Lord 
 shall carry thee whither I know not ; and so when I come and tell Ahab, 
 and he cannot find thee, he shall slay me : but I thy servant fear the 
 Lord from my youth. Was it not told my lord what I did when Jeze- 
 bel slew the prophets of the Lord, how I hid an hundred men of the 
 Lord's prophets by fifty in a cave, and fed them with bread and water ? 
 And now thou sayest, Go, tell thy lord, Behold, Elijah is here : and he 
 shall slay me. And Elijah said, As the Lord of hosts liveth, before 
 whom I stand, I will surely shew myself unto him to-day. So Obadiah 
 went to meet Ahab, and told him: and Ahab went to meet Elijah. And 
 it came to pass, when Ahab saw Elijah, that Ahab said unto him, Is it 
 thou, thou troubler of Israel ? And he answered, I have not troubled 
 Israel ; but thou, and thy father's house, in that ye have forsaken the 
 commandments of the Lord, and thou hast followed the Baalim. Now 
 therefore send, and gather to me all Israel unto Mount Carmel, and the 
 prophets of Baal four hundred and fifty, and the prophets of the Asherah 
 four hundred, which eat at Jezebel's table. So Ahab sent unto all the 
 children of Israel, and gathered the prophets together unto Mount 
 Carmel. And Elijah came near unto all the people, and said, How 
 long halt ye between two opinions ? If the Lord be God, follow him : 
 but if Baal, then follow him. And the people answered him not a 
 word. Then said Elijah unto the people, I, even I only, am left a 
 prophet of the Lord ; but Baal's prophets are four hundred and fifty 
 men. Let them therefore give us two bullocks ; and let them choose one 
 bullock for themselves, and cut it in pieces, and lay it on the wood, and 
 put no fire under : and I will dress the ether bullock, and lay it on the 
 wood, and put no fire under. And call ye on the name of your god, and 
 I will call on the name of the Lord : and the God that answereth by 
 fire, let him be God. And all the people answered and said, It is well 
 spoken. And Elijah said unto the prophets of Baal, Choose you one 
 bullock for yourselves, and dress it first ; for ye are many ; and call on 
 the name of your god, but put no fire under. And they took the bul- 
 lock which was given them, and they dressed it, and called on the name 
 of Baal from morning even until noon, saying, O Baal, hear us. But 
 there was no voice, nor any that answered. And they leaped about 
 the altar which was made. And it came to pass at noon, that Elijah 
 mocked them, and said, Cry aloud : for he is a god ; either he is musing, 
 or he has gone aside, or he is in a journey, or peradventure he sleepeth, 
 and must be awaked. And they cried aloud, and cut themselves after 
 their manner with knives and lances, till the blood gushed out upon 
 them. And it was so, when midday was past, that they prophesied
 
 310 VOCAL EXPRESSION. 
 
 until the time of the offering of the evening oblation ; but there was 
 neither voice, nor any to answer, nor any that regarded. And Elijah 
 said unto all the people, Come near unto me ; and all the people came 
 near unto him. And he repaired the altar of the Lord that was thrown 
 down. And Elijah took twelve stones, according to the number of the 
 tribes of the sons of Jacob, unto whom the word of the Lord came, 
 saying, Israel shall be thy name. And with the stones he built an altar 
 in the name of the Lord ; and he made a trench about the altar, as great 
 as would contain two measures of seed. And he put the wood in order, 
 and cut the bullock in pieces, and laid it on the wood. And he said, 
 Fill four barrels with water, and pour it on the burnt offering, and 
 on the wood. And he said, Do it the second time ; and they did it 
 the second time. And he said, Do it the third time ; and they did it the 
 third time. And the water ran round about the altar ; and he filled the 
 trench also with water. And it came to pass at the time of the offering 
 of the evening oblation, that Elijah the prophet came near, and said, 
 
 Lord, the God of Abraham, of Isaac, and of Israel, let it be known 
 this day that thou art God in Israel, and that I am thy servant, and that 
 
 1 have done all these things at thy word. Hear me, O Lord, hear me, 
 that this people may know that thou, Lord, art God, and that thou hast 
 turned their heart back again. Then the fire of the Lord fell, and con- 
 sumed the burnt offering, and the wood, and the stones, and the dust, 
 and licked up the water that was in the trench. And when all the people 
 saw it, they fell on their faces : and they said, The Lord, he is God ; the 
 Lord, he is God. And Elijah said unto them, Take the prophets of Baal ; 
 let not one of them escape. And they took them : and Elijah brought 
 them down to the brook Kishon, and slew them there. And Elijah said 
 unto Ahab, Get thee up, eat and drink; for there is the sound of abun- 
 dance of rain. So Ahab went up to eat and to drink. And Elijah went 
 up to the top of Carmel ; and he bowed himself down upon the earth, 
 and put his face between his knees. And he said to his servant, Go up 
 now, look toward the sea. And he went up, and looked, and said, 
 There is nothing. And he said, Go again seven times. And it came to 
 pass at the seventh time, that he said, Behold, there ariseth a cloud out of 
 the sea, as small as a man's hand. And he said, Go up, say unto Ahab, 
 Make ready thy chariot, and get thee down, that the rain stop thee not. 
 And it came to pass in a little while, that the heaven grew black with 
 clouds and wind, and there was a great rain. And Ahab rode, and 
 went to Jezreel. And the hand of the. Lord was on Elijah ; and he 
 girded up his loins, and ran before Ahab to the entrance of Jezreel. 
 
 1 Kings la
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Subjects of lessons are printed in CAPITALS ; authors from whom selections are taken, ir 
 Small Capitals ; titles of pieces, in Italics; and topics, in Roman. 
 
 ABANDON, 35-45 ; hindrances to, 46 ; nec- 
 essary to simplicity, 81. 
 
 Abou Ben Adhem, 208. 
 
 ACCENTUATION, 97-101. 
 
 Adam and Orlando, 298. 
 
 Addison, from The Spectator, 175. 
 
 Affectation, how avoided, 81. 
 
 Agnes, 204. 
 
 Aldrich, T. B., Transition from, 215. 
 
 Allinoham, Sunrise, 25. 
 
 ANIMATION, 87-90. 
 
 ANTITHESIS, 152-157. 
 
 Apparitions, Browning, 62. 
 
 Apperception, Nature of, 26. 
 
 Apple Blossoms, Martin, 44. 
 
 Appreciation, basis of criticism, 279. 
 
 Arnold, Edwin, Message, 239. 
 
 Arnold, Matthew, The Himt, 294 ; Requi- 
 escat, 186 ; Self -Dependence, 44 ; lines 
 from, 87, 203. 
 
 Art, defined, 16 ; development of, 227; im- 
 perfect methods of, 39. 
 
 Attention, Nature of, 19. 
 
 Attitude of Mind revealed by Inflection, 195. 
 
 Aytoun, William Edmonstounb, from Flod- 
 den Field, 215. 
 
 Background, 206. 
 
 Ballads, old, 277. 
 
 Barbara Frietchie, 295 ; Transition from, 
 226. 
 
 Barbauld, Letttia, lines from, 108. 
 
 Barton, Bernard, from To the Winds, 193. 
 
 Bassanio and Shylock, Shakespeare, 307. 
 
 Beattte, James, lines from, 196. 
 
 Beaumont, Life, 110. 
 
 Before Sedan, Dobson, 187. 
 
 Bertrand, Louis, Padre Pugnaccio, 67. 
 
 Bible, extracts from, 1 Cor. XIII., 
 12; Jeremiah XVII., 5-8, 215; Job 
 XXVIII, Search for Wisdom, 136; The 
 Rich Man, 222; Psalm XIX., The Two 
 Voices, 116; Psalm C XXXIX., 1-12, 
 212; Psalm OIL, 25-27, 205; Elijah, 
 30S ; Luke XII, 16-29, 222. 
 
 Blossom Time, In, 56. 
 
 Boadicea, Cowper, 96. 
 
 Bloomfteld, Robert, lines from, 26. 
 
 Breath, control of, needed in sorrow, 184. 
 
 Browning, Mrs., lines from, 69. 
 
 Browning, Apparitions, 62 ; from Christina, 
 257; Epilogue to Asolando, 228; Give a 
 Rouse, 182 ; The Function of Art, 250 ; 
 Home-Thoughts from the Sea, 91 ; Italian 
 in England, 242 ; My Last Duchess, 105 : 
 from Love among the Ruins, 147 ; Meet- 
 ing at Night, Parting at Morning, 77; 
 from The Mermaid, 168; Up at a Villa, 
 Dovn in the City, 305; Wanting is — 
 What f 176. 
 
 Brutus and Lucius, 162. 
 
 Bryant, William Cullen, from Thanatop- 
 sis, 68, 221. 
 
 Building of the Ship, lines from Longfellow, 
 54. 
 
 Bugle Song, lines from, 30. 
 
 Burns, Robert, To a Mountain Daisy, 86 ; 
 lines from, 91. 
 
 Burke, Edmund, Marie Antoinette, 72. 
 
 Byron, George Gordon, Lord, Castle of 
 Chillon, The, 258 ; from Childe Harold, 
 33 ; Elegy on Thyrza, 157 ; lines from, 
 45 ; lines on Rome, 289 ; Waterloo, 175. 
 
 Campbell, Thomas, Maid of Neidpath, 185. 
 
 Cape Ushant, 92. 
 
 Caelyle, Natural Supernaturalism, 251 ; 
 
 on poetry, 224; Paragraphs from, 208, 
 
 234,258. 
 Carlyle, needs pause in reading, 65. 
 Carey, Henry, Sally in our Alley, 86. 
 Castle of Chillon, Byron, 258. 
 CENTRALIZATION, 110-116. 
 CHANGE OF PITCH, sign of naturalness, 
 
 56-61 ; as a mode of emphasis, 201-205; 
 
 causes of, 202-203. 
 Charles I, Macaulay, 152. 
 Child, emphasizes correctly, 144. 
 Christina, lines from Browning, 257. 
 Christmas Hymn, Domett, 291. 
 Circumflex inflection, 189. 
 Clang, Clang, 239. 
 Clay, Henry, Paragraph from, 166. 
 CLEARNESS, 249-250. 
 Coaching, 277-278.
 
 312 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, from Ancient 
 Mariner, 106 ; from Essay on Method, 
 130-135; Genevieve, 288; from Mont 
 Blanc, 50 ; lines from, 159, 186. 
 
 Color expresses feeling, 184. 
 
 CONCEPTION, 26-34; free, 31. 
 
 Concord Hymn, lines from, 101. 
 
 Consider, Rossetti, 137. 
 
 Consolation, Shakespeare's sonnet, 83. 
 
 Contrasts in movement, illustrations for, 
 215 ; necessity of practising, 54. 
 
 Control of breath, developed by touch, 102. 
 
 Convention of France, Mirabeau, 234. 
 
 CONVERSATION, 266-269 ; action of the 
 mind in, 98 ; form of, 117-125 ; as differ- 
 ent from soliloquy, 160 ; uses pauses, 62 ; 
 variety in, 57. 
 
 Co-operation of powers, necessary in Ex- 
 pression, 28. 
 
 Cowley, Abraham, lines from, 79. 
 
 Cowper, William, Boadicea, 96; Loss of 
 the Royal George, 85. 
 
 Craik, Dinah Muloch, from Now and After- 
 wards, 210. 
 
 CRITICISM, 279-282 ; denned, 280 ; desired 
 by students, 281. 
 
 Crossing the Bar, Tennyson, 216. 
 
 Cuckoo, To the, Wordsworth, 10. 
 
 Cunningham, Allan, lines from, 108. 
 
 Curtain Lecture, Jerrold, 164. 
 
 Curtis, George William, Wendell P hilli ps, 
 248 ; Paragraph from, 91. 
 
 Daisy, from Wordsworth, 22. 
 
 Daffodils, Herrick, 61. 
 
 Dawn, Allingham, 25. 
 
 DEBATE, 272-274. 
 
 Declamation, cause of, 99. 
 
 DEGREES OF EMPHASIS, 231-234. 
 
 Dejection, from Shelley, 97. 
 
 Delivery, aims of, 249 ; how improved, 4-6. 
 
 De Quincy, Thomas, Solitude, 179. 
 
 Derzhazim, lines from, 108. 
 
 DEVELOPMENT OF METHOD, 244-247. 
 
 Dialogues, Use of, 236. 
 
 Dickens, Charles, Kettle and Cricket, 205 ; 
 Little Joe, 288. 
 
 DIRECTION OF INFLECTION, 172-174; 
 shows process of thinking, 173. 
 
 DISCUSSION AND DEBATE, 272-274. 
 
 Dobson, Henry Austin, Before Sedan, 187 ; 
 Ladies of St. James, 287. 
 
 Domestic Asides, Hood, 292. 
 
 Domett, Christmas Hymn, 291. 
 
 Doudney, from the Water-Mill, 216. 
 
 Drifting, as a fault, 38. 
 
 Dbummond, William, The Lessons of Na- 
 ture, 211. 
 
 Dwight, Timothy, Rest, 138. 
 
 EARNESTNESS, 253-257; cause of aim- 
 plicity, 81. 
 
 Education of Nature, Wordsworth, 25. 
 
 EDUCATION OF THE EYE, 69-72. 
 
 Elijah, story of, 308. 
 
 Eliot, George, lines on Speech, 67 ; on 
 Expansion, 290. 
 
 Elocution, narrower than Vocal Expres- 
 sion, 2. 
 
 Effect of Distance, Ruskin, 248. 
 
 Emerson, Ralph Waldo, Good-bye, 151 ; 
 from Concord Hymn, 101 ; from The 
 Sphinx, 18 ; lines from, 78, 178, 212. 
 
 Emerson, Inflections of, 194. 
 
 EMOTION AND INFLECTION, 183-185. 
 
 Emphasis, antithesis in, 153 ; development 
 of, 227, 232, 235, 244, 245 ; how increased, 
 232 ; illustrated, 110-115, 138-141 ; in 
 soliloquy, 160; modes of, 226-228; re- 
 quires subordination, 207 ; Sheridan on, 
 152; kinds of, 231. 
 
 Epilogue to Asalando, Browning, 228. 
 
 Essentials, importance of, 121 ; how tested, 
 122. 
 
 Evening at Rokeby, Scott, 150. 
 
 Excitement, not earnestness, 90. 
 
 Expostulation and Reply, Wordsworth, 126. 
 
 Expression, all modes should be studied, 
 263, 264, 265 ; definition of, 47 ; every art 
 a form of, 1 ; how improved, 1, 21 ; modes 
 of, 1. 
 
 EXTEMPORANEOUS SPEAKING, 269- 
 271. 
 
 Eye, how educated, 71. 
 
 Fall of the Romans, 230. 
 
 FalstafTs Reproof, 192. 
 
 Farewell, A, Tennyson, 80. 
 
 FAULTS OF EMPHASIS, 235-237; how 
 
 corrected, 256. 
 Faults, in Expression, 38 ; two leading, 59. 
 Fear No More, Shakespeare, 108. 
 Feeling, dominated by ideas, 97 ; needs 
 
 abandon, 42. 
 Fishing, Anon., 124. 
 Function of Art, Browning, 250. 
 Fundamentals, 123. 
 Flynn, Bret Harte, 167. 
 FORCE AND LOUDNESS, 223-225. 
 Form, elements of vocal, 120. 
 FORMS OF EXPRESSION, 263-266. 
 Freedom, 14. 
 FREEDOM OF INFLECTION, 193-196. 
 
 Garrick, Paragraph on, Sterne, 69. 
 George Third, Thackeray, 93. 
 Gettysburg, Lincoln's Address on, 211. 
 Glory of God, Moore, 211. 
 Goethe, Without and Within, 55.
 
 INDEX. 
 
 313 
 
 Goldsmith, Oliver, lines from, 33. 
 Good-bye, Emerson, 151. 
 Grammar, contrasted with Vocal Expres- 
 sion, 129. 
 Gray, Thomas, from Elegy, 175. 
 
 Hale, Edward Everett, on Extempora- 
 neous Speaking, 270. 
 
 Hallack, To Arms, The Greek, 177. 
 
 Hamlet and Horatio, 197. 
 
 Hamlet and Polonius, 191. 
 
 Hamlet's Voyage, Shakespeare, 132. 
 
 Harmony, in Nature and Art, 15. 
 
 Hampden, John, Macaulay, 247. 
 
 Harte, Bret, Flynn of Virginia, 167 ; lines 
 from, 196. 
 
 Hawthorne, Nathaniel, from The Marble 
 Faun, 73. 
 
 Hazlttt, William, Knowledge and Wis- 
 dom, 181 ; Pleasures, 174 ; Simplicity, 
 178. 
 
 Head and Heart, 152. 
 
 Hemans, Mrs., from Graves of a Household, 
 221. 
 
 Herbert, George, Virtue, 196. 
 
 Hermione , s Speech, 262. 
 
 Herrick, Robert, lines from, 33. 
 
 Hesitation, and Pause, 63. 
 
 Holmes, Oliver Wendell, lines from, 106 ; 
 from Old Ironsides, 108. 
 
 Homer, Priam and Achilles, 84. 
 
 Home Thoughts from the Sea, 91. 
 
 Hood, Thomas, Domestic Asides, 292 ; The 
 Lee Shore, 109 ; Pain in a Pleasure Boat, 
 300 ; from Ruth, 32. 
 
 Horatius, lines from, Macaulay, 107. 
 
 Hotspur's Defence, 301. 
 
 Howitt, paragraph from, 92. 
 
 Hugo, Victor, lines from, 208. 
 
 Hunt, Leigh, Abou Sen Ad hem, 208; para- 
 graph from, 256. 
 
 Hunt, The, Arnold, 294. 
 
 Hutchinson, Helen M., The Mariners, 222. 
 
 Ideas, accentuated in two ways, 113 ; must 
 be discovered, 66. 
 
 Images, importance of, 28. 
 
 Imagination, George Macdonald, 262. 
 
 Imagination must create scene, 147. 
 
 Imitation, how avoided, 205 ; and modula- 
 tion, 52. 
 
 Inflection, Abruptness of, 179 ; and color, 
 184 ; cannot be developed by rules, 174 ; 
 compared with words, 170 ; contrasted 
 with change of pitch, 204; danger in, 
 177; direction of, 172; free, 193-195; 
 function of, 171 ; important element of 
 conversational form, 168 ; modulation, 
 168-171 ; variations of, 170. 
 
 Ingelow, Jean, from Songs of Seven, 48 ; 
 
 lines from Widoivhood, 108. 
 Instinct, logical, 144. 
 Intention and Extension in Logic, 115. 
 Indifference, opposite of, 254, 255. 
 Instinct, penetrative, 147. 
 Intensity, how shown, 232. 
 INTERVALS OF PITCH, 201-205. 
 Irving, Washington, The Wreck, 138. 
 Italian in England, Browning, 242. 
 
 Jacques and the Deer, 298 ; And the Foot, 
 
 217. 
 James, Prof., on Attention, 19. 
 Jerrold, Douglas, A Curtain Lecture, 1&±. 
 Job XXVIII., 136. 
 John Hampden, Macaulay, 247. 
 Jonson, Ben, Gipsy Benediction, 80. 
 Julius Caesar, Opening Scene, 190. 
 
 Keenan's Charge, 293. 
 
 Kellcgg, paragraph from, 225 ; from Spat 
 
 taeus, 221. 
 Kettle and Cricket, Dickens, 205. 
 Kingsley, Charles, The Three Fishers, 290. 
 
 Ladies of St. James, Dobson, 287. 
 
 Laugh, Mental cause of, 35. 
 
 Lee Shore, Hood, 109. 
 
 LENGTH OF INFLECTION, 177-178. 
 
 Lessons of Nature, 211. 
 
 Life, Beaumont, 110. 
 
 Light and Shade, compared with color, 119- 
 121. 
 
 Lincoln, Dedication of Gettysburg Cemetery, 
 211 ; paragraph from, 138. 
 
 Literature, expression should study, 267 . 
 thought and feeling, 47. 
 
 Logan, John, from To the Cuckoo, 201. 
 
 Logical Instinct, how developed, 144 ; illus- 
 trated in a story, 13S ; needed in reading. 
 136. 
 
 Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth, from The 
 Builders, 106 ; from Building of the Ship, 
 54; lines from The Old Clock, 32; Twi- 
 light, 45 ; lines from Wreck of the Hes- 
 perus, 296. 
 
 Lord is my Shepherd, The, 84. 
 
 Lost Leader, lines from, 107. 
 
 Loss of the Royal George, 85. 
 
 Loudness, not animation, 89. 
 
 Loudness, undignified, 223, 224. 
 
 Lover and his Lass, Shakespeare, 43. 
 
 Lowell, James Russell, from Bigelow Pa- 
 pers, 190 ; from Commemoration Ode, 117 ; 
 from Conversations, 67 ; lines from 
 Launfal, 26, 66, 159 ; from Present Crisis. 
 179, 233 ; from Stanzas on Freedom, 
 190.
 
 314 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Lyte, H. F., Agnes, 204 ; Lost Love, 226. 
 Lyrics, develop spontaneity, 41. 
 
 Macaulay, Thomas B., from the Essay on 
 Milton, 155 ; from Horalius, 17G. 
 
 MacDonald, Geoege, from The Imagina- 
 tion, 262. 
 
 Maid of Neidpath, 185. 
 
 Make Way for Liberty, 109. 
 
 Manifestation, 53. 
 
 Marie Antoinette, Burke, 72. 
 
 Marmion and Douglas, 182. 
 
 Marshall, Wiseman, on Touch, 104. 
 
 Martin, William Wesley, Apple Blossoms, 
 44. 
 
 Massacre in Piedmont, Milton, 10. 
 
 Melody, Elements of, 118. 
 
 Memory, how improved, 275 ; philosophical, 
 275 ; should be trained, 
 
 Method, defined by Coleridge, 129; Cole- 
 ridge'' s Essay on, 130 ; development of, 
 246 ; in description, 147-148 ; of the igno- 
 rant, 130 ; IN NARRATION, 138-146 ; OF 
 THOUGHT AND WORDS, 127-136. 
 
 Midsummer, lines from Trowbridge, 148. 
 
 Milton, John, Late Massacre in Piedmont, 
 10 ; from The Nativity, 68 ; Picture, from, 
 33 ; On His Blindness, 257. 
 
 Mlrabeau, The Convention of France, 234. 
 
 MODES OF EXPRESSION, 50-55. 
 
 Modest Wit, Anon., 197. 
 
 Moir, David M., from To the Skylark, 187. 
 
 Monologue, Emphasis in, 161. 
 
 Monotony, Elements of, 119. 
 
 Mont Blanc, Coleridge, lines from, 50. 
 
 Montgomery, James, Arnold Winkelried, 
 109. 
 
 Moonrise, Tennyson, 296. 
 
 Moore, Thomas, Light of Other Days, 288 ; 
 lines from, 211. 
 
 Morris, William, from All For the Cause, 
 260. 
 
 To a Mountain Daisy, Burns, 86. 
 
 MOVEMENT, 213-215. 
 
 Muckle-Mouth Meg, Browning, 171. 
 
 Myers, Prayer, 48. 
 
 My Last Duchess, Browning, 165. 
 
 Nativity, Hymn on, 68. 
 
 Naturalness in Conversation, 117-120 ; defi- 
 nition of, 17 ; misconceived, 39 ; nature 
 of, 37 ; pause, sign of, 65. 
 
 Natural Supernaturalism, Carlyle, 251. 
 
 Nature, art near to, 11 ; methods of study- 
 ing. 121. 
 
 Nature, Sonnet on, Keats, 282. 
 
 Newman, lines from, 181. 
 
 Night and Death, White, 72. 
 
 Nightingale, The, Bailey, 61. 
 
 Objective Study, necessary in expression, 57. 
 O Captain, My Captain, Whitman, 217. 
 Ode to the West Wind, Shelley, 260. 
 Originality, how developed, 265. 
 
 Padre Pugnaccio, Bertrand, 67. 
 
 Pain in a Pleasure Boat, Hood, 300. 
 
 Palgrave, Francis Turner, Paragraph 
 from, 233. 
 
 Parting at Morning, Browning, 77. 
 
 Passion, Gamut of, narrow in many, 45 ; in- 
 creases touch, 106 ; right impulse in, 74. 
 
 Past and Poetry, Carlyle, 224. 
 
 Pater, Walter, The Artist, 251. 
 
 Pause, as a method of emphasis, 209, 210. 
 
 PAUSING, 62-67. 
 
 Peabody, from Skater's Song, 216. 
 
 Pennell, Henry Cholmondeley, from The 
 Rose of Etlrick, 26. 
 
 Perception, nature of, 26. 
 
 Pictures, danger of effort, 29. 
 
 Pine Forest, Shelley, 23. 
 
 Pitt, Paragraph from, 183, 233. 
 
 PHRASING, 73-78. 
 
 Phrasing, how developed, 75. 
 
 Phillips, inflections of, 194. 
 
 Polonius Address to the King and Queen, 
 135. 
 
 Polonius to Laertes, Shakespeare, 158. 
 
 Prayer, Myers, 48. 
 
 Priam and Achilles, Homer, 84. 
 
 Proctor, Legend of Bregenz, lines from, 
 182. 
 
 Psalm XVIII. , 291 ; XIX., 116 ; 
 C XXXIX., 212. 
 
 Psalms, contrast in, 48. 
 
 Punctuation, of printers and readers, differ- 
 ent, 74. 
 
 Qualities of nature, 13 ; of art, 13. 
 
 Rant, 100. 
 
 Reading, to ourselves and to others, 20 ; two 
 
 forms of, 69-70. 
 Read, T. B., from Rising in 1776, 178. 
 RECITATION, 274-279; development of, 
 
 263. 
 Requiescal, Arnold, 186. 
 Representation, 51. 
 Resonance, 218-219. 
 RESPONSIVENESS, 45-49 ; importance of, 
 
 122. 
 Rhetoric, distinguished from logic, 142. 
 Richard III, Soliloquy of, 94. 
 River Duddon, Wordsworth, 259. 
 Rossetti, Christina Georgina, Consider, 
 
 137 ; Up-Hill, 176. 
 Rossetti, Dante Gabriel, Day is Dark, 222. 
 Rogers, Samuel, Music, 79 ; A Wish, 167.
 
 INDEX. 
 
 315 
 
 Rules, desired, 38-39. 
 
 Rules, example of evil, 58 ; in pausing illus- 
 trated, 75. 
 Ruskin, John, Effect of Distance, 248. 
 Rhythm and Touch, 114 ; explained, 213. 
 
 Sailor Boy, Tennyson, 90. 
 
 Sally in our Alley, 86. 
 
 Scott, Sir Walter, The Chase, 145 ; from 
 Marmion, 212 ; from Dundee, 61 ; Even- 
 ing at Rokeby, 150 ; from Guy Mannering, 
 197 ; Song, 73 ; Song, True and False 
 Lover, 284 ; T/ie Maid of Neidpath, 185 ; 
 Parting of Marmion and Douglas, 182; 
 from Pibroch, 79, 178 ; Transition from 
 Marmion, 108. 
 
 School for Scandal, scenes from, 237. 
 
 Self-consciousness, importance of, 42. 
 
 Self -Dependence, Arnold, 44. 
 
 SEQUENCE OF IDEAS, 18-25. 
 
 Shairp, Shakespeare and Goethe, 258. 
 
 Shakespeare, Adam and Orlando, 298 
 Adam's Speech, 1SS ; Bassanio to Portia 
 127 ; Bassanio and Shylock, 307 ; Blow 
 Blow, 288 ; from Cassius and Brutus, 176 
 179 ; Done to Death, 115 ; Brutus Solilo 
 quy, 162 ; Falstaff and Hostess, 131, 106 
 Falslajps Dismissal, 192 ; Fear No More. 
 108 ; A Fool, A Fool, 217 ; Hamlet and 
 Horatio, 197 ; Hamlet and Polonius, 191 
 Hamlet s Voyage, 132 ; Hamlet's Soliloquy, 
 To Be, 161 ; O What a Rogue, 159 ; Hark 
 Hark ! 290 ; Henry IV. to Worcester, 131 
 lines from Henry V., 107, 225 ; from Henry 
 VII L, 225 ; Hotspur, 225 ; Hotspur's 
 Defence, 301 ; Opening Scene, Julius 
 Cmsar, 190 ; Lover and His Lass, 43 ; 
 Time, 102 ; Merrily, Merrily, 35 ; Picture 
 from, 32 ; Polonius' Farewell, 158 ; Solilo- 
 quy of Richard III, 94 ; lines from Rich- 
 ard III, 182; from Romeo and Juliet, 
 186. 
 
 Shell and Heart, 116. 
 
 Shelley, Percy Bysshe, from A Defence of 
 Poetry, 107 ; from Dejection, 97 ; from 
 Julian and Maddalo, 178 ; Pine Forest, 
 23; Ode to the West Wind, 260 ; My Soul 
 an Enchanted Boat, 34 ; lines from, 32, 91, 
 158. 
 
 Sheridan, on Emphasis, 152. 
 
 Sheridan, Soliloquy, School for Scandal, 
 167 ; Scenes from School for Scandal, 237 ; 
 transition from, 189. 
 
 SILENCE AS A MEANS OF EMPHASIS, 
 209-210 ; importance of, 62. 
 
 Silent Reading, 70. 
 
 Simmons, B., Cape Ushant, 92. 
 
 SIMPLICITY, 80-86; contrasted with ani- 
 mation, 87 ; destroyed by poor literature, 
 
 83 ; test of greatness, shewn by greatness, 
 
 80-81 ; sincerity basis of, 81. 
 Sing-song, nature of, 99. 
 Sir Galahad, lines from, 18. 
 Sister, To My, Wordsworth, 43. 
 Skylark, Wordsworth, 94 ; Moir, 187. 
 SOLILOQUY, 159-165. 
 Solitude, De Quincy, 179. 
 Sorrow, requires touch, 106. 
 Southwell, Robert, lines from, 172. 
 Speaking extemporaneous, 269-271 ; natu- 
 
 ralness of, 250-253 ; needed by all, 269. 
 Speech and Song, differ in touch, 103. 
 Speech to the Players, from Shakespeare, 
 
 224. 
 Spencer, Herbert, definition of cadence, 
 
 169 ; on economy, 88. 
 Sphynx, Kinglake, 92 ; lines on Emerson, 18. 
 Spontaneity, how developed, 40 ; and con- 
 
 sciousness, 39-40 ; nature of, 37 ; not dex- 
 terity, 45 ; not impulsiveness, 39 ; of 
 
 thinking illustrated, 78. 
 Staginess, 100. 
 
 Star of my Country, Wordsworth, 96. 
 Sterne, Lawrence, Paragraph from, 69. 
 Stevenson, R. L. Where Go the Boats f 
 
 25. 
 STRAIGHTNESS OF INFLECTION, 188- 
 
 189. 
 Story-tellers, sequence of ideas, 144 ; good, 
 
 rare, 268. 
 Story Telling, 24 ; develops conversation, 
 
 266. 
 Style, how developed, 89. 
 SUBORDINATION, 206-208. 
 Swinburne, To the Storm Wind, 91. 
 
 Tables Turned, Wordsworth, 126. 
 
 Taylor, Sir Henry, Song, 286. 
 
 Taylor, Tom, 'Twixt Axe and Crown, 302. 
 
 Teachers, Instructions to, 7-9 ; requisites 
 of, 276. 
 
 Tediousness, nature of, 65. 
 
 Tennyson, Alfred, Crossing the Bar, 216; 
 A Farewell, 80 ; from Sir Galahad, 18 ; 
 The Sailor Boy, 91 ; from Ulysses, 101 ; 
 The Voyage, 34 ; Roll On, 287 ; lines from, 
 30, 33, 72. 
 
 TEXTURE AND TONE COLOR, 218-221. 
 
 Thinking, effect of, upon words, 76 ; ele- 
 ments of, 18 ; kinds of, 27 ; progression or, 
 60 ; shown by change of pitch, 202, 203 ; 
 in soliloquy, 159-160. 
 
 Thyrza, Byron, 157. 
 
 TONE COLOR, 218-220 ; use of, 219 ; ex- 
 tracts for, 221, 283-287. 
 
 TOUCH, 102-106 ; and Texture, 10S -, and 
 Stress, 104 ; varieties of, 105 ; extracts for, 
 100-108.
 
 316 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Trench, Richard Chenevtx, from Life \ 
 
 Through Death, 233 ; A Contrast, 218. 
 Trowbridge, J. T., from Midsummer, 148. 
 Tu Quoque, Dobson, 123. 
 ' Twiit Axe and Crown, Taylor, 302. 
 Two Voices, Wordsworth, 282. 
 
 Up-Hill, Miss Rossetti, 176. 
 
 Ulysses, lines from Tennyson, 101. 
 
 Unity, in nature and art, 15; needs variety, 
 
 59. 
 Up at a Villa, Down in the City, Browning, 
 
 305. 
 
 Virtue, Herbert, 196. 
 
 Vocal Expression, and aid in education, 276 ; 
 clearness in, 249, 250 • development of, 
 263, 264 ; near to nature, 11-12 ; not imi- 
 tative, 2 ; may destroy logic, 137 ; modes 
 of improving, 2 ; must show centre of 
 poem or speech, 111-113 ; nature of, 64 ; 
 progressive, 13S ; teacher of, 276 ; tests 
 thinking, 89 ; views of, 36. 
 
 Vocal Training, nature of, 1. 
 
 Voyage, The, Tennyson, 34. 
 
 Wanting is — What f Browning, 176. 
 Wars, from Zenobia, 152. 
 
 Webster, Daniel, inflections of, 194 ; Use of 
 
 ' his eye, 71 ; Use of pause, 74 ; Paragraph 
 from, 257. 
 
 Wendell Phillips, Curtis, 248. 
 
 Westminster, Addison, 175. 
 
 Where Go the Boats? Stevenson, 25. 
 
 What is Timet 215. 
 
 White, Blanco, Night and Death, 72. 
 
 Whitman, Walt, My Captain, 217. 
 
 Whtttier, John G., Barbara Frietchie, 
 295 ; Pictures from, 32, 107 ; lines from 
 Wind on Marsh, 49 ; lines from, 203. 
 
 Wish, A, Rogers, 167. 
 
 Wordsworth, William, To the Cuckoo, 10 ; 
 The Daisy, 22 ; Expostulation and Reply, 
 126 ; from To My Sister, 43 ; from Ode to 
 Duty, 182 ; River Duddon, 259 ; from The 
 Reaper, 32, 33 ; from Skylark, 90 ; To the 
 Skylark, 94; The Tables Turned, 126; 
 Yarrow Unvisited, 148; Yarrow Visited, 
 149; Picture from, 83; Star of My 
 Country, 96. 
 
 Wordsworth, simplicity of, 82. 
 
 Wreck of the Hesperus, 296. 
 
 Wreck, The, Irving, 138. 
 
 Yarrow Unvisited, 148. 
 Yarrow Visited, 149.
 
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