A


|^to anth Irartical  Sptem
OF THE CULTURE OF
VOICE AND ACTION,
AND A COMPLETE ANALYSIS OF
THE HUMAN PASSIONS,
WITH AN
APPENDIX OF READINGS AND RECITATIONS.
DESIGNED FOR
PUBLIC SPEAKERS, TEACHERS, AND STUDENTS,
BY
PROF. J. E. FROBISIIER.
EARNEST EXPRESSION: NOT DELICATE DECLAMATION.
NEW YORK:
IVISON, PHINNEY, BLAKEMAN, & CO.,
47 & 49 GREENE STREET.
S. C. GRIGGS & CO., CHICAGO.
1868.





Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, by
IVISON, PHINNEY, BLAKEMAN, & CO.,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States,
for the Southern District of New York.





PREFACE.
HAIvrG been professionally engaged a number of years, as
a Reader in Public, and also as a Teacher of Elocution in
New York, I have frequently been consulted with reference
to various works upon the subject. When a thorough investigation, a complete analysis was desired, I have heartily
recommended "THE PHILOSOPHY      OF THE HUMAN VOICE,"
by Dr. Rusn; otherwise, I have suggested different textbooks, according to the intentions of those making the inquiries.
At times, in the latter case, I have had misgivings as to the
results of my advice; for, in none of the lesser works I have
recommended, would all the means of vocal expression sufficiently correspond in style to those I inculcated, and it
semed to be the FORM alone that many persons PARTICULARLY
desired.
Furthermore, I have needed a manual by which instruction, in a method which I claim in many respects to be new
in its plan and arrangement, could be imparted more reliably
than by oral means alone. I have, therefore, prepared this
volume, as an improvement upon my former efforts, the last
published five years ago, which I now send forth to accomplish what it may in the furtherance of the noble art of reading and speaking well.
In the following treatise I have inserted, occasionally, quotations from authors on art and painting, as well as elocu




4


PREFACE.


tion; but as, in many instances, I have very considerably
changed their phraseology to adapt them to my meaning, I
have omitted entirely the usual punctuative marks, which, if
used, would be variously scattered throughout, as well as
placed at the sides of the pages, and thus tend to disfigure
their typographical appearance.
I have borrowed incidentally another's vehicle, making
the necessary al:erations, to transmit my own impressions at
a smaller sacrifice of time than by contriving a means altogether original.
If the critic chooses, however, to be captious and illiberal
with such an arrangenent he may be so at his pleasure.
With the more indulgent of mankind I sincerely hope my
intentions will justify the course I have pursued.
I have drawn from numerous sources, but my chief inspiraration is due to a thorough, laborious study of " The Philosophy" of Dr. Rush. Many of the illustrations, though in a form
of my own, are from the above-mentioned work.
In the practical part of tlhi system I have so enlarged
upon the elements, and mechanized lie ex:nmi lee, that many
will doubltle-s pnss a hasty judgment upo)n its efficacy.  My
own observation and daily experience satisfies me, however,
that the art of elocution can be successfully taught only in
some such manner as I herein suggest.   I also feel satisfied
that a CAREFUL STUDY and TRIAL of this system, not a MERE
PERUSAL, will induce others to believe as I do.
Speaking is an ART; and'in ONE sense ALL arts are mechanical. They have all SEEMINGLY arbitrary principles, or laws.
Music, Painting, and Sculpture, have an infinitude of details;
and there is no reason whatever why Elocution should be
exempt from some such similar restraints, or limits, which
do not ENFEEBLE art by this necessary restriction, but GUIDE





PREFACE.


5


aid IMPEL it in the proper direction only to INCREASE its
NATURAL tendencies.
In this method I have simply done what the conjoined
experiments of voice, ear, and eye, have suggested to be the
BEST means of showing OTHERS HOW to practice by analysis,
instead of relying on mere impulse and INSTINCTIVE unguided
effort. To be sure, I have multiplied the combinations of
principles in a great variety of ways, but if the student will
remember that there are but FIVE great leading princii les,
and the object is to DEVELOPE them more successtully, he will
not become alarmed at the abundance of means before him.
These FIVE principles, as enumerated by Dr. Rush, embrace
EVERYTHING. They are as follows:-QUALITY, which includes
the NATURAL, the FALSETTE, the WHISPERING, and the onOTUND VOICES; FORCE, which comprehends the different stresses
&c; QUANTITY, whlich refers to the TIME of syllables and
PAUSES in discourse; ABRUPTNESS, the STACCATO of speech,
which differs essentially from slow or rapid time; and PITCH,
to which belong the SKIPS, SLIDES, and WAVES, of whole tones
and semitones.
The great trouble of studying Elocution without the living
teacher arises, principally, from the novitiate MISTAKING COMBINATIONS and the higher graces for the PRINCIPLES THEMSELVES, and thus becoming disheartened at the SEEMING
amount of work before him. If properly pursued, Elocution
becomes one of the most delightful of studies, and it is hoped
that these pages may tend to prove it such.
The selections for reading and speaking, in the latter part
of this Manual, were chosen, in most instances, because less
frequently found in works of this kind. The author has only
taken such old pieces, for practice with pupils, as he deemed
necessary, and then endeavored, as far as possible, to add new





6                      PREFACE.
material, of a humorous as well as serious style, hoping there.
by to suit a variety of tastes. How far he has succeeded in
this attempt he leaves others to judge.
The diagram on page 88, was executed by one of the ladies
of the Engraving Class of the Cooper Union.
In conclusion, the author would most heartily acknowledge the very valuable assistance of Mr. D. F. DIMON, Elocutiunist, of this city.
J. E. F.
NEw YoRK, Jan. 1st, 1867.





CONTENTS.


PAGE.
CULTURE OF THE VOICE.-Public Speaking.-The Throat and
Lungs how used.-Irritation of the Throat.-Energizing the
Voice.- Healthy Lungs and Loud Speaking.-Voice for Distance.-Ciear, Sonorous Sounds.-Capacity of the Lungs.Retentive Breath.-Increase of Volume and Power.........  11
THE SILENT PRACTICE.-Inward Mental and Outward Physical
Force.-Subdued Vocality.-Intense Will.-Vehement Gesticulation.-Pacing the Room.-To prevent straining.......... 21
EXPRESSION.-Reality and Sensibility.-Earnest Orators, Delicate
Declaimers.-Simplicity.-The Two Extremes.-Commiseration.-Artlessness in Vehemence.-Rapid Speech.-The
Most Eloquent Manner.-Extraordinary Means.-The Display  of  Self..............................................................   22
READING. - Dramatic, Theatrical.-Far-Fetched Expression.Familiar Conversation.-Defects and Excellencies.-The
Voice in Public.-Another's Opinion.-Reasoning out the
Language.-The Ruling Passion; Prevailing Sentiment..... 29
READING   OF  POETRY.-Pausing. - Sing-Song. - Dwelling  on
Rhymes.-Blank Verse........................................... 32
PERSONATION.-Changing the Voice.-The Face and Chest.-Analysis of Characters.-Peculiarities of Expression.-Two or
more persons.-Humorous styles.-Garrick, Webster, Clay.
-The Most Successful.-To be a Well-Balanced Orator...... 32
ACTION.-Awkward Attitudes.-Retention of Expression, Attitude and Action.-The Graces of Gesture.-The Habits of
Students.-Different Styles.-Dropping Gestures.-Alternating.-Watching Children.-The Hawk and Eagle.......... 36





8


CONTENTS.


PAGE.
THE PASSIONS.-Developed and 'Trained.-To Counteract Exaggeration.-The Greatest Effects.-Servilely Copying.-The
Eloquence of a look.-Highly Intensive States.-Imitation.
- Orators and  Actors...........................................  40
THE FEATURES.-The Eyes, the Eye-Brows, the Nose, the Mouth,
and  lips............................................................   44
THE GREAT MASTERS.-The Great Orators and Actors.-The
Stage.-Mrs. Siddons.-Edmund Kean.-The Elder Booth... 45
HABITS OF THE ORATOR.-Smnoking and Chewing.-The Food.Speaking after Eating.-The Teeth.-The Clothing.-The
Muscles of the Throat.-Clergymen.-Things to Improve the
Voice.-IIoarseness.-Nostrums.-Drinking Water.......... 48
ESPECIALLY FOR STUDENTS.-Going on to the Stage.-Bowing.The Correct Way.-Commencing.-Reading an Essay.Reasons for Gestures.-The Method of Study.-After an
Oration is Committed.-Prompting, on Public Occasions..... 50
GENERAL DIRECTIONS.-Beginning.-Feeling at Ease.-The Way
to Acquire Assurance.-The Manner of Looking at an Audience.-Changing position.-A Listening Audience.-Unconscious  Breathing.................................................  54
SHORT HINTs.-Reading and Feeling.-Declaiming and Talking.
-Force and Rant.-Suppressed Power.-Concentration.Beauties of Delivery................................................  57
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION.-BREATHING.-Inner Lining and Muscles
of the Throat.-Method of Breathing.-Dizziness.-Time
Occupied in Breathing.-Expansion of the Lungs.-Elasticity of the Chest.-Breathing Through the Nostrils.Audible; Forcible Breathing.-Sighing, Gasping, Panting.The Loud W hisper...............................................  59
ARTICULATION.-Method of Practice.-Pure Tone.-All the difficult Combinations.................................................  61
FORcE.-Nine Degrees.-The Stresses.................................  83
PITCH.-Singing and Speaking.-Skips, Slides, Waves,-Questions and Answers.-High Notes.-Conversation, Public





CONTENTS.                            9
PAGE*
Speaking, Drawling and Monotony.-Radical and Vanishing
Movement.-Modulation and Melody.-The Six Cadences.Intonation at Pauses........................................ 87
~rimE.-Quantity.-Pausing.-Supplying the Lungs.-Rules for
Pausing.-Rythmus........................................ 100
EXPREssION.-Quality.--Tones.-The Natural, Orotund, Falsette
and Whispering Voices..................................... 104
GRtOUPING OF SPEECH AND EUPHIASIS.-Syllables................ 105
INTONATIoN.-Expressive Intonation..............to............... 10~7
ACTION AND GESTURE.-SiX Gestures.-The Fingers, Palm, Arms,
-Motion, Direction, Manner.-The Face, Feet.-Explanations.-Examples................................. 108
THE PASSIONs.-A Graduated Scale.-A Complete Analysis of
the Passions................................................. 123
EXAMPLES OF THlE PASSIONS...................................  132
SELECTIONS.
Readings for Practice............................................ 142
The Cavalry Charge........................................ oo... 166
The First and Last Dinner....................................... 168
The Devil and the Lawyers.......................................171
Very Dark......................... oo.*. *..fet*D.** o.......172
Pat and  the  Pie,...........     0.....o....".       173
The Old Man Dreams......o...................... 0. W. Holmes. 174
Popping Corn.........................................o..........175
The Battle................................... Geo. W. Birdseye. 177
The Birth of Erin................................................180
Metaphysics..................................................... 182
E Pluribus Unum................................................185
A Scene in Ventriloquism........................................ 186
The Old Chapel Bell............................... John G. Saxe. 190
The Frenchman and the Flea Powder............................. 193
Pat and his Musket.............................................. 1,94
Mulrooney....................................................... 195
Early Rising.......o............................... John G. Saxe. 190
1*





10                        CO NTEXTS.
SHORT EXTRACTS FOR SPEAKING.
PAGE.
Eloquence.-Poetry.-Shakspeare............................... 198
Russian Campaigrn-Enthusiasm.-Vanity...................... 201
Plato.-Amusements.-Knowledge............................. 203
Greatness.-Shakspeare's Sensibility. -Washin cton.............. 206
Intellect.-Men of Principle.-Domninion.........................208'
City of Liberty.-Webster.-California.........................211
The Classics.-Public Instruction.-True Glory.................. 213
Persevera.nce.-Bo-napairte.-Self-Cult tre......................... 215
Heroism.-Moral Taste.-Sketch of Webster.................... 217
Allegiance. -Literary Mfen.-National. Greatness................. 220
The Wise and Good.-Writers....................................222
Orators.-Lafayette. -Washington.............;................. 22t.5
Home Influence.-The Problem.-Heroic Example...............227
Xatio nality. -Revolutions. -N'ational Ensig...n..................2,30
Perpetuity of the UniOn.-Our Heroic Dead.-Our Ileroes......... 232
Political Morality. -Greatest Glory.-Love of Co tintr.....234
Loyalty to Liberty.-Our Inheritance.-Free Homes............. 237
Great Men's Mincls.-Selections-Love of Count ry.-Mind......2039
SELECTIONS.
A Categ-orical Courtship........................................ 242
Mutual Assistance................................................ 243
The Courtin'.......................................J. R. Lowell. 244
Jonteel Ilomme................................................. 246
Billy and Betty.................................................. 248
Fortitude.........................................................250
Literary Studies.......................................... 253
Psalm 137th..................................................... 257
Slain at Sadowa..................................................2571
Children in the Moon............................................ 259
Sheridan's Ride.........................................    260
Classes-Readings............................................... 263
Testimonials...........................................    263





CULTURE OF THE VOICE.
To one who has paid but little attention to the subject
the study of Elocution seems to be a great undertaking.
Much has been said, and many panegyrics have been
pronounced upon the art; indeed a vast amount has
been written also upon the necessity of study and practice of elementary elocution in order to become a good
reader or speaker; and yet all that has been said and
written, in both ancient and modern times, can be condensed into the very concise and limited expressionBE NATURAL.
Nature is harmonious, and, being governed by immutable laws, produces only sweet concords of sound
and motion. When these laws are violated, discord is
the inevitable result. This holds good-particularly
so-in human speech. Man, when closeted from active
life, engaged in the depths of philosophic pursuits and
studies, becomes a passive receptacle of thought. He
thus perverts and violates Nature's laws by the expansion of his mental, at the sacrifice of his vocal and
physical powers.
Public speaking should be energetic in its character.
The larger public spaces are to be filled with a fulness
and strength of voice that comes from a more than
mere every-day conversational power of expression;
and unless persons have already this character of voice,
they must of necessity, by an elementary and persistent
thorough practice, tone up their vocal organs requisite





12


'VOICE AND ACTION.


to the demand, prior to any considerable effort in the
use of them, or failure will be inevitable. Articulate
words, to be heard agreeably by an audience, must be
well filled and made round, with air expelled from
strong, active lungs. It behooves us, therefore, in the
first place, to see that the breathing apparatus is in
good working order. To regulate this portion, and to
see that it works easily and appropriately, should be
our first effort toward improvement in this noble art.
By training our lungs so that we can breathe deeply
and thoroughly, and fill the very lowest air-cells in them,
and thus speak with the whole, as it were, of ourselves
and not simply with the lips and throat, we shall experience none of those distressing feelings which so harass the larger portion of our public speakers, in the
shape of bronchitis and other annoying throat-diseases.
The throat should very rarely be used other than as
an extended or widened passage, straight in its direction,
for breath to come up from the lungs, and thus be
made a secondary instrument in forming articulate expression of our thoughts.
All irritation of the throat, as far as regards its use
in public speaking, arises from the comparative exclusiveness of its employment, and thus making it do
nearly all the work, when it should be used merely
as an assistant.
This straining the throat, instead of energizing the
voice, proves the ruin and misery of many who might,
under proper cultivation, become celebrated among the
gifted.
The lungs are the great means; the throat, mouth,
tongue, teeth, lips, and even the nose, only assist in
forming that wonderful feature, the human voice. They
would all work with comparative ease and comfort to
their individual owners, from the first beam of intelli.





VENTIILATION AND BREATHING.


13


gence upon infantile mind, even into advanced age, were
they not cramped by enervating, artificial habits. The
atmosphere of ill-ventilated, over-heated school-rooms,
dwellings, churches, places of business, public halls,
colleges, and, in short, all sedentary pursuits, have the
strongest tendency to weaken the lungs and prevent
their proper action. The air breathed in such places,
and under such circumstances, becomes greatly insufficient and impure; the lack of exercise also lessens the
animal heat of the body, and artificial heat is supplied
and kept in the rooms with closed doors and windows,
till it is breathed over and over again, and rendered
fearfully poisonous and totally unfit for further use.
This weakens all parts of the system, but chiefly the
lungs, and the muscles, membranes, and delicate linings
of the throat. These lose their vigor, and become
doubly susceptible to the slightest chafing.
Now the sooner a person learns to breathe, and
learns that the air must be fresh and pure, the sooner
he will feel what it is to have sound lungs and throat,
and furthermore, what it is to speak at least with ease
and comfort, if not with skill and elegance.
In order that the lungs and vocal apparatus may be
strengthened correctly, they should first be exercised
independently of language, by a series of vocal gymnastic exercises.
But, even with healthy lungs and a strong voice,
there is great liability to mismanagement of the vocal
powers in loud speaking; for, when uncultivated, the
voice seems inclined naturally, when energetically used,
to rise to a high and piercing pitch in vociferation,
making the effort extremely painful to the speaker and
unpleasant to the hearer. This manner of speaking tears
the sides of the throat, producing inflammation and
bronchitis. In the immediate exercise it over-exhausts





14


VOICE AND ACTION.


the air from the lungs, causing an inward pressure and
sinking of the chest, which gives rise to sharp, acute
pains.
Those who speak from pure excitement alone, especially novices in the art, are most likely to affect this
style. They lose all command of the voice, and make
sad havoc of themselves by the very powers which, if
cultivated to the necessary standard, would prove wonderfully effective.
How many clergymen do we see that have broken
themselves down by an improper management of the
lungs and voice! They have struggled on in the violence of their excitement until they have prematurely
ruined themselves. By a just application of principles,
they could have controlled their voices at pleasure,
and made them subserve any reasonable and satisfactory
demand.
Many a voice is said to be feeble because it is
formed in the throat, with the least perceptible assistance of the lungs, and an improper use is made of the
vocal organs. At the very time such a voice may be
strong, but its power is smothered by erroneous application of means.
Demosthenes, whose voice was weak, whose articulation was defective, by a course of systematic training
such as few have ever subjected themselves to, demonstrated that the practical application of the principles
of this art can be learned. Cicero, even after he had
attained to some eminence as a pleader, his voice being
harsh, and as in high excitement he rose to a high
pitch, fearing he might strain himself, applied to
teachers, and even went to Asia and other places, to
hear the best, and receive further instruction. The
ancient orators thought the culture of the voice the
matter of first importance.





VOCIFERATI02.


15


Curran cultivated his powers with the utmost assiduity. His voice and utterance were naturally shrill
and impeded; or, as he remarked, in a state of nature.
He daily read aloud, slowly and distinctly, and studiously observed and imitated skilfil speakers.   The
success of this exercise was so complete that his greatest
excellencies were the clearness of his articulation and a
graduated intonation. His person was without grace
or dignity, short and ill-proportioned, and to conceal
these deficiencies he practised continually before a mirror to acquire the proper action. He debated questions
alone, as if he were before the club. Hle declaimed
from  Junius, Milton, Shakspeare and others. By
industry he rose to eminence.
Dr. Rush says, few persons are aware of the influence that loud speaking or vociferation has on the
quality of the voice. It is one of the artificial modes
of producing the orotund. It takes the voice friom its
meagre mincing about the lips, and transfers it, at
least in semblance, to the back of the mouth, or to the
throat. It imparts a grave fulness to its quality; and,
by creating a strength of organ, gives confidence
to the speaker in his more forcible efforts, and an
unhesitating facility in all the moderate exertions of
speech.
When the mind is prepared by elementary and by
systematic puractice, the ýeeling which iprompits expression will find the confirmed and pliant org:a ready to
effect a satisfactory and elegant accomplishment of its
designs.
The organs of speech are capable of a certain range
of exertion. To fulfil all the demands of a complete
Elocution, they should be carried to the full extent of
that capability. No one can read correctly or with
elegance, if he does not both understand and feel what





16


VOICE AND ACTION.


he utters. But these are not exclusively the means of
success. Sense and feeling must have a well-tempered
material in the voice.
In speaking of the mental requisites for good reading, we must not overlook our frequent neglect to discriminate between strong feelings and delicate ones.
The mind, or nervous temperament, must furnish
the design of Elocution; the ear must watch over the
lines and coloring of its expression.
An ability to measure nicely the time, force, and
pitch of sounds, is indispensable to the higher excellencies of speech. It is impossible to say how much
of the musical ear, properly so called, is the result of
cultivation.
The voice, for public speaking, must be LARGER
than for conversation, and be properly proportioned.
In illustration, to a certain extent, might be cited the
story of the statues. A large public edifice required a
statue as the crowning piece upon its loftiest tower
high  above the rest of its architectural designs.
Orders were issued that the various sculptors of the
country   might compete in     furnishing  an  appropriate figure. The day appointed at length arrived,
and among the rest was a huge, rough, but wellproportioned statue, giant-like in size, which was not
only rejected by the judges without deliberation, but
was the ridicule of all.
The finest and most suitable of the others was then
selected; it was raised aloft to the tower, but it was
too small to be in keeping with the great height, and
its polished surface so reflected the rays of the sun as
to make it an undistinguishable mass of stone.
It was lowered to the ground, and after some hesitation it was decided at last to try the large one- so
rudely rejected. To the surprise of all it was none too





SONOROUS SOUNDS.


large, and its roughness only served to absorb the
glare of the sun and to give a just and agreeable
reflection to the eyes of those who gazed upon it.
Thus it is with public speaking; an ordinary voice
is too small. Distance and large spaces require a large
voice. As regards the application of the foregoing
illustration, the voi.ce has decidedly the advantage, for
it can be cultivated to a strong sonorous condition,
and be used with the utmost delicacy in conversation,
and sound immeasurably richer than a puny voice, or
it can be applied in the most energetic manner to public speaking, with equal facility. Its public exertion
need not destroy its private delicacy.
The clear and robust sounds depend upon breathing gently; not forcing the breath, but sparing it, that
the delicate muscles of the throat and palate may not
be irritated, but become more elastic, and expand
into an arch-like shape. Sounds are more sonorous
and clear from the space they vibrate in. Thus knowing how to spare and make good use of the breath is
of the greatest importance, as this gives the power of
expanding and sustaining firm sounds, of sending forth
the voice in the most energetic or most delicate manner,
and so coloring every emotion the sense requires.
Sometimes early defective example places the student in a painful and embarrassing position. When
his manner is formed, and the organs of speech are
hardened into almost inflexible rigidity, he discovers
something wrong. He then applies himself to the
study of Elocution, in hope of effacing, in a few lessons, the habits, and acquiring, in a short time, the
mastery of an art, which, from the union it requires of
judgment, taste, and feeling with natural qualifications
and mechanical skill, is, perhaps, surpassed by none in
difficulty of acquisition. Discredit is thrown upon the





18


VOICE AND ACTION.


art, which properly belongs to the artist, at such a
time.
He has, it is true, an arduous, though not insuperable task. He must retrograde and begin again. Let
him labor steadily and perseveringly in private, but
cast aside all attention to manner when in public. Let
improvement be the gradual and unconscious result of
previous practice. He should avoid all appearance of
display, and of a puerile preference of the means to the
great ends to be attained.
Elocution cannot be taught by rules. One is sure
to employ the inflections of voice that are natural and
suitable, the shortest and easiest way, if the voice is
sufficiently trained, and the meaning understood. Aim
directly at becoming a good speaker. When this end
is attained, rules are needless.
ALL have the public voice but with most it is
undeveloped. With such it requires faithful, systematic,
long-continued practice.
A young man once applied to a celebrated vocalist
for instruction. The agreement was that he would be
received one year on condition that he would patiently,
faithfully practise as he was directed. The instruction
commenced on a plain but irksome exercise, which was
repeated day after day without the least variation,
except as to a rigid, exacting increase of skill in its
execution. This continued for three, for six months,
and then the pupil thought there would certainly be
some change. But no; the entire year was exhausted
on this one, simple, but all-efficient exercise. Now
what?
The pupil agreed to another year, and to his surprise it was merely another feature for the entire
twelve months. One more year of equal perseverance
he was told would finish his instruction. To the utter





FORMING THE VOICE.


19


astonishment of the young man, another year passed
with not even a new exercise, but a combination of
those of the preceding years.   Three years of toil
had expired and he awaited the advice of the vocalist.
He was told that he had received all that it was in the
power of his teacher to impart as regarded the cultivation of his voice, and he was urged to go forth into
the world and use it.
Thus it is with reading and speaking; the voice
is first to be formed. It is to be strengthened by an
increased capacity of the lungs, and an acquired strong
respiratory action. Its thorough discipline must be
mastered, from the lightest whisper to the loudest
shouting; not with a view to actual use, but for securing a command over every degree of force and pliancy.
Even in a few weeks, a stentorian power can be imparted to a comparatively weak voice. This practice,
if understood, is highly invigorating and enables a
person to operate easily with either the lightest or the
most energetic efforts.
When I speak of the capacity of the lungs, I do not
mean a large chest simply, for the chest may be broad
but the lungs may resemble the dried up meat of a
filbert. Dumb-bells do not expand the lungs but
merely enlarge their chamber. The only true means
is by systematic, artistic breathing; and hardening the
muscles around the neck by wearing the clothing
sufficiently loose to allow the air to circulate freely
around them.
It is absolutely necessary, before fluent and easy
utterance, to have command over a greater quantity of
air in the lungs, and to invigorate and brace up the
muscles around the throat, to give them an expansive
energy to admit and expel air to any degree of intensity whatever, without injurious effects.





20


rOICE AND ACTION.


To make speech sonorous and metallic in its character the sides must be practised to expand well with the
head erect, the chest forward and the lungs kept filled.
The lungs are like the bellows to an organ; for it will
not emit full, musical sounds unless the bellows freely
supply the air.
In reading even in a sitting posture never huddle
up or bend over, but sit erect, and keep otherwise as
near as possible to a standing posture.
Whether the voice is used as by a reader or not,
those who value their lungs and vocal powers should
attend particularly to the ventilation of their apartments, especially those in which they sleep. They
should never sit or sleep in a rorm that is not proiperly
aired. The author, even in mid winter has his windows
lowered several inches, both day and night, or in some
manner a door ajar, leading to another apartment or to
a hall way, through which fresh air is constantly admitted.
The vocal organs become enervated and paralyzed
for want of action, but a far worse fate awaits them
if deprived of'pure air, for then they become diseased.
When actually speaking do not mistake loudness
for intensity. The one is merely voice or bellowing:
the other is the meaning deeply imbued with the
bright hues of feeling.
The orator may gesticulate with the desperation
of a lunatic and shout loud enough to tear the welkin,
but this is monstrous; all that is needed when the
voice is strong, is earnestness. The practice of the
voice is one thing; its application, very nearly another.
The voice must be practised to its fullest capability to
render it strong and flexible, but no one need to SHOUT
while actually speaking. He who vociferates at any
time without judgment, will injure the vocal organs;





THE SILENT PRACTICE.


21


he who smothers the voice will be heard with difficulty.
It must be clear and penetrating; every stroke of the
voice should be perceived, every vibration instantly
apprehended.
Pure, firm, decided tones are formed only on a full,
retentive breath and by a quick opening of the mouth;
like the foot promptly lifted as in marching without
shuffling. Deep tones express our inmost feelings; and
it is by a perfect control, a power to economize the
breath, that great speakers hold audiences in breathless expectation, as they alarmingly but gradually
increase the volume and deepen the tones of their
voices, and then delicately diminish the power to
almost a mere breathing expression.
When the student has at last learned the right way
he will gladly leave the tones of conversation, when in
public, and set utterance free from trammels, and urge
it forth in broad emphatic speaking, the only style that
sways and carries along an audience.
THE SILENT PRACTICE.
The best practice is in the open air; the next in a
large hall or well-ventilated room. But if a person is
so circumstanced as not to be able to practise aloud,
without greatly annoying people, he can use a means,
which I call the SILENT PRACTICE, by which the voice
can be even skilfully improved. In this exercise he is
to sufficiently intone the words to give them audibility, and by intense will and a determined inward
mental and an outward physical force, seem to shout
and gesticulate as if in the veryedepths of the forest
or on the wild and lonely sea shore. It requires, however, rigid and exacting application; and thus effects
nearly all that may be needed. Practice of this kind





22


VOICE AND ACTION.


cannot be heard even by those in an adjoining room,
but great skill is necessary to prevent straining even
by this method. The exercise must be gradually and
not directly powerful, and yet be earnest enough in its
character to produce the desired results.
To equalize and divide the labor with the voice, it
is advisable to pace the room in a seemingly furious
manner, to gesticulate freely and lustily, with the eyes
fhll of fire and expression; and all this, even though the
whole frame be excited to a glow of enthusiasm and
animation, can be done without the least disturbance
to others in the immediate vicinity.
If the room is well aired, and the person deeply
inflates the lungs, and concentrates his mind on the
purpose, it is impossible not to derive immense benefit.
Personal experience with pupils, has demonstrated
that a radically weak voice can be made strong by
such a method.    Breathing alone would do much
toward the attainment of the end proposed, but a combination with the efforts of the body tends to facilitate
the matter.
This apparently extravagant exercise is merely for
practice, and it renders all the speaking powers extremely strong and pliant.
In private, the breath may be violently drawn in
and as violently expelled, but in public, it must be
imperceptibly supplied. The same with action; if
either is obtruded   it mars the expression.   The
public use of both should be mainly characterised by
simplicity and strength.
EXPRESSION.
When the voice is prepared by elementary training,
and is capable of fulfilling all demands, then public





SIMPLICITY.


speaking should be earnest; not merely with a louder
noise and more vehement gesture, as in practice, but
with reality and sensibility. It is difficult to acquire
the habits which induce that native feeling, and freshness of expression. It must be living, soul-kindling.
It 'can be professedly cultivated, and even mechanically,
but with the sincerity and earnestness of a man bent
on great effects; as of realities which he understands
and feels in the very depths of his soul. This is the
only means of producing what the age demandspowerful, earnest orators, and not graceful, delicate
declaimers.
The simplest truths when communicated powerfully
come to us warm and living from the speaker's soul.
Sometimes a single sentence uttered in this manner
goes deep into the hearer's heart and teaches more than
could be gathered in hours from the written page.
There is not an atom to spare in the works of nature,
and its greatest structures are its simplest. Simplicity
is the highest and the most enduring of all qualities. It
is the mean of extremes and exactly answers to its end.
The orator should have his language red-hot with
passion, but everything like effort should disappear;
and even the most exciting expressions should be
given with a smooth, severe simplicity that is delicate
as well as energetic.
The two extremes of speaking, between which is
found this exact simplicity, are rant and apathy. The
object of Elocution is to explain those natural principles already created, which properly control expression; to develope and cultivate voice and feeling to
the extent desired; and to refine, not pervert nature;
and the greatest orators are those who have this art
subservient to native powers. Even in the calmest
and most subdued expression there should always be





24


VOICE AND ACTION.


evinced a great susceptibility of emotion and energy,
or it will assume the character of sluggishness. In
the gentlest mood, however light the feeling, to influence and move others we must ourselves be influenced
and moved. In every shade of emotion persons should
guard watchfully against styles-the bombastic, the
theatrical, the lofty-which betray themselves by the
tones of the voice failing to penetrate to the very
bottom of the soul, and which are ready instantly to
die away in the ear of the auditor which derives no
internal animation from the effort.
Cicero says he requires not a feigned compassion,
nor incentives to sorrow, but that which is real, flowing from   the sighs of a wounded heart. He also
remarks that commiseration ought to be of short duration, for nothing dries up sooner than a tear.
Even in pathos and emotions of pity the orator
himself must not weep, but control his feelings, or the
delivery is degraded.
The poet cannot see to write when his eyes are
filled with tears; he must rise superior to his grief
before he can sublimate his grief in song.
The artist is a master, not a slave; he wields his
passion, he is not hurried along by it. He possesses
and   is not possessed.    Art enshrines the     great
sadness of the world, but is itself not sad. Hazlitt
says, that whatever is genuine in art must proceed
from  the impulse of nature and individual genius.
The ideal is not the preference of that which exists
only in the mind to that which is fine in nature, but to
that which is less so. There is nothing fine in art but
what is taken almost immediately, and as it were in
the mass, from what is finer in nature. Where there
have been the finest models in nature, there have been
the finest works in art. In the study of this art, the





VOICE AND FEELING.


25


proper object, when a good foundation is laid in the
voice, is the directness of one's endeavor to acquire
that exacting habit which is able to exclude all that is
foreign and omit nothing in expression that is essential
to its just and elegant proportions.
A  speaker should be artless, even in vehemence;
and have a negligent air of naturalness, and yet be
able to fill even plain truths with feeling. In the most
exciting expressions the words must not be given so
rapidly as to prevent the proper emphasis and thorough intonation of each syllable. Precipitation kills
the meaning.
Sensibility will move even ordinary men to speak
well at times; it is this which prompts the words that
burn, but it must be genuine. It must be delicate, not
tampered with; it cannot be forced. It must be an
urgent thirsting for truth, a tortured mental struggling within for outward vocal life.
The voice can be cultivated to work out the feelings which are already in the soul ready to be summoned into action. It can breathe them out with
a glow of animation and     purpose that eventually
assumes a character of reality. A few words show
the presence of the orator; as with a painter the
roughest sketch betrays the hand of the master. The
most eloquent manner of speaking is the most easily
acquired, for it is as simple as it is natural. Many
overreach and work themselves up by extraordinaryi
instead of gentle means beyond the fervid and simple
style to a bombastic and frigid declamation.
The aim should be the repose, not absence of expression. Taste will refine a sufficiently cultivated
voice; and sincerity, vigor, and power can never be
harmonized until softened by taste.
When expression is the result of mere feeling, truth
2





26


VOICE AND ACTION.


is sacrificed for its appearance; show is mistaken for
substance; and the result'is violent, bizarre, capricious.
There is also great danger of overdoing the technical principles, and  mere imitation is imbecility.
Here imitation is used as the end instead of the corrective, the improvement and bringing out of natural
powers.
To imitate, for something beyond the principles,
will exalt not degrade originality.
When a pupil has once laid hold of a principle he
will see where his teacher deviates, and even be able to
correct him. Principles will also guide in the study
of deformities for the very purpose of avoiding them.
The rules of criticism  are not arbitrary. In the
mind there is an innate power which only requires
development to appreciate the true, and separate it
from the false.
Wayward prejudices may for a time esteem even
deformities as excellencies, and even take delight in
distortion. Eye and ear may become the slave of
habit and receive most pleasure from the peculiarities
to which they have been accustomed.
Public speakers of all kinds, especially lawyers and
clergymen, from the fact of their occupying high intellectual positions, have a great controlling influence
over younger aspirants in the same directions.
Many speakers have faults peculiar to themselves,
and they become, by their examples, the instructors
of herds of worthless imitators. The youthful Demosthenes is told to watch the best (?) speakers;
he copies alike both good and bad habits and the
result is merely a confirmed imitation; the bad habits
of course display themselves to a very disagreeable
extent, as the idiosyncracies of the former do not sit
well on the latter.





DISCIPLINE.


27


The only sure means is by a study of the principles,
referring constantly to nature for their application.
Nature is varied, refined, and subtle beyond retention,
therefore refer to her continually; recur to her at
every step and in this way daily renew strength. The
principles of art endue nature with an air of intellect
and sentiment.
If we are not natural we are repulsive. Affectation
will be detected. Sometimes we put on airs when
striving to be natural; this is absurd, for we ought
rather to ascertain faults with a determination to
remove them.
If the speaker feels the sentiment, even a bad voice
will show it in every degree, for it never plays false,
and there is no substitute for reality. We can seem to
be real till living reality comes, and is gracefully natural. Discipline will effect this, and will awaken dormant
energies to an extent little suspected by most people.
Success depends upon filling the soul with the
mighty purpose of excelling; of shrinking from no labor
that is essential to the purpose, and keeping constantly
in view the reality and simplicity of nature. There
should be a right-onwardness in expression; a rushing
to the end, which keeps the mind awake and on the
alert.
There should be a freedom from superflousness of
feeling, and a point or focus to which all should tend;
everything foreign to this is ruinous, yet it should have
all that is necessary to completeness.
Anxious, critical study, however, is apt, unless
properly directed, to interfere with nature; for we
study principles merely as such, and apply them to
words merely as words, instead of cultivating the voice
to bring out the meaning and feeling from those otherwise silent symbols





28


VOICE AND ACTION.


The voice, from improper application, is apt to be
load, instead of intense, dignified, and conversational
in tone. This makes a speaker unnatural, no matter
how natural his common utterance, and he displays
himself like an actor; for there are so few good actors
that it is generally conceded that in the mass they do
display themselves to the entire neglect of the characters they vainly strive to sustain.
The ancients represented existencies, we the effects;
they portrayed the terrible, we terribly. Hence our
exaggeration, mannerism, false grace, and excess. For
when we strive after efect we never think we can be
effective enough.
Feeling cannot be expressed by words alone, or
even by tones of voice; but by the flash on the cheek,
the look of the eye, the contracted brow, the compressed lip, the heaving breast, trembling frame, rigid
muscle, the general bearing of the whole body.
A slight movement of the head, a turn of the hand,
a judicious pause or interruption of gesture, or change
of position of the feet, often illuminates the meaning of
a passage and sends it glowing into the understanding; and yet, there are times when even the wonders
of the eye will lose much of their charm, if not supported by the still more imposing organ of the voice.
We are told by an author that it made the blood
run cold and the hair almost stand on end to hear
Edward Irving read the 137th Psalm, in the old Scotch
version, (see Contents,) and it was the richest treat to
hear him repeat the Lord's Prayer.
Mr. Windham, after hearing Pitt, walked home lost
in amazement at the compass of human eloquence.
But even Pitt writhed under the eloquence of Sheridan.
On one occasion the House was adjourned, so as not to
decide a question under the influence of such powerful
eloquence.





READING.


29


Discipline must be preparatory and private; must
consist in practice of action, in loud reading and speaking, till all the excellencies of a good elocution become
part of one's nature. (Nor will it be as long as we
may have supposed, before we begin to experience
these rehilts.)  Then we shall, as though they were
gifts of nature, carry them into general use. Our private training will bring the graces imperceptibly into
our public action, and all our defects will be gradually
supplanted by them. Thus may we learn to speak by
principles, yet we never need be embarrassed by them.
With a competent teacher, the learner may aim
directly at great excellence. Avoid bad habits and
awkward restraints; thus, indirectly, the beauties and
graces will ensue.
When, at last, through severe labor, and patient,
assiduous toil, the powers are capable of exemplifying
the sublime in oratory, the mind is so overpowered and
taken such possession of that no room is left for minute
details; and the more intense the man's intellectual and
emotional life becomes at the same time, the more he
demands those effects which call forth such harmonious
energizing of the soul, and constitute the highest luxury
of expression.
SREADING.-The only difference between Reading
and Speaking is in the degrees of force by which the
principles are applied.  Reading is necessarily more
restrained than Speaking, but it is advisable to cultivate acute susceptibility in both.
Reading should have a dramatic character, which is
not of necessity stage-like. Animated, earnest, expressive reading is not theatrical. It is like the conversation of an earnest person thinking to himself aloud;
and if one far-fetched, over-done expression is given the
charm is gone.





30


VOICE AND ACTION.


It will be far removed from   artificial or reading
tones, and, though natural, will be superior to the
familiar tones of conversation.
Dr. Rush says, that to read as we talk-that is,
naturally and with expression-is an excellent rule;
but if our natural manner or accent be faulty, we shoi ld
endeavor to correct rather than imitate it.
In this art a vulgar ear may perceive defects in the
finest examples, but it takes a high degree of culture
really to appreciate excellencies.
We should read slowly and distinctly, with the
same pains that we take in talking; so that if another
were listening he would think we were talking instead
of reading. In public we simply increase the power of
this same manner. Reading is merely speaking what one
sees in a book, just as he would express his own ideas
as they flow in conversation; and no one reads well
until he does it in this natural way. Children read like
parrots, for they never understand what they read;
they merely pronounce the words.
Pay no attention to the voice in public, but dwell
intently on the sense, trusting all the rest to nature and
prior practice for tones, emphasis, and inflections.
He who understands and fully feels, who earnestly
occupies his mind with the matter, and is exclusively
absorbed with that feeling, will be likely to communicate the same impression to his hearers. But this cannot be the case if he is occupied with the thought of
what their opinion will be of his reading, and how his
voice ought to be regulated; if, in short, he is thinking
of himself, and of course thus detracts his attention from
that by which it should be altogether occupied.
In reading the Scriptures, or similar composition,
we should use great judgment. The sentiments in such
are not intended to appear as our own. In such ex




VOCAL UNITY.


31


ceptions pay close attention to the meaning, and leave
the utterance to nature.
As you read reason out the language particular by
particular, and yet do not give a feeble catalogue of
terms, for that weakens the force. Do not be too precise, and yet have everything accurate.
The sense should be studied thoroughly, by attention to the various positions of the verbs and their
nominatives, especially: then to the conjunctions, relative pronouns, adverbs, and prepositions, as being the
next most important parts of speech.
By these particulars learn to grasp each period, and
from them pass to paragraphs, until you can master tile
comprehensive whole of all the matter before you, and
thus give the ruling passion or prevailing sentiment.
By this method the mind can be assisted in holding
the periods together, as the particulars are understood,
by the tones of voice, gestures, looks of the eye, and a
gentle swaying of the body. After the periods are
formed, it is a very simple operation to unite them into
paragraphs, and finally, by a similar but less intricate
process, to combine them all together in one perfect
whole. All can be summed up in a few words. At the
outset, a person has so much to read; and he must present each part as belonging intimately to what may
have gone before and what is to follow. The smoother
and less fragmentary and disjointed the effort appears,
the more agreeable will it be to both hearer and reader.
It differs very essentially from  the "pumping process.,,
Each part of a statue is carefully and accurately
wrought out as belonging to a whole. In its appearance as a figure we see a perfect unity, and yet each
detail will bear the closest scrutiny. In a painting we
observe the same effects; all the parts form the pic




32


VOICE AND ACTION.


ture. Disjoint the one, or rend the other, and we have
only the fragments and the pieces.
So it is with reading; each word was written with
a view to some other word, each period to another
period, and yet everything with an idea to a whole,
and as such should all be read.
Every part of the subject, to its minutest detail,
should be given, and the unity of the whole be preserved unbroken. If a man has no enthusiasm, however, all will avail him nothing, for rules will be only
rules to him, and he will display the words obtrusively,
coldly, and unfeelingly.
When terrible or lofty feelings are pent up in the
soul, then is a proper time to look within and carefully
study those emotions-to be auditor, as it were, to them,
to yourself.
Habits of this kind will enable you, when you understand thoroughly the meaning, to commune with
and study the appropriate expression.
POETRY should be read very nearly like prose; and
whatever pauses are made as to the melody alone,
especially at the end of every line, should be of the suspensive kind denoting a continuation of the sense; this
prevents that abominable sing-song style so common
among cultivated persons, but not correct readers.
The reader should not dwell on the rhymes, but
read them smoothly, aiming at the sense, and preserving just enough of the melody to distinguish the poetry from prose. Great skill and frequent practice are
required to enable a person to read blank verse correctly.
PERSONATION.
Dialogues are excellent for practice, as, in reading
them, the voice must frequently be changed in its tones





PERSONATION.


33


to represent the different persons; and furthermore, the
reading of them very nearly resembles ordinary conversation, or natural expression, and thus an interest is
awakened.
In this style of reading, in public, as a general rule,
the face must be turned a little aside, presenting to the
audience only about a three-quarter's view, while the
chest is kept directly to the front.
Each time a change of character occurs, the reader
must so change his voice, his position, and direction of
face, as to keep before the hearer a distinct picture of
the entire group.
The face must be alternated according to circumstances, so as to show its right or left side to the audience; and also regulated as to the distance it shall
turn.
The face must not front the audience, nor be turned
at exactly right angles from them, but have a direction
between these extremes, in a general relationship with
the characters represented.
But, above everything else, see that the chest has a
full front to the auditors; never turn the side to them
if it can be helped, and what is far worse, the back. The
audience wish to see the face and chest, not the side and
back of the reader.
It is a difficult study to represent truthfully various
men and women, both old and young. The author
would recommend, as a practice, first to analyze each
character by   itself, as regards the tones of the
voice, or the peculiarities of expression that may belong to the person represented. In the meantime, the
last lines of each character that directly precedes it can
be given, if desired, to assist the appearance of conversation with another.
In the recitation of poetry combining description
2*





34


VOICE AND ACTION.


and colloquy, the descriptive parts, even to the minutest
details, should be given directly to the audience.
Each word of either character is given as in dialogue, with the face partly turned from the audience,
as though no one but yourself and the seeming characters were present, and yet with the full impression that
they hear and thoroughly understand the sentiments,
as if delivered directly to them.
The following will illustrate this style:Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire,
And shook his very frame for ire,
And-" This to me," he said;
" An 'twere not for thy hoary beard,
Such hand as Marmion's had not spared
To cleave the Douglas' head."
All except what Marmion is made to utter should
be delivered directly to the audience; but the instant
he is represented as speaking, the voice should change,
and 'the head turn to an angle from the hearers,
to represent him as talking to Douglas; but the words
" he said," should be given with the face to the front
again, and immediately, in continuing the colloquy, the
angle should be resumed as before.
When two or more persons read or speak in dialogue
they should feel the sentiments, listen to the language,
and look at each other, as in earnest conversation. Each
speaker should be interested in all that is said. This
gives it an air of reality, and brings out the full meaning.
Shakspeare furnishes the best examples for practice
in pure dialogue; Milton (Paradise Lost) for lofty description and colloquy combined.
The practice of humorous description, and also amusing dialogue are by no means to be neglected, as their
exercise is still more naturalizing in its effects, if not
degraded into buffoonery, than any other means.





THE COMIC STYLE.


85


The practice of the lighter kinds of expression, embracing wit, especially in the form of satirb and irony,
gives one a greater ease and confidence in the grander
flights of fancy and imagination, as it takes away the
tendency to rigidity and mock solemnity, so likely to
be induced by reading the sober and dignified styles of
language.
Garrick, the great tragedian, was admirable in
comedy, and even in farce. Daniel Webster, with all
his profundity, Henry Clay, with all his skill, were both
remarkable for their wonderful powers of mimicry, and
either could " set the table in a roar.1"
Shakspeare excelled in writing comedy as well as
tragedy; he courted the comic as well as the tragic
muse; and in the midst of the highest tragedy he gives
us the lowest comedy.
He puts the crazed King Lear and the Fool out in
the same terrible storm; and in Hamlet he gives us the
unhappy Prince and the witty      grave-diggers, even
amidst the solemnities of burial, in jocular repartee.
Our best and most. successful orators are those who
are witty as well as wise. Their finest arguments are
set off with illustrations of the most diverting and
amusing character.
The young are too frequently discouraged in their
attempts at wit, or in the recitation of humorous selections, from the fear of contracting light and frivolous
habits. But this is wrong and highly injudicious.
To be a well-balanced, not a one-sided orator, a
person should have an unerring command over expressions of both wit and gravity. Dry-as-dust oratory is
not for the present age.





36


VOICE AND ACTION.


ACTION.
Action is infinitely various, and requires to be well
set off by great propriety of motion, by study and
minuteness in the disposition of the body. Awkward
attitudes and gestures detract the mind from the matter to the manner.
As it is in reading with expression, so the basis of
real effective action is real feeling. So important is this
that it will compensate defects; but there is no incongruity between feeling and the highest grace in action.
When the feelings are truly enlisted these graces will
increase their power, for they will come spontaneously
from previous practice.
Even in pausing, the speaker should retain the
expression, attitude and action, for they fill the chasm
as though more were coming. By suspending the
voice and changing to silence, the attention is arrested,
and it seems as though nature were dictating; as
though the speaker were reflecting. Cicero says, that
the boat moves on from its momentum after the rowers have ceased their efforts.
In highly dramatic styles of language, attitudes are
ravishing when graceful, appropriate, and occasional;
but disgusting when crowded and awkward.
It is highly improper to get ready to start, in a
passion. In nature sudden terror has no action of its
own, but rivets us to the posture we are in; or at most
averts the head from, or projects the arm against the
object.
There should be no anticipation of sprawling, jerking, or distortion. In reading Shakspeare's Hamlet,
for example, it is outrageous to make preparation to
boldly stare the ghost in the face. It would be far





GESTURE.


37


better for the reader to forget for a moment his own
power a little, and think of the shadow.
The graces of gesture and action are simplicity,
smoothness, and variety.   They consist in changing
from one position to another in the free, untrammeled
movements of the ductile limbs, added to general symmetry and harmony; but before variety of grace can be
obtained there must be flexibility.
The most awkward person may give expression, but
rigidity of muscle and stiffness of body destroy graceful action.
The habits of students are especially awkward and
ungracefil, from their physically inactive life which is
continually cramping and restraining nature. They
daily weaken vocal and muscular power and lose confidence in themselves as speakers. There should be
no restriction on the mind such as uncertainty, bashfulness, and timidity.
The head should slightly imitate the hands in every
motion. The speaker should not stand too erect, but
gently wind his body in graceful keeping with the sentiments, using great judgment. The lower limbs should
change with the ideas, but great caution must be observed, especially in dignified discourse.
Imitative gesture should be limited to the light
styles of expression and never used in serious delivery.
When a man clenches one fist the other does not lie
in a quiescent condition. While the face is stern and
vindictive, there is energy in the whole frame; when a
man rises from his seat in impassioned feeling, there is a
certain tension and straining in every limb and feature.
If one of those parts were active while the others
were in repose, he would present a cramped and spasmlike appearance.
The character must be uniform or there will be no





88


VOICE AND ACTION.


truth in the expression. Even in the most animated
language some persons are like statues.
There should be nothing violent, no contortions, no
forced attitudes for effect, but we should do just as we
would even in the most exciting situations. Exaggeration of physical action is often mistakenly given for
the quiet of deep mental emotion.
By long practice we acquire the power to appear
perfectly natural, easy, and unlabored, without rule or
apparent effort. Different styles of language require
different styles of gesture. Tragedy, epic poetry, lyric
odes and sublime description require bold, magnificent,
graceful, and varied action in their highest cultivation.
Orations, generally speaking, especially those abounding with plain arguments, need merely energetic, simple and slightly varied movements.
The gestures of the public speaker must be few
and vary according to circumstances of situation,
audience, and language, but they must be decided
rather than merely graceful; earnest and manly, not
delicate and effeminate.
The speaker should be cautious of adding the
slightest trait to the simple but grand character of
natural action, for instead of making the appeal
stronger it is sure to weaken it. Each gesture should
have a sufficient reason for its being used. Vigor is
given by excitement of the breast, lips, and nostrils;
while the posture and the look of the eye add direction
and meaning.
By a just energizing of the functions we can work
out all the capability of expression in the words as
they severally make up the sense. We must never
drop a gesture until the period has closed; but vary
the movement in a suspensive manner as we continue
until the voice falls at a cadence in the language.





GESTURE.


39


The speaker must not alternate his gestures, by
using one hand and then the other, in the same period
of language.
In speaking of lake and river, of hill and valley, of
the east and the west, use but one hand, in indicating
the direction of each feature; or, what may sometimes
be still better, in denoting extreme distance, bring up
one hand to mark the first object or direction, and suspend it while the other is also raised to denote the
opposite idea, and keep both hands out until the sense
is concluded. In noting several consecutive objects,
the one hand or both should be used in the same manner as in representing opposites. Sometimes the eye
follows the gesture for a very short time, but never
continuously. We should closely watch children before they become cramped and enervated by artificial
habits. We should patiently, carefully observe statues
and paintings from the best masters. We should not
seem to have studied gestures, but conceal the art so as
not to present the least appearance of design.
The bold flight of the hawk and the eagle might be
given as illustrations of bold, free, and sweeping
gestures.
In private, lay about lustily, to acquire the bold,
sweeping, graceful style; in public, use gesture sparingly, but when used make it effective. The speaker
should learn to stand still; to move to the word; to
know how and when to move. Sometimes he must
change instantly; at other times modulate through the
language.
If the ideas are numerous, but similar, the gestures
and actions should be few and similar; if dissimilar,
then the actions should be varied. The practice of
gesture and action may be cultivated to the highest
state. Every part of the body and limbs must be





40


VOICE AND ACTION.


carefully and patiently exercised; even the neck can
be used effectively in some situations; great flexibility
of the fingers is positively needed in elegant and
refined expression, and the eye can add wonders if
properly used.
THE PASSIONS.
The passions are the impelling forces of life; and
without these, a man is as useless in the world as if he
were without brains. He cannot be good, he is only
innocent. God gave us passions for a full, natural,
symmetrical development; and the grandest type is one
with these thorougly trained. Eloquence is a complete
paradox; one must have the power of strong feeling,
or he can never command the sympathy of a varied,
crowded auditory; but one must control his own sensations, for their indulgence would enfeeble execution.
One must practise effects beforehand in his own mind.
The actor never improvises a burst of passion;
everything is the result of pre-arrangement and forethought.  The instantaneous agony, the joy that
gushes forth involuntarily, the tone of the voice, the
gesture, the look, all which pass for sudden inspiration,
have been rehearsed again and again.
Hie who expects to excel must study from himself,
and compare his own proved sensations under grief,
happiness, anger, pain and all ordinary variations of
human events and feelings, with the emotions he represents. His skill lies in the excellence of the imitative
reality; for he is not nature, but art producing nature.
But whatever the sublimity, the terror or beauty,
the necessary vigor of the action to convey the passion,
we must not forget that there is a limit to all human
expression, beyond which is distortion and grimace.





NATURAL LAWS.


41


Men are subject to the laws of nature, and the
most frenzied fancy is compelled to abide by them.
To counteract exaggerative effects, we should pay
attention to living, breathing models; we should take
every opportunity in the streets and in the social circle,
to argue with persons and watch them. We should learn
expression, by observing men and children-anxious,
active, eager to talk; we should especially notice the
terror and anguish of persons in scenes of danger and
trouble; see their faces, hear their voices, particularly
when their movements are unconscious. We should
also turn to the calmer scenes of life and study the
nobler but subdued passions, so greatly touching; the
repressed softness of strong, great souls. Both should
be well understood.
In the thorough acquirement of these extremes
great skill is necessary, for every excellence borders
on some deformity; the simple upon the cold and
inanimate, the bold and expressive upon the blustering
and overcharged, the graceful upon the precise and
affected; the one becomes, the other distorts ex.pression.
The greatest effects can be produced naturally by
rules, yet as if unconsciously.
Nature will show you nothing if you set yourself
up as her master. You must forget self and try to
obey her; you will thus find obedience easier than you
think.
Instead of servilely copying the style of another,
imitate conceptions; do not tread in footsteps, but
keep the same road; labor on principles to get the spirit.
Study not only the effect of the passions upon others
but also the effect upon your own face, that you may
distinguish the difference between an alteration of the
features expressing the feelings, and the grimaces





42


VOICE AND ACTION.


that attend a play of the muscles. Errors will continually offend not only the informed, but even the uncultivated, although they cannot tell the reason.
Want of simplicity    is destructive of dignity.
There is a pure, chaste modesty, as it may be called, in
opposition to a bold, impudent, glaring color of passion;
but some think they cannot have enough of this violent
contrast.
There is frequently more eloquence in a look than
it is possible for any one to express in words. We are
charmed, awed, incensed, softened, grieved, rejoiced,
raised, or dejected according as we catch the fire of the
speaker's passion from his face. The look muscularly
stamped on the face makes the same impression on the
body.
When a passion is lengthy in expression, stop and
decrease the power; then burst again to shade the
emphatic parts,
Highly intensive states of mind, such as alarm,
terror, anger, and similar conditions, suppress the force
of utterance; feeling gets control, and the whole soul,
mind and heart are to be thrown into a few words.
Perturbation, confusion, perplexity, and like states
of excitement have an aspirated, explosive energy;
not pure quality or vocality.
In terrible paroxysm  the soul quivers in majestic
nakedness. In frenzy the tones of voice are dignified
but terrible; although just before it the person is sometimes quiet.
In great excitement and intense feeling, the eye has
a wild, frantic, savage, leopard-like glare. But the
most awful idea of agony is a forcible burst of passion
and then a sinking into the utmost softness.
By a strong effort the outward tokens of passionate
grief must be restrained, for men will not have its





IMITATING THE PASSIONS.


43


violence obtruded upon them. To preserve the dignity of his "character" the true actor permits those
uncontrollable signs of suffering, alone, to escape which
betray how much he feels and how much he restrains;
and in quivering motions, gentle smiles, slight convulsive twitchings he shows the truth of nature. It is
then that we have the most afflicting picture of human
anguish. It is effected by a perfect, harmonious action
of the heart, lungs, chest, neck and face.
Pausing in passion, when properly used, gives one
an idea of vastness; if too frequent, it tortures the ear
of the hearer. To re-commence after a pause with a
single blow-a crash, is startling in its effects.
Imitate the passions until the habit becomes reality.
As an assistant, conceive strongly first the image, or
idea of the passion in fancy to move the same impressive
springs within your own mind which form that passion
when it is undesigned and natural.
Exercise very cautiously-be delicate even in the
boldest expression; powerful, unguided emotion kills
at a stroke. Public speakers have died in a burst of
eloquence.
Though a person be in perfect health, mental agony
will force blood from the nostrils, and cause instant
death. Culture regulates and balances excessive tendencies; it teaches us to avoid apathy on the one hand,
and overstrained energy on the other.
By their amazing powers of eloquence many orators
have surpassed the best of actors. The orator inculcates great living truths;.the actor plays only the
semblance.
Mentally, Shakspeare illustrates the passions in
their highest possible condition; he not only gives
them, from the most delicate to the most furious, but
he also minutely describes their appearance and effects.





44


VOICE AND ACTION.


Intellectually, Shakspeare was the Master of the passions
and the human heart.
THE FEATURES.-When the soul is at rest the
features are tranquil. Their proportion, harmony and
union seem to mark the serenity of the mind. When
the soul is excited the visage becomes a living picture.
Each emotion is designated by some corresponding
feature, where every impression anticipates the will
and betrays it.
THE EYES.-The passions are particularly painted
and soonest perceived in them. The eye seems to share
every emotion, and belong to the soul more than any
other feature; it receives and transmits impressions
until general. The whole heart sometimes looks from
the eyes, and speaks more feelingly than all the bursts
of eloquence.
THE EYE-BmOWs.-The eye-brows are the most
apparent feature, and are seen farther than any other.
Le Brun thinks they are the most expresssive. The
more movable they are in elevation and depression
the more noticeable they become. The other features
are not so much at command in this respect.
In pride and pleasure they are raised; in pain and
thought, depressed. Those who have this feature most
at command are most likely to excel in expression;
but an excessive and improper use is disgusting.
THE NOSE.-The nose has slight motion in strong
passions. Widening, it adds boldness.
THE MOUTH AND LIPs.-The passions have great
power over them in different degrees.
The face with its muscles does more in expressing
the passions, than the whole human frame besides. In
Anger it is red, or pale; in Fear, pale. The mouth
opened shows one state, and shut, another; the forehead
smooth shows one, wrinkled, another.





ACTORS AND ORATORS.


45


The eyebrows can be arched, or drawn down. The
eye has a different appearance in every different state.
Joy opens and Grief half closes it; while it flashes in
Hatred and Anger. Animation will light even heavy
features. The expression of the face goes beyond and
increases vocality in its effects.
THE GREAT MASTERS OF THE PASSIONS.
Those who seem to have had the greatest command
of the passions were Demosthenes, Cicero, Bourdaloue,
Massillon, Curran, Grattan, Pitt, Henry, Kossuth,
Webster and Clay as orators; and Garrick, Mrs. Siddons, Talma, the elder Kean, the elder Booth, and
Macready as actors.
We can append only a few ideas gathered from
various sources that relate particularly to the passions,
as illustrated only by actors. We have no traditional
account of orators in this particular respect.
But first a word from the celebrated Dr. Rush. He
says: " The actor holds, both for purpose and opportunity, the first and most observed position in the art of
Elocution, and should long have been our best and allsufficient Master in its school. The Senate, the Pulpit,
and the Bar, with the verbal means of argument or
persuasion almost exclusively before them, have so
earnestly or artfully pursued these leading interests,
that they have not observed nor indeed wished to
observe, how far the cultivated powers of the voice
might have assisted the honest or the ambitious purpose
of their oratory. But with the stage, distinction is
attained through speech alone. The stage, however, has
not fulfilled the duties of its position; for though holding the highest place of influential example in the art,
and enjoying the immediate rewards of popularity, it





46


VOICE AND ACTION,


has done little more than keep up the tradition (if its
business and routine; without one serious thought of
turning a discriminative ear to their vocal excellence,
and thereby affording available instruction on the
means of their success."
MRS. SIDDONS--DR. RUSH.
"If she could now be heard, I would point in illustration to Britain's great mistress of the voice; since
that cannot be, let those who have not forgotten the
stately dignity of Mrs. Siddons, bear witness to the
effect of that swelling energy by which she richly enforced the expression of Joy, and Surprise, and Indignation. A whole volume of elocution might be taught
by her instances.
" All that is smooth and flexible, and various in intonation, all that is impressive in force, all that is apt
upqn the countenance, and consonant in gesture gave
their united energy, and gracefulness and grandeur tQ
this one great model of Ideal Elocution."
EDMUND KEAN.
His acting was a return to nature. lie produced
startling and wonderful effects, the most extraordinary
and sudden contrasts. His acting was electric, vivid,
terrific. He had the power of sending forth supernatural glances of the eye, which gave his utterance a
fearful reality.
G. V. BROOKE.
He had a majestic carriage and delicate tenderness.
He could evince subdued, yet most appalling despair,
on discovering innocence after murder. (Othello.) In
Sir Giles Overreach, he was an incarnate demon, blasted,
paralyzed by lightning at the moment of triumph.





ACTORS AND THE PASSIONS.


47


MACREADY.
In the fifth act of Werner he could utter a cry or
yell of agonized despair that was horrible; like the
fearful utterance of a disembodied wretch upon the rack.
It was wrung by Gabor from miserable, shrinking
Werner, with his heart torn and lacerated till it
breaks.
TIHE ELDER BOOTH.
Everything he uttered came with all the point
and effect of which the matter was susceptible; every
thought seemingly concentrated on the subject. His
hate was violent and unrelenting. His villainy, bold
and romantic, and he gloated in the sweet satisfaction
of revenge.
ISABELLA GLYNN.
Her death-scenes were poetic in conception, and
supernatural in manner. Emotions by her were carried
to the terrible. In Margaret, the Prophetess, her inspiration was marvellous, towering above till the beholder shrunk with shuddering dread; awfulness to
her became familiar.
In Cleopatra, in the death-scene with the asp, there
was a glory upon her countenance as she anticipated
the meeting in the shades. She had a sublime, fearful
energy in jealousy and rage, and possessed a physical
nerve little suspected. She had great judgment, however, in deferring manifestation of power. Upon the
whole it was rather that she was informed by metaphysical power, interpreted by mental indications, than
material forces. Her mind was masculine, and endowed
with extraordinary intellectual strength. She had a
strong sense of independence and honor. Her life was





48


VOICE AND ACTION.


spent in close study and practice. Her excellence was
founded upon principles; each character was a new
application of them.
She knew    the value of long pauses; had great
flexibility of voice, and not a word was lost in quick or
slow time.
HABITS OF THE ORATOR.
THE PUBLIC SPEAKER should bathe frequently, and
after drying the body, apply a gentle friction, for a few
moments, by rubbing or patting the chest to keep the
lungs healthy and active. He should also take exercise in the open air.
He should stoutly resist the temptations of smoking
or chewing tobacco, as decidedly injurious to the pure
quality of the voice.
The excessive use of sweetmeats, nuts, and confections of any kind, has a clogging character on the vocal
organs.
Warm    bread, pastry, rich puddings, cake, and
highly-seasoned, greasy, or salt food, affect the voice
through the instrumentality of the stomach. In short
anything that injures the latter affects the former.
It is highly injurious to speak just after a hearty
meal, for the digestive and mental powers cannot operate well at the same time. The blood is drawn to
the brain and throat at such a time, when it is
needed to warm the stomach to aid it in assimilating
the food.
The teeth should be kept clean as an aid to distinct
articulation. It is well to brush them a short time before speaking.
Have the clothing loose to allow a free circulation
of the blood. Be especially careful about the neck;





FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS.


49


have the collar-band very loose, and never bandage nor
muffle the throat.
The muscles of the throat become soft and unelastic
when' kept from the air. A speaker absolutely needs
them strong and firm, or he cannot intone his syllables
with accuracy and purity of sound.
Clergymen abuse their throats by winding thick
cloths about them, which produces a cramped and
tender condition of the muscles, and induces irritation,
huskiness, and " clergymen's sore throat "-the disease
so prevalent among them.
A few things that tend to improve the quality
of the   voice for any    special occasion, are figs,
apples, soft-boiled eggs, oysters, raw-or, if cooked,
without milk or butter-stale bread, crackers, or similar
diet; no milk, tea or coffee, but plain water, and by no
means, stimulants. Plain sugar clears the voice.
The ancients used onions and garlic freely, to promote the tone and purity of the voice, but the age has
so advanced in some respects that we might deem them
objectionable.
For hoarseness do not take troches, or similar nostrums. They contain drugs which stimulate for the
moment, but eventually destroy the voice. Habit begets
the necessity of using them. Instead, take simple remedies; drink cold water at night, or use plain syrup
or molasses, or some other means as simple. Do not
eat lemons or use acids for such a purpose just before
speaking; such things only clog the stomach, inflame
the throat, and, consequently, cannot instantly improve,
but rather injure, the voice.
If necessary to walk about much, or to any distance,
before speaking, do it gently, not rapidly, so as to become fatigued and exhausted. Sit quiet, if possible, a
short time before speaking.
3





50


VOICE AND ACTION.


Abstain from the use of water while speaking. It
requires digestion to a certain extent, and must, therefore, more or less interfere with the oratorical powers.
It is only a vicious habit to stop every few moments to
swallow a large draught of water. A person must
reform this habit, which he blindly commenced, if he
desires an untrammeled use of his mental and vocal
powers.
Even in the warmest weather, and when perspiration is freely induced, there is no necessity of drinking
at the time of speaking, even if it should occlpy an
hour or more. A moderate quantity of water, not too
cold, may be drunk half an hour before, or very soon
afterward.
Form the habit of breathing while going to the
place of public speaking. Sound the voice gently, in
deep undertones, that you may appear in good condition when you commence to speak.
All this can be done without attracting the attention
of passers by on the road or street, whether in the village or the city.
DESIGNED ESPECIALLY FOR STUDENTS.
In moving flom your seat to the stage, rise easily,
but firmly. As you approach the place, feel your
whole weight, by a manly, dignified, yet simple walk.
Do not bend the knees mincingly, but swing the lower
limbs easily and gracefully at each step.
Let the lungs be slowly, quietly filled, until the
moment of commencing; this efforts sends the blood to
the brain, and gives it power to act with firmness and
decision.
It prevents nervousness, and gives the voice fulness
to start well. It prevents a burst of loudness, so common to young orators in commencing their orations.





FOR STUDENTS.


51


In bowing to the President and other officers, (on
public occasions,) let the movement be one of great
respect. The whole form should bend slightly, and the
hands should hang loosely by the side. To the auditors, however, as you turn to them, the effort should be
but a slight inclination of the head.
The orator at that moment should see his audience,
even to the farthest person before him, and above him,
if the building have galleries.
The motion should be general in its character; not
with the mere formal idea of bowing, but feeling that
the motion is really but the opening expression of the
first sentence of the oration. It should be a kind of
looking around the place, and a gathering together of
the attention of the hearers immediately preparatory
to the positive use of the voice.
There should be hardly a perceptible difference of
effect between the bow and the beginning of the speech.
Students, especially, often err in isolating the bow, by a
protracted time in its application, from the vocality that
follows. It is a part of the oration, not a separate, distinct feature, and if not given properly, there is a void
-a something that cannot be agreeably filled, but
must be forgotten as the orator proceeds.
The only way of doing this correctly is, slightly and
slowly to bend the head, not the body, searching around
with the eyes, and seeing the audience, and then to step
forward and begin to speak, while the head is gradually
resuming its natural upright position, thus beginning
with the bow itself, and not after it is made.
You look into the eyes of persons with whom you
converse, and you must do the same with an audience,
from the moment you turn to them until you leave
them.
Ordinarily there should be no gestures in commenc




52


VOICE AND ACTION.


ing; the look of the eye and the slight movements and
swaying of the head and body being sufficient.
In reading an essay it is proper to make a slight bow,
but seeing the audience as in speaking. While uttering the first sentence move easily forward a few steps.
When you become deeply interested in your subject
move occasionally, but do not step and walk needlessly
about. Either extreme, of standing still, or of walking
all over the stage, is to be avoided. There is a simple
mean, which is, moving as though you were impelled
to do so.
Become so thoroughly imbued with your subject,
by frequent and repeated communings with it, that
standing still will become almost impossible, and stepping about will disturb rather than assist you.
Be careful that every vocal expression is to the purpose, and that you have a good reason for every gesture, look, and movement. Speak and gesticulate as
though you could not help speaking, and in just that
manner, as though any other could not possibly answer
the purpose.
Do not make mere motions, but study the necessity
of gestures. Avoid alternating gestures; use the same
hand for pointing out different objects and localities,
when enumerated in the same period of language.
Vary the direction of the hand, and give another
form to the motion, but do not drop one hand and raise
the other, but if necessary use both. Be sure to sustain
each gesture, by varying its direction, until the idea has
closed with a cadence of the voice.
In preparing an oration or exercise for a public occasion, the first thing is to have a general understanding of the whole composition, by reading it all over
carefully a number of times. Think of its prevailing
spirit, and get a plan of it fixed in your mind.





PROMPTING.


g3
V0


Do not begin by memorizing the first sentence and
then the second. That begets the depraved habit of
only knowing the words. Study the entire oration in
meaning first; next separate the ideas; then take the
phraseology, and lastly the words.
It is only in some such manner that you will ever
get the spirit of the language; and learn to listen to
yourself, with the assurance of having others listen to
you with gratification and pleasure.
Even after the oration is well committed, review and
reflect upon it sentence by sentence, until you get all
you can out of each, especially just before using it in
public, or it will only sound like a mere declamation.
The night before is an excellent time to make it
fresh for the next day, no matter how often you may
have previously looked at it. Search it through and
through in a variety of ways. Study the words as so
many links, and have their tone and full grammatical
and expressional meaning. Keep it together as a whole
in your mind.
Be especially cautious in the pronunciation of common words, such as been, again, against, often, little,
and, none, nothing, ignorant, patriot, patriotism, national, government, &c., which are often frightfully distorted by students.
PROMPTING.-Of this I wish to make a special note.
Above all things never allow yourself to be prompted.
It is extremely annoying and disagreeable to refined
and sensitive people to feel that a person has committed
merely so many words, but it is far worse to know that
another is ready with a manuscript to prompt his uncertain memory.
With such an exhibition, one " spouting," another
prompting, " primary" children might be pardoned,
but students ought to be ashamed.





54


VOICE AND ACTION.


It evinces the grossest indifference to the feelings
of the audience, and betrays a servile dependence upon
mere terms, instead of having thoroughly imbibed the
true spirit of the subject.
To be sure, the words are necessary, but let them be
well committed, and do not sacrifice, in the few minutes
only, the patience of the many by the mere laziness of
purpose in an individual.
It is even better and far more manly to take the
manuscript from your pocket and read, than to be
prompted. The best way is, to study it so completely
that you will not need to do even that.
GENERAL DIRECTIONS.
Begin with a moderate voice. Try to feel at ease
by looking around, and shaking off any stiffness of position.  Keep your mind composed and collected.
Guard against bashfulness, which will wear away by
opposition. Think of what you are going to say, and
not merely of the audience.
Be manly but simple. You must acquire assurance
-First, by thoroughly mastering your subject, and
the consciousness that you can make what you are
to deliver worth hearing. Secondly, by wholly engaging in it, with the mind intent on it, and the heart
warmed with it.
Never be influenced and moved by outside circumstances. Be yourself and know yourself
Have a presence that fills the limits. Whatever
changes you may have occasion to make in voice and
gesture, should be simple and easy, so as not to detract
from the interest. Have your gestures in argumentative language aimed directly to your audience; look
into their eyes and not into a vacuum.





BEFORE AN AUDIENCE.


55


Make them feel that it is to each of them that you
are speaking; yet speak to all at once. Search and
penetrate the entire mass of listeners. Have the power
to distribute expression.
The tendency of youthful orators is to look point
blank directly in front of them, and to lean with the
body towards the rigjt hand alone. The position should
be imperceptibly changed sufficiently often to keep the
attention of each hearer constantly on the alert.
Be sure that every one is listening, to you, and yet do
not individualize, as it is extremely disagreeable to
an auditor to find himself selected from the rest.
Look around frequently from side to side, from end
to end, quietly and easily, and control all your hearers.
Instead of simply making them hear you, have them
listen to each word by your pronouncing it clearly
and distinctly. At each new idea note the pitch and
cadence.
Do not speak too loud, but have the intonations of
the voice full, strong, and sonorous. Do not betray
mannerisms in either voice or action.
Whether you speak before a large assembly, or in a
small room, do it naturally, but in either case have the
requisite power to properly fill the space with your
voice. Address yourself, at each moment, however
light the sentiment, to the farthest person in the place,
for everybody wishes to hear.
When you have attained the strength beyond which
you cannot go without forcing the voice, stop there
until you have acquired the requisite power by elementary drill. Never raise the pitch, but increase the
force.
In echoing buildings, speak slowly and distinctly,
pause often, and try to adapt the voice to the peculi
arities of the place.





56


VOICE AND ACTION.


Even under the most annoying circumstances, be composed and listen to your own ideas as if you were an auditor instead of the orator. This will prevent declamation.
Never get out of breath, nor appear to be fatigued.
Breathe unconsciously, by forming the habit; every
kind of puffing and panting is disagreeable.
By breathing deeply we stir the blood, animate the
thinking powers, and prevent nervousness and hesitation.
Never lose or relax entirely the grasp in expression;
increase or diminish the force, raise or lower the pitch,
but never entirely slacken the nervous power that holds
all together to the end.
Even in the lightest sentiments breathe out the expression, so that the meaning of each word is felt by
all.
Deliberate, reflect, think, as it were, from head to
foot, of what you are saying, word by word, and yet
spanning it as a whole; retaining the meaning, by intonations, looks, and actions, and still collecting ideas
that follow, till the entire subject is brought to a satisfactory termination. This makes an audience listen
rather than simply hear.
They can then understand line by line, idea after
idea, each exactly and accurately as a part of the
whole.
The mind must act comprehensively, and hold sway
over the entire subject, as the voice intones and deals
out the parts; the sense is to be held suspended and
swayingly, without break or interruption, to its close.
Appropriate gesture and action will assist very materially to hold and bind it together in this desired
manner. It helps to point out, to note the meaning by
the movement of the hands, the head, the eyes, the
body and feet-in fact by all parts of the frame. Ges




READING IN PUBLIC.


57


ture is not absolute, yet must not be merely impulsive
motions.
In reading from a book or manuscript, hold it low
enough to allow everybody present to see your face;
a good rule is, that the top of it would touch your
chin if inclined toward the body.
In reading look from the book or paper as frequently
as possible, as if you were speaking, but with less
action. Practice first in private, in a conversational
manner, and when in public give satisfactory force.
In ending take great pains to give an appropriate
cadence. (See page 98.)
SHORT HINTS.
Be natural; do not aim at too much; do not try to
read, but to feel; do not declaim, but talk; be colloquial, yet not prosaic; be forcible, but not ranting. Be
in earnest, profoundly in earnest. Be moderate in gesture; be impetuous and ardent; do not command by
sympathy, but by power, passion, will-indomitable
will. Keep the body firm and braced in high excitement;
keep the sinews braced up like the strings of a harp or
violin; be simple and without parade. Speak as though
the whole thought was your own; give passionate
thoughts a rapid condensation; give the words a vibratory intonation; suppress force, and treasure strength
and power. Concentrated tones of passion are better
than the highest fury. Imbue each thought with all
its capability of expression, and conceive fullest force
in each particular. Be intense and passionate in intonation, the whole soul absorbed. In the severest passions
delineate to appal; be real; let the form fill the eye
of the listener. Effect by tone of voice, the power of
the eye, the motion of the hand, and the quality of the
sound given. Fervor is sure to effect. Read like one
possessing good sense unconsciously; be the character,
3*





VOICE AND ACTION.


forget self. Conception of character, or passion, comes
long before execution, is not imitation but reality of feeling. To be a hero, feel to be so. Do not despise trifles.
Do not guess but determine abilities. Practice often,
for the vocal organs become paralyzed for want of
action.
BEAUTIES OF DELIVERY. (ABBREVIATED).-DR. BARBER.
Voice-full, strong, agreeable.
Simple Melody-not monotonous.
Enunciation-exact, audible; not affected preciseness.
Recurrent Melody-not monotonous.
High Tones-on emphatic words free from monotony.
Radical Stress-effectively used.
Quantity-not drawled, or sung.
Consonants-free from drawl.
Slides-Pitch, downward. Rad., positive.
Van. Stress-not monotonous.
Cadence-proper place.
Parenthesis-Paragraphs-changed by transitions
of Pitch, Time, and Quality of Voice.
The Sense-vividly expressed by the vocal powers.





PRACTICAL ELOCUTION.
BREATHING.
VOICE is breath converted into sound; and the lungs, acted
upon by the muscles of the diaphragm, as the handle to the
blacksmith's bellows, are the principal organs of respiration.
The more breath, and the greater the power of these muscles,
the stronger and fuller the voice. There should be no more
action of the inner muscles and lining of the throat than is
absolutely necessary for complete and firm intonation, for in
this manner the throat receives no injury.  Practice this
either in the open air, or be sure to have plenty offresh air
in your room.
ExERcISE.-Stand erect, throw the shoulders back, keep
the neck straight, concentrate the mind on the lower muscles
that propel the air from the lungs, giving them all possible
space. Breathe a few times naturally.
Then draw in air slowly, steadily, making little effort,
through a very small orifice of the mouth, with the lips compactly "pursed" together. When the lungs are completely
filled, retain the air for a moment, then breathe all out slowly
and quietly, letting the chest down very gradually. Then
breathe once full, then out, in the ordinary manner.
It is well, during the breathing, to gently pat the lungs
with the hands.  Practice this very cautiously at first. If
dizziness ensue, stop for a while, move about, and relief will
follow.
If the exercise is too severe, for beginners, do not repeat the
effort often until custom has made it easier. When able to do
this without injurious effects, practice it rigidly as of the first
importance.





60


TOICE AND ACTION.


[NOTE.-The greater length of time occupied in this exercise the better.
The author can breathe easily for two or three minutes inwardly, and then,
reversing the effort, breathe out, occupying very nearly the same amount of
time.
ExERnISE.-Breathe out all you can of the natural air that
may be in the lungs; press the chest and ribs inwardly, and
crowd them about under the arm-pits with the heels of the
hands to squeeze out what air may be left, and breathe back
again quickly.
Move the shoulders forward, when breathing out, and
backward when breathing in to aid these efforts.
A variety of these exercises should be devised by the pupil.
They promote the expansion and capacity of the lungs, and the
elasticity and mobility of the chest. Immense advantage will
be derived from gymnastic drills of this character.
EXERCISE.-Arms forward at right angles with the chest;
breathe slowly till the lungs are comfortably filled. Draw the
arms gently back, emptying the lungs, then project them.
Then throw them violently forward, then backwa'd, closing
the fists as they return. Do not overdo. If a person should
practice nothing else than the foregoing exercises, he would
find the voice improving wonderfully in strength and fulness
within a few weeks.
REMARK.-As soon as practicable, learn to breathe through
the nostrils instead of the mouth, especially when drawing in
the air, as this process is less liable to parch the throat, and
produce irritation. This manner of breathing will widen the
nasal cavity, strengthen the muscles of the nostrils, keep the
lungs healthy, and improve the quality of the -voice. Persons
unaccustomed to an energetic employment of the lungs find
it exceedingly difficult to use the nostrils effectively.  The
preceding exercises are designed to develope a little lung
power first, and are not likely to prove injurious if the air is
drawn very slowly, and through a very small aperture of the
lips. Even when walking, especially if moving rapidly, learn
to keep the mouth firmly shut, and breathe exclusively through
the nose. Lung and even other diseases, are brought on more
frequently from an open mouth, particularly when sleeping,
than from almost any other cause. By putting the mind upon





BREATHI_`G  EXETCISES1


61


it with a determination to succeed, the habit of keeping it
shit can be acquired both for waking and sleeping hours, for
the results of what is resolutely done in the one time will unconsciously be carried into the other. lThere is a philosophy
in this breathing process that perhaps need not be explained
in a work of this character.
EXERCISES.
AUDIBLE.-Fill the lungs slowly through the nostrils;
then open the mouth, and slowly give the sound of K (KIh).
FOROIBLE.-Fiil the lungs and cough, or explode the vo:ce
upon the sound of ITA!!! or draw in the air and then expel
it with the utmost vehemence without vocalitv.
SIGaIIIG.-(An extreme condition.) Open the mouth, fill
the lungs suddenly, and also emit suddenly.
GAsPING.-Similar to sighing, but the air cannot pass in
fast enough through the mouth and nostrils combined; it is an
unnatural, exhausted condition, a struggle for breath.
PANTING.-Is somewhat similar to sighing and gasping.
The air is drawn in quickly and violently, and emitted loudly.
LouD WIIIPER.-In this the voice is high, with pure aspiration. It is an excellent practice but must be indulged in with
great-caution. Count, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10.
EXERCISE IN VOCALITY.-Slowly fill the lungs through the
nostrils, and then very deliberately count 1,-2,-3,-4,- 5,6,-7,-8,--9,-10.
EXERCISE.-Slowly fill the lungs, and then with the mouth
WELL OPENED and ARCHED, gently repeat, in a pure, firm,
steady-toned voice, a- e-  i-   o--  u-   oi-   ou. Have
the sounds strike the roof of the mouth.
NoTE.-Persons with weak lungs and throats sometimes refrain from such
exercises; but the practice is even recommended as a CURE for bronchitis and
pulmonary complaints.
ARTICULATION.
1234       12     12     1234        123
VOWELS.-a, a, a, a, - e, e, - i, i, - o, o, o, o, - u, u u.
DIPHTHONGS.-oi, OU.





62


VOICE AND ACTION.


CoNsoNANTs.-The consonants          are given thus:-Stand
firm, every muscle braced, fill the lungs with air, and then holding them distended a moment, pronounce the word so as to
feel the whole body partaking of the sounds. The lungs should
be the chief object of your attention in these exercises.
Dwell solidly on the initial sound a moment, then pass on to
the vowel sound between, and finally, firmly bear the voice
upon the closing sound. If properly given, these exercises will
strengthen the muscles of the mouth and neck, and remove
the least tendency to irritation of the delicate membranes of the
throat.
4            3            2           on             1
B-a-b        J-o-j        P-i-p       W-o-w        Sh-u-sh
2            2             1          oi             2
D-i-d        K-i-k        R-o-r       Y-o-y        Th-in-th
1            3            2           2              1
F-i-f        L-a-1        S-e-s       Z-u-z        Th-o-th
4             2           4            2             2
G-o-g        M-u-m        T-a-t       Ch-ur-ch     Wh-u-wh
2             2            1         2    2        zh
H-a-h        N-o-n        V-e-v       Si-ng-i-ng   A-z-ure
1
The vowels in the preceding are to be sounded as in fate,
2    3      4       1    2     1      2      1    2      3    4
far, fall, fat, -me, met,-pine, pin, -       no, move, nor, not,
1     2    3
tube, tub, bull.  In these two exercises are all the elementary
sounds of the English language, and also the combinations oi,
ou, ch, ng, sh, th, (light) th, (heavy) wh, and z (zh). C, Q, and
X are represented by other letters.
[NOTE.--Pure tone should be aimed at in all these exercises. Persons may
thus distinguish pure from impure tones. A word or sound spoken with pure
tone is given in such a manner that all the breath thus employed, is converted so completely into clear vocality, that if a small lamp or candle were held
within an inch even of the mouth, the flame would scarcely tremble. Impure
tone, on the contrary, would have so much respiration or breath as to immediately extinguish the light thus held. If the candle is not at all times convenient, the experiment may be illustrated by using the hand. A pure-toned
sound cannot be felt when uttered against the back of the hand, for the sound
is not forced from the mouth, but reverberates within it. An impure tone is
felt, like the breath, in proportion to its impurity or aspirated character. This
shows that the more intonation the breath can have, the better, except in such
expressions as call for aspiration.]





ATICTLATION.0 63
However desirable distinct articulation may be, you should
never DWELL On a sound, but give it forcibly and instantly
change to the next without appearing to interrupt the free
course of the breath.
Enunciation is the basis of the art; it is this which gives
nerve and energy to accomplished speakers: which fills language with VITALITY, and renders it REAL and LIVING.
3 2 4 1     1  1  2 2 2
ToNICS.-a, a, a, a, ou, i, o, e, o, e, i.
SUBTONIs.--B, D, G, V, Z, Y, W, Th, Zh, Ng, L, M, N, R2
ATONICS.-   P, T, K, F, S, H, Wh, Th, Sh.
ABRUPT ELEMENTS.-B, D, G, P, T, K. (See Rush, on the
Voice.)
ARTICULATION.-VOWELS.
aye, age, late, gale.-He gave to the gale his snow-white sail.
bereave, redeem, agree.-Swift instinct leaps; slow reason feebly climbs.
tie, rye, why, nmine.-The primal duties shine aloft like stars.
roll, dome, tone, woe.-The freed soul soars to its home on
high.
tube, hue, value, new.-There is music in the deep blue sky.
far, bar, palm, ah.-The calm shade shall bring a kindred
calm.
mat, man, and, at.-The good man has perpetual sabbath.
met, let, well, end.-Thence the bright spirit's eloquence hath
fled.
captain, if, hit, bit.-The sick earth groans with man's iniquities.
all, call, walk, awe.-Of all that's holy, holiest is the good
man's pall.
truth, doom, rule, true.-Blows were our welcome, rude
bruises our reward.
full, push, wolf, foot.-For his own good alone man should not
toil.
wad, blot, odd, was.-The quality of mercy is not strained.





64                VOICE AND ACTION.
up, come, run, muff.-Some fretful tempers wince at every
touch.
soil, point, voice, oil.-It is the voice of joy that murmurs
deep.
sound, loud, vow, how.-Thou look'st beyond life's narrow
bound.
SIMPLE CONSONANTS.
babe, mob, bib, sob, rob.-Life may long be borne ere sorrow
breaks its cham.
did, dead, deed, aid.-Death deals with all, of high or low
degree.
fife, if, whif, fine.-Fond fancy retraces the far off past.
gag, rag, bag, gig, log.-Life itself must go to him who gave
it.
hat, how, hall, hope.-I heard-and the moral came home to
my heart.
ball, pall, call.-Lonely and lovely was the silent glen.
maim, mum, mammon.-All men think all men mortal but
themselves.
ninny, none, nine, noon.-To err is human; to forgive divine.
pip, pipe, apple, hope.-Wave your tops ye pines in praise
and worship.
right, row, rang, rope.-The rocks are riven, and rifted oaks
uptorn. (trilled.)
car, star, far, morn, warn.-His cheek is impearled with a
mother's warm tear. (smooth.)
wive, vivid, save, vine.-Fast the wave of life is ebbing from
our veins.
woe, won, went, wave.-What most we wish with ease we fancy
near.
year, yarn, yoke, yes.-Then from glad youth to calm decline
my years would gently glide.
judge, ginger, age.-Eden's pure gems'angelic legions keep.
kick, kept, cake, kite.-Where the sickle cuts down the yellow
corn.
cease, miss, sister.-So sweet her song, that sadness weeping
smiled.





SIMPLE CONSONANTS.


65


tint, tent, bent, lent.-We take no note of time, but from its
loss.
was,zone, rose, has.-Wisdomn mounts her zenith to the stars.
song, thing, bang, rung.-Ilt mingles with the dross of earth
again, and mingling falls.
push, lash, flash, dash.-List to the shout, the shock, the crash
of steel.
thin, theme, breath.-Faith touches all things with the hues
of heaven. (light.)
than, thou, beneath,thus.-Then shalt thou find that thou wilt
loathe thy life. (heavy.)
which, when, what, where.- When and where shall we seek
repose?
azure, measure, treasure.-No rapture dawns, no treasure is
revealed.
six, flax, mix, tax.-Empires wane and wax, are founded and
decay.
bags, exact, exist.-Let us exult in hope, that all shall yet be
well.
EXERCISE SLOWLY-THEN RAPIDLY, BUT DISTINCTLY.
a-b, e-b, i-b, o-b, u-b,-b-a, b-e, b-i, b-o, b-u, b-oi, b-on.
a-d, e-d, i-d, o-d, u-d,-d-a, d-e, d-i, d-o, d-u, d-oi, d-ou.
a-f, e-f, i-f, o-f, u-f,-f-a, f-e, f-i, f-o, f-u, f-oi, f-ou.
a-g, e-g, i-g, o-g, u-g,-g-a, g-e, g-i, g-o, g-u, g-oi, g-ou.
a-k, e-k, i-k, o-k, u-k,-k-a, k-e, k-i, k-o, k-u, k-oi, k-ou.
a-1, e-1, i-1, 0-1, u-1,_1-a, 1-e, 1-i7 1-07 1-ul 1-oi) 1-ou.
a-m, e-m, i-m, o-m, u-m,-m-a, m-e, m-i, in-o, m-u, m-oi, n-ou.
a-n, e-n, i-n, o-n, u-n,-n-a, n-e, n-i, 11n-o, n-u, n-oi, n-ou.
a-p, e-p, i-p, o-p, u-p,-p-a, p-e, p-i, p-o, p-u, p-oi, p-ou.
a-r, e-r, i-r, o-r, u-r,-r-a, r-e, r-i, r-o, r-u, r-oi, r-ou.
a-s, e-s, i-s, o-s, u-s,-s-a, s-e, s-i, s-o, s-u, s-oi, s-ou.
a-t, e-t, i-t, o-t, u-t,-t-a, t-e, t-i, t-o, t-u, t-oi, t-ou.
a-v, e-v, i-v, o-v, u-v,-v-n, v-e, v-i, v-o, v-u, v-oi, v-ou.
a-z, e-z, i-z,o-z, u-z,-z-a, -z-e, z-i, z-o, z-u, z-oi, zou.
a-ng, e-ng, i-ng, o-ng, u-ng,-ch-a, ch-e, ch-i, ch-o, ch-u, ch-oi,
oh-ou.
a-sh, e-sh, i-sh, o-sh, u-sh,--sh-a, sh-e, sh-i, sh-o, sh-u, sh-oi
sh-ou.





8_6                VOICE AND ACTION.
a-tli, e-tb, i-th, o-th, u-tb,-.th-a, th-e, tb-i, th-o, th-u, t0-1-,
th-ou.
a-th, e-th, i-th, o-th, u-t h,-t h-a, th-e, th-i, th-o, th-u, th-oi, th-ou.
a-x, e-x, i-x, o-x, u-x,-a-x, e-x, i-x, o-x, n-x, oi-x, ou-x.
a-zb, e-zh, i-zb, o-zb, u-zh,--zh-a, zh-e, z1-i, zh-o, zh-u, zh-oi,
z11-ou.
a-j, e-j, i-j. o-J, u-j,-j-aq, j-e, j-i, j-o, j-n, j-oi, i-on.
h-a, h-e, h-i, h-o, h-u, h-oi, h-ou,-w-a, w-e, w-i, w-o, w-n,
W-oi, w-OU.
y-a, y-e, y-i, y-o, y-u, y-oi, y-on,-wh-a, wh-e, wh-i, wh-o
wh-u, wh-oi, wh-ou.
COMBINATIONS OF THE CONSONANTS.
Bd.-ebb'd, sobb'd.-Prejudices are often imbibed from  custom.
Bdst.-prob'dst, stabb'dst, robb'd-st.-Then thou prob'dst the
wonnd which now has healed.
BI.-able, blow, bubble, noble.-Wihy should gold man's feeblemind decoy?
Bld.-disabl'd,.doubl'd, trembl'd.-'Tis but the fabl'd landscape of a lay.
Bldst.-trembl'dst, hobbl'dst.-Thou trembl'dst then, if never
since that day.
Biz. -bnbbles, pebbles, nobles.-The heart benevolent and
kind the most resembles God.
Blst.-hunibl'st, tronbl'st. -Hence! thou troubl'st me with vain
requests.
Br. - brave, bright, breeze.-Oeean's broad breast was covered
with his fleet.
LBz. -robes, ribs, webs.-They bowed like shrubs beneath the
poison blast.
Est. -rob'st, robb'st.-With no gentle hand thou prob'st their
wounds.
D1.-handle, ladle, meddle.-The brazen trumpets kindle rage
no wiiore.
Dld.-bridl'd, paddl'd.-Thy mind once kindl'd with each
passing thought.





DIFFICULT COMBINATIONS.                 67
Dldst.-handl'dst, fondl'dst. -Stung by the viper thou fondl'dst when young.
Dlz.-handles, bundles.-Man seems the only growth that
dwindles here.
Dlst.-kindl'st, paddl'st.-In thine upward flight thou dwindl'st to a speck.
Dn.-gold'n, lad'n, lead'n.-Angels drop on their gold'n harps
a pitying tear.
Dnd, sad'n'd, burd'n'd.-Death never sad'n'd your scenes of
bloom.
Dinz.-gard'ns, ward'ns.-Our hearts are eased of burd' ns hard
to bear.
Dr. -drop, dress, drive.-The dread beat of the drum broke
the dreamer's sleep.
Dst.-didst, hadst, addst.-Thou biddst the shades of dark.
ness fly.
Dth.-width, breadth.-The width of the stream again dismayed him.
Dths.-breadths, widths.-It took four breadths of cloth to
make the cloak..Dz.-buds, weeds, odds.-These shades are the abodes of undissemblef gladness.
Dzh.- edge, lodge, image.-Oh, for a lodge in some vast wilderness.
Dzhd.-imag'd, fledg'd.-Their winglets are fledged in the
sun's hot rays.
Fl. -fay, fleece, flow.-At every trifle scorn to take offence.
Fld.-rifl'd, baffl'd.-The war drum is muffled, and black is
the bier.
Fldst.-trifi'dst, stif'dst.-Now  tell me how  thou bffl'fdst
thine enemy.
7z.-rifles, baffles, rnffles.-Not to know some trifles is a
priise.
Fist -stiflZst, shuff'st, baff'st.-Thou trif'st with what is not
thine own.
'n.-stif'n oft'n, sof'n.-Here shall the billows stiff'n and
have rest.
Fnd.-sof'n'd, deaf'n'd.-The woods are deaf'n'd with the
roar.





68                 VOICE AND ACTION.
Fnz.-sofns, stif'ns.-Truth sofns the heart with its simple
tones.
Fr.-frame, friend, refresh.-Labor is but refreshment from
repose.
Fs.-whiff, puffs, laughs.-Mortals, on life's later stage, still
grasp at wealth.
Fst.-pff'st, laugh'st.-Tlhou scof'st at Virtue's homely joys.
Ft.-oft, soft, waft.-Oft from apparent ills our blessings rise.
Fth.-fifth, twelfth.-For the fifth time I called in vain.
Fts.-lifts, rafts, wnfts.--Death lifts the veil that hides a
brighter sphere.
Ftst.-waft'st.lift'st.-O'er the desert drear thou waft'st thy
waste perfume.
Gd.-begg'd, rigg'd.-The very elements are leagued with
death.
Gdst.-bragg'dst, dragg'dst.-Thou begg'dst in vain the hermit's blessing then.
Gl.-gleam, glove, eagle.-Through glades and glooms the
mingling measures stole.
Gld.-struggl'd, haggl'd.--He gazed enraptured on the spangled canopy.
Gldst.-singl'dst.-How thou mingl'dst life and death.
Glz.-eagles, juggles.-I have roamed where the hill foxes
howl, and eagles cry.
Glst.-mingl'st, struggl'st.-Thou struggl'st, as life upon the
issue hung.
Gr.-grow, grip, grief.-The groves of Eden yet look green
in song.
Cz.-logs, figs, dregs.-The fisherman drags to the shore his
laden'd nets.
Gst.-begg'st, digg'st.-Thou begg'st in vain, no pity melts
his heart.
Xl.- cling, cliff, clove.-The sea gems sparkle in the depths
below.
Kld.-sparkl'd, circl'd.-Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his
wrinkled front.
Hldst.-buckl'dst, cirel'dst.-Star, that twinkl'dst on the shepherd's path.
Klz.-sparkles, circles.-Time writes no wrinkles on thino
azure brow.





DIFFICULT COMBINATIONS.


69


Klst.-sparkl'st, freckl'st.-Thou sparkl'st like a gem of earth.
Kn.-tok'n, deac'n, falc'n.-By the storms of circumstance
unshak'n.
Knd.-wak'n'd, dark'n'd.-With quickened step brown night
retires.
Kndst.-black'n'dst, heark'n'dst.-Thou heark'n'dst not when
wisdom bade thee heed.
Knz.-tok'ns, falc'ns, thick'ns.-Mist darkens the mountain,
night darkens the vale.
In2st.-beck'n'st, wak'n'st.-Thou awak'n'st there a warmer
sympathy.
Kr.-kraken, crime.-There crystal streams with pleasing
murmurs creep.
Ks.-oaks, sticks, rocks.-Ye mouldering relies of departed
years.
Kst.-shak'st, wak'st, next.-Many a holy text around she
strews.
Ksth.-sixth, sixth.-Henry the sixth bids thee despair.
Kt.-sect, wak'd, rock'd.-He waked at the vessel's sudden
roll.
Kts.-acts, sects, respects.-It gilds all objects but it alters
none.
Ktst.-act'st, lik'dst.-Thou act'st the manly part.
Lb.-bulb, Elbe, Albert, filbert.-The river Elbe glides gently.
Lbz.-bulbs.-The bulbs have taken root.
Ld.-gild, field, mild.-He toiled and moiled each day.
Ldz.-fields, folds, wilds.-It gilds the mountain's brow.
Ldst.-hold'st, shield'st.-Thou yield'st to fate without a sigh.
Lf-Seyf, wolf, gulf.-O how self fettered is the grovelling
soul.
Lfs.-sylphs, gulfs, e7f8.-It is the wolf's dreary cave.
Lft.-ingulf'd.-The lake is ingulf'd amid the hills.
Lfth.-twelfth.-Skakspeare's twelfth night.
Ldzh.-indulge, bilge.-Indulge no useless wish.
Ldzhd.-indult'd, bilg'd.-He indulged his wit and lost his
friend.
Lk.-elk, milk, bulk, silk.-List to the milkmaid's song.
Lks.-silks, elks, bulks.-In silks and satins new we worship
in these days.





70


VOICE AND ACTION.


Lkst.-milkst.-Thou milk'st the kine at early dawn.
Lkt.-milk'd.-The goats were milked at eve.
ILm.- elm, film, realm.-The heathen heel her helm     has
crushed.
Lmd.-filom'd, whelm'd.-He was overwhelmed with doubts.
Lmz.-filmts, realms.-Films slow gathering dim the sight.
Lmst.-overwhelm'st.-Thou     overwhelmn'st them  with the
whirlwind.
Ln.-stol'n, swol'n.-Even our fall'n fortunes lay in light.
Lp.-help, pulp.-He slirieked for help in vain.
Lps.-pulps, wbelps. The alps have j:innacled in clouds their
snowy scalps.
Lpst.-sealp'st, help'st.-Thou help'st me now in vain.
Lpt.-help'd, scalp'd.-I was the first that heip'd him.
Lptst.-hlelp'dst.-Those crumbling piles thou help'dTst to rear.
Is. - false, dulse, else.-Oft by false learning is good sense deLs. - E               ~J'""' """b e  7   Z3" "
faced.
Lst.- rul'st, fill'st, fall'st.-Life flutters convulsed in his quiveiing limbs.
Lt.-bolt, guilt, wilt.-Misery is wed to guilt.
Lth.-wealth, filth, stealth.-HIeealth consists with temnperance
alone.
Lths.-healths, tilths.-In drinking healths, men but invite
(disease.
Lts.-bolts, melts, faults.-The assaults of discontent and
doubt repel.
Ltst.-halt'st, melt'st.-Thou melt'st with pity at another's
woes.
Lv.-twelve, valve, solve.-O, fix thy firm resolve wisdom to
wed.
Lvd.-involv'd, resolv'd.-No fate with mine involv'd.
Lvz.-wolves, elves, valves.-Man resolves, and re-resolves, then
dies the same.
Lvst.-revolv'st, dissolv'st.-Thou solv'st the problem  at the
expense of life.
Lz.-toils, steals, calls.-Peace rules the day, when reason
rules the mind.
Md.-fam'd, nam'd, bloom'd.-Let us keep the soul enbalmed
in living virtue.





DIFFICULT COMBINATIONSS.        7


71.Ttdst.-illum'dst, bloom'dst.-Thou duom'dst thy victims to
death..Mf.-nyrnph, triuinph.-lle hias set the trhimph-seal.
2A1fs.-nympjhs, triumphs.-What are man's triumph8?
21J'tt.-triuwnph'd.--Lite's last ral~turo triumphi'd o'er heir woes.
Aifp.-pomp. -lam~p.-Througli the swampind madow.
Mps.-lusnps, lainps.-llow poor the pomps of earthj.
Alpst.-thum~p'st, damp'st.-Thou dampj'st their zeal al ready.
Jlfz.-g(ems, plums, comes. -Thou. ai~t freedom's nowv anid fame's..31st. doomn'st, secmn'st.-llow wretched thinu seem'sf.
Mt.--pr-oinpt, contempt.-Be ever promp~t to answer duty's
call1.
2lfs.-tempfs, prompts.-THe tempt-,s the peribous deep at dawn.
Altst.-tenmpt'st, promp~t's'.-Thoui pnrnmpt'st thle warrior now.
Nded  and, inind.-Withi heart and hiand togethiei- st-and.
Ndz.-ends, ble2nds, bonds.-The rivulet sends forth glad
sounds.
Ndst.-bend'st, send'st.-Answer how thou. found'st me?
Ssing, long, ringq.--Ding-dong, ding-dong! go the hells-.
Ng-  singing, swinging.-Exulting, tremlbling, raging, faint(ing, running, leap)ing.
NYgd,-wrong'd, wing'd.-Trhe snowy winged p~over.
Ngdst.-txvang'dst, wrong'ds5/.-Thou wrongd'st thyself to
wr~ite in such a case.
Ng9Z.---son~gs, fangs, rings.-Peace scatters blessings from
dewy wings.*
AXyst.- ring,'st, cling'st, sing'st.-Thou.cigs in vain.
Ngth.--strength, length.-He was the proudest in his strength.
NXjths.-lengths.-Short views we take nor see the length8s
behind.
Ng7.-,dr-ink, rank.-Iiis drink, the crystal wvell.
_Ngks.-pr-anks, lynx.-Ia each low wind methinks a spirit calls.
Ngk-st-thank'st, think'st.-O, deeper than thou. think'st I have
read thy heart.
Ngkt.-rank'd, thank'd.-Hle thanked me for my trouble.
Ngkts.-preeincts.-IHe has left the warm precincts of the cheerful day.
Ndzh.-hinge, range, fringe.-PosseSSions vanish and opinions
chanMge.





VOICE AND ACTION.


Ndzld.-reveng'd, chang'd.-The pine is fring'd with a softer
green..Ys.-tense, sense, dance.-In search of wit some lose all common
sense.
Nst.-canst, against.-Give what thou can'st.
Ntsh.-bench, launch.-Now launch the boat.
Ntsht.-launch'd, wrench'd.-He wrenched the chain..NVt.-lent, rant, went.-Ile went to see money made not spent.
Nth.-tenth, hyacinth.-Few speak, wild, stormy month, in
praise of thee.
Nths.-tenths, hyacinths.-See the hyacinths in bloom.
Nts.-wants, tents, events.-Coming events cast their shadows
before.
Ntst.-haunt'st, want'st.-Why haunt'st thou the land.
Nz.-lens, means, vanes.-Slow and steady wins the race.
Pl.--plume, plaid, plod.-The ploughman plods along.
Pld.-dimpl'd, trampl'd.-Morn is gleaming in the dappl'd
east.
Pldst.-trampld'st, peopld'st.-Thou trampld'st them down.
Plz.-temples, ripples.-Age has on their temples shed her silver
frost.
Plst.-trampl'st, rippl'st.-Thou trampl'st in scorn on the flower.
Pn.-deep'n, op'n.-His ears are open to the softest cry.
Pnd.-op'n'd, sharp'n'd.-There stands the rip'n'd grain.
Pnz.-sharp'ns, op'ns--The ceaseless flow of feeling deep'ns
still.
Pr.-pride, praise, print.-Prompt to relieve, the prisoner
sings his praise.
Ps.-lips, traps, hops.-Thought stops and fancy droops.
Pst.-droop'st, hop'st.-Thou wrapp'st the world in clouds.
Pt.-wept, slept, tripp'd.-The clouds be few that intercept the
light.
Pts.-precepts, intercepts.-Just precepts are from great examples given.
Ptst -accept'st, intercept'st.-Accept'st thou in kindness the
favor?
Pth.-depth.-Launch not beyond thy depth.
Pths.-depths.-From the depths of air comes a still voice.
Rb.-orb, garb, curb, verb.-Curb, O curb thy headlong speed.





DIFFICULT COMBINATIONS.               13
Rbd.-disturb'd, garb'd.-No drums disturb'd his morning
sleep.
Rbdst.-curb'dst, disturb'dst.-Then thou ourb'dst thy mad
career.
1Rbz.-orbs, garbs, barbs.-Not a breath disturbs the deep serene.
Rbst.-curb'st, absorb'st.-Thou barb'st the dart that rankles
sore.
Rd.-bird, cord, herd.-Embroidered sandals glittered as he
trod.
Rdz.-birds, words, cords.-Silver cords to earth have bound
me.
R1dst.-regard'st, reward'st.-Thou reward'st the evil and the
good.
Rf.-turf, serf, dwarf.-Every turf beneath their feet.
Rfs.-serfs, dwarfs.-When dwarfs and pigmies shall to giants
rise.
Rg.-iceberg.-The iceberg has sealed their fate.
Rgz.-icebergs.-In polar seas where icebergs have their
home.
Rdzh.-large, urge.-Toward the verge sweeps the wide torrent.
Rdzhd.-scourg'd, urg'd.-Like the slave scourged to his dungeon.
Rk.-dark, lark, work.-Rise with the lark, and with the lark
to bed.
Rks.-marks, barks, larks.-He marks their tracks in the snow.
Rkst.-work'st, mark'st.-Mark'st thou, my son, yon forester?
Rkt.-lurk'd, work'd.-For this he work'd, for this forsook his
bed.
Rktst.-bark'dst, lurk'dst.-Of yore thou lurk'dst in caverns.
Bl.-curl, snarl, pearl.-There the pearl-shells spangle the
flinty snow.
Bld.-world, curl'd, furl'd.-Round his head the war-cloud
curled.
Rldst.-furl'dst, hurl'dst.-Thou hurl'dst the spear in triumph.
Rldz.-worlds-What are worlds of wealth?
blz.-pearls, curls, snarls.-They are glittering pearls.
4





VOICE AND ACTION.


Plst.-curl'st, furl'st.-Again thou unfurl'st thy wings.
Pm.-arm, warm, harm.-Arni, arm! and haste to battle.
Rmd.-arm'd, harm'd.-Armed, armed say you?
Rmdst.-harm'dst, warm'6t.-Thou arm'dst the hand that laid
thee low.
Rmz.-arms, forms, storms.-The surly storms are softened.
Rmst.-charm'st, alarm'st.-Thou charm'st the ear of man.
Rmth.-warmth.-With honest warmth he met me.
Rn.-morn, scorn, urn.-Live, stung by the scorn of thine
own bosom.
Rnd.-burn'd, scorn'd.-Warned by the signs, they fly in haste.
Rndst.-return'dst, warn'dst.-It is well thou learn'dst that
lesson young.
REnz.-morns, urns, horns.-On the golden wave the sunset
burns afar.
Rpp-harp, warp, sharp.-Time is the warp of life.
Rps.-harps, warps, sharps.L-They sing to their golden harps.
Rpt.-warp'd, usurp'd.-Trade hath usurped the land.
]s.-purse, scarce, curse.-Fierce to the breach they sprang.
Rsh.-harsh, marsh.-O'er marsh and moor.
Rst.- first, worst, burst.-There came a burst of thunder.
PRsts.-bursts.-A flood of glory bursts from all the skies.
Rt.-art, port, dirt, cart.-How vast is art, how narrow human
wit.
Bts.-arts, ports, hearts.-The sports of children satisfy the
child.
Rtst.-start'st, hurt'st.-With these thou flirt'st, and smil'st.
Rth.-earth, worth, forth.--From this day forth give each his
worth.
Rths.-earths, hearths.--Our hearths shall brightly blaze.
Rtsh.-march, larch.-We may resume the march of our
existence.
Rtsht.-search'd, parch'd.-Pygmies are pygmies still, though
perched on Alps.
Rv.-nerve, starve, curve.--Swerve not from duty's path however rough.
Rvd.-curv'd, starv'd.-Life is thus preserved and peace
restored.
Rvdst.-starv'dst. preserv'dst.-Thou preserv'dst his life.





DIFFICULT COMBINATIONS.


75


Rvz.-nerves, curves.-Then the firmest nerves shall tremble.
Rvst.-nerv'st, swerv'st.-I thank thee; thou nerv'st my arm.
Rz.-bars, stars, wears.-We leap at stars, and fasten in the
mud.
Sf.-sphere, sphynx.-The freed soul soars beyond this little
sphere.
Sh.-   shrill, shrink.-The bat shrill shrieking flies away.
shrine, shriek.-And freedom shrieked as Kosciusko
fell.
Sk.-skill, skip.-It is a land unscathed by scorching tear.
Skr.-screen, scribe.-Across the wiry edge he drew       the
screaking file.
Sks.--desks, tasks.-He asks no more than is right.
Skst.-ask'st, bask'st.-Ask'st thou to whom belongs this valley fair?
Skt.-ask'd. bask'd.-He risk'd his own, another's life to save.
S1.-sline, whistle.-Slow tolls the village clock.
Sld.-whistl'd, nestl'd.-The loud blast whistled shrill.
Slz.-nestles, thistles.-The grass rustles drearily over his urn.
Slst.-rustl'st, nestl'st.-Thou wrestl'st singly with the gale.
Sm.-smile, smoke.-The smooth stream now smoother glides.
Sn.-snow, pers'n.-The moonlight sleeps upon the snow.
Snd.-less'n'd, list'n'd.-He listened to the music.
Snz.-list'ns, pers'ns.-How the eye of beauty glistens.
Snst.-less'n'st, hast'n'st.-Onward thou hasten'st home.
Sp.-span, speed, spar.-Sport leaped up and seized his beechen
spear.
Spl.-spleen, splendid.-The splendor of such sights.
Spr.--spray, spring, sprig.-In Spring's footsteps sprang herbage and flowers.
Sps.-grasps, lisps, clasps.-The youthful ivy clasps the oak.
Spt.-clasp'd, grasp'd.-Pope lisp'd in numbers, for the numbers came.
St.-stand, stop, star.-Hast thou a charm to stay the morning
star?
Str.-stroll, strive, strong.-They have strown the dust on the
sunny brow.
Sts.-mists, tastes, coasts.-All things seem  large which we
through mists descry.





76                VOICE AND ACTION.
Stst.-tast'st, list'st.-Now, with what awe thou list'8t the
wild uproar.
Thn.-length'n, strength'n.-Who would lengthen life?
Thnd.-length'n'd, strength'n'd.-These proclaim my length'n'd
years.
Thndst.-length'n'dst, strength'n'dst.-Palsied is the arm thou
strength'n'dst.
Thnz.-strength'ns, length'ns.-He length'ne the hour, in vain.
Th.-youths, faiths.-Youth'8 bright hours are fleeting.
Tht.-betroth'd.-She was early betroth'd to a Highland
Chief.
Thr.-throb, throne, thrill.-Soft as the thrill that memory
throws across the soul.
Thd.-breath'd, sooth'd, bath'd.-They sheathed their swords
for lack of argument.
Thz.-bathee, tithee, paths.-The paths of glory lead but to the
grave.
That.-smooth'st, writh'st.-O guilt! thou bath'st the world
in tears.
Thdet.-smnooth'dat, writh'det.-Thou  smooth'det his lonely
brow.
TI.-title, cattle, rattle.-The reef-points rattle on the sail.
Tld.-rattl'd, titl'd.-He prattled less, in accents void of
guile.
Idst.-rattl'dst, startl'dst.-Thou startl'dst the slumbering
tenants.
Tlz.-titles, turtles, battles.-How  the blood mantles in his
cheek.
Tlst.-startl'st, rattl'st.-The wild deer thou startlt in the
shade.
Tn.-kitt'n, mitt'n, butt'n.-How blessings brighten as they
take their flight.
Tnd.-whit'n'd, sweet'n'd.-Tlhe snow now whit'n'd the earth.
Tnz.-whit'ns, sweet'ns.-Thy mercy sweet'ns the cup of woe.
Tr.-tribe, tread, trade.-Time's giddy arch with trembling
foot we tread.
Tsh.-charm, chime, church.-Youth is not rich in time.
Tsht.-touch'd, watch'd.-Hence have I watched while others
slept.





DIF~FICULT COMBINATIONS*


Tsh'st.-sn ateh'dst.-Thou toucle'dst his wounded heart..
T8.-bats, roots, hat8.-Ten. censure wrong, for one who writes
amtiss.
Tst.-sitt'st, shout'st.-Once on Phyle's brow thou satt'st.
Vd.-15 v'd, lovAd s.av'd.-lle sav'd thy life.
Vdst.-lov'dst, sa1v'dst.--Thou depriv'dst me of all.
TVl.-ev'l, shov'l, hov'l.-Their hopes still grov'l on this earth.
Vld.-shov'll'd shriv'll'd.-It seared and shriv'll'd up his
heart.
17st.-shov'l'st, shriv'l'8t.-Thou unrav'l'8t the very threads
of being.
Vldst.-rav'll'dst.-Thou unrav'll'd'st the yarn.
Trlz.-ev'ls, shriv'ls.-So shriv'ls the leaf in the Autumn blast.
JVn.-sev'n, driv'n, crav'n~.-Thy bonds are riv' n.
Vnz.-rav'ns heav'ns.-Heav'n's sapphire arch is its resplendent dome.
TVnth. -elev'nth, sev'nth.-You came at the elev'nth hour.
Vz.-waves, groves, leaves.-The groves were God's first
temples.
VPst.-mov'st, rav'st, prov'st.-Weigh well thy words before
thou giv'st them breath.
Zd.-gaz'd, rais'd, us'd.-Sudden he gazed, but knew not what
to do.
Zl.-haz'l, dazzle, puzzle.-It is a puzzle indeed.
Zld.-dazzl'd, puzzl'd.-My eyes are dazzled with the flame.
Zldst.-dazzl'dst, puzzl'dst.-Thou puzzl'dst the brain of the
sage.
Zlst.-puzzl'st, dazzl'st.-Thou dazzl'st the eye with thy rays.
Zlz.-hazl's, puzzl'8.-lle puzzles over a, doubt.
Zm.-prism, chasm.-The sky shone through the fearful chasm.
Zmz.-prisms, chasms.-The billows sink to chasms low.
Zn.-blaz'n, crims'n.-lle sinks on the frozen~ ground.
Znd.-blaz'u'd, crims'n'd.-It is blazoned forth to all.
Znz,-seas'n, blaz'ns.-Thou hast all seaso'nsfor thine own.
Znst.-reas'n't, blaz'n'st.-How well thou reason' t, then.





78
Bii-ib,
Ga-rb,
Pro-b'd,
Abso-rb'd,
Be-gg'd,
JBelo-ng'd,
(dzhid)
Irna-g'd1,
(ldzhd)
Bi-igld,
(ndzhd)
Ra-?ig'd,
U~r-g'd,
Go-id,
Trem-bi'd,
Pad-di'd,
Min-gi'd,
Twin-ki'd,
Dim-.pi'd,
Wo-rid,
(sid)
Whii-egtl'd,
Rat -iN,
Shri-v'i'd,
Puz-zi'd,
Na-m'd,
Whe-im'd,
Fo-rm'd,
La-nd,
Ilar-d'n'd,
D ea -f In,
De'a-f'n'd,
Wa-k'n'd,
Shar-p'n'd,
Wa-rn'd,
LeS-e'n'd,
Whi-t'n'd,
Leng- th'n'd,
Bla-z'n'd,
Gua-rd,
Pro-v'd,
Reso-iv'd,
Sta-rv'd,
Ga-z'd,
Brea-th'd,
She-If,
Triurn-l,
Tu-rf,


VOICfl AM) ACTION.


eph-ere,
icebe-rg,
(tsh)
be-nch,
rna-rsh.,
ch-arrn),
rna-r-ch,
wi-dth,
fli-fM,
twe-ifth.,
wea- ith,
wa-rmth,
le-n gth,
te-ntk,,
de-pth,
no-rith7
si-xth,
indu-ige,
ra-nge,
ba-rge,
s3i-ik,
tha-nk,
ma-rnc,
ta-ek,
bi-,ind7
era-die,.ft-oor,
gi-ove,
twin-kle,
pl-an,
epi-endid,
fu-rl,
sl-eep,
gen-tie,
sho-v'l,
daz-zie,
rea-lm,
wa-rm,
sm-ile,
rhy-thm,
pri-em,
la-d'n,
d~a-f In,
lenig-th'n,
hea-tl&'n,
to-k'n,
sto-l'n,
shar-p'n,


mo-rn,
Ies-s'n,
writ-t'n,
se-v'n,
fro-z'n
hie-ip,
ha-rp,
br-aye,
dr-earn,
fr-own,
gr-een,
shr-in e,
cr-ime,
ecr-eena,
pr-ide,
epr-aiD,
tr-ibe,
etr-ive,
thr-ove,
pu-ifs
gu-ife,
triu-mphe,
dwa-rfe,
tru-the,
brea-dths3,
hea-ithe,
mo-nt he,
1e-ngt hs,
de-pvthe,
hea-rt he,
oa-lce,
si-ike,
tha-n/c8,
ma-rice,
de-skic,
pu-lee,
de-nee,
li-pe,
whe-lpe,
la-mp8,
ha-rpe,
li-eye,
ho-r8e,
foo-te,
tu-fte,
fa-cte,


me-Ite,
pro-mpts,
eve-nte,
preci-nete,
Ire-cepte,
da-rte,
mi-ete,
thi-rete,
so0-ft,
ingu-t!f Id,
triurn-ph'd,
lau-neh'd,
tou-ch'd
ma-rch'd,
fa-ct,
rnii-iicd7
tlia-nic'd,
ma-rkl'd,
ba-eic'd,
sa-it,
(mt)
pro-mpt,
wa-nt,7
bu-r~nt,
ke-pt,
he ip'd,
wa-rp'd,
li-ep'd,
pa-rt,
et-eel,
pro-b'et,
cu-rb' et,
di-det,
pro-bldet,
be-gg'det,
gi-id'et,
trem-bi'det,
bri-di'et,
tri-fl'det,
min-gi'det,
twin-ici'det,
tram-Pi'de,
cur-ri'det,
(sldst)
ru-stl'dt,
star-tl'dt,
daz-zld'et,
sho-v'i'ddt,





DIFFICULT COMBINATIONS&


sce-'ds,       rin-gl'st,              (mtst)
wa-~ni'st,    spar-kist,          pro-mpVt'st
se-d't,       tram-pi'st,         wa-nt'8t,
d0  t Pn'dst,      fu-ri'st,          acce-pt'st,
heark'n'dst,       ru-sti'st,          he-lp'dst,
wro-ng'dst,        star-tist,         fii-rt'8t,
streng-th'n'dst, sho-v'ist,           enli-st'st,
tu-rn'dst,         daz-zi't,           bu-rst'st,
(sndst)         see-m'Ist,         io-r'st,
ii-st'n'dst,       whe-im'st,          reso-iv'st,
rea-s')n'dst,      wa-rm'st7           prese-rv'st,
io-v'dst,          c1-nst,                   (tht)
se-rv'dst,         wa-k'n'st.          betro-th'd,
rewa-rd'st,        shar-p'n'st,        twe-ive,
sco-ff'st,         retu-rn'st,        ne-rye,
ingu-ý,J'st,           (s 1)St)        so-bs,
triui-rnph'st,     ii-St'n'st,         bu-ibs,
be-gg'st,          leng-th'n"'st,      o-rbs,
bri-ng'st,         rea-s'n'st,         dee-ds,
ra-ng'st,-j,      hb3-p'.8t,          fie-Ids,
indu-Ig'st,        he-ip'st,           wo-rids,
u-rg'st,           thu-rnp'st,         e-nds,8
awa-k'st,          wa-rp'st,           wa-rds,
mi-ik'st,          ii-SP'st,           ba-qs,
tha-nk'st,         wo-rst,            icebe-rgs,
ma-rk'st,          shou-t's't,         sai-is,
ba-sk'st,          li-ft'st,           trou-bles,
srnoo-th'st,       tou-ch'dst,         pad-dies,
whi-ist,           ena-ct'st,          ruf-fles,
hum-bi'st,         mi-Ik'dst           ea-gies,
fon-di'st,         iu-rk'dst,          spar-kIes,
r uf-fl's t,       rne-It'st,         tern-pies,


cu-rls,
mus-cies,
ti-ties,
(viz)
e-viis,
puz-zles,
ti-rn s,
overwhe-1rns,
sto-rrns,
logai'i-thms,
pri-srns,
de-ns,
ri-n gs,
(dnz)
war-d'ns,
de'a-f'ns,
to-k' ns,7
shar-p'ng,
mo-rns,
les-s'ns 7
streng-th'ns,
mit-t'ns,
bea-v'ns
rea-s' ns,
wa-i's,
(vz)
gi-ves,
she-lves,
cu-rves,
br~a-thes,


Rigidly practice upon these exercises until a distinct articu.
lation is acquired.





80


80         VOICE;AND ACTION.


ANALYSIS OF THE SIMPLE AND COMBINED
SOUNDS.
Give each letter as it naturally sounds in the particular word.
Obscure sound-short. y not like 6, but i short.
a, e, i, o, u, y,-obscure.
p-r-oi-b'-d-s---t,  b-i-d-d-s----t,      --agg-dst
we-b-s4--r-i--,   r---'s,    --ý     e-nv-g-r-a-she
f-d-en-d-g'-dv--1  s-o-fi-t'I-n'dte-d,  c-i-r-c4-le,_c
V4
k-i-n-b-d-l's-t,    14i-u-gh-'s-t,     c--r-c4'gl--s-t,
g-m-l-d'-oi,        w-a-f-t-e'-d-t,    st-o-k'-n,-'st





DIFFICULT COMBINATION&.8


681


W-a-k'-n'-s-t,
I-n-c-r-ea-se,
O-a-k-s,
S-i-x-th,
R-0 ck' A r-a k'-d,
B-u-1-b-s,
G-i-1-d-e-d,
F-o-i-d-s,
H-o-1-d'-s-t,
G-u-1-f-,s
I-n-g-u-1-f'-d,
T-w-e-1-f-th,
I-ni-d-u-1-g'-d,
k
31-u-1-c-t,7
O-v-e-r-wli-e-1-rn'-d,
F-i-i-rn-;
Wh-e-1-rn'-s-t.
S-t-o-1'-n,
H-e-1-p'-d-s-t,
4*


b-o-1-t-e-d,
h4a-l-th-s,
i-n-v-o-1-v'-d,
w-o-1-v'-s,
r-e-v-o-1-v'-s-t,
b-a-11-s,
b--oo-rn'-d-s-t,
t-r-i-u-m-ph'-s-t,
t-r-i-u-rn-ph'-d-s-t,
s-w-a-rn-p'-s-t,
2
g-e-rn-s,--t-o-rnb-s,
s-ee-m'-s-t,
p-r-o-rnp-t'-s-t,
1-a-n-d-S,-e-n-d-s,
s-i-ng-i-ng,
s-o-,ng-s,
r-i-ng-s-t,
1-e-ng-th-s,
th-i-n-k'-s-t,
ng    t
r-a-n-k-d-s-t,
h-i-n-g'-d,
t-6-n-se,


1-e-n-t,
4i--cld
a-g-ai-n-s-t,
t-e-n-tli-s,
w-a-n-t'-s-t,
g-i-e-n-s,
t-r-a-rn-p-1'-d- s-t,
r-i-p-p-1'-s,
s-c-r-u-p-1'-s-t,
sh-a-r-p'-n'-d-s-t,
0-p'-fl-s,
e-m-p-r-e-s-s,
8-t-o-p-s,
d-r-oo-p'-s-t,
r-a-p-t,
i-n-t-e-r-c-e-p-t'-s-t,
d-e-p-tli-s,
b-a-r-b'-d-s-t,
o-r-b-s,
a-b-s-o-r-b'-s-t,
a-b-s-u-r-d,
c-o-r-d-s,
r-e-g-a-r-d'-s-t,





82


82         VOICE AND ACTION.


s-e-r-f-s,
2
i-c-e-b-6-r-g-s,
e-n-1-a-r-g'-d,
b-a-r-k'-s-t,
b-a-1-k'-d-s-t,
2
w-o-r-1-d-s,
wh-e-n-wli-a-t,
c-u-r-I'-s-t,
ch-a-r-ru'-d-s-t,
w-a-r-m-th-s,
h-o-r-n-s,
r-e-t-u-r-n',-d-s-t,
s-c-o-r-n'-s-t,
sh-a-r-p-s,
h-a-r-p'-d-s-t,
h-o-r-s-e,
m-a-r-sh,
b-ti-r-s-t'-s-t,
s-t-a-r-t'-s-t,
h-e-a-r-th-s,
s-e-a-r-chl-d-s-t,


p-r-e-s-e-r-v'-d-s-t,
c-u-r-v-e-s,
p-r-e-s-e-r-v'-s-t,
s-t-a-r-s-s-t-i-r-s,
sh-r-i-11-sh-r-i--ne,
sh-r-a-n-k, sh-r-i-ve
r-i-s-k'-d,
wh-i-s-t-1'-d,
m-u-s-c-1-e-s,
p-e-r-s'-n,
1-e-s-s-n'-d-s-t
s-p-1-e-n-d-i-d,
s-p-r-i-ng-i-ng,
g-r-a-s-p'-s-t,
c-1-a-s-p'-d,
m-i-n-s-t-r-e-1-s,


s-t-r-e-ng-th'-n-s,
b-e-t-r-o-tli'-d,
th-r-o-b'-d-s-t,
p-a-thl-s,z
t-r-e-m- b-le,
ch-a-r-m,
w-a-t-ch'.-d-s-t,
sh-ou-t'-s-t,
s-a-v'-d-st,
r-a-v'-1-1'-d-s-t,
2
sh-o-v'-1'-s-t,
e-v-i-1-s,
2
h-e-a-v-e-n-s,
e-1-e-v-e-n-th,
w-a-v-e-s,
m-o-v'7-s-t,
k-s      x
e-x-p-o-s'-d,
d-a-z-z-1'-d-s-t,
p-n-z-Z-1'-s-t,
m-u-z-z-1'-sz
ch-a-s-m-s,
b-l-a-z-o-n-s,





READING BY SOUNDS.


83


e-r-i-m-s-o-n'-d-s-t, r-a-tt-P-d-s-t,  m-i-tt'-n-s,
r-8-a-s-o-n'-s-t,  m-a-n-t-le-s,     h-ow-e-v-e-r,
s-m-oo-th-s-t,    s-w-ee-t'-n'-d,    l-e-ng-th'-n'-d-s-t,
Pronounce also daily from the columns of a standard Dictionary. Exercises of this kind improve the vocal organs more
rapidly than reading.
Wastes and deserts; waste sand deserts.
He could I pain nobody.
pay nobody.
He whet a wet razor on his strap.
Whoever heard of such   a notion.
He ought to   prove   } such a position.
I approve t
He is content  in et      place.
READING BY SOUNDS.
So sta tely I her Ib earing, so Iproud         h er
array, the I main      she Iwill ] traverse jforever andlaye.       H elga veltol thejgale his
isnowl whitel sail. The earth lisl veiled in
sh a de s of night. The js ou nding       ais 1 es  of I
the   dim   woods I rang. Forllife,iforlclife, I
th ei r I fli ght I they p 1 y. Fr o m  c liff Ito I cli ff
Sthe smoking j torrents shine. Wildi winds
and mad I waves I drive Ithe v e ssel I awreck.
FORCE.
ExERCISE.-Commence with the lightest whisper and gradually increase to the loudest vocality; then reverse the practice.
In either direction be careful not to change the pitch or alter
the natural level of the voice; also not to make the loudest
sounds other than in a pure, round tone. When satisfied that
they can be given properly then practice the forcible sounds
with ALL the lung power you can possibly bear on them,





84


VOICE AND ACTION.


increasing to the last. If given in impure tones, the exe else
will severely strain the throat and induce disease. When the
sounds can be given pure and mellow, on the natural pitch,
the voice improves wonderfully in strength in a very limited
time.
Pure tones will never affect the throat, let them be given
ever so loudly. Even a few weeks' practice, when properly
conducted, will make a great change in the voice.
1 2 3 4 5 6     7    8     9    8     7  6  5 4 3 2 1
fa fa a aa a          a      a     aBa a-a
With the foregoing severally unite Pitch, Time, Aspiration,
(pure,) and the Tremor, and make a variety of exercises. Also
add the same to the following:
Awake! arise! or be forever fallen!
Seize on him, furies, take him to your torments!
I call to you with all my voice.
Next Anger rushed, his eyes on fire
He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down!
Loud surges lash the sounding shore!
EXERcIsE.-Let this be moderate at first; never FORCED;
solidly, firmly, promptly, especially in the loudest tones. Do not
raise the pitch of the natural voice. To vary the exercise, add
separately, Pitch, the Tremor, Aspiration, (pure,) and the Semitone; each constituting an independent practice.
1. As soft as possible.
2. Very soft.
3. Soft.
4. Rather soft.
5. MIDDLE, OR MEAN.    MARCH! HALT     HALLOO! WOE!
6. Rather loud.
7. Loud.
8. Very loud.
9. As loud as possible.
FORCE-STRESSES.
The RADICAL STRESS is the explosive or bursting style of
voice. It is used to express anger, rage, fear, impetuous cour




FORCE -STRESSES.


85


age, and startling emotions. " HA dost thou not see?"  "To
ARMSI They come! the GREEK! the GREEK! " " STRIKE till the
last armed foe expires "  "Vio-tory I vic-tory their colors
fall!"
The MEDIAN commences easily, widens out to a full, round
expression, then dies gradually away. It is used for pathos,
dignity, deliberation, gentleness. "HAIL! universal Lord!"
"All HAIL! thou 1-o-ve-l-y queen of night!"
The THOROUGH is the power placed alike on all parts
strongly and firmly, for vehemence, courage, determination.
" Up with my BAN-ners on the wall! "  "Tried and cofvicted
TRAITOR."  "DOWN soothless insulter."  (Suppressed force
and vanishing stress on soothless, and aspiration on insulter).
The VANISHING commences very lightly, widens out into a
full, open sound, and ends abruptly. Used for obstinacy, fixed,
sullen determination, anxious alnrm, peevishness. "I WILL have
my bond."   "INE'ER will ask ye quarter."  "Oh! ye GoDs
ye GoDs! must I endure all THIS?"
The INTERMEDIATE is a feeble, trembling voice: "I can go
no further."
The COMPOUND (or Rad. and Van.). The radical begins and
goes to the middle of the word or words, and then the vanishing does its part by ending. It is rarely used. It is an
unpleasant, jerking sound. It is a national characteristic among
the Irish; used in surprise, raillery, earnest questions, importunate entreaty. "ARn warriors! ARM for the fight! " "Gone
to be MARRIED, gone to swear a PEACE?" "Dost thou come here
to WHINE?"
THE SEMITONE.
The semitone is simply a plaintive, pitiful expression.
"Pity the sorrows of a poor old man."
THE TREMOR.
Add a trembling, shaking voice to the above, and the effect
will be greatly enhanced.
"Thou glori ou      mirror,"-a-a-a-, e-e-e, i-i-i, o-o-o,
u-u-u, oi-oi-oi, ou-ou-ou.





86


VOICE AND ACTION.


THE LOUD WHISPER.
The loud whisper is a most admirable practice-no vocality;
a, e, i, o, u, oi, ou. It is very difficult, but will be found a
a great means of improvement. Not too frequent, and stop
when giddy or pain is felt. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10.
EXAMPLE.-" Who comes here? Ha! thou art the ghost of
my murdered friend! I cry you mercy. I implore you let me
rest in peace. It harrows up my very soul with terror and
amazepnent." Add Force, Pitch, Time, the Tremor, and the
Semitone; and practice each separately.
EXPLOSIVES.
The explosives are calculated to give depth and rotundity
to the voice. The orotund is the orator's true voice. With
some it is natural; with all ordinarily good voices it can be
acquired to a remarkable degree. It is the only voice capable
of rendering the more majestic and heroic styles of language.
To practice the explosives, for its acquirement, and to give the
voice outline and edge, the position must be erect, and the
lungs filled to the greatest capacity. Hold the air thus
accumulated until perfectly concentrated; then buist upon the
sounds with a quick, percussive stroke of the voic,. It is best
to have consonants precede the vowel sounds. Let the burst
of the voice come like a clear coughing sound, but be sure and
have no aspiration. Let the sound be extremely pure, and no
unpleasant effect will follow its emission. Hold the breath
for a moment firmly on the consonant, and then burst it, like the
report of a pistol, on the vowel.
EXPLOSIVES.-B-a I B-e I B-i I B-o Bu I B-oi B-ou I
m     Practice these also with Pitch, Aspiration, and the
Semitone.
EMPHASIs.-" I'm tortured to madness, to THINK of it."
"A cultivated taste converses with a PICTURE."
"Better to reign in HELL, than serve in HEAVEN."
"God said, ' Let there be light '-and there was I, HT





SKIPS, SLIDES, WAVES.


PITCH.
Begin with the natural voice, and having the lungs completely filled make the sounds rise one above the other, as you
wo ild in music, except that the sounds must be spoken, and
not sung. Make each sound, as you pass up this speaking
scale, full and round. Rise as though counting 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6,
7T, 8, 9, 10, &c. The number of sounds will depend upon the
slowness or rapidity of enunciation. Rise beyond where the
voice breaks into the falsette. Carry it up as high as it is
possible to convert the air into sound. Begin again, with the
natural voice, and pass down the speaking scale. Make each
sound, as before, round, pure, and full, to the very lowest.
Then pass up from the natural to the highest in uninterrupted
sound, then down from the starting point to the very lowest
note. The first manner of going up the scale may be called
skipping, the latter sliding. The sounds may be called skips and
slides, or discrete and concrete sounds. The skips or discretes,
are used in the simplest forms of reading; the slides in very
emphatic styles. The voice passing up the scale to any desired
point, and then passing immediately down in one continuous
movement, upon the same breath, is called a wave. It can
be reversed, and commence by going down first and then
rising. The greater the distance to which it rises and falls, or
falls and rises, of course varies its intensity of expression.
[See Exercises, page 88.]
Also, practice the Pitch with the Semitone, or Plaintive
movement of voice, and afterward add the Tremor, or Tremulous style, and Aspiration.
In singing, the voice continues on the same level for each
sound; while in speaking, it never rests for a single instant on
the same pitch, but rises, or falls, according to the direction
given to it until the sound ceases.
The Slide has great beauty; endearing in tone, and some
times plaintive and desolate to tears.





88


VOICE AND ACTION.


QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS.
INDIFFERENCE.-2d.
Ques.-Are those in commission yet returned?
Ans.-My liege, they are not yet come back.
INTEREST.-3d.
Ques.-Did you not speak to it?
Ans.-My lord, I did.
EAGERNESS.-5th.
Ques.-Do you then defy me?
Ans.-I do not fear you.
PAssION.-8th.
Ques.-How          now, are we turned
Turks?
Ans.-Let's kill, slay, slaughter.
HIGH PITHn.-Oh I I could mount with rapture to the very
stars.
NATURAL VoiOE.-Morn is gleaming in the dappled east.
Low PITcH.-Eternity! thou pleasing, dreadful thought





,-SKIP-$-- i9a -,SLIDES
e           oth
%.r - 8 a                  PA
7 a
e          ra
15   5t.4             E A
4- a
d
e/ I      -IN..,,. -
/ / J     i N D-,42alp-2 QUESa a 2..
N 31     n:a a 4a             -
nd               14 13. 2 Eýid sz I
aa:r ad n i Ah-s,
mh
E A G.
6 ia
th              PASS
WAVES     EQUAL                 UNEQUAL
13 -
%5;
STRESSF-S          v.C::--D  wc:ýý  cC:!:o -r(--=










PITCH.-WAVES.


89


SIMPLE WAVE-Direct; and inverted, thus:"I come to bfry Caesar, not to praise him.
(direct)         (inverted)
The waves of the third, fifth, and octave are rarely used,
though, if practiced, they will assist in developing the voice.
Take the sounds, and give a longer, fuller expression, until the
thirds, fifths, and both octaves, direct and inverted, have been
exemplified.
DIRECT AND INVERTED WAVEs-Of equal thirds, fifths,
octaves; unequal thirds, fifths, octaves:-a, e, i, o, u, oi, ou.
You talk of grief? You a prince's son I
(inverted unequal)  (direct unequal)
The unequal waves are for different degrees of thimrand
fulness of the contemptuous and sneering styles of expression.
As represented in the diagram, the sides of the wave are of
unequal length.
CONTINUED WAVE-is a number of waves, seldom useda, e, i, o, u, oi, ou. But it is an excellent practice.
High notes tire the muscles of the neck, but are excellent
aids in deepening the tones of the voice, to strengthen and
invigorate the vocal powers.
To whisper forcibly an octave above and then below, is
exceedingly difficult, but is highly beneficial.
Conversation might be visibly represented by the
size of the letters in which these lines are printed.
Public Speaking       is only a larger conversation, and might proportionably be thus exemplified in larger type.
Drawling and Monotony might
be illustrated in the extended style here given.
RADICAL AND VANISHING MOVEMENT.
e       e       e      e       e      e       6


a


a    a    a    a    a    a





90


VOICE AND ACTION.


Each vowel sound has its rad. and van. however light the
latter. The following words exemplify it.
St-(bat.)          ' te-(fate.)       le-(dale.)
b-a               f-a                d-a
" rn-(morn.)      00 n-(noon.)     * te-(bite.)
m-o              n-oo               b-i
in-,,   mer-          false       0
A-mong         nu-         a-ble        un-moved,
S sha--ken,,       se-duced,,     ter--ri--
Un-               un-               un-        fled;. loy-al-          k ept, his         his
His         ty  he               love,         zea-1.
VOCALIZE AND ASPIRATE.
10. As high as possible.-( Vociferation.)-" Strike, for the
sires who left you free! "
9. Extremely high.-" I repeat it sir, let it come! let it
come! "
8. Very high, spirited.-" Three millions of people armed
in the holy cause of liberty."
7. High.-" The sounding aisles of the dim woods rang."
6. Rather high.-" With music I come from    my balmy
home."
5. MnDDLE.-(Firm, natural.)-" A vision of beauty appeared
on the clouds."
4. Rather low.-" Friends, Romans, Countrymen!"
8. Low.-(Modest.)-And this is in the night! most glorious
night!"
2. Very low.--(Sublime.)-" Roll on, thou deep and dark
blue Ocean,-roll!"
1. As low as possible.-(Solemn.)-" Eternity I thou pleasing, dreadful thought."





M&DrIATTOX AM VM10bT.Etb~H


Begin    with -1-10
the very highest
and descend  -2 -line by line to_ 3- 8
the very lowest
note of the voice. - 4- 7
Then reverse by
5- 6
commencing
with the very -6-5
lowest and rising
to the very high- - 7- 4
est.     -8-3
This practice will
modulate   - 9- 2
the voice. --10-1


" Though you untie the winds, and
let them fight
Against the churches; though the
yesty waves
Confound and swallow navigation
up;
Though bladed corn be lodg'd and
trees blown down;
Though castles topple on their warders' heads;
Though palaces and pyramids do
slope
Their heads to their foundations;
though the treasure
Of nature's germins tumble all together,
Even till destruction sicken, answer
me
To what I ask you."


Afterwards add Force, Time, Aspiration, the Tremor and
the Semitone to both of these exercises and practice separately
with each.
MODULATION AND MELODY.
MODULATION, is the PITCH of paragraphs and sentences.
MELODY, is the PITCH of words and syllables in each sentence.
The one is the GENERAL pitch, the other the PROGRESSIVE.
EXAMPLES.
(natural voice.)                    (rather high.)
The moon her-      is lost in heaven; I but   art for ev-er
self                      thou
same, |
the        re-joic-ing in the brightness of
thy
course;
pests,
(low pitch.)     tem-          (firm, nat. voice.)
When the world is dark with           when thunder rolls,


flies, I           (rather high.)
and lightning      thou lookest in thy beauty from the


clouds,





92


VOICE AND ACTION.


(High.)    est
And laugh-    at the                  (firm, nat. voice.)
storm. J But, to Ossian, thou look-esA
house,
(nat. voice.)     field,                 y
The fire blasted every       consumed ever-            and
(rather low)
destroyed every
temple.
(rather low.)
Then shook the hills with thunder riv'n,
(rather high.)     tie
Then rush'd the steeds to bat-     driv'n,
(high.)        heavAnd louder than the bolts of
(rather low.)
Far flashed the red artillery.
(rather high.)     tower,
Ye are the things that         that shine, whose smile
(high.)      glad,
kes                 (low.)
ma-       ~        whose frown is terrible.
(high.)
(r. high.)                   ing,
Ex-ult-ing,              rag-       faint(n. V.)                   ing,
trembling,
(h.)
ed,
light-     (r. A.)
(n. v.)   de-            raised, re-  (n. v.)
Dis-turb'd,                               fined.


(rath. low.)
less,
Season-        herbless, tree

less,       (r..)
less, man-           lifeless




MODULATION AND MELODY.
death,-     (low.)
A lump of      a chaos of hard
clay.


93


How poor, how      how abject, how aurich,                   gust,
cate,
pliHow cor-         how wonderful
is
man.




(nat. voice.)                     time,
For who would bear the whips and scorns of
con'tumely,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's
(rather high.)               de-lay,
The pangs of despised love, the law's
(high.)  fice,
The insolence of of-  and        (r. 1.)
the     ns,
spurworthy
That patient merit of the un-      takes,
(rather low.)
When he himself, might his quietus make
(low.)
With a bare bodkin.
ILLUSTRATIONS, (in a new form,). FoOM DR. BUSH.
reads in      ture's             book
He            na-         in-fi-nite        of secrecy.


Tidrinks, but    mon's sil-     treads
r                   ver


He     e
nev





up-on
his


lip.





94


nev-er


VOICE AND ACTION.
drinks,
but Ti-     silmon's    ver treads
up-on
his


He


lip.
Ti-          ver treads
He nev-     drinks, but   mon's sil-         up-on
er                                        his
lip.
Greeks       noy,
most             ful          anThat quar-ter          the  skil-             anWhere                  trees      the   walls
yon         fig      join             of
wild                                Troy.
CADENCES.
1=     Sweet'   is'          breath'
(Tripartite.)           the'              of'
morn.'
2=     The'         fanned'   un'-   num'
(Tripartite.) air' was'      by'               ber'd'
plumes.
3=(lst Duad.)
tur'- ret'     and'             am'-    el'
With'           crest'   sleek' en'-             d
neck.
4=(2d Duad.)
name', I'
The'                ing', not' the'         ca'mean'                                       11.'
5= (Feeble Cadence.)
by'                       not'   s'
No'               the'    rood'                     o.
6=(False Cadence.)
Of'           more           ex--         I' boast'
wiles'         in'--           pert'        -
not.'





CADENCES AND PITCH.


95


8
7                       MELODY AND MODULATION.
6
NAT. VOICE.
5
4
3                     EXTRACT.-OTHELLO. (SHAXS.)
2
1 (low.)
'ture'
'and' tor'-        me',
Mdost'        'der' her'
'If' thou'   slan'
6 r e'
'Nev'-er' pray' more':           "don' all'      morse';
'a'-ban'
'hor-   ror's'    'hor'        'ac'
"On'           "head'        'rors'      cum -    u -
'late';
'weep', all'
8nr          'earth' a'
7make' Heav"-                       7maze
'deeds' to'                                       d';
'Do'
7For'
'noth'-ing'            oto'
5canst' thou'   dam'-   na'-tion'
'add'
'Great'      er'
"than'
'that.'
INTONATION AT PAUSES.
the'      aph' Ab'-        faith'-ful'
So' spake'    ser' -           diel';          found',
mong' the'              Faith'-       on'
A -               faith'-              ful'     ly'
less'.                     he'.





96               VOICE AND ACTION.
in'-      mer-            false'
A'-mong'      flu'-      a'-ble'         unt-moved',
3shak'-en',     se'-duced',      ter'-ri'Un'-            u'               un'-            fled ';
loy'-al'-   P     kept', his'    his'
His'             ty' he'         love',    ved --
num'-lier'            am   e',            orought'
Nor'            nor ex'-           with' him'
To'        from'         change' his'     stant' mird,
swerve1     truth'; or'         con --




Though'
sin(g)



gle:


INTERBOGATIVE SENTENCES.
(Rising 5th) in thorough Interrogation used on every syllable.
j)    t   (oo) th   s     s    s?
a   a         1    1    e    orn    i  I  I          't;  II I    I
ye              a   st    I   w    h    e     t
(oo)-t            ue              I
i                              n
U
Br                               An


Give Brutus a statue with his ancestors?
trwotherform.)
(e)-  (d)5            5    (n)5         (e)"    (e)"    e.
I            I            (n)'          I
Pie  said    (oo)' were                 pa-    ra-   bleI
U            in  -     (i)5
you                          I


i


COMn




PITCH.


09


He said you were incomparable?
5         (g)5 (v 5           (r)5 (z)
~-4     -4     4      V)5   -4     4  COS
(i)       (u)  (a)       -4   (o), (if)  -4   Ce)
2-           -     2         '(m)  -  --   (e)'  -4
Give'  (b)5 ius'  a'      --   for' his' -'    ('a)s
-4(e)' umph'                   de'    --
(a)"'          '                       lay'?
-           (i)'
Fab'           -i
tri'
Give Fabius a triumph for his delay?
RISING OcTAYE.-HRath a dog money?
PARTIAL INTERROGATION.Brother, good day! what means this armed guard
That waits upon your grace?
SEMITONE AND TREMOR.
Pit-y the       rows of ap-o-o-r
sor-                   o-l-d--    (d)man'.
O 6BANquo, 6BANquo,
Our Royal master's m-u-r-der'-d.
DOWNWARD OCTAVE.
So frown'd the mighty combatants that HELL
Grew darker at their frown.
DOWNWARD FIFTH.
(Concrete) used for emphasis.
i
(e)
ms,
ee-       mad----am,         it    ---
S-                          nay
Downward 5th on 5 Hence, horrible shadow,
each syllable.  Unreal mockery, hence.
5





98


VOICE AND ACTION.
GOTA YES.
(e)-ho,
(e)    -
ileig-h     (oo) 1


D)OWNWARD FIFTII.-(Discrete.)


h'  (grave surprise.)
says'       wasp


Bru'

yetI


Iti ous
5tus'
DOWNWARD THIRD (Goncrete.)
bra'but' the'        None"       the'
None'           brave'!        but'                 Ye' I
No%--Ye,
-  but'                   de'-serve
nd   the' bra'                    the'
fa 1r.
Another Examnple.-(Discrete.)
(lieginning of -the prepared cadence.)
E'-dea'         their'     i'-taThrough'                      sol'-        ryl
Otook'                    wayý
WAVES.
(Eligher intervals seldomn used..)
EQUA&L WAVE OF THE SEcoN.-(Use4 on an average,7 in the
loftiest description, on three syllables in ten. If used oftener
drawling is the result.)


gf b on' a' thr-  n e' of rl/>   stadI'l-  _,jal'


Which f-  r


Out'-sh-      ne                        inns' and' of' 1-nh
the.' wealth' of 0-  r-             I-  d,
(er-)





WAVES OF THE SECOND.


99


(eh
Or' whe- re
the'


r~o
g- r-geous
East' with'


ric est' - nd
rich'-est' hi- nd


o,-        bar'-ic' p- rl and' go'Sh- w-     ers' on' her' K- ngs bar'-                  1<',
alt'
Sa'-      ex'-                ed'
sat.'
tan
(Another example of the same.)
o/ say'-                 be'      k' he'              gh'
S'-       i'--    a' no'-     stro'-     lift'-   ed' hi'ng,'
with' t'hu'-        but' so' swiftg       em'-pest' fell',
Which'      ng not',
r(o)-.ý     (ou--
O--n       pr-   d          Sa'--             no'   ght,'
the'        crest' of'       tan,' that'  si'tion' of'     thought', le'Nor' mo'--           swift'           ss' could' his' riesh-  ld,
ch'
Su'-     fu-N           in' in'--
r-   (oo)-                ter'
cept.
Some are not content with the beautiful simple melody of
speech with an occasional wave or slide of the octave, fifth and
third; but must continually deal out the higher intervals exclusively, thus allowing no repose to the ear and producing a most
disagreeable drawling, and monotonous delivery.
Even in the loftiest and most imaginative styles of language,
the simple rise and fall of the voice greatly preponderates: and
the other intervals are applied occasionally to syllables, and are
thus diffused through sentences.
Proper pausing is better than the immoderate use of the
wave and slide.





100


VOICE AND ACTION.


TIME.
Rapid.-Moderate.-Slow.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9,10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20.
1 2 3 4     1 2   1 2 1 2 3 4       1  2  3
a, a, a, a. e, e. i, i. o, o, o, o. u, u, u. oi,-ou.
Even in quick time, seem to be rapid, but not so quick as to
make the hearer lose what he would gladly remember. He
then hears but forgets. Have the syllables abrupt, but yet
take sufficient time in reading the words to be well understood.
It requires great skill.
Take the utmost pains to have each sound distinct. In
slow time breathe deeply, make the sounds full and round,
and if there is any tendency to drawling, it will disappear.
QUICK.
Like adder darting from his coil,
Like wolf that dashes through the toil,
Like mountain-cat that guards her young,
Full at Fitz James's throat he sprung.
MODERATE.
There were light sounds of reveling. With music I come
from my balmy home. There is no breeze upon the lake.
The waves bound beneath me as a steed that knows his rider.
A vision of beauty appeared on the clouds. The bells he
jingled, and the whistle blew. Labor is but refreshment from
repose.
SLOW TIME-(GREAT QUANTITY).
O thou Eternal One, whose presence bright
All space doth occupy, all motion guide;
Being above all beings, mighty One!
Whom none can comprehend and none explore,
Who fill'st existence with thyself alone;
Being whom we call GOD, and know no more.





TIME-QUANTITY.


101


PRACTICE.
1. As quick as possible.-Quick as the lightning's flash that
illumines the night.
2. Very quick.-Charge for the golden lilies, now, upon them
with the lance.
3. Quick.-Hurrah! the foes are moving.
4. Rather Quick.-Wild winds and mad waves drive the vessel
a-wreck.
5. MEDIUM TIME.-What stronger breast-plate than a heart
untainted.
6. Rather slow.-Slowly and sadly we laid him down.
7. Slow.-The bell strikes one I we take no note of time, but
from its loss.
8. Very slow.-Which like a wounded snake drags its slow
length along.
9. The slowest time.-Slow tolls the village clock the drowsy
hour.
Then with Aspiration, the Tremor, and the Semitone, Force
and Pitch.
a, a, a, a, a.  a-e.  a-e.  a- e.  a       e. a-   -   e.
a                   e.     a.                           e.
(a)
a                                                       e.
Now turn to some selection in the latter part of the book,
and for practice, read first very slowly, then read the same
piece in moderate time, and then just as fast as is possible to
read and be distinct.
The power of su8sending the voice at pleasure, is one of
the most useful attainments in the art of speaking. It enables
the orator to pause as long as he chooses and still keep his
hearers in expectation of what is to follow. When well done,
the effects are wonderful.
The speaker can take advantage of the pauses to inhale
imperceptibly a copious supply of air, and collect his ideas.
The pauses relieve the ear from the incessant flow of sound,
and animate the meaning; they also divide and enforce the
harmony of language.





102


VOICE AND ACTION.


RULES FOR PAUSING
1. The nominative phrase.
2. The objective phrase in an inverted sentence.
8. The emphatic word or clause of force.
S    4. Each member of a sentence.
5. The noun when followed by an adjective.
6. Words in apposition.
7. The infinitive mood.
8. Prepositions (generally).
S     9. Relative Pronouns.
S 10. Conjunctions.
M    11. Adverbs (generally).
12. An Ellipsis.
GENERAL RULE.
Pause after every two or three words, and at the end of
every line in poetry. Pauses are not breaks, they simply suspend the sense. They are short in rapid, long in slow reading.
EXAMPLEs.-The passions8 of mankind' frequently3 blind
them.
With famine 0 and death2 the destroying angel came.
He exhibits4 now and then4 remarkable genius.
He was a man5 contented.
The morn' was clear12 the eve' was clouded.
It is prudent' in every man7 to make early provision
Sagainst the wants of age ' and the chances' of accident.
Nations" like men' fail3 in nothing9 which they boldly
attempt" when sustained8 by virtuous purpose10 and firm
resolution.-H. Clay.
A people'2 once enslaved' may groan'2 ages8 in bondage.
Their diadems'2 crowns8 of glory.
They cried3 "Death to the traitors!"
NOTE.-Never pause between the verb and its objective
case, in a direct sentence, unless other words intervene.
THE MIDDLE PAUSE.-So called because it most frequently
occurs in the middle of a: entence.
EXAMPLE.-Trese3 are the men+to whom++arrayeds in
all tle terrors' of Government+I would say+ +you shall not
degrade us' into brutes.-Burke.





PAUSING.


103


MARCO BOZZARIS.
At midnight+in his guarded+tent,
The Turk+lay+dreaming+of the hour+
When Greece, her knee+in suppliance+bent,
Should tremble+at his power;
In dreams, through camp+and court, he bore+
The trophies+of a conqueror;
In dreams, +his song + of triumph + heard;
Then wore+his monarch's+ signet-ring;
Then pressed+ that monarch's+ throne -a king;
As wild+his thoughts, and gay+of wing,
As Eden's+garden bird.
An hour+passed on,-the Turk+awoke;
That bright+dream+ was +his last;
He woke-to hear+his sentry's+ shriek,
" To arms! they come! the Greek! the Greek I"
He woke-to die + midst flame + and smoke,
And shout+and groan+and sabre-stroke,+
And death-shots +falling+thick+ and fast+
As lightnings +from +the mountain-cloud;
And heard, with voice+as trumpet+loud,
Bozzaris+cheer+his band:
" STRIKE-till+ the last+ aTrmed+foe+expires;
STRIKE-for your altlars+and your fires;
STRIKE-f-Jor the green+graves+of  your sire8;
GoD,-and your native+lcnd!"
They fought+like brave men, long+and well;
They piled+that ground+with Moslem slain;
They conquered,-but Bozzaris+fell,
Bleeding+at every+vein.
His few+surviving+comrades+saw+
His smile, when rang+their proud+hurrah,
And+the red field+was won;
Then saw+in death+his eyelids +close+
Calmly+as+to a night's+repose,
Like flowers+at set+of sun.





104


VOICE AND ACTION.


RIYTIIMUS OF SPEECH. (STEELE.)
+ It is I now Isix-teen or  seven-teen I years I + since I i
saw the I queen of j France,+  then the I Dau-phi-ness, + at
Ver- I sailles: I + +  + and j sure-ly  nev-er I light-ed I + on
this I orb,  + which site I hard-ly I seemed to I touch, +  + a I
more de- j light-ful vis-ion. I +  I + +  + I I saw her I just
a- I bove the ho- ri-zon,  + + I dec-o-  + rat-ing I + and I
cheer-ing I + the  el-e-vat-ed j sphere I + she I just be- gan
to I move in:  + + I glit-ter-ing  + like the I morn-ing j star:
S+ + I full of j life, +  + and  splen-dor, I + and I joy. I
Oh! I what a I rev-o-  lu-tion  j + +   + and   what a
heart +   must I   have, j + to con- I tem-plate j + without e-    mo-tion,   that +    +   el-e- j va-tion j + and
that + I fail. I
+  In the I sec-ond I cent-u-ry I +  of the I Cirist-ian
e-ra I + the I em-pire of I Rome  + com-pre- I hend-ed the
fair-est j part of the I earth +  + and the    most + I civil-ized I por-tioh  + of man- I kind.
EXPRESSION.-STYLES.
Soft and Delicate.-The swan's sweetest song is the last he
sings.
Brilliant, Sparkling.--Lnst came Joy's ecstatic trial.
Fierce, Yehemnent.-Strike! till the last armed foe expires.
Spirited.-Again to the battle, Achaians!
QUALITY.-TONES OF VOICE.
NATURAL, or
SPURpE.--(high.)
Cheerfulness.-When cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue.
Joy.-Rejoice such tidings good to hear!
Pathos.--Ah! poor soldier! Ah! fond mother, you are sever'd now, for aye!
Love.-The loyal winds that loved it well.
Solemnity.-(at times.)-There is a world where there falls no
blight.
Sorrow.-Kindred, friends! and have I lost you all.





EXPRESSION.


105


OROTUND.
Pathos.-And is this all that remains of Hamilton?
Solemnity.-Its solemn tones are ringing in my ear.
Joy.-(when dignified.)-Earth with her thousand voices calls
on God.
FALSETTE.-(rarely used.)
Terror.-Help! help I mercy, oh! save me I
ASPIRATION.-(half vocally.)
Wonder.-Sir Richard, what think you, have you beheld it?
Amazement.-Gone to be friends?     Thou hast mis-spoke,
mis-heard!
Excess of Anger.-Alive in triumph? and Mercutio slain?
Revenge.-If he 'scape, Heaven forgive him too I
Fear.-Angels and ministers of grace defend us!
(Pure aspiration.)
Terror.--I've done the deed--did'st thou not hear a noise?
Haste.--IIste me to know it, that I may swoop to my
revenge.
Remorse.-I am alone the villain of the earth, and feel I am
so most.
Despair.-Comb down his hair, look! look! it stands upright.
GUTTURAL..
Contempt.-Get thee gone, before I learn the worst..Malice.-How like a fawning publican he looks.
Impatience.-He is my bane, I cannot bear him.
tate.-When forth you walk, may the sun strike you with
livid plagues.
Loathing.-I loathe ye with my bosom, I scorn you with mine
eye.
GROUPING OF SPEECH AND EMPHASIS.
EMPHASIS, is the whole life of expression. Try the supposed word or words, and fill in other words until satisfied as
to which are emphatic.
5*





106


VOICE AND ACTION.


Examples of GROUPING with emphatic words.-Art thou
that traitor angel, art thou he who first broke p-ea-ce-in
heaven, andf-ai-th-till then unbroken?
Say first, for H-EA-v-EN,-hides nothing from thy view
nor the deep tract of HELL.
Having the wisdom tofore-s-ee-he took measures to prevent-the dis-as-ter.
After he was so fortunate as to save himself FR-o-M-he
took es-pecial care, never to fall again into-THE-POLLUTED
-STREAM-OF-AMBITION.
Blew an inspiring ai-r-that dale and thicket ru-ng--
The hunter's c-a-ll,-to Faun and Dryad known.
Then wh-en-I am thy cap-tive-talk of chains.
For soon expect to feel
His thun-der on thy head, de-vour-ing fire,
Then, who cre-dted thee lamenting learn,
When who can un-create thee thou shalt know.
INCENTIVES TO DEVOTION.
Lo! the un-lett-ered (HIND), who never knew
To raise his mind ex-cursive to the hight
Of abstract contem-plation, AS HE SITS
On the green hillock by the hedge-row side,
What time the insect swarms are murmuring,
AND MARKS, in silent thought, the broken CLOUDS,
THAT FRINGE, with loveliest hue, the evening SKY,
(FEELS) in his soul the HAND of NATURE ROUSE
The THRILL of GRATITUDE, to him WHO FORMED
The goodly PROSPECT; he beholds the God
Throned in the west: and his reposing ear
Hears sounds angelic in the fitful breeze
That floats through neighboring copse or fairy brake,
Or lingers playful, on the haunted stream.
*      *      *      *      *      *      *
And shall it e'er be said, that a poor (HIND,)
Nursed in the lap of ignorance, and bred
In want and labor, (GLOWS). with noble zeal





INTONATION.


107


To LAUD his Maker's ATTRIBUTES, while (HE)
Whom starry science in her cradle rocked,
(CLOSES) his EYE upon the holy word,
AND, blind to ALL but arrogance and pride,
(DARES) to declare his INFIDELITY,
And o-PeN-LY CONTEMN the Lord of Hosts I
Emphatic syllables diffuse the expression through entire
sentences. See the following EXAMPLE:Par-don me, thou bleed-ing piece of earth.
INTONATION.
Intonation is the act of sounding syllables, and resembles
the strokes given to the notes of a piano by a performer.
It is the vocalized body of the syllable.
ODE ON ART.
(Voice suspended at the long dashes as if going on to the
next word.)
WH-EN,--  from the sa-cred gar-den driven,
Man---f-ed be-fore his Ma-ker's wra-th,---
An angel-le-ft-her place in heav-en,An-d crossed the wan-der-er's sun-less path.
'Twas-AE T! sweet ART! new ra-di-ance brokeWhere-her-light-foot flew o'er the ground:And-thus-with ser-aph-voice she spoke,Th-e c-urse-  a-bless-ing shall befou-nd.
*      *      *      *      *     *      *
He-plu-cks the PEAR-L---that stud the dee-p,Ad-mir-ing BEAUTY'S LAP to fi-ll:He breaks the stubborn mar-ble's sleep,And mo-cks his own crea-tor's skill.
With THOUGHTS that swell his glowing sou-l,--
He BIDS the ore ill-ume the page,AND proud-ly scorn-ing Time's con-trol,CoM-MER-OES with an un-born a-ge.





108


VOICE AND ACTION.


Infields of air HE WRITES his na-me,And TREADS the cham-bers of the sky;
HE REA-DS the stars, and GRASPS the flame--
That quivers round the throne on high.
In wa-r--re-nowned, in peace-sub-lime,HE MO-VES in great-ne.s and in gra-ce,His POW-ER sub-du-ing spa-ce and ti-me,LINKs r-ea-lm to r-ea-lm, and race to RACE.
REMAEn.-Some syllables are more capable than others of
receiving what may be termed Expressive Intonation; but the
degree and quality of this intonation is relative. It depends
for its application entirely upon the style of the language in
which such words may be used, whether grave or gay, lively
or severe.
Any one will see that if any of the few selected were given
in serious discourse they would have more weight, fullness and
character than in more simple language. The judgment must
be on the alert, and carefully observe the relation of these and
similar words to the rest of the language where they may
occur.
Pow-erful  Large      Broad     JIass-ive   Sad-ly
Ter-rible  Pos-itive  Slow-ly  UBrill-iant iSub-lime
Beau-tiful  Daz-zling  Tig-er    Lord-ly   In-nocent
Mon-strous Pret-tily   Beast     Meek-ly   IHor-rible
Ang-rily   Joy-ous    Dove      Spark-ling  Glo-rious
Grasp-ing  Peev-ish   Ea gle    Scorn-ful  Burst-ing
Ener-get-ic Firm-ly    Man      Aw-ful      Mag-nificent
GESTURE.-POSITION.
Gesture is rather subordinate to vocality, but yet welltimed, discriminating movements add much vigor and expression to the language.  All gestures should be flowing,
graceful; well out from the shoulders, not from the elbows.
The arms should be lifted boldly, not mincingly.  Do not
push them out in angles, but lift them out in curves.
PosITION.-Stand  erect, shoulders thrown well back.
Brace one foot firmly to the floor, the other only lightly
touching. When standing in the ordinary position, have the





ACTION- GESTURE.


109


feet moderately apart, the foot in front at an angle of fortyfive degrees from the other, at a distance of about four to six
inches, sufficient to feel firm and solid. When walking on the
stage do not mincingly bend the knees, nor stride; but take
the mean between these extremes, by gracefully lifting the
lower limbs sideways, with the toes turned out.
The following six gestures are designed more particularly
for pupils of classes personally taught by Mr. Frobisher; the
exercises after these for all persons. [NOTE.-Make the hands
feel heavy while practising.]
1st EXERcISE.-Arms out in front, horizontally, palms
touching; swing back and forth with firmness.
2d EXERISE.-Arins down at side; swing above the head
and down again rapidly, a number of times. These exercises
give firmness to the arms.
1st GEsTURE.-Hands curved naturally, and down by the
side; out in front; curving the arms, carry out to side; turn
hands over and down to side.
2d GESTURE.-Hlands from sides across the body, forefingers touching; raise hands and arms vertically; turn
palns of hands up; carry hands out; turn over; down to
side.
3d GESTURE.-Crook hands at sides; push boldly out in
front; lift hands and arms perpendicularly; let hands fall
back; push forward; out to extreme; turn over; down to
side.
4th GESTURE.--Curve arms over to the breast like two
circles; turn the face to one side, hands to the other; alternate the action a number of times.
5th GESTURE.-Hands to sides, poinminr downward; raise
out to shoulders; arms and hands to top of tile heal1, turning
the backs of the hands to head; point out; alternate in this
way till the movement becomes easy.
6th GESTURE.-Hands from side lifted out straight, level
with the shoulders; palms down; hands brought in; right
hand across the left; the left brought over the right; turn
backs of the hands to the body, and push out boldly; turn
the hands over; hands down to the side.
[NOTE.-Hands at side when not used in gesticulating.]





110


VOICE AND ACTION.


3d ExERcisE.-Hands and arms out horizontally to the
shoulders; clinch the hands, projecting the thumbs; turn
the thumbs under as far as possible; rapidly twist the hands
and arms.
4th EXERCISE.-Hands and arms up perpendicular from
the sides, above the head; clinch the hands, the thumbs projecting; twist the hands and arms rapidly.
5th ExERCISE.-Manipulate the fingers and wrists to make
them flexible and graceful in movement. Perpendicular, prone
and supine, and horizontal, inward and outward.)
EXERCISES.
a, e, i, o, u, oi, on. Ba! be! bi! bo! bu! boi! bou    1,
2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20.
First Gesture.-" Friends, Romans, countrymen."
" Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean 1"
Second.-" 0   Heaven! " he cried, " my      bleeding country
save! "
" All hail, thou lovely queen of night! "
Third.-" Oh, forbid it, Heaven I "
' To tell thee how I hate thy beams, O Sun "
Fourth.-" I scorn such an action."
" I warn you, do not dare to pass it."
Fifth.-" An honest man, my neighbor, there he stands."
"'T was you that took it."
Sixth.-"- He woke to die 'midst flame and smoke."
" Round me the smoke and shout of battle roll."
NOTE.-Grief, Doubt, Shame and the darker emotions require a downward
action and gesture, with the hands prone. Expressions of Joy, Hope and the
lighter passions have an upward action, with the hands supine. Nearness of
objects has a supine position of the hands; distance of objects has a prone,
somewhat elevated, horizontal direction of gesture. A reference to Liberty and
expressions of triumph have a high, bold, sweeping style of action and gesture.





ACTION AND GESTURE.
ACTION.-GESTURE.
(FROM AUSTIN'S HIRONOMIA.)


111


FINGERS.
n. natural
c. clinch'd (fist)
x. extended
i. index
1. collected (to thumb)
h. holding (object)
w. hollowed up
m. thumb up
g. grasping
PALM.
p. prone
s. supine
n. inward (to body)
o outward
v. vertical
f. forward
b. backward
ARMS.
d. downward
h. horizontal
e. elevated
Z. zenith
R. rest.
ARMS TRANSVERSE.
c. across
f. forward
q. oblique
x. extended
b. backward


MOTION.
x. extreme
c. contracted
m. moderate
DIRECTION.
a. ascends
d. descends
r. right
1. left
f. forward
b. backward
v.revolve
i. inward
o. outward
MANNER.
n. noting
p. project
w. wave
fl. flourish
sw. sweep
bk. beckon
rp. repress
ad. advance
sp. spring
st. strike
pr. press
rt. retract
rj. reject
bn. bend
rc. recoil
sh. shake


th. throw
cl. clinch
11. collect
FACE.
I. incline
E. erect
As. assent
Dn. deny
Sh. shake
STs. toss
S. aside
F. forward
A. avert
D. down
U. up
R. around
V. vacancy
B. back.
FEET.
(Below line.)
R. 1. right 1st
R. 2. right 2d
L. 1. left 1st
L. 2. left 2d
R. F. right front,
L. F. left front.
K. kneeling
S. aside
x. extended
m. x. moderate
x. x. extreme
C. contracted.





112


VOICE ANI) ACTION.


STEPS.
a. advance
r. retire
tr. traverse
c. across
s. start
sp. stamp
sk. shock
HANDS.
(placed.)
E. eyes
N. nose
L. lips
F. forehead
0. clhin
br. breast


FINGERS OF BOTH
HANDS.
ap. applied
lp. clasped
cr. crossed
Id. folded
in. inclosed
wr. wrung
tc. touching
nu. enumerate.
BOTH ARMS.
en. encumbered
pd. reposed
km. akimbo
B. both (precedes)


MARGIN AL.
Ap. appealing
At. attention
Vn. veneration
Ls. listening
Lm. lamenting
Dp. deprecating
Pr. pride
Sh. shame
Av. aversion
Cm. commanding
Ad. admiration
Hr. horror
Gr. grief
Fr. fear
En. encouraging;
&c., &c., &c.


POSITIONS OF THE FEET.
R. 1.-The Right foot is in front, with the leg slightly bent
at the knee, while the body rests mainly on the left.
R. 2.-The Right foot is advanced still further forward;
all the weight of the body is brought on it, while the left
slightly touches the floor, only on one side of it, in the rear of
the other.
L. 1. and L. 2. are simply changes of the feet, using the left
instead of the right. They are merely reverse positions.
EXPLANATIONS OF THE MOST DIFFICULT.
FINGERs.-Extended--Widely parted from each other.
ARMS.--Wave-The hand is waved out from       the opposite
shoulder, across the body, and outstretched to thefull
length of the arm.
Flourish--Is similar to the motion made around the
head when one is hurrahing.
Sweep-Is similar to the wave, except the motion
is carried down toward the knee to full extent, and
swept out high in the air, far from the body.





IOTATTION OF GESTURE.


113


Repressing-Is lifting up the hand above shoulder
and then pushing palm downward toward the earth.
Striking-Is similar to repressing, except the latter
has a percussive, while the former has a steady
motion.
AnMs REPOSE-Is simply one lying above the other without
entwining.
RECOILING-After the stroke the hand returns.
SPRING-Complete the action with a spring.
THRoWING-Throwing the gesture.
LETTERS.
First set is for the Right hand and arm. Second is for the
Left, preceded by a dash when it follows the first. A long
dash denotes change of gesture at the letter. Small dots mean
to change hands, but not to drop except at periods. Capital letters at the commencement denote posture of the head and eyes.
Letters below the line indicate a change of the feet at the
word.
EXERCISES.
(The Gestures in these may seem too numerous. They are
intended merely for practice.)
SATAN TO HIS LEGIONS.
veq-phx    B veq
Princes, potentates,
R. 2.
B seq                B veq-   -    a  vdq-vdo
Warriors, the flower of heaven! once yours, now lost,
R 1.
B sdq veq-phx
If such astonishment as this can seize
R2
shf-sdx                   B sdf
Eternal spirits; or have ye chosen this place,
B phf----
After the toil of battle, to repose,
-q
_____________- --     -q
Your wearied virtue for the ease you find
seq-shx
To slumber here, as in the vales of heav'n?
R1
vdc-vdq               veq-phx
Or in this abject posture have you sworn
rL1                    L. 2





114              VOICE AND ACTION.
B veq
T' adore the Conqueror? who now beholds
aR2
vhc sw-phx
Cherub and seraph rolling in the flood,
R1
B vec B phx
With scattered arms and ensigns, till anon
R2
B seq        B veq
His swift pursuers from heav'n's gates discern
R1          R2
B sdq
Th' advantage, and descending, tread us down,
ceq-cdx
Thus drooping, or with linked thunderbolts
cdf-cdb
Transfix us to the bottom of this gulf?
veq-phx B veq     B sdq  B R
Awake, arise, or be forever fall'n I
R1
GRAY'S ELEGY.
Ls veq -vhx      a---Bpef---d
The curfew tolls-the knell of parting day!
aR2
F          phf           q          x
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea;
rR1..  -phf-----q               Bveq
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
V        Bnef---d---     ---BR
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
R Bph--           --q               -x
Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
B vef-----q
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
iec-----------q
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
vef rt  phf p   R
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds:
aR2
-leq n
Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower
R1





ACTION AND GESTURE.                115
-veq        U -seb
The moping owl does to the moon complain
rL1
-shq
Of such as, wandering near her secret bower,
-veq--p
Molest her ancient, solitary reign.
shf n.....-shf n
Beneath those rugged elms, that yew tree's shade,
B bdf a -     --vhf
Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap,
D      a--      B nef sp--
Each  in  his narrow   cell for ever laid,
F B phf--           --d       BR.
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.
shf                veq w
The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,
rR1
ieq---a -n- --n
The swallow, twitt'ring from the straw-built shed,
idq                     veq w
The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,
a-   --Bnef sp               B sdfd
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.
aR2
shf
For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
rRl
vhf
Or busy housewife ply her evening care,
Bshfp
Nor children run to lisp their sire's return,
aR2
B nef a  D              B shf n
Or climb his knees, the envied kiss to share.
rR1
phe --------q
Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield;
sdf st
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke;
sec sw        --          ---phq sp
How jocund did they drive their team afield!
ceb bn -chf st
How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!





116               VOICE AND ACTION.
ief---     ---hf n
Let not ambition mock their useful toil,
rLl
pef-----pdf d
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;
oec-    -q rj
Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile,
rR1
a    ---vef--------d----    R
The short and simple annals of the poor.
vef sp              ief fl
The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r,
aR2
Bshfp------q
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Bvhq sh
Await, alike the inevitable hourrR1
a------vef-a-      -d     sdq n R
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
aR2
B phc-  -q       a----   shf n
Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault,
rL1
veq w
If mem'ry o'er their tomb no trophies raise,
L2
vhf p               se----
Where, thro' the long-drawn aisle, and fretted vault,
a-B nef---a--d--B R
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.
ihf....... --vhq n
Can storied urn, or animated bust,
rRl
n -----BL t               oq
Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath I
a-----veq--d sdf R
Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust,
aR2
B shf sh         a-vef ----    vdf p
Or flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of death I
idf---n
Perhaps in this neglected spot, is laid
rR1
br R                   veq w
Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire;





ACTION AND GESTURE.


117


B nef-------B shf st
Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd,
pec sw           veq sw
Or wak'd to ecstasy the living lyre.
shf d--  q
But knowledge to their eyes her ample page,
phc-                     x
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll;
B vhf rt------rp--q
Chill penury repress'd their noble rage,
Bvhqc           Bnhf p       Bbr
And froze the genial current of the soul.
ihf
Full many a gem of purest ray serene,
a--B pdf d----q
The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear;
aR2
shq-p
Full many a flow'r is born to blush unseen,
phc-----q-          -x
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.
vef                       br-R
Some village Hampden that, with dauntless breast,
rL1
ihf                veq w
The little tyrant of his fields withstood;
a--B nef-d--          B sdf
Some mute, inglorious Milton, here may rest;
aR2
Bvbf rt-p        A    B vhc ----x
Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood.
rR1
B shf p----q ------x
The applause of listening senates to command,
phf p-   a        a-   -vef-rj
The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
B phc---q----     B vbx sp
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,
B she--   q           x
And read their history in a nation's eyes,
phfst R phc------q--
Their lot forbade-nor circumscrib'd alone
---                         B vhf rt
Their growing virtues; but their crimes confin'd,





118               VOICE AND ACTION.
B bdfad        vf-----      eb
Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne,
B vhf p---------a------d-B
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind.
THE MISER AND PLUTUS.
R B vhfr---  q              peqn-pdq
The wind was high-the window shakes;
a R2
veqc- vhx o
With sudden start the miser wakes!
sRlx
F       pdc ad------pbq
Along the silent room he stalks;
aR2
B   vhx-vhq c B vhftr
Looks back, and trembles as he walks!
sRIx
vhq-.......-vhx
Each lock, and ev'ry bolt he tries,
aL2
shq o-.. --she i
In ev'ry creek, and corner, pries;
aR2
B pdq-----n
Then opes his chest with treasure stor'd,
D            B seq
And stands in rapture o'er his hoard;
R2
B vhf c
But now with sudden qualnms possest,
rR1
Id hf----a-----d br
He wrings his hands; he beats his breastg br-....... --veq
By conscience stung he wildly stares;
B shfsh
And thus his guilty soul declares;
B sdfd--- n
Had the deep earth her stores confin'd,
aR2
br R
This heart had known sweet peace of mind;
R1
vhf-vhx U Befsp----a
But virtue's sold I Good Gods what price
a  2
F R
Can recompense the pangs of vice?





ACTION AND GESTURE.                  119
D     Bsdfd-           n
O bane of good  seducing cheat!
rRI
B vhf-vef              sh f st-sdq
Can man, weak man, thy power defeat?
seb sw-sdq
Gold banish'd honour from the mind,
rL1
br R
And only left the name behind;
B ph3---x
Gold sow'd the world with every ill;
ceb sh---cdq
Gold taught the murd'rer's sword to kill:
Llx
shf sh-sdq
'Twas gold instructed cowa d hearts
aR2x
B vhf rj
In treach'ry's more pernicious arts.
rR1
seq-sdq
Who can recount the mischiefs o'er?
R2
B pdf d
Virtue resides on earth no more!
BRUTUS ON TIE DEATH OF CESAR.
B shfp---q---           vex sp  B nef        B shf st
Romans, countrymen, and lovers! hear me for my cause;
aR2                     rR1
pef-phx         phf st  R   B shf p
and be silent that you may hear. Believe me for mine
aR2
br R            br pr-veq sp                      B shf n
honour; and have respect unto mine honour that you may
D B pef           B nhx       B vef sp
believe. Censure me in your wisdom; and awake your senses
rRl
B shf n         B she- x---
that you may the better judge. If there be any in this asaR2
------------   -        sdf d    vef sp          br R
sembly, any dear friend of Casar's, to him I say that Brutus'
rR1
shf st             ief------
love to Casar, was no less than his. If, then, that friend de-n     veq                          B shf p- -q
mand why Brutus rose against COasar, this is my answer: not





120               VOICE AND ACTION.
nef   shf st                   B veq w
that I loved Cesar less, but that I loved Rome more. Had
shf p              peq sp            phf st
you rather OCesar were living, and die all slaves, than that
rL1
B shf st          B nhx              sef
Casar were dead, and live all freemen? As Cossar loved me,
aR2
E-R                      veq w       br
I weep for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he
rL1
veq--vhq  B sdf d                   cef      chf st
was valiant, I honour him; but, as he was ambitious, I slew
L2      aR2
D      B nef      shfd Ubr R     veq w  D Bpef
him. There are tears for his love, joy for his fortune, honour
rR1
B veq sp  ceb        chf sh BR    shf         p
for his valor, and death for his ambition. Who's here so base
rL1                         aR2
ohc--          x rj         pef   pdf st   ihf re
that would be a bondman? If any, speak; for him have I
R                  phc-                     x
offended. Who's here so rude that would not be a Roman?
rR1
shf-  n        vef sp
If any, speak; for him have I offended.  Who's here so
B vhfp                    B veq w            B shf n  A
vile that will not love his country?  If any, speak; for
rL1
B vhf sh                 BR                veq w
him have I offended. I pause for a reply. None    Then
she sw                                           shf n
none have I offended. I have done no more to Cesar,
aR2
nef             br--R         a    -----    ihfn
than you should do to Brutus. The question of his death
rL1
a----ieb n                            phf d---
is enrolled in the Capitol; his glory not extenuated where-----                       ihf      vef sp
in he was worthy; nor his offences enforced, for which
a--------phf st         B     --ihb... she  F she-shb
he suffered death. Here comes his body, mourned by Mark
rR1
n                                       shf R
Antony, who, though he had no hand in his death, shall re




ACTION AND GESTURE.


121


nef                shfn
ceive the benefit of his dying,-a place in the commonwealth;
B shc-q------ ---              B nef---- R
as which of you shall not. With this, I depart: that, as I
aR2                                rR1
cef                        B shf n
slew my best lover for the good of Rome, I have the same
rL 1
chf sh   br st R               a---     -B pef-----Jdagger for myself, when it shall please my country to need
rR1
-   BR st.
my death.
FROM YOUNG'S NIGHT THOUGHTS.
U        vef n  F                Bnef
The bell strikes one. We take no note of time
aR2                    rRl
B shf st        U     ief
But from its loss: to give it then a tongue
shf n             V B phq
Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke,
UT br R                        ihf
I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright
--ief-----idq--R st
It is the knell of my departed hours.
R B vhc---q               rt--- B vhf p
Where are they? With the years beyond the flood.
V       ieq                phf st
It is the signal that demands despatch:
B phf x                B vqq-  -a
How much is to be done! My hopes, and fears
-sp                  a               Z
Start up alarmed, and o'er life's narrow verge
aR2
D            B phf st  B nef sp- --
Look down-on what? A fathomless abyss,
rR1
--B vef p-a--B R st
A dread eternity! how surely mine,
vef            br...
And can eternity belong to me,. -vef            B nef----    B R
Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour?
U    nef c F  shfst A  ohc-vhfo F B veqw
How poor, how rich, how abject, how august,
6





122


VOICE AND ACTION.


B vhc-----x
How complicate, how wonderful is man!
U             a----   vef sp-d      BR
How passing wonder He who made him such!
B to br-----B nhx sp
Who center'd in our make such strange extremes
B vhc----------q
From different natures, marvellously mix'd,
B nefrt---pef p---q
Connexion exquisite of distant worlds!
shf p----        --------nef sp
Distinguish'd link in being's endless chain I
idf n   -------i Z
Midway from nothing to the Deity!
U     shf    vhf--        vef
A beam ethereal, sullied, and absorpt!
d----phf st---a--vef sp-vhx
Though sullied, and dishonor'd, still divine I
vhf c         U     veq w
Dim miniature of greatness absolute!
B nef---d------B sdf n
An heir of glory I a frail child of dust!
F B phf  UB veq sp    D ilf  U veq w
Helpless  immortal!    insect  infinite!
idf n U vefsp B shf sh-----
A worm! a God! I tremble at myself,
V     B br                vef br
And in myself am lost. At home, a stranger,
U F st-R-------------V vef sp-...-vhx sp
Thought wanders up and down, surpris'd, aghast,
V    B vhf sh                  B vec-  x
And wond'ring at her own. How reason reels!
vef      phfn   br R
0 what a miracle to man is man,
B vef w--      B R       vef sp      vhf sh
Triumphantly distress'd! what joy! what dread!
B shf p         B vhf rt
Alternately transported, and alarm'd!
rR1
B br                B vhc--x
What can preserve my life? or what destroy
a-----    ----nef sp     d--pdf n
An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave,
B veq w-------       B nef-- - B sdf st
Legions of angels can't confine me there.





THE PASSIONS.


STranquillity 1
Cheerfulness
Mirth
Delight
Joy-----------
Love      1
Desire     Pit
Grief    J
{ Sadness (silent)
Melancholy (settled)
j Hatred
Aversion   Fear
Sorrow     Fear
( SurDrise


Hope
Confidence (success of hope)
Courage
Boasting (exaggerated courage)
Pride-Obstinacy (dogged sourness)
Contempt
Scorn or Derision
STerror


Wonder
Admiration (approving)
SAnger-    'Peevishness (little)
Rage       Envy (moderate)
Fury       Malice (continued)
I Reproach (settled)
SRevenge (open)


Remorse
Complaining Vexation
SPerplexity
Irresolution
Anxiety
J]
1. Love
2. Fear
3. Suspicion
4. Hatred
5. Hope
6. Shame (sentiment)
7. Anxiety


( Sorrow
Despair---  Hopes
Distraction (Fears
SFatigue
Fainting
Death (ends all)
EALOTSY.
8. Grief
9. Envy
10. Pride
11. Rage
12. Revenge
13. Despair
14. Distraction
15. Madness and Death





124


VOICE AND ACTION.


SENTIMENTS.
Raillery, Sneering, Modesty, Submission, Shame, Authority,
Gravity, Inquiry, Teaching, Arguing, Admonition, Commanding, Forbidding, Denying. Affirming, Differing, Agreeing,
Judging, Reproving, Acquitting, Condemning, Pardoning, Dismissing, Refusing, Giving, Granting, Promising, Gratitude,
Curiosity, Respect, Exhorting, Commendation, Sickness, Persuading, Tempting, Affectation, Sloth, Intoxication, Dotage,
Folly, &c., &c.
1.-TRANQUILLITY.


Body-composed.
Face-open.
Forehead-smooth.


Eyebrows-arched.
Mouth-lightly shut.
Eyes-pass easily about.


2.-CHEERFULNESS.
(Adds a smile to tranquillity.)
Body-moves slightly.        I Voice-pure, high.
(See Collins' Ode.)
8.-MIRTI.


ead---thrown back.
Mouth-open.
Cheekcs-hi:h, dimple.
Nostrils--drawn up.


Eyes-nearly closed, tears
flow, twinkle.
Features-flushed.
Body-convulsed, hold sides,
shake.


4.-DELIGHT-JOY.


Face-open, smiles, glows.
Voice-pure, high.
Brows-raised.
Eyes-heavenward, full, lively, brisk, quick, glancing,
clear.
Voice-qaick, sweet, clear.


(When Violent.).Yostrils-expanded.
Hands-clapped, waved.
Body-springs exultingly.
(Extreme)-transport,    semidelirious, rapture, ecstacy,
folly, eyes strained to almost
wildness, sorrow, nearly
madness.





THE PASSIONS.


125


5.-LOVE.
Face-serene, smiles.           Hands-entreating, clasp to
Mouth-little open.               breast, declare; right hand
Eyes-languish, half shut.        to heart.
Body-all tenderness.           Forehead-smooth, enlarged.
Brows-arched.
Voice-pure, high, melting.
Remarks.-Longs to be agreeable; respectful, fears, dotes;
delicate complaining, tender reproach, reverent rapture; eager,
joyous, hesitating, confused, reposing, winning, soft, persuasive,,flattering, pathetic; if unsuccessful, anxiety and melancholy.
(See Romeo and Juliet, Shaks.)
6.-DESIRE.


Body-forward.
Legs-advance.
Arms-out to grasp.
Face-smiling.
Remarks.-Eager,
distress.)


Brows-raised.
Mouth-open.
Voice-lively, pure, suppliant,
high.
wistful, fluent, copious, (except sighs in


T.-GRIEF OP soRRow.


Countenance-dejected.
Ilead-Hung down.
Lips-swelled, quiver.
Eyes-down.
Arms-loose, sometimes little
raised, suddenly fall.
IIands-open, sometimes clasped, wrung.
Fingers-spread.
Voice-pure, high, or low,
plaintive, long sighs, weeps,
sometimes scarcely breathe,
interrupted.


(Excessive.)
Face-deadly pale.
Countenance-distorted.
(Ogony.)
Voice-loud, complaining,
even shrieks.
Hands-wrung, beat head and
breast, tear the hair.


Remarks.-Throws itself upon the ground and seems to border on phrensy; high pitch; silence; abrupt extremes; paroxysm, suffocation.





126


VOICE AND ACTION.


8.-SADNESS AND MELANCHOLY.
Lower Jaw-falls.           j Bemark.-habitual preying.
9.-PITY.
Voice-compassionate, tender. IHands-raise and fall.
Countenance-as in pain.      Brows-drawn    down, conMl outh-open.                  tracted.
Eyes-raise and fall mourn-   Features-together.
ingly.
Remarks.-Love for the object, grief for its sufferings.
10.-HnopE.
Countenance-up, bright, joy-  Body-bent forward.
ous.                       Head-raised.
Mouth-dimples into smiles.    Voice-plaintive, inclines to
Arms--spread.                  eagerness.
Hands-open as if to clasp.   Breath-strongly drawn    in
Eyes-bright, eager, wistful.   earnest anticipation.
Remark.-Desire and Joy.
11.-COURIAGE-CONFIDENCE.
Legs-firm, advance.           Voice-firm, even, strong,
Head-erect.                    clear, sonorous, full, bold;
Breast-projected.              accents round, sometimes
Lungs-inflated.                percussive in expression.
Hand-sometimes out.          Body-graceful, noble in
Nostrils-wide.                 mien.
Countenance-open, clear.
12.-BoAsamG.
Arms-akimbo.                 Face--red.
Fists-menace.                Mouth-pouts.
Feet-stamp.                  Eyes-stare.
Legs-stride.                  Voice-bombastic, hollow,
Head-back. (pride.)            loud.
Brows-down.
Remarks.-Exaggerated, blustering courage.-See Falstaff
in Shaks. Hen. IV.





ANALYSIS OF THE PASSIONS.


127


13.-PRIDE. (SELF-ESTEEM.)
Head-back, pompous.           Mouth-pouting.
Eyes-full, lofty. (anger.)    Lips-contracted.
Brows-(considerably) down.    Legs-distant, stately stride.
Hands-on hips.                 Voice-slow, stiff, bombastic,
Elbows-forward,                 important, with affectation.
14.-DOGGED SULLENNESS.
Obstinacy, contempt, scorn, disdain. (Very similar to pride.)
15.-HATRED.
Body-drawn back to avoid.     Lips-upper drawn up in disFace-turned away.               dain.
Eyes-angry, frown.             Voice-guttural, low, loud,
Brows--contracted.               harsh, unequal, chiding,
Teeth-set.                       surly, vehement, sentences
Hands-spread out to keep         short, abrupt, percussive.
off.
Remark.-Aversion-similar to Hatred.
16.-FEAR, TERROR, CONSTERNATION.


Brows-cpld sweat; high.
Eyes-wide, fixed, wildly
searching.
Mouth -wide.
Lips-convulsive.
Nose-shortened.
Cheek-with tremor.
Face-wild, deadly pale.
Throat-gulping and catching.
Body-shrinks, trembles to
fly.
Elbows-at sides.
Hands-open, lifted.
Fingers-spread up to breast
to shield.


Limbs-strained with anguish.
Feet-one back to start.
Neck- active.
Shoulders-moving.
Chest-elevated.
Heart-beats violently.
Breast-with spasms.
Steps-furtive.
Breath-quick, short, impeded, gasping.
Voice-feeble, husky, aspirated, explosive, tremulous.


Bemarks.-Fear with surprise, sentences short, incoherent.





128


VOICE AND ACTION.


17.-WONDER, SURPRISE, AMAZEMENT.
(Uncommon object suddenly seen.)
Eyes-open, prominent.         Hands-lifted as in Fear; if
Mouth-open.                     hold anything, let drop unBody-fixed, contracted,         consciously.
stooping.                   Voice-first low, but energetic
on each word: sometimes
aspirated.
18.-ADMIRATION.
-Mouth-open.                  Eyes-raised.
Tongue-seen.                  Face-smiles.
Teeth-lower edge seen.        Hands-lifted or clapped; exBrow-expanded, gently           tended.
raised.                     Voice-rapturous.
Remarks.-Sight enjoyed to utmost, all else forgotten; desire of excellence; if object come slowly and gently, (approbation and wonder.)
19.-REMORSE.-(Painful Remembrance.)
Countenance-cast down, clouded by anxiety, pale, turgid.
Head-hung down, shaken with regret.
Nostrils-inflated to utmost.
Brow-furrowed, knit.
Eyes-just raised as if to look up, suddenly down on ground;
unsteady; eye-balls strained, large; sometimes tears.
Voice-sighs; low, harsh.(Hatred,) reproachfil; (excess,) strong,
through teeth as in inward pain, aspirated.
Teeth-gnashed.               Hair-rises in the anguish
Lips-swell.                     of feeling.
Mouth-opens at the corners,   Body-writhes as if with self
tremblingly.                  aversion; every joint seems
Hands-The right beats the       to curse; knees sometimes
breast.                       bent, humble.
20.-VEXATION.-(Perplexity, Complaint, Fretting, Remorse.)





ANALYSIS OF THE PASSIONS.


129


21.-PERPLEXITY.
Body-collected asfor thought- Head-upon breast.
ful consideration.         Eyes-down.
Arms-on breast.              Lips-pursed together.
Hands-(at times) to eyes.    Mouth-shut.
REMARKS.-Quick, slow; pauses long; broken, uneven, suddenly altered, new discovery; then contemplating; restless;
walks about, talks to self, keeps half, expresses half.
22.-ANGER.


Head--strained.
Eyes-burn.
Teeth-gnash.
Brows-wrinkled.
Nose-large, heaves.
Mouth-open     (towards the
ears.)
Muscles-strained.
Veins-swollen.


Neck-stretched.
Head-forward.
Fists--clinched.
Feet-stamp.
Body-violent agitation.
Voice-strong, high,loud; (uncommon) low; (excess) aspiration; (violent) percussive.


REMARxs.-Sudden hatred, injury.
23.-RAGE AND FURY--Anger VERY HIGH, extinguishing
humanity.
24.-ENvY.-(Moderate Anger), PEEVISHNESS (little), REPROACH (settled), REVENGE (open).
25.-REPROACH.
Body--Aversion.             Voice-low.
Head--Shaken, abborringly.
REMARKS.-Casting censures in one's teeth
26.--REENGE.-Like MALICE, REMORSE, (more open) to
injure, triumph; loud, exulting.
6*





130


VOICE AND ACTION.
27.-MALICE.-(Spite.)


Jaws-set.
Teeth -gnash.
Fists-clinched.
Eyes-flash, blast..Mouth-stretched horizontally.


Elbows-bent, strained    to
body.
Voice-lower than anger.


REMARKS.-Watching to return injury.
28.-DESPAIR-Sorrow tossed by Hope and Fear (settled);
loss of all hope.


Forehead-clouded.
Eyes-roll frightfully, sometimes fixed; see nothing;
insensible.
Body-violently strained, agitated.
Browes-down.
Mouth-open, horizontally.
Lips-bite them.
Nose-widens.
Teeth-gnash.


Voice-groans; inward    torture; words few, sullen,
bitter, (sometimes and often
loud,) furious, in same note,
(excess,) aspirated.
Elbows-bent (at times).
Fists-clinched.
Muscles-swelled.
Veins-swelled.
Skin-livid.


REMARKS.-Too frightful to dwell on. Terrible warning;
(grand, terrific, not mean.)
29.-DISTRACTION- MADNESS.


Features--distorted, sharp.
Teeth-gnash, or set.
Skin--bound.
Mouth-foams, changes.
Lips-sometimes tight, then
relaxed into an unmeaning
smile; unharmonious expression of all the features.


Eyes-open frightfully, roll
hastily, wildly about; glaring.
Body-violently strained, rolls
in the dust.
Muscles-Strong, rigid.
Voice-hideous; bellows, execrates; fierce, outrageous.


REMARKS.-NO mental agony; utter wreck; rushes furiously on all, tears and destroys itself.





ANALYSIS OF THE PASSIONS.


131


30.-FATIGUE.
Body-languid, stoops.         Voice-weak; hardly artieuCountenance-dejected.          late to understand.
Arms-listless.
Legs-dragged heavily, seem
to bend.
81.-FAINTING.
Body-suddenly relaxed, un-   Eyes-grow dim, roll up (as
strung in all parts, drops.  insensible).
Face-color flies from cheek.
REMARKS.-Helpless, senseless.
32.-DEATH.-(Ends all.)
REMARKS.--Similar to fainting.-" To die-must feel its
awful shadow."
33.-VENERATION.


Head-little raised, most aprently timid, dread.
Eyes-lifted, cast down again,
closed.
Body--profound grav:ty, composed, one posture.
Knees-bending forward.
Hands-open.


Voice - Submissive,  timid,
equable, with tremor, weak,
supplicating; visible anxiety; humble, diffident, hesitating.
Brows-down respectfully.
Arms-out, up to breast.
Countenance--cheerful.


34.-JEALOUSY.
Love, Hate, Hope, Fear (Shame), Anxiety, Grief, Suspicion,
Pity, Envy, Pride, Rage, Cruelty, Revenge, Remorse, Despair,
Distraction, Madness, Death (all the Passions).
Countenance-lighted, cloud-     Eyes-Bloody, rolling, glare
ed, composed, &c., &c.          at times, or darting, furious.
Fists-clinched, at times.       Mouth-tense, lips retract.
Eyelids-lifted so as to almost  Arms-folded at times.
disappear.                    Brows-knit.
Body-hurrying, at times, or      Voice-piteous at times, or
quiet; restless, &c.            roaring.
Teeth--show.





13.2


VOICE AND ACTION.


REMA~RK.-Great misery, terrible passion, reflects on her
charms, then her deception, destroys both her and himself.
[See Shaks. Othello.]
REMARK.-Envy is sometimes considered small Jealousy.
EXAMPLES.
8. MIRTH.-[See Shalcspeare's Mercutio in Romeo and Juliet.]
"A fool, a fool I met a fool i' the forest.
A motley fool, a miserable varlet;
As I do live by food I met a fool,
Who laid him down and basked in the sun."
4. Joy. (Inexpressible madness.) [See Romeo and Juliet, and
Othello.]
"Imoinda, oh! this separation
Has made you dearer, if it can be so,
Than you were ever to me! You appear
Like a kind star to my benighted steps,
To guide me on to happiness."
4. (Approaching transports.)
"Oh! Joy, thou welcome stranger, twice three years,
I have not felt thy vital beam, but now
It warms my veins, and plays about my heart;
A fiery instinct lifts me from the ground,
And I could mount to the very stars with rapture."
5. LOVE.-(Romeo and Juliet).
Rom. "With love's light wings did.I o'erperch these walls;
For stony limits cannot hold love out:
And what love can do, that dares love attempt,
Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me."
Jul. " If they do see thee, they will murder thee."





EXAMPLES OF THE PASSIONS.


133


Rom. " Alack! there lies more peril in thine eye,
Than twenty of their swords; look thou but sweet,
And I am proof against their enmity."
9. PITY.
" Oh, rose of May,Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia I"
7.-GRIEF, SORROW. S (settled)-MELANCHOLY..        (Isilent)-SADNESS.
Seems, madam, nay it is; I know not seems.
'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,
Nor customary suits of solemn black,
Nor windy suspiration of forced breath,
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,
Together with all modes, forms, shows of grief,
That can denote me truly.
(Approaching distraction.)
Thou canst not speak of what thou dost not feel;
Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love,
An hour but married, Tybait murdered,
Doating like me, and like me banished,
Then thou mightst tear thy hair, *  *
And fall upon the ground as I do now.
(MVanly.)
0 now forever,
Farewell the tranquil mind; farewell content,
Farewell the plumed troop and the big war,
That make ambition virtue! 0 farew.ell!
Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump,
The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife,
The royal banner, and all quality,
Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war!
Farewell! Othello's occupation's gone.
10.-HOPE.
If I may trust the flattery of sleep,
My dreams presage some joyful news at hand;





134


VOICE AND ACTION.


My bosom's lord sits lightly on his throne;
And, all this day, an unaccustomed spirit
Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts.
11.-COURAGE.
Now, my brave lads-now we are free indeed;
I have a whole host in this single arm.
Death or liberty I we shall not leave a man of them alive.
12.-BOASTING.
Perhaps you flatter yourselves with an honorable death,
that you'll fight like men, and die like heroes-you think so
because you have seen MOOR exult amid scenes of carnage and
horror-Oh, never dream it-there's none of you a Moor.
13.-PRIDE.
I shall now talk with some pride. Go tell your august
magistrate-he that throws the dice on life and death-tell
him, I am none of those banditti who are in compact with
sleep and the midnight hour-I scale no walls in the dark,
and force no locks to plunder.
15.-HATRED-(aversion.)
(Sudden.)
The furies curse you then;
When forth you walk, may the red, flaming sun
Sttike you with livid plagues I
Vipers that die not, slowly gnaw your heart;
May mankind shun you; may you hate yourself,
Pray for death hourly yet be million of years
In expiring.
I tell thee I ne'er received a blow from mortal man
But I did pay it back with interest.





EXAMPLES OF THE PASSIONS.


135


Oh! that we were on the dark wave together,
With but one plank between us and destruction,
That I might grasp him in these desperate arms,
And plunge with him amid the weltering billows
And view him gasp for life.
16.-FEAR-TERROR.
Angels! and ministers of grace defend us!
Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn'd,
Bring with thee airs from heaven
Or blasts from hell. Be thy intent wicked
Or charitable, thou com'st in such a questionable shape
That I will speak to thee.
(Aspiration.)
I've done the deed-didst thou not hear a noise?
There's one did laugh in his sleep, and one cried murder.
17.-SURPRISE-AMAZEMENT.
Gone to be married, gone to swear a peace!
False blood to false blood joined! Gone to be friends!
Shall Lewis have Blanche? and Blanche these provinces?
(Sudden.)
Yes;-'tis Amelia;-by and bye,-she's dead.
STis like she comes to speak of Cassio's death,
The noise was high.-Ha! no more moving!
Still as the grave;-Shall she come in, wert-good?
21.-PERPLEXITY-(Irresolution, anxiety.)
Which way shall I fly? Infinite wrath and infinite despairWhich way I fly is hell, myself am hell,
And in the lowest depth a lower deep,
Still threatening to devour, opens wide,
To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven.
19.-REMORSE.
(Dreadful anguish.)
And hence became a robber and a murderer (strikes his





136


VOICE AND ACTION.


breast). Oh! fool, fool! the victim of infernal treachery, and
now a murderer and assassin-(walkcs) *  *  (stops) and that
poor father in a dungeon (suppressed), what cause have I for
Rage or Complaint? (affects composure).
Whence is that knocking?
How is't with me, when every noise appals me
What hands are here? Ha! they pluck out mine eyes I
Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood
Clean from my hand? no; this my hand will rather
The multitudinous seas incarnardine,
Making the green-one red.
7.-COMPLAINING-(EXTREME PAIN.)-Excessive frief.
Oh! I am shot! a forked burning arrow
Sticks across my shoulders; the sad venom flies
Like lightning through my flesh, my blood, my marrow.
Ha I what a change of torments I endure!
A bolt of ice runs hissing through my bowels;
'Tis sure the aim of death; give me a chair;
Cover me for I freeze, and my teeth chatter
And my knees knock together.
19, 20, 21.-VEXATION-(Perplexity, Complaining and
Remorse.)
O what a rogue and peasant slave am I!
Is it not monstrous, that this player here,
* * What's Hecuba to him, or he to Heouba,
That he should weep for her?
22.--  ANGER-(Different styles).
23.-   RAGE, FURY.
(Unrestrained Fury.)
Alive! in triumph! and Mercutio slain
Away to heaven respective lenity,
And fire-eyed fary be my conduct now I
Now Tybalt take the villain back again
That late thou gav'st me: for Mercutio's soul
Is but a little way above our heads
And thou or I must bear him company.





EXAMPLES OF THE PASSIONS.


137


19, 27, 26.--REVEN.GE.
Revenge, revenge this violated, this profaned head; here I
tear forever the fraternal bond; here, in the sight of heaven
I curse him. * * * Bring him to me alive and millions
shall be your reward.
Poison be their drink!
Gall worse than gall, the daintiest meat they taste.
27.-MALICE-(Continued anger.)
How like a fawning publican he looks;
I hate him, for he is a Christian.
If I can once catch him upon the hip
I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.
28.-DESPAIR.
To die-to have my ashes trampled on
By the proud foot of scorn!-Polluted!-Oh!Who dares to mock my guilt?-Is't you? or you
Wrack me that grinning fiend!-There, see there!
Who spits upon my grave?-I'll stab again! I'll-oh
Alive again? then show me where he is.
I'll give a thousand pounds to look upon him.He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded themComb down his hair; look! look! it stands upright
Like lime-twigs to catch my winged soul!
Give me some diink, and bid the apothecary
Bring the strong poison that I bought of him.
29.-DISTRACTION-MADNESS.
Ay! laugh ye fiends! I feel the truth;
Your task is done; I'm mad! I'm mad!
They come again! They tear my brain!
They seize my heart!-they choke my breath.
O this poor brain! ten thousand shapes of fury
Are whirling there, and reason is no more.





-138


VOICE AND ACTION.


30.-FATIGUE.
I see man's life is a tedious one;
I should be sick but that my resolution helps me.
(Hunger) Dear master, I can go no further; Oh, I die for food?
Here I lie down and measure out my grave.
I must stop here. (down). My joints are shook asunder; my
tongue cleaves to my mouth.
31.-FAINTING.-832.-DEATH.
Oh! I cannot!
I have no strength; but want thy feeble aid.Ah! cruel poison!
Absent thee from felicity awhile,
And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain
To tell my story;Oh! I die, Horatio!
The potent poison quite o'erthrows my spirit--
The rest is silence.
JEALOUSY.
(Surprise.)
Think my lord!-By heaven he echoes me!
As if there were some monster in his thought
Too hideous to be shown-Thou dost mean something.
If I do prove her haggardThough her jesses were my dear heart-strings
'd whistle her off and let her down the wind
To prey at fortune.
She's gone, I am abused,-and my relief
Must be-to loathe her.
If thou dost slander her and torture me
Never pray more. Abandon all remorse;
On horror's head horrors accumulate, do deeds
To make heaven weep, all earth amazed;
For nothing canst thou to damnation add
Greater than that.





EXAMPLES OF THE PASSIONS.


139


33.-VENERATION.
Oh! thou Eternal one; whose presence bright
All space doth occupy, all motion guide;
Being above all beings, Mighty one,
Whom none can comprehend and none explore.
COLLIN'S ODE TO THE PASSIONS.
When Music, heavenly maid, was young,
While yet in early Greece slie sung,
The Passions, oft, to hear her shell,
Throng'd around her magic cell;
4         16      23     31
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,
Possessed beyond the muse's painting;
By turns, they felt the glowing mind
Disturb'd, delighted, raised, refined;
Till once, 'tis said, when all were fired,
23  18
Filled with Fury, rapt, inspired,
From the supporting myrtles round,
They snatched her instruments of sound;
And as they oft had heard apart,
Sweet lessons of her tuneful art,
Each, (for Madness ruled the hour,)
Would prove his own expressive power.
16
First, Fear, his hand, its skill to try,
Amid the chords bewildered laid,
And back recoil'd, he knew not why,
E'en at the sound himself had made.
22
Next Anger rushed, his eyes on fire,
In lightnings owned his secret stings;
In one rude clash he struck the lyre,
And swept with hurried hand the strings.
28
With woeful measures, wan Despair
Low, sullen sounds his grief beguiled;
A solemn, strange and mingled air;
'Twas sad by fits; by starts 'twas wild.





140


VOICE AND ACTION.


10
But thou, 0 Hope! with eyes so fair,
What was thy delighted measure?
Still it whispered promised pleasure,
And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail;
Still would her touch the strain prolong;
And from the rocks, the woods, the vale,
She called on Echo still through all her song;
And where her sweetest theme she chose,
A soft responsive voice was heard at every close:
And Hope, enchanted, smiled, and waved her golden
hair.
And longer had she sung, but with a frown
26
Revenge impatient rose.
He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down,
And with a withering look,
The war-denouncing trumpet took,
And blew a blast so loud and dread,
Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe;
And ever and anon, he beat
The doubling drum with furious heat,
And though, sometimes, each dreary pause between,
9
Dejected Pity, at his side,
Her soul-subduing voice applied;
Yet still he kept his wild, unaltered mien,
While each strained ball of sight seemed bursting from
his head.
34
Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fixedSad proof of thy distressful state:
Of differing themes the veering song was mixed;
5                        15
And now it courted Love; now, raving, called on Hate.
With eyes upraised, as one inspired,
8
Pale Melancholy, sat retired,
And, from her wild, sequestered seat,
In notes by distance made more sweet,





EXAMPLES OF THE PASSIONS.


141


Poured through the mellow horn her pensive soul;
And dashing soft from rocks around,
Bubbling runnels joined the sound;
Thro' glades and glooms the mingled measure stole,
Or o'er some haunted stream with fond delay,
(Round a holy calm diffusing,
Love of peace and and lonely musing,)
In hollow murmers died away.
But Oh! how altered was its sprightlier tone,
2
When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue,
Her bow across her shoulder flung,
Her buskins gemmed with morning dew,
Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung,
The hunter's call to Faun and Dryad known.
The oak-crowned sisters and their chaste-eyed queen,
Satyrs and sylvan boys were seen,
Peeping from forth their alleys green;
Brown exercise rejoiced to hear,
And Sport leaped up and seized his beechen spear.
4
Last came Joy's ecstatic trial;
He, with viny crown advancing,
First to the lively pipe his hand addressed;
But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol,
Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best.
They would have thought, who heard the strain,
They saw in Tempe's vale her native maids,
Amid the festal-sounding shades,
To some unwearied minstrel dancing,
While, as his flying fingers kissed the strings,
5                3
Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round,
(Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound,)
And he amid his frolic play,
As if he would the charming air repay,
Shook thousand odors from his dewy wings.





142


VOICE AND ACTION.


READINGS.
NORTH-AMERICAN INDIANS.
Not many generations ago, where you now sit, encircled with all that exalts and embellishes civilized
life, the rank thistle nodded in the wind, and the wild
fox dug his hole unscared. Here lived and loved another race of beings. Beneath the same sun that rolls
over your heads, the Indian hunter pursued the panting
deer; gazing on the same moon that smiles for you,
the Indian lover wooed his dusky mate. Here the
wigwam-blaze beamed on the tender and helpless; the
council fire glared on the wise and the daring. Now
they dipped their noble limbs in your sedgy lakes, and
now they paddled the light canoe along your rocky
shores. Here they warred; the echoing whoop, the
bloody grapple, the defying death song, all were here;
and when the tiger-strife was over, here curled the
smoke of peace.
Here, too, they worshipped; and from many a dark
bosom went up a fervent prayer to the Great Spirit.
He had not written his laws for them on tables of stone,
but he had traced them on the tables of their hearts.
The poor child of nature knew not the God of Revelation, but the God of the universe he acknowledged in
everything around. He beheld him in the star that
sank in beauty behind his lonely dwelling; in the
sacred orb that flamed on him from his mid-day throne;
in the flower that snapped in the morning breeze; in
the lofty pine that defied a thousand whirlwinds; in the
timid warbler that never left his native grove; in the





READINGS FOE PRACTICE.


143


fearless eagle, whose untired pinion was wet in clouds;
in the worm that crawled at his feet; and in his own
matchless form, glowing with a spark of that light, to
whose mysterious source he bent in humble, though
blind adoration. And all this has passed away. Here
and there a stricken few remain; but how unlike their
bold, untamed, untamable progenitors! The Indian
of falcon-glance and lion-bearing, the theme of the
touching ballad, the hero of the pathetic tale, is gone;
and his degraded offspring crawls upon the soil where
he walked in majesty, to remind us how miserable is
man, when the foot of the conqueror is on his neck.
As a race, they have withered from the land. Their
arrows are broken, their springs are dried up, their
cabins are in the dust. Their council fire has long
since gone out on the shore, and their war-cry is fast
dying to the untrodden West. Slowly and sadly they
climb the distant mountains, and read their doom in the
setting sun. They are shrinking before the mighty
tide which is pressing them away. They must soon
hear the roar of the last wave, which will settle over
them forever.
BATTLE OF IVRY.
Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are!
And glory to our Sovereign Liege, King Henry of Navarre!
Now let there be the merry sound of music and the
dance,
Through thy cornfields green, and sunny vales, O pleasant land of France!
And thou Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of
the waters,





144             VOICE AND ACTION.
Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning
daughters:
As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy,
For cold and stiff and still are they who would thy
walls annoy.
Hurrah! hurrah! a single field hath turned the chance
of war;
Hurrah! hurrah! for Ivry and King Henry of Navarre!
The king has come to marshal us, in all his armor
drest,
And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant
crest;
He looked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye,
He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern
and high.
Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing
to wing,
Down all our line, a deafening shout, " God save our
lord, the king!"
" And if my standard-bearer fall-as fall full well he
may,
For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody frayPress where you see my white plume shine, amid the
ranks of war,
And be your oriflamme, to-day, the helmet of Navarre."
Hurrah! the foes are moving! Hark to the mingled
din
Of fife and steed and trump and drum and roaring
culverin!
The fiery duke is pricking fast across St. Andre's plain,
With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne.





READINGS FOR PRACTICE.


145


Now, by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of
France,
Charge for the golden lilies, now, upon them with the
lance!
A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears
in rest,
A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snowwhite crest.
And in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a
guiding star,
Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre.
INDIAN SPEECH.
White man, there is eternal war between me and
thee! I quit not the land of my fathers but with my
life. In those woods where I bent my youthful bow,
I will still hunt the deer. Over yonder waters I will
still glide, unrestrained, in my bark canoe. By those
dashing waterfalls I will still lay up my winter's store
of food. On these fertile meadows I will still plant my
corn. Stranger, the land is mine! I understand not
these paper-rights. I gave not my consent when, as
thou sayest, these broad regions were purchased, for a
few baubles, of my fathers. They could sell what was
theirs,-they could sell no more. How could my fathers sell that which the Great Spirit sent me into the
world to live upon? They knew not what they did.
The stranger came, a timid suppliant, few and feeble,
and asked to lie down on the red man's bear-skin, and
warm himself at the red man's fire, and have a little
piece of land to raise corn for his women and children;
and now he is become strong and mighty and bold, and
spreads out his parchment over the whole, and says,
"it is mine." Stranger, there is not room for us both.
7





146


VOICE AND ACTION.


The Great Spirit has not made us to live together.
There is poison in the white man's cup; the white
man's dog barks at the red man's heels. If I should
leave the land of my fathers, whither shall I fly?
Shall I go to the South and dwell among the graves of
the Pequots? Shall I wander to the WeXst? The
fierce Mohawk, the man-eater is my foe. Shall I fly to
the East? The great water is before me. N o stranger, here have I lived, and here will I die! and if here
thou abidest there is eternal war between me and thee.
Thou hast taught me thy arts of destruction. For that
alone I thank thee: and now take heed to thy steps;
the red man is thy foe. When thou goest forth by day
my bullet shall whistle by thee; when thou liest down
at night, my knife is at thy throat. The noonday sun
shall not discover thy enemy, and the darkness of night
shall not protect thy rest. Thou shall plant in terror
and I will reap in blood; thou shalt sow the earth with
corn, and I will strew it with ashes; thou shalt go
forth with the sickle, and I will follow after witl the
scalping knife; thou shalt build and I will burn, till the
white man or the Indian shall cease from the land. Go
thy way, for this time in safety; but remember, stranger, there is eternal war between me and thee.
JULIUS C3ESAR.
Cas.-(n. c.) That you have wronged me doth appear in this:
You have condemned and noted Lucius Pella
For taking bribes here of the Sardians;
Wherein my letters, praying on his side,
Because I knew the man, were slighted off.
Bru.-(c.) You wronged yourself to write in such
a case.





READINGS FOR PRACTICE.


147


Cas.-In such a time as this it is not meet
That every nice offence should bear its comment.
Bru.-Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself
Are much condemned to have an itching palm;
To sell and mart your offices for gold
To undeservers.
Cas.-I an itching palm?
You know you are Brutus that speak this,
Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last.
Bru.-Remember March, the Ides of March remember.
Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake?
What villain touched his body that did stab,
And not for justice? What! shall one of us,
That struck the foremost man of all this world,
But for supporting robbers, shall we now
Contaminate our fingers with base bribes,
And sell the mighty space of our large honors
For so much trash, as may be grasped thus?
I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon,
Than such a Roman.
Cas.-Brutus, bay not me:
I'll not endure it. I am a soldier, I,
Older in practice, abler than yourself
To make conditions.
*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *
Bru.-You say you are a better soldier:
Let it appear so; make your vaunting true,
And it shall please me well. For mine own part,
I shall be glad to learn of noble men.
Cas.-You wrong me; every way you wrong me,
Brutus;
I said an elder soldier, not a better
Did I say better?





148


VOICE AND ACTION.


Bru.-If you did, I care not.
Cas.-Do not presume too much upon my love;
I may do that I shall be sorry for.
Bru.-You have done that you should be sorry for.
There is no terror, Cassius' in your threats
For I am armed so strong in honesty,
That they pass by me as the idle wind,
Which I respect not. I did send to you
For certain sums of gold, which you denied me;
ForI can raise no money by vile means:
By heaven, I had rather coin my heart,
And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring
From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash,
By any indirection. I did send
To you for gold to pay my legions,
Which you denied me: was that done like Cassius?
Should I have answered Caius Cassius so?
When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous,
To lock such rascal counters from his friends,
Be ready, Gods, with all your thunderbolts,
Dash him to pieces! (crosses to R.)
Cas.-I denied you not.
Bru.-You did.
Cas.-I did not: he was but a fool
That brought my answer back.-Brutus hath rived my
heart:
A friend should bear his friend's infirmities;
But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.
Bru.-I do not, till you practice them on me.
Cas.-You love me not.
Bru.-I do not like your faults.
Cas.-A friendly eye could never see such faults.
Bru.-(R. c.) A flatterer's would not, though they
do appear
As huge as high Olympus.





READINGS FOR PRACTICE.


149


SONG OF THE GREEKS, 1822.
1   Again to the battle, Achaians!
Our hearts bid the tyrants defiance;
Our land,-the first garden of Liberty's tree,It has been, and shall yet be, the land of the free;
For the cross of our faith is replanted,
The pale dying crescent is daunted,
And we march that the footprints of Mahomet's slaves
SMay be wash'd out in blood from our forefathers'
graves.
Their spirits are hovering o'er us,
And the sword shall to glory restore us.
2   Ah! what though no succor advances,
Nor Christendoms's chivalrous lances
Are stretch'd in our aid?-Be the combat our own!
And we'll perish or conquer more proudly alone;
For we've sworn by our country's assaulters,
By the virgins they've dragged from our altars,
By our massacred patriots, our children in chains,
By our heroes of old, and their blood in our veins,
That, living, we will be victorious,
Or that, dying, our deaths shall be glorious.
3   A breath of submission we breathe not:
The sword that we've drawn we will sheathe not:
Its scabbard is left where our martyrs are laid,
And the.vengeance of ages has whetted its blade.
Earth may hide, waves engulf, fire consume us;
But they shall not to slavery doom us:
If they rule, it shall be o'er our ashes and graves:But we've smote them already with fire on the waves,
And new triumphs on land are before us;To the charge!-Heaven's banner is o'er us.





150


VOICE AND ACTION.


GOD.
0 thou Eternal One! whose presence bright
All space doth occupy, all motion guide,
Unchanged through Time's all-devastating flight;
Thou only God! There is no God beside!
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!
In its sublime research, philosophy
May measure out the ocean deep-may count
The sands or the sun's rays--but, God! for thee
There is no weight nor measure; none can mount
Up to thy mysteries; reason's brightest spark,
Though kindled by thy light, in vain would try
To trace thy counsels, infinite and dark;
And thought is lost ere thought can soar so high,
Even like past moments in eternity.
A million torches lighted by thy hand
Wander unwearied through the blue abyss;
They own thy power, accomplish thy command,
All gay with life, all eloquent with bliss.
What shall we call them? Piles of crystal lightA glorious company of golden streamsLamps of celestial ether burning brightSuns lighting systems with their joyous beams?
But thou to these art as the noon to night.
Yes! as a drop of water in the sea,
All this magnificence in thee is lost;What are ten thousand worlds compared to thee?
And what am I then? Heaven's unnumbered host,





IEADINGS FOR PRACTICE.


151


Though multiplied by myriads, and arrayed
In all the glory of sublimest thought,
Is but an atom in the balance, weighed
Against thy greatness, is a cipher brought
Against infinity! O, what am I then? Nought!
Nought! yet the effluence of thy light divine,
Pervading worlds hath reached my bosom too;
Yes! in my spirit doth thy spirit shine,
As shines a sunbeam in a drop of dew.
Nought! yet I live, and on Hope's pinions fly
Eager towards thy presence; for in thee
I live, and breathe, and dwell, aspiring high,
Even to the throne of thy divinity.
I am, 0 God! and surely thou must be.
Creator, Yes! thy wisdom and thy word
Created me! thou source of life and good!
Thou spirit of my spirit, and my Lord!
Thy light, thy love, in their bright plenitude
Filled me with an immortal soul, to spring
Over the abyss of death, and bade it wear
The garments of eternal day, and wing
Its heavenly flight beyond this little sphere,
Even to its source-to thee-its author there.
0 thoughts ineffable! 0 visions blest!
Though worthless our conceptions all of thee,
Yet shall thy shadowed image fill our breast,
And waft its homage to thy Deity.
God! thus alone my lonely thoughts can soar;
Thus seek thy presence, Being wise and good
'Midst thy vast works admire, obey, adore,
And when the tongue is eloquent no more,
The soul shall speak in tears of gratitude.





152


VOICE AND ACTION.


MARK ANTONY S ADDRESS.
Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears:
I come to bury Cesar, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones;
So let it be with Cesar. The noble Brutus
Hath told you, Cassar was ambitious:
If it were so, it was a grievous fhult,
And grievously hath Casar answered it.
Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest,
(For Brutus is an honorable man;
So are they all, all honorable men,)
Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral.He was my friend, faithful and just to me;
But Brutus says he was ambitious,
And Brutus is an honorable man.
He hath brought many captives home to Rome,
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill.
Did this in Casar seem ambitious?
When that the poor have cried, Casar hath wept:
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious,
And Brutus is an honorable man.
You all did see, that, on the Lupercal,
I thrice presented him a kingly crown,
Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition?
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious,
And, sure, he is an honorable man.
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,
But here I am to speak what I do know.
You all did love him once, not without cause:
What cause witholds you then to mourn for him?
0 judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts,





READINGS FOR PRACTICE.


153


And men have lost their reason!-bear with me:
My heart is in the coffin there with Cesar,
And I must pause till it come back to me.
But yesterday, the word of Casar might
Have stood against the world; now lies he there,
And none so poor to do him reverence.
O Masters! if I were disposed to stir
Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage,
I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong,
Who, you all know, are honorable men.
I will not do them wrong; I rather choose
To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you,
Than I will wrong such honorable men:
But here's a parchment, with the seal of Casar,I found it in his closet; 't is his will.
Let but the commons hear this testament
(Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read),
And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds,
And dip their napkins in his sacred blood;
Yea, beg a hair of him'for memory,
And, dying, mention it within their wills,
Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy,
Unto their issue.If you have tears, prepare to shed them now.
You all do know this mantle; I remember
The first time ever Caesar put it on;
'Twas on a summer's evening in his tent;
That day he overcame the Nervii.Look! In this place ran Cassius' dagger through:
See what a rent the envious Casca made:
Through this, the well-beloved Brutus stabbed;
And as he plucked his cursed steel away,
Mark, how the blood of Casar followed it!This was the most unkindest cut of all!





154


VOICE AND ACTION.


For when the noble Cesar saw him stab,
Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms,
Quite vanquished him! Then burst his mighty heart;
And, in his mantle muffling up his face,
Even at the base of Pompey's statue,
Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell.
0, what a fall was there, my countrymen!
Then I, and you, and all of us, fell down,
Whilst bloody treason flourished over us.
0, now you weep; and I perceive you feel
The dint of pity:-these are gracious drops.
Kind souls! what, weep you when you but behold
Our Caesar's vesture wounded? Look ye here!
Here is himself-marred, as you see, by traitors.
Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up
To such a sudden flood of mutiny!
They that have done this deed are honorable!
What private griefs they have, alas, I know not,
That made them do it! They are wise and honoiable!
And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you.
I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts:
I am no orator, as Brutus is;
But as you all do know, a plain, blunt man,
That love my friend; and that they know full well
That gave me public leave to speak of him.
For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth,
Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech,
To stir men's blood: I only speak right on;
And tell you that which you yourselves do know;
Show you sweet Casar's wounds, poor, poor dumb
mouths,
And bid them speak for me. But were I Brutus,
And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony





READINGS FOR PRACTICE.


155


Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue
In every wound of Ctesar, that should move
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.
SALADIN AND MALEK ADHEL.
Attendant. A stranger craves admittance to your
Highness.
Saladin. Whence comes he?
Attendant. That I know not.
Enveloped with a vestment of strange form,
His countenance is hidden; but his step,
His lofty port, his voice in vain disguised,
Proclaim,-if that I dare pronounce it,Saladin. Whom?
Attendant. Thy royal brother I
Saladin. Bring him instantly. [Exit Attendant.
Now, with his specious, smooth, persuasive tongue,
Fraught with some wily subterfuge, he thinks
To dissipate my anger. He shall die!
[Enter Attendant and Malek Adhel.
Leave us together.  [Exit Attendant.]  [Aside.] I
should know that form.
Now summon all thy fortitude, my soul,
Nor, though thy blood cry for him, spare the guilty!
[Aloud.] Well, stranger, speak; but first unvail thy.
self,
For Saladin must view the form that fronts him.
fMaicek Adhel. Behold it, then!
Saladin. I see a traitor's visage.
MIalek Adhel. A brother's!
Saladin. No!
Saladin owns no kindred with a villain.
Mfalek Adhel. 0, patience, Heaven!   Had any
tongue but thine





156


VOICE AND ACTION.


Uttered that word, it ne'er should speak another.
Saladin. And why not now? Can this heart be.more pierced
By Malek Adhel's sword than by his deeds?
O, thou hast made a desert of this bosom!
For open candor, planted sly disguise;
For confidence, suspicion; and the glow
Of generous friendship, tenderness and love,
Forever banished! Whither can I turn,
When he by blood, by gratitude, by faith,
By every tie, bound to support, forsakes me?
Who, who can stand, when Malek Adhel falls?
Henceforth I turn me from the sweets of love:
The smiles of friendship, and this glorious world,
In which all find some heart to rest upon,
Shall be to Saladin a cheerless void,His brother has betrayed him!.Malek Adhel. Thou art softened;
I am thy brother, then; but late thou saidst,My tongue can never utter the base title!
Saladin. Was it traitor? True!
Thou hast betrayed me in my fondest hopes!
Villain? 'Tis just; the title is appropriate!
Dissembler? 'Tis not written in thy face;
No, nor imprinted on that specious brow;
But on this breaking heart the name is stamped,
Forever stamped, with that of Malek Adhel!
Thinkest thou I'm softened?  By Mohammed! these
hands
Should crush these aching eye-balls, ere a tear
Fall from them at thy fate! O monster, monster I
The brute that tears the infant from its nurse
Is excellent to thee; for in his form
The impulse of his nature may be read;
But thon, so beautiful, so proud, so noble,





READINGS FOR PRACTICE.


157


0, what a wretch art thou! 0    can a term
In all the various tongues of man be found
To match thy infamy?
MJalek Adhel. Go on! go on!
'Tis but a little time to hear thee, Saladin;
And, bursting at thy feet, this heart will prove
Its penitence, at least.
Sal.              That were an end
Too noble for a traitor! The bowstring is
A more appropriate finish! Thou shalt die!
JMal. Ad. And death were welcome at another's
mandate.
What, what have I to live for? Be it so,
If that, in all thy armies, can be found
An executing hand.
Sal;            Oh, doubt it not!
They're eager for the office. Perfidy,
So black as thine, effaces from their minds
All memory of thy former excellence.
Mal. Ad. Defer not then their wishes. Saladin,
If e'er this form was joyful to thy sight,
This voice seem'd grateful to thine ear, accede
To my last prayer:-Oh, lengthen not this scene,
To which the agonies of death were pleasing!
Let me die speedily!
Sal.              This very hour!
[Aside.] For, oh! the more I look upon that face,
The more I hear the accents of that voice,
The monarch softens, and the judge is lost
In all the brother's weakness; yet such guilt,Such vile ingratitude,-it calls for vengeance;
And vengeance it shall have! What, ho! who waits
there?                       [Enter Attendant.
Atten. Did your highness call.
Sal.                       Assemble quickly





158


VOICE A1'D ACTION.


My forces in the court. Tell them they come
To view the death of yonder bosom-traitor.
And bid them mark, that he who will not spare
His brother when he errs, expects obedience,
Silent obedience, from his followers.
[Exit Attendant.
Mal. Ad.                  Now, Saladin,
The word is given, I have nothing more
To fear from my brother. I am not
About to crave a miserable life.
Without thy love, thy honor, thy esteem,
Life were a burden to me. Think not, either,
The justness of thy sentence I would question.
But one request now trembles on my tongue,One wish still clinging round the heart; which soon
Not even that shall torture,-will it, then,
Thinkest thou, thy slumbers render quieter,
Thy waking thoughts more pleasing, to reflect,
That when thy voice hath doomed a brother's death,
The last request which e'er was his to utter
Thy harshness made him carry to the grave?
Saladin. Speak then; but ask thyself if thou hast
reason
To look for much indulgence here.
Mal. Ad. I have not!
Yet will I ask for it. We part forever;
This is our last farewell; the king is satisfied;
The judge has spoke the irrevocable sentence.
None sees, none hears, save that Omniscient Power,
Which, trust me, will not frown to look upon
Two brothers part like such. When, in the face
Of forces once my own, I'm led to death,
Then be thine eye unmoistened; let thy voice
Then speak my doom untrembling; then,
Unmoved, behold this stiff and blackened corse.





READINGS FOR PRACTICE.


159


But now I ask--nay, turn not, Saladin,I ask one single pressure of thy hand;
From that stern eye, one solitary tear,O, torturing recollection!-one kind word
From the loved tongue that once breathed naught but
kindness.
Still silent? Brother! friend! beloved companion
Of all my youthful sports!-are they forgotten?Strike me with deafness, make me blind, O Heaven!
Let me not see this unforgiving man
Smile at my agonies! nor hear that voice
Pronounce my doom, which would not say one word,
One little word,' whose cherished memory
Would soothe the struggles of departing life!
Yet thou wilt! Oh, turn thee, Saladin!
Look on my face-thou can'st not spurn me then;
Look on the once-loved face of Malek Adhel
For the last time, and call himSal. [seizing his hand.] Brother! brother!.Mal. Ad. [breaking away.] Now call thy follow
ers.
Death has not now a single pang in store. Proceed,
I'm ready.
Sal. Oh, art thou ready to forgive, my brother?
To pardon him who found one single error,
One little failing, 'mid a splendid throng
Of glorious qualitiesMal. Ad. Oh, stay thee, Saladin!
I did not ask for life. I only wished
To carry thy forgiveness to the grave.
No, Emperor, the loss of Cesarea
Cries loudly for the blood of Malek Adhel.
Thy soldiers, too, demand that he who lost
What cost them many a weary hour to gain,
Should expiate his offences with his life.





160


VOICE AND ACTION.


Lo! even now they crowd to view my death,
Thy just impartiality. I go!
Pleased by my fate to add one other leaf
To thy proud wreath of glory. [ Going.
Sal.                 Thou shalt not.
[Enter Attendant.
Atten. My lord, the troops assembled by your order
Tumultuous throng the courts. The prince's death
Not one of them but vows he will not suffer.
The mutes have fled, the very guards rebel.
Nor think I, in this city's spacious round,
Can e'er be found a hand to do the office..fal. Ad. 0 faithful friends! [To A tten.] Thine
shalt.
Atten. Mine?-Never!The other first shall lop it from the body.
Sal. They teach the Emperor his duty well.
Tell them he thanks them for it. Tell them, too,
That ere their opposition reached our ears,
Saladin had forgiven Malek Adhel.
Attendant. 0 joyful news!
I haste to gladden many a gallant heart,
And dry the tear on many a hardy cheek,
Unused to such a visitor. [Exit.]
Saladin. These men, the meanest in society,
The outcasts of the earth,-by war, by nature,
Hardened and rendered callous,-these who claim
No kindred with thee,-who have never heard
The accents of affection from thy lips,0, these can cast aside their vowed allegiance,
Throw off their long obedience, risk their lives,
To save thee from destruction. While I,
I, who cannot, in all my memory,
Call back one danger which thou hast not shared,
One day of grief, one night of revelry,





READINGS FOR PRACTICE.           161
Which thy resistless kindness hath not soothed,
Or thy gay smile and converse rendered sweeter,I, who have thrice in the ensanguined field,
When death seemed certain, only uttered-" Brother!"
And seen that form, like lightning, rush between
Saladin and his foes, and that brave breast,
Dauntless exposed to many a furious blow
Intended for my own-I could forget
That 'twas to thee I owed the very breath
Which sentenced thee to perish! 0, 'tis shameful!
Thou can'st not pardon me!
Maal. Ad. By these tears, I can!
O brother! from this very hour, a new,
A glorious life commences! I am all thine!
Again the day of gladness or of anguish
Shall Malek Adhel share; and oft again
May this sword fence thee in the bloody field.
Henceforth Saladin,
My heart, my soul, my sword, are thine forever I





162


VOICE AND ACTION.


WASHINGTON'S
FAREWELL ADDRESS
TO THE
PEOPLE OF THE UNITED STATES.
(EXTRACTS.)
Inserted as a very difficult piece of reading.
FRIENDS AND FELLOW CITIZENS:-The period foi
a new election of a citizen, to administer the executive
government of the United States, being not far distant,
and the time actually arrived, when your thoughts must
be employed in designating the person who is to be
clothed with that important trust, it appears to me proper, especially as it may conduce to a more distinct expression of the public voice, that I should now apprise
you of the resolution I have formed, to decline being
considered among the number of those, out of whom a
choice is to be made.
In looking forward to the moment which is to terminate the career of my political life, my feelings do
not permit me to suspend the deep acknowledgment of
that debt of gratitude which I owe to my beloved
country for the many honors it has conferred upon me;
still more for the steadfast confidence with which it has
supported me; and for the opportunities I have thence
enjoyed of manifesting my inviolable attachment, by
services faithful and persevering, though in usefulness
unequal to my zeal.





READINGS FOE PRACTICE.


163


Interwoven as is the love of liberty with every ligament of your hearts, no recommendation of mine is necessary to fortify or confirm the attachment.
The unity of Government which constitutes you one
people, is also now dear to you. It is justly so; for it
is a main pillar in the edifice of your real independence,
the support of your tranquillity at home, your peace
abroad; of your safety; of your prosperity; of that
very Liberty, which you so highly prize. But as it is
easy to foresee, that, from different causes and from
different quarters, much pains will be taken, many artifices employed, to weaken in your minds the conviction of this truth; as this is the point in your political
fortress against which the batteries of internal and external enemies will be most constantly and actively
(though often covertly and insidiously) directed, it is
of infinite moment that you should properly estimate
the immense value of your national Union to your collective and individual happiness; that you should
cherish a cordial, habitual, and immoveable attachment
to it; accustoming yourselves to think and speak of it
as of the Palladium of your political safety and prosperity; watching for its preservation with jealous
anxiety; discountenancing whatever may suggest even
a suspicion that it can in any event be abandoned; and
indignantly frowning upon the first dawning of every
attempt to alienate any portion of our country from the
rest, or to enfeeble the sacred ties which now link together the various parts.
For this you have every inducement of sympathy
and interest. Citizens, by birth or choice, of a common
country, that country has a right to concentrate your
affections. The name of AMERICAN, which belongs to
you, in your national capacity, must always exalt the
just pride of Patriotism, more than any appellation derived from local discriminations.





164


VOICE AND ACTION.


This Government, the offspring of our own choice,
uninfluenced and unawed, adopted upon full investigation and mature deliberation, completely free in
its principles, in the distribution of its powers, uniting security with energy, and containing within itself
a provision for its own amendment, has a just claim to
your confidence and your support. Respect for its
authority, compliance with its laws, acquiescence in its
measures, are duties enjoined by the fundamental maxims of true Liberty. The basis of our political systems
is the right of the people to make and to alter their
Constitutions of Government. But the Constitution
which at any time exists, till changed by an explicit
and authentic act of the whole people, is sacredly obligatory upon all. The very idea of the power and
the right of the people to establish Government presup
poses the duty of every individual to obey the established Government.
All obstructions to the execution of the Laws, all
combinations and associations, under whatever plausible character, with the real design to direct, control,
counteract, or awe the regular deliberation and action
of the constituted authorities, are destructive of this
fundamental principle, and of fatal tendency. They
serve to organize faction, to give it an artificial and extraordinary force; to put, in the place of the delegated
will of the nation, the will of a party, often a small but
artful and enterprising minority.of the community;
and, according to the alternate triumphs of different
parties, to make the public administration the mirror
of the ill-concerted and incongruous projects of faction
rather than the organ of consistent and wholesome plans
digested by common counsels, and modified by mutual
interests.
Of all the dispositions and habits, which lead-to





READINGS FOE PRACTICE.


165


political prosperity, Religion and Morality are indispensable supports.   In vain would that man claim
the tribute of Patriotism, who should labor to subvert
these great pillars of human happiness, these firmest of
props of the duties of Men and Citizens.
Promote, then, as an object of primary importance,
institutions for the general diffusion of knowledge. In
proportion as the structure of government gives force
to public opinion, it is essential that public opinion
should be enlightened.
Observe good faith and justice towards all nations;
cultivate peace and harmony with all. Religion and
Morality enjoin this conduct; and can it be that faith
and good policy does not equally enjoin it? It will be
worthy of a free, enlightened, and, at no distant period,
a great nation, to give to mankind the magnanimous
and too novel example of A people always guided by
an exalted justice and benevolence.
Against the insidious wiles of foreign influence, (I
conjure you to believe me, fellow citizens,) the jealousy
of a free people,ought to be constantly awake; since
history and experience prove, that foreign influence is
one of the most baneful foes of Republican Government.
But that jealousy, to be useful, must be impartial; else
it becomes the instrument of the very influence to be
avoided, instead of a defence against it.
The great rule of conduct for us, in regard to foreign
nations, is, in extending our commercial relations, to
have with them as little political connexion as possible.
So far as we have already formed engagements, let
them be fulfilled with perfect good faith. Here let us
stop.
Though, in viewing the incidents of my administration, I am unconscious of intentional error, I am nevertheless too sensible of my defects not to think it proba




166


VOICE AND ACTION.


ble that I may have committed many errors. Whatever they may be, I fervently beseech the Almighty to
avert or mitigate the evils to which they may tend. I
shall also carry with me the hope, that my Country
will never cease to view them with indulgence; and
that, after forty-five years of my life dedicated to its
service with an upright zeal, the faults of incompetent
abilities will be consigned to oblivion, as myself must
soon be to the mansions of rest.
Relying on its kindness in this as in other things,
and actuated by that fervent love towards it, which is
so natural to a man who views in it the native soil of
himself and his progenitors for several generations, I
anticipate with pleasing expectation that retreat, in
which I promise myself to realize, without alloy, the
sweet enjoyment of partaking, in the midst of my fellow-citizens, the benign influence of good laws under a
free government, the ever favorite object of my heart,
and the happy reward, as I trust, of our mutual cares,
labors, and dangers.
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
United States, Septen'ber 17th, 1796.
THE CAVALRY CHARGE.
With bray of the trumpet
And roll of the drum
And keen ring of bugles,
The cavliry come.
Sharp clank the steel scabbards,
The bridle chains ring,
And foam from red nostrils
The wild chargers fling.





SELECTIONS.


137


Tramp! tramp! o'er the green sward
That quivers below,
Scarce held by the curb-bit
The fierce horses go!
And the grim-visaged colonel,
With ear-rending shout,
Peals forth to the squadrons,
The order-" Trot out!
One hand on the sabre,
And one on the rein,
The troopers move forward
In line on the plain.
As rings the word " gallop!"
The steel scabbards clank,
And each rowel is pressed
To a horse's hot flank;
And swift is their rush
As the wild torrent's flow
When it pours from the crag
To the valley below!
" Ciarge! " thunders the leader:
Like shaft from the bow
Each mad horse is hurled
On the wavering foe.
A thousand bright sabres
Are gleaming in air;
A thousand dark horses
Are dashed on the square.
Resistless and reckless
Of aught may betide,
Like demons, not mortals,
7Te wild troopers ride,
Cut right and cut left!For the parry who needs?
The bayonets shiver
Like wind-shattered reeds.





108


VOICE AND ACTION.


The wounds that are dealt
By that murderous steel
Will never yield case
For the surgeons to heal.
Hurrah! they are brokenHurrah! boys, they flyNone linger save those
Who but linger to die.
Rein up your hot horses
And call in your men;
The trumpet sounds "Rally
To color! "-again.
Some saddles are empty,
Some comrades are slain,
And some noble horses
Lie stark on the plain;
But war's a chance game, boys,
And weeping is vain.
THE FIRST AND LAST DINNER.
Twelve friends, much about the same age, and fixed by
their pursuits, their family connections, and other local interests, as permanent inhabitants of the metropolis, agreed
one day when they were drinking wine at the Star and Garter
at Richmond, to institute an annual dinner among themselves,
under the following regulations:-That they should dine
alternately at each other's houses on the first and last day of
the year; and the first bottle of wine uncorked at the first.
dinner should be recorked and put away, to be drunk by him
who should be the last of their number; that they should
never admit a new member; that, when one died, eleven
should meet, and when another died, ten should, and so on;
and when only one remained, he should on these two days
dine by himself, and sit the usual hours at his solitary table;
but the first time he had so dined, lest it should be the only
one, he should then uncork the first bottle, and, in the first
glass, drink to the memory of all who were gone.





SELECTIONS.


169


Some thirty years had now glided away, and only ten remained; but the stealing hand of time had written sundry
changes in most legible characters. Raven locks had become
grizzled; two or three heads had not as many locks as may
be reckoned in a walk of half a mile along the Regent's Canal
-one was actually covered with a brown wig-the crow's
feet were visible in the corner of the eye-good old port and
warm Madeira carried against hock, claret, red burgundy,
and champagne-stews, hashes, and ragouts, grew into favor
-crusts were rarely called for to relish the cheese after dinner
-conversation was less boisterous, and it turned chiefly upon
politics and the state of the funds, or the value of landed property-apologies were made for coming in thick shoes and
warm stockings-the doors and windows were more carefully
provided with list-the fire was in more request-and a quiet
game of whist filled up the hours that were wont to be devoted to drinking, singing, and riotous merriment. Two rubbers, a cup of coffee, and at home by eleven o'clock, was the
usual cry, when the fifth or sixth glass had gone round after
the removal of the cloth. At parting, too, there was now a
long ceremony in the hall, buttoning up great coats, tying on
woolen comforters, fixing silk handkerchiefs over the mouth
and up to the ears, and grasping sturdy walking-canes to support unsteady feet.
Their fiftieth anniversary came, and death had indeed been
busy.  Four little old men, of withered appearance and decrepit walk, with cracked voices and dim, rayless eyes, sat
down by the mercy of heaven, (as they tremulously declared,)
to celebrate, for the fiftieth time, the first day of the year, to
observe the frolic compact, which half a century before, they
had entered into at the Star and Garter at Richmond. Eight
were in their graves! The four that remained stood upon its
confines. Yet they chirped cheerily over their glass, though
they could scarcely carry it to their lips, if more than half
full: and cracked their jokes, though they articulated their
words with difficulty, and heard each other with still greater
difficulty. They mumbled, they chattered, they laughed, (if
a sort of strangled wheezing might be called a laugh,) and as
the wine sent their icy blood in warmer pulses through their
8





170


VOICE AND ACTION.


veins, they talked of their past as if it were but a yesterday
that had slipped by them, and of their future as if it were but
a busy century that lay before them.
At length came the LAST dinner; and the survivor of the
twelve, upon whose head four score and ten winters had
showered their snow, ate his solitary meal. It so clianced that
it was in lis house, and at his table, they celebrated the first.
In his cellar, too, had remained the bottle they had then uncorked, reco:ked, and which he was that day t, uncork again.
It stood beside him. With a feel le and reluctant grasp he
took tle " frail memorial" of a yout'ful vow, and for a moment memory was faithful to her otlice. She tlrew open the
long vista of buried years; and his heart travel:ed through
them all: Their lusty and blithesome spring,-their bright
and fervid summer,--their ripe and temnperate autumn,-thleir
chill, but not too frozen winter. IHe saw, as in a mirror, how
one by one the laughing companions of that merry hour, at
Richmond, had dropped into eternity. Ie felt the loneliness
of his condition, (for he had eschewed marriage, and in the
veins of no living creature ran a drop of blood whose source
vas in his own,) and as he drained the glass which lie had
fi led, "to tihe m:emory of those who were gone," the tears
slow ly trickled down the deep furrows of his aged face.
lie had fulfilled one part of his vow, and lie prepared himse'f to discha:rge the other by sitting the usual number of
hours at his desolate table. With a heavy hleart lie resigne:l
himself to tle gloom of his own thoughts-a lethargic sleep
stole over himn-his head fell upon his bosom-confused images crowded into his mind--le babbled to himself-was
silent-and when his servant entered tie room alarmed by a
noise which lie heard, he found his master stretched upon the
carpet at the foot of an easy chair, out of which he had fallen
in an apoplectic fit. lie never spoke again, nor once opened
his eyes, though the vital spark was not extinct till the following day. And this was the LAST DINNER.





SELECTIONS.


171


THE DEVIL AND THE LAWYERS.
The devil came up to the earth one day,
And into a court-house wended his way,
Just as an attorney with a very grave face
Was proceeding to argue the "points in a case."
Now a lawyer his majesty never had seen,
For to his dominions none ever had been,
And he felt very anxious the reason to know,
Why none had been sent to the regions below.
'Twas the fault of his agents his majesty thought,
That none of the lawyers had ever been caught,
And for his own pleasure he felt a desire
To come to the earth and the reason inquire.
Well, the lawyer who rose with visage so grave
Made out his opponent a consummate knave,
And the devil was really most highly amused
To hear the attorney so greatly abused.
But soon as the speaker had come to a close,
The counsel opposing then fiercely arose,
And heaped such abuse on the head of the first,
That made him a villain of all men the worst.
Thus they quarreled, contended and argued so long,
It was hard to determine which lawyer was wrong,
And concluding he had heard quite enough of the fuss,
Old Nick turned away and soliloquized thus:
"' If all they have said of each other be true,
The devil has surely been robbed of his due,
But I'm satisfied now, its all very well,
For the lawyers would ruin the morals of hell.
" They've puzzled the court with their villainous cavil,
And I'm free to confess they've puzzled the devil;
My agents are right to let lawyers alone,
If I had them they'd swindle me out of my throne."





172               VOICE AND ACTION.
VERY DARK.
The crimson tide was ebbing, and the pulse grew weak and
faint,
But the lips of that brave soldier scorned e'en now to make
complaint;
"Fall in rank! " a voice called to him,-calm and low was his
reply:
" Yes, if I can, I'll do it-I will do it, though I die."
And he murmured, when the life-light had died out to just a
spark,
"It is growing very dark, mother-growing very dark."
There were tears in manly eyes, then, and manly heads were
bowed,
Though the balls flew thick around them, and the cannons
thundered loud;
They gathered round the spot where the dying soldier lay,
To catch the broken accents he was struggling then to say;
And a change came o'er the features where death had set his
mark,
"It is growing very dark, mother-very, very dark."
Far away his mind had wandered, to Ohio's hills and vales,
Where the loved ones watched and waited with that love that
never fails;
Hie was with them as in childhood, seated in the cottage
door,
Where lie watched the evening shadows slowly creeping on
the floor;
Bend down closely, comrades, closely, he is speaking now, and
hark!"It is growing very dark, mother-very, very dark."
He was dreaming of his mother, that her loving hand was
pressed
On his brow for one short moment, ere he sank away to rest;
That her lips were now imprinting a kiss upon his cheek,
And a voice he well remembered spoke so soft, and low, and
vmeek.





SELECTIONS.


1 1.3


Her gentle form was near him, her footsteps he could mark,
"But 'tis growing very dark, mother-mother, very dark."
And the eye that once had kindled, flashing forth with patriot
light,
Slowly glazing, vainly strove to pierce the gathering gloom of
night.
Ah! poor soldier! Ah! fond mother, you are severed now
for aye.
Cold and pulseless, there he lies now, where he breathed his
life away,
Through this heavy cloud of sorrow shines there not one
heavenly spark?
Ah! it has grown dark, mother-very, very dark.
PAT AND THE PIG.
We have read of a Pat so financially flat,
That he had neither money nor meat,
And when hungry and thin, it was whisper'd by sin,
That he ought to steal something to eat.
So he went to the sty of a widow near by,
And he gazed on the tenant-poor soul!
"Arrah now," said he, " what a trate that'll be,"
And the pig of the widow he stole.
In a feast he rejoiced; then he went to ajudge,.
For in spite of the pork and tlhe lard,
There was something within, that was sharp as a pin,
For his conscience was pricking him hard.
And he said with a tear, "Will your Riverence hear
What I have in sorrow to say?"
Then the story he told, and the TALE did unfold
Of the pig he had taken away.
And the judge to him said, " Ere you go to your bed
You must pay for the pig you Lave taken,
For 'tis thus, by me Fowl, you'll be saving your sowl,
And will also be saving your bacon."





174


VOICE AND ACTION.


" Ol, be jabers," said Pat, " I can niver do thatNot the ghost of a hap'orth have IAnd I'm wretched indade if a penny it nade
Any pace for me conscience to buy."
Then in sorrow he cried, and the judge he replied,
" Only think how you'll tremble with fear
When the judge you shall meet at the great judgment seat
And the widow you plundered while here."
" Will the widow be there? " whispered Pat with a stare,
" And the pig? by my sowl, is it true? "
" They will surely be there," said the judge, " I declare,
And, oh Paddy! what then will you do? "
" Many thanks," answered Pat, " for your telling me that,
May the blessings upon you be big!
On that settlemint day, to the widow I'll say,
Mrs. Flannegan here is your pig!"
THE OLD MAN DREAMS.
O for one hour of youthful joy 1
Give back my twentieth spring!
I'd rather laugh a briglit-haired boy
Than reign a gray-beard king!
Off with the wrinkled spoils of age I
Away with learning's crown!
Tear out life's wisdom-written page,
And dash its trophies down!
One moment let my life-blood stream
From boyhood's fount of flame!
Give me one giddy, reeling dream
Of life all love and fame!
My listening angel heard the prayer,
And calmly smiling, said,
l If I but touch thy silvered hair,
Thy hasty wish hath sped.





SELECTIONS.


175


" But is there nothing in thy track
To bid thee fondly stay,
While the swift seasons hurry back
To find the wished-for day? "
Ah, truest soul of womankind
Without thee, what were life?
One bliss I cannot leave behind:
I'll take-my- precious-wife
The angel took a sapphire pen
And wrote in rainbow dew,
" The man would be a boy again,
And be a husband too "
" And is there nothing yet unsaid
Before the change of years'?
Remember, all their gifts have fled
With those dissolving years! "
Why, yes; for memory would recall
My fond paternal joys;
I could not bear to leave them all:
I'll take-my-girl-and-boys!
The smiling angel dropped his pen," Why this will never do;
The man would be a boy again,
And be a tather too! "
And so I laughed,-my laughter woke
The household with its noise,And wrote my dream, when morning broke,
To please the gray-haired boys.
POP.
And there they sat, a-popping corn,
John Styles and Susan Cutter;
John Styles as fat as any ox,
And Susan fat as butter.





176


VOICE AND ACTION.


And there they sat and shelled the corn,
And raked and stirred the fire,
And talked of different kinds of care,
And hitched their chairs up nigher.
Then Susan she the popper shook,
Then John he shook the popper;
Till both their faces grew as red
As saucepans made of copper.
And then they shelled, and popped, and ate,
All kinds of fun a-poking,
While he haw-hawed at her remarks,
And she laughed at his joking.
And still they popped, and still they ate;
John's mouth was like a hopperAnd stirred the fire, and sprinkled salt,
And shook and shook the popper.
The clock struck nine-the clock struck ten,
And still the corn kept popping;
It struck eleven, and then struck twelve!
And still no signs of stopping.
And John he ate, and Sue she thoughtThe corn did pop and patter;
Till John cried out " The corn's a-fire 1
Why Susan, what's the matter? "
SAid she, " John Style-, it's one o'clock;
You'll die of indigestion;
I'm -ick of all this poppang cornWhy don't you pop the question? "





SELECTIONS.                   177
THE BATTLE.
After the manner of Schiller.
BY GEORGE W. BIRDSEYE,
Like a cloud of dread,
Heavy and dead,
Is the sound of their earnest anxious tread,
As, with silent fife, and noiseless drum,
O'er the plain of summer green they come.
As far as the eye can see they spread,
Each to take a hand in the wild iron game
For the stakes of honor and deathless fame.
Now Fear for a moment has birth.
And, shrinking, their eyes seek the earth,
While their hearts beat madly and prompt them to fly.
But Fear must die!So in front, by the faces as pale as death,
Now the General gallops with quickened breath:" HALT "-And the regiments stand,
Chained by the word of command.
"Men! Like a stain on the morning light,
What taunts and defies us from yonder height?
See, 'tis the foeman's flaunting flag! "
With throbbing hearts, and eyes aflame,
From soldiers' souls the answer came:
"Yes, 'tis the foeman's cursed flag! "
It shall fall, though in falling it cost us life!
God be with you-children and wife 1
Hark-the drum!-Hark-the fife!Through the ranks the summons pealing;
Rousing every noble feeling.
Already Fear is dead,
And rising in its stead,
A patriot courage fires each votive band,
Born of their love for home and native land 1
8*





VOICE AND ACTION.


A prayer is wafted across the plain:
" God grant, my brother,
If not in this world, that in another
We meet again I "
Already dart War's lightning-flashes!
The cannon-thunder booms and crashes!
Now they shudder, and shrink,
And e'en brave hearts quiver,
As they feel that they stand on the brink
Of Death's river;But a shout greets their ears:--" LIBERTY 1 "
And fled are their fears:--" LIBERTY! "
'Tis their watchword, and earnest and strong
Once more are the hearts of each throng,
As they pass that great watchword along,
Whose very name makes the breast feel free:
" LIBERTY!
But Death-dark Death has his Liberty too;
And roams the ranks of the warriors through I
For the battle rages
Through fiery stages,
And every spark of the soul engages;
And, through the awful mist and cloud,
Enwrapt like a shroud
Over friend-over foe,
The iron dice the death-demons throw!
Close come the foemen for one dread embrace.
" READY! "-That word blanches every face.
Down on their knees drop the foremost men,
Many, alas! ne'er to rise again.
" AIM! "-Steady for your loved-ones' sakes!
" FIRE! "-What a gap the lead-stream makes!
Those behind leap over the corpses before,
And the front is a solid mass once more.
But reeling, and twirling,
And right and left whirling,
Now with ghastly grin, now with frightful frown,
Dark Death in his dance treads the bravest down!





SELECTIONS.


Quenched is the sun, but more fiery the fight.
Over both armies broods the black night;
While the prayer of anguish bursts o'er the plain:
" God grant, my brother,
If not in this world, that in another
We meet again! "
Blood-blood, the air is dense
With the odor that sickens every sense.
At each step there is a sucking sound,
And blood-blood oozes from the ground.
Living and dead lie in mingled mass;
And the eager, undaunted ones, as they pass,
Over them stagger, and stumble, and fall;
And their feet slide and slip,
Like a reeling ship,
In the boiling blood that is over all.
The dying ones, curst
With a withering thirst,
Cry, "Water, for God's sake!-one drop-only one I"
But water there's none!
Only blood-hot blood from war's fountains run 1
Hither and thither sways the fight,
Darker, and darker broods the night;
And the prayer still rises from the plain:
" God grant, my brother,
If not in this world, that in another
We meet again."
Hark!-Who rush galloping by?
The Adjutants fly 1
The Dragoons bear down on the foe
" Blow, bugles, blow! "
For the awful thunder and roar
Of their cannon are heard no more.
" Victory, brothers! Victory!"
Terror bursts on the cowards all;"Huzza! " t.eir colors fall!





180


VOICE AD' ACTTON.


Ended, at last, is the sharp-fought fight,
And day flashes over the conquered night.
Now no foul stains
Our flag retains,The flag of the faithful-the flag of the right!
Hark-the drum!-hark-the fife!No longer a signal for strife;
But merrily-cheerily pealing,
Rousing each thankful feeling,
The wounds of sorrow healing,
Waking old joys to life.
In their soul's rejoice
All unite in one mighty voice,
And the ranks along
Burst forth in the glorious triumph song
Of-" Victory! Victory! ---
But through hearts of joy shoot the throbs of pain.
Oh the dead-the dead on the battle plain I
" Farewell, fallen brother!
We part in this world, but in another
We meet again! "
THE BIRTH OF ERIN.
Wid all condescinsion,
I'd turn yer attinshin,
To what I would minshin iv Erin so green,
And widhout hisitayshin,
I'd show how dhat nayshin,
Became iv creayshin the gim an' the queen.
It happened wan mornin',
Widhout iny warnin',
That Vaynus was born in the beautiful say,
An' be that same tokin',
(An' shure 'twas provokin',)
Her pinions war soakin,' an' wudn't give play.
So Niptune who knew her,
Began to purshue her,





SELECTIONS.


181


In ordher to woo her, the wicked owld foo',
An' he very nigh caught her,
A top iv the wather,
Great Jupither's daughter, who cried " Poo-la-loo I"
Bud Jove, the great Jaynious,
Look'd down an' saw Vaynous,
An' Niptune so haynious purshuin' her woild,
So he roared out in thundher
He'd tare him assundher;
An' shure 'twas no wondher for tazing his choild.
So a sthar dhat was flyin',
Around him espyin',
He sazed widhout sighin', an' hurled it belyow,
Where it tumbled. loike winkin',
While Niptune was sinkin',
An' gave him, I'm thinkin', ' the brath iv a blow!'
An' dhat sthar was dhryland,
Both lowland and highland,
An' form'd a swate island, the land iv my birth I
Thus plain is my shtory,
Kase sint down from glory,
That Erin so hoary's a heaven upon earth.
Thin Vaynus jumped nately,
On Erin so shtately;
But faynted, kase lately so bothered, an' priss'd;
Which her much did bewildher;
But ere it had kill'd her,
Her father dishtilld her a dhrop iv the bisht!
An that glass so victorious,
It made her feel gloriou-,
A little uproarious I fear it might prove,
Hince howv cin yez blame us
ThAit Eriii's so faymous
For beauty, an' murther, an' whis2ey, an' love I





182


VOICE AND ACTION.


METAPHYSICS.
One evening the old sitting-room at my Grandfather's
became the scene of quite a curious and amusing conversation.
There was Dr. Sobersides, my Grandfather, Uncle Tim,
Aunt Judy, Malachi, our hired man, and the schoolmaster, who
had called in to warm his hands and get a drink of cider.
Something was under discussion, and my Grandfather could
make nothing of it.
" Pray, Doctor," said Uncle Tim, " tell me something about
Metaphysics, I have often heard of that science but never for
my life could make anything out of it."
"Metaphysics," said the Doctor, "is the -science of abstractions."
"I am no wiser for that explanation."
" It treats of matters most profound and sublime, a little
difficult perhaps for a common intellect, or an unschooled capacity to fathom, but not the less important on that account to all
human beings."
" What does it teach? " said the schoolmaster.
"It is not so much applied to the operation of teaching as
to that of inquiring; and the chief inquiry is, as to whether
things are, or whether they are not."
" I don't understand you," said Uncle Tim.
"Well, take for example this earth," said the Doctor, setting
his foot slap on the cat's tail. " Now the earth may exist-"
" Who the dogs ever doubted that?"
" A great many men, and some very learned ones; although
Bishop Berkeley has proved beyond all possible gainsaying or
denial that it does not exist. The case is clear; the only
thing is to know whether we shall believe it or not."
" That is a point of considerable consequence to settle,"
said my Grandfather.
"Now the earth may exist-"
"But how is all this to be found out? "
"By digging down to the first principles," said the Doctor.
"Ay," said Malachi, " there is nothing equal to the spade





SELECTIONS.


183


and pickaxe; 'tis by digging that we can find out whether the
world exists or not."
" That is true, because if we dig to the bottom of the earth
and find no foundation, then it is clear that the world stands
upon nothing; or in other words that it does not stand
at all, therefore it stands to reason-"  " Oh! I beg pardon,
I use the word digging metaphorically, meaning the profoundest cogitation and research into the nature of things; that is
the way in which we may ascertain as to whether things are
or whether they are not."
" But," said Uncle Tim, " if a man can't believe his own
eyes, what signifies talking about it?"
" Our eyes are nothing but the inlets of sensation, and when
we see anything, all we are aware of is, that we have a sensation
of it; we are sure of nothing that we see with our eyes."
" Not without spectacles," said Aunt Judy. " Plato maintains sensation of an object-"
" In common cases," said Uncle Tim, "those who utter
nonsense are considered blockheads."
" But in Metaphysics it is entirely different."  " Now all
this is hocus-pocus to me. I don't understand a bit more of
the matter than I did at first."
" As I was saying, Plato maintains sensation of an object
is produced by a succession of images or counterfeits streaming off from the object to the organs of sight. Again we have
it explained upon the principles of whirligigs."
" No doubt of that; but when a man gets through doubting, what does he begin to build upon in the metaphysical
way? " said my grandfather.
"Why, he begins by taking something for granted."
"But is that a sure way of going to work? "
' Why-it--is-the only thing he can do,-Metaphysics, to
speak exactly-"
" Thlt's right," said the schoolmaster, " bring it down to
the science of abstractions and then we shall understand it."
" 'Tis the consideration of immateriality or the mere spirit
and essence of things."
"Come, come, now I begin to understand it," said Aunt
Judy.





184


VOICE A1TD ACTION.


l Thus man is considered, not only in his corporeality, but
in his essence, or capability of being; for a man, metaphysically,
or to metaphysical purposes, hath two natures."
" What man? "
"Why any man.    Malachi there, for example: I may take
Malachi as Malachi spiritual, or, Malachi corporeal."
" That is true, for when I was in the Militia I was made a
corporal and carried grog to the drummer."
"' Oh! That is quite a different affair. When we speak of
essence, we mean the essence of locality, the essence of duration-"
" And the essence of Peppermint? "
"The essence I mean is quite a different affair."
"Something too fine to be dribbled through the worm  of
a still."
" There we go again. I declare I'm all in the dark."
" It is a thing that has no matter; that is, that it cannot be
felt, heard, smelt, or tasted. It has no substance nor solidity,
large nor small, hot nor cold, long nor short."
"Then what is the long and the short of it? "
"Abstraction! "
" Well, Doctor, what do you say to a pitchfork as an abstraction? "
"A pitchfork would mean none in particular, but one in
general, and would be a thing in abstraction."
"It would be a thing in the haymow."
"Doctor, have many such things been discovered?"
"Discovered! why all things, whether in Heaven, or on the
earth, or in the waters under the earth, all may be considered
abstractions."
"Indeed! well what do you think of a red cow for an
example? "
" A red cow, considered as an abstraction, would be an
animil possessing neither hide nor horns, bones nor flesh; it
would have no color at all, for its redness woul: be the mere
counterfeit or imagination of such. It would neither go to
pasture, chew cud, give milk, nor do anything of a like
nature." t" A dog's foot-all the metaphysics under the sun
wouldn't make a pound of butter."





SELECTIONS.


185


" That's a fact," said Uncle Tim, and here the conversation
ended.
E PLTURIBUS UNUM.
Though many and bright are the stars that appear
In the flag of our country unfurl'd;
And the stripes that are swelling in majesty there,
Like a rainbow adorning the world;
Their lights are unsullied as those in the sky,
SBy a deed that our fathers have done,
And they're leagued in as true and holy a tie,
In their motto of ".Many in one."
From the hour when those patriots fearlessly flung
That banner of starlight abroad,
Ever true to themselves, to that motto they clung,
As they clung to the promise of God;
By the bayonet trac'd at the midnight of war,
On the fields where our glory was won
Oh! perish the hand, or the heart that would mar
Our motto of " Many in one."
'Mid the smoke of the contest, the cannon's deep roar,
How oft it hath g-thered renown;
While those stars were reflected in rivers of gore,
When the cross and the lion went down.
And tho' few were the lights in the gloom of that hour,
Yet the hearts that were striking below,
Had God for their bulwark, and truth for their power,
And stopp'd not to number their foe.
The oppress'd of the earth to that standard shall fly,
Wherever its folds shall be spread;
And the exile shall feel 'tis his own native sky,
Where its stars shall float over his head;
And those stars shall increase till the fullness of time
Its millions of cycles has run;
Divide as we may in our own native land,
To the rest of the world we are one.





186


VOICE AND ACTION.


Then up with our flag! let it stream on the air,
Though our fathers are cold in their graves;
They had arms that could strike, they had souls that could
dare,
And their sons were not born to be slaves I
Up, up with that banner where'er it may call,
Our millions shall rally around;
A nation of freemen that moment shall fall,
When its stars shall be trailed on the ground.
CAPT. CUTLER.
VENTRILOQUISM.
This is a faculty long supposed to have existed only with
the few, considered by the multitude as especially gifted. The
principles of Elocution prove that it can be acquired. As a
general thing, we have neither necessity nor occasion to use
the voice in the manner in which it is produced. Most persons, in former times, have actually believed that the voice
left the body of the operator, and was thrown or " cast" in
various directions, at will. This is impossible, and yet, with
all it.: absurdity, it is difficult to convince many, even at the
present day, to the contrary.
It is only in seeming that the sound comes from any indicated direction; it is merely a concentration or suppression of
the voice within the lungs which gives the appearance of distance to sound thus produced. To practice ventriloquism
effectively, it is necessary to begin with simple sounds, making
them from the depth of the lungs. Take the vowels first,
then the explosives; render them  clear and full. After the
voice is well established, as coming from the lungs, and not
on the lips. and about the throat, then shut the teeth and
endeavor to give the sounds in the mouth; having it rounded
and arched, to give greater resonance.
Finally, close tle lips compactly over the teeth, and give
the sounds, as bef)re, from the lungs: be sure of full and deep
breathing first. To nmake the sounds very faint, to represent
extreme distance, compress the mus(les of the throat clo-ely
together, and thus prevent the sound from too audibly escap




VENTRILOQUISM.


187


ing. Practice these sounds in every variety of manner until
under complete control; and then let ingenuity devise as to
language and characters suitable to experiments in this department of vocal science. It is very simple, and only requires
practice to excel in it. Almost any person can acquire it who
has ordinary good vocal organs. It is speaking from the lungs
rather than from the lips and throat. It is capital practice for
the voice to acquire this peculiar command over the lungs.
SCENE.
Have a box, supposed to be a hotel, Peter, the landlord, within.
OPERATOR AND PETER.
Operator. (Knocks on the box). Peter! halloo! Peter!
(pause). He sleeps very sound-(to audience). Peter! (klnocks),
Halloo! Peter!
Peter. (Inside.) Halloo, there! what do you want?
Op. I want to come in.
Pet. No, no, I don't want you in here.
Op. If you don't open this door, I'll knock your sign down.
Pet. If you do, I'll knock you down.
Op. Well, Peter, there are some ladies out here that wish
to see you.
Pet. No, they don't.
Op. Yes, they do.
Pet. Well, I know they don't.
Op. Well, are you coming out?
Pet. No, I won't.
Op. Well, then, I'll open the door. (Lifts the cover of the
box.)
Pet. (Speaking louder, as the box is opened.)  Shut down
the dofr.
Op. (Shuts it down.)
Pet. (Voice as before.) I don't want to come out there
Op. Well, have you the keys of the wine-cellar?
Pet. No, I hain't.
Op. Who has, then?
Pet. Jack has 'em.





188


VOICE AND ACTION.


Op. Where is Jack?
Pet. Under the table.
Op. Under the table, is he?
Pet. Yes, he is.
Op. (Looks under the table, lifting the cloth.) Jack, holloa
there I
Jack. (Under the table, in a gruff voice.) What do you
want?
Op. I would like to come in.
Jack. Well, why don't you come in?
Op. Have you the keys of the wine-cellar
Jack. No, I haven't.
Op. (Goes to box.) Jack says he has not the keys.
Pet. Well, I have n't 'em.
Op. (Goes to the table.) Well, Jack, have you any good
champagne?
Jack. Yes; here, hold your glass. (Imitates popping the
cork from a bottle.)
Op. Well, that is nice; have you any more?
Jack. Oh, yes; hold your glass. (Pops another.)
Op. Well, good-night.
Jack. Good-night! come again when you can't stay so long.
Op. (Again to box.) Peter, the ladies do wish to see you.
Pet. No they don't.
Op. Well, what is the reason you are not coming out?
Pet. I have n't got on my boots yet.
Op. I'll wait a moment. (Pauses.) Have you put on
your boots?
Pet. Yes, I have on my boots.
Op. Well, what is the reason you are not coming out?
Pet. I have n't put on my stockirgs yet.
Op. Ia! ha! ha! Why, I generally put on mine first.
Pet. Well, I don't.
Op. Why, how do you put them on?
Pet. Over my boots, of course.
Op. Come, Peter, now open this door.
Pet. I won't; no, no; go 'long off.
Op. If you don't let me in, I'll catch one of your chickens,
and put him in there.





VENTRILOQUISM.


Pet. No, no, now don't; you let my chickens alone.
Op. Will you let me in, then?
Pet. No, I won't.
Op. Well then, I'll catch one. (Imitates the peeping of a
chicken, pretends to catch it and throw it in.)
Pet. Take 'im out I take 'im out!
Op. Will you open the door? Will you open the door if
I'11 take it out?
Pet. Yes, I will.
Op. (Opens the cover.)
Pet. That's right; take him out; take him out.
Op. (Takes out chicken, peeping.)  Now open the door.
Pet. No, I won't.
Op. You promised to.
Pet. I don't care if I did.
Op. Now, I am determined to empty you out.
Pet. No, no, now don't.
Op. Yes, I will. Here you go. (Turns over the box, with
Peter struggling to keep in it.)
Pet. (Loud voice.)  No, no, now don't.
Op. Yes, I will; here you go. (Empties box.) Where are
you? I did not see you come out I
Pet. (Beneath the floor). I'm 'way down in the cellar, you
old fool!
Op. Good-night to you.
Pet. (Very faint, as if still further off.)  Good-night.





190


VOICE AND ACTION.


THE OLD CHAPEL BELL.
Within a churchyard's sacred ground,
Whose fading tablets tell
Where they who built the village church
In solemn silence dwell,
Half hidden in the earth, there lies
An ancient chapel bell.
Broken, decayed and covered o'er
With mouldering leaves and rust;
Its very name and date concealed
Beneath a cankering rust;
Forgotten-like its early friends,
Who sleep in neighboring dust.
Yet it was once a trusty bell,
Of most sonorous lung,
And many a joyous wedding peal,
And many a knell had rung,
'Ere Time had cracked its brazen sides
And broke its iron tongue.
And many a youthful heart had danced
In merry Christmas-time,
To hear its pleasant roundelay,
Rung out in ringing rhyme;
And many a worldly thought been checked
To list its Sabbath chime.
A youth-a bright and happy boy,
One sultry summer's day,
Aweary of his bat and ball,
Chanced hitherward to stray,
To read a little book he had
And rest him from his play.
" A soft and shady spot is this! "
The rosy youngster cried,
And sat him down, beneath a tree,
That ancient Bell beside;
(But, hidden in the tangled grass,
The Bell he ne'er espied.)





8ELECTIONS.


191


Anon, a mist fell on his book,
The letters seemed to stir,
And though, full oft, his flagging sight
T'he boy essayed to spur,
The mazy page was quickly lost
Beneath a cloudy blur.
And while he marvelled much at this,
And wondered how it cane,
lie felt a languor creepin l o'er
His young and weary frame,
And heard a voice, a gentle voice,
That plainly spoke his name.
That gentle voice that named his name,
Entranced him like a spell,
Upon lis eair, so very near
And suddenly it fell;
Yet soft and musical, as 'twere
The whisper of a bell.
"Since last I spoke," the voice began," Seems many a dreary year!
(Albeit, 'tis only since thy birth
I've lain neglected here;)
Pray list, while I rehearse a tale
Behooves thee much to hear.
"Once, from yon ivied tower, I watched
The villagers, around,
And gave to all their joys and griefs,
A sympathetic sound.
But most are sleeping, now, within
This consecrated ground.
" I used to ring my merriest peal
To hail the blushing bride;
I sadly tolled for men cut down
In strength and manly pride;
And solemnly,-not mournfully,When little children died.





192


VOICE AND ACTION.


" But, chief, my duty was to bid
The villagers repair,
On each returning Sabbath morn,
Unto the House of Prayer,
And in his own appointed place,
The Saviour's mercy share.
" Ah! well I mind me of a child,
A gleesome, happy maid,
Who came with constant steps to church
In comely garb arrayed,
And knelt her down full solemnly,
And penitently prayed.
"Years rolled away,-and I beheld
The child to woman grown;
Her cheek was fairer, and her eye
With brighter lustre shone;
But childhood's truth and innocence
Were still the maiden's own.
"I never rang a merrier peal,
Than when, a joyous bride,
She stood beneath the sacred porch,
A noble youth beside,
And plighted him her maiden troth,
In maiden love and pride.
"I never tolled a deeper knell,
Than when, in after years,
They laid her in the churchyard here,
Where this low mound appears(The very grave, my boy, that you
Are watering now with tears.")
The boy awoke, as from a dream,
And, thoughtful, looked around,
But nothing saw, save at his feet
His mother's lowly mound,
And by its side that ancient Bell,
Half hidden in the ground.





SELECTIONS.


193


THE FRENCHMAN AND THE FLEA POWDER.
A Frenchman once-so runs a certain dittyHad crossed the Straits to famous London city,
To get a living by the arts of France,
And teach his neighbor, rough John Bull, to dance.
But lacking pupils, vain was all his skill;
His fortunes sank from low to lower still,
Until at last, p:thetic to relate,
Poor Monsieur landed at starvation's gate.
Standing, one day, beside a cook-shop door,
And gazing in, with aggravation sore,
IHe mused within himself what he should do
To fill his empty maw, and pocket too.
By nature shrewd, lie soon contrived a plan,
And thus to execute it straight began:
A piece of common brick he quickly found,
And with a harder stone to powder ground,
Then wrapped the dust in many a dainty piece
Of paper, labelled " Poison for de Fleas,"
And sallied forth, his roguish trick to try,
To show his treasures, and to see who'd buy.
From street to street he cried, with lusty yell,
"Here's grand and sovereign flee poudare to sell!
And fickle Fortune seemed to smile at last,
For soon a woman hailed him as he passed,
Struck a quick bargain with him for the lot,
And made him five crowns richer on the spot.
Our wight, encouraged by this ready sale,
Went into business on a larger scale,
And soon throughout all London scattered he
The "only genuine poudare for de flea."
Engaged, one morning, in his new vocation
Of mingled boasting and dissimulation,
He thought he heard himself in anger called;
And, sure enough, the self-same woman bawled,
In not a mild or very tender mood,
From the same window where before she stood.
9





194


VOICE AND ACTION.


"Hey, there! " said she, "you Monsher Powder-man I
Escape my clutches now, sir, if you can!
I'll let you dirty thieving Frenchmen know,
That decent people won't be cheated so."
Then spoke Monsieur, and heaved a saintly sigh,
With humble attitude and tearful eye.
" All, Madam! s'il vous plait, attendez-vousI vill dis leetle ting explain to you.
My poudare gran! magnifiqu! why abuse him?
Aha! I show you how to use him.
First, you must wait until you catch deflea;
Den, tic(kle he on the petite rib, you see;
And when lie laugh-ah: i! he ope his throat;
Den poke de poudare down!-BEGAR! HE CHOKE.
PAT AND HIS MUSKET.
I've heard a good joke of an Emerald Pat,
Who kept a few brains and a brick in his hat.
He was bound to go hunting; so. taking his gun,
He rammed down a charge-this was load number one;
Then pat in the priming, and when all was done,
By way of experiment, tliought hle woul: try,
And see if, perchance, he might hit t' e "bulls-eye."
He straighten'd himself till lie made a good figure,
Took deliberate aim, and then pulled the trigger.
Click! went the hammer, but nothing exploded;
" And sure," muttered Paddy, " the gun isn't loaded I "
So down went another charge, just as before,
Unless this contained just a griin or two more;
Once more he got ready, and took a good aim,
And pulled on the trigger-effect quite the same.
" I wonder can this be still shootin'? " said Pat;
" I put down a load now I'm certain of that;
I'll try it again, and then we shall see! "
So down went the cartridge of load number three!
Then trying again with a confident air,
And succeeding no better, gave up in despair.





SELECTIONS.


195


Just at that moment he happened to spy
His friend Michael Milligan hurrying by.
" Hollo, Mike! come here, and just try on my gun:
I've been tryin' to shoot till I'm tired and done! "
So Mike took the gun, and pricked up the powder,
Remarking to Pat, "it would make it go louder;"
Then placing it firmly against his right arm,
And never suspecting it might do him harm,
He pointed the piece in the proper direction,
And pulled on the trigger without more reflectionWhen off went the gun! like a country election,
And Michael " went off" in another direction!
"Hold on! " shouted Pat, " hold on to the gun!
I put in three loads, and you've fired off but one I
Get up, and be careful, don't hold it so livel,
Or else we are both of us gone to the divil "
"' I'm going," says Michael, " it's right that I wint,
I've got myself kicked, and it's time for the hint."
MULROONEY.ý '.
" MulrooneyJ come herej I want you to pnt About two doublehands-fulliof bran into a bucket\of warm water, and after stirring the mixtnre well to give it to the black fillies. That's
wliat We call a ibran maslh in this country. Now do you understand me "  " Good luck/ to yer honor, and what 'ud I be
good for if I didn't? an' shurg its the ould counthry mash afther all."
" I thought as much, so now away with you and be sure
you don't make any mistake."
" 'Tisn't at all likely I'll do that, sir; but hbout the warm
wather and the nagui, shall I tell her itis yer 'onor's ordhers?"
" Certainly! "  AwayPie went. About ten minutes after.
Mrs. Stanley entering the room remarked, " I do wish you
would go into the kitchen. I am afraidithere is something
wrong between that Irishman and Phillis; they are quarrelling about  gg. he says you gave him."
"Oh!it is nothing, mny dear, I sent Mulrooney into the
kitchen to get some water that he might feedithe horses, and





196


VOICE AND ACTION.


I presume Phillis has refused to let him have any-" All at once
we heard a distant crash like sound of plates and dishes.
Mrs. Stanley'started in alarm. " Do go and see what the mattcr is, I am sure there is something wr(ong, that Irishman will
be the death of Phillis one of these days." I now pa-sed
through the hall, and as I approaclied, the noise increased.
First of all came the shrill voice of Phillis, " Ha' dun, I say;
I tell ye I won't hab nuffin to do wid dePstuff no way; go way,
you poor white tra-h; I tell yer I won't."
" Yer stupidl an' contrary old nagur, don't I tell ye tish the
master's ordhers? "
'' Tain't no such thing, I tell yer I won't; who eber heerd
of a cullerd wooman a-takin' a bran mash afore, I'd like\ to
know? "
" You haythin ouldl nagur, don't I tell ye 'tish the masther's
ordhers? "
"Taint no such thing,j I'11 call missus,l dat I will."
I thought the jokelha proceeded far enough, so I flung open
the door. The floor was strewn -with broken dishes, tables
were overturned, and in the midst was Phillis saated on
a broken chair" sputtering and gasping "as Mulrooncy had at
this moment seized her. Her head was under his left arm*
while with his right'ie was conveying a tiu-cup of the warm
br-s  o her up turned monuth'  An' sure, sir, what'ud
a     I,(e doin' but given lacli lis the bran mash accordin' to
^y r orders? "      1Oh! you stupid 1rishman.  Vy;e,A    7
ie walked away muttering, "An' if they calls horses
hillis, an' Phillis horses, I'd like to know how I'm ever to
-- find outithe difference."
His greaitY d Isc NfJ t-John G. Saxfor
t~
~'God bless the man that first invented sleep 1"
So Sancho Paza said, and so say I;
And bless him, also that he didn't keep
His great discovery to himself; or try
To make it-as the lucky fellow mightA close monopoly by " patent right! "





SELECTIONS.


197


Yes--bless the man who first invented sleep,
(I really can't avoid the iteration;)
But blast the man with curses loud and deep,
Whate'er the rascal's name, or age or station,
Who first invented, and went round advising
That artificial cut-off--early rising!
"Rise with the lark, and with the lark to bed;"
Observes some solemn, sentimental owl.
Maxims like these are very cheaply said;
But e'er you make yourself a fool or fowl,
Pray, just inquire about the rise-and fall,
And whether larks have any bed at all.
The "time for honest folks to be in bed,"
Is in the morning, if I reason right;
And he who cannot keep his precious head
Upon his pillow till 'tis fairly light,
And so enjoy his forty morning winks,
Is up to knavery *, or else-he drinks!
Thomson, who sung about the " Seasons," said
It was a glorious thing to rise in season;
But then he said it-lying-in his bed
At 10 o'clock A. M.--the very reason
He wrote so charmingly! The simple fact is,
His preaching wasn't sanctioned by his practice.
'Tis, doubtless, well to be sometimes awakeAwake to duty, and awake to truthBut when, alas! a nice review we take
Of our be-t deeds and days, we find, in sooth,
The hours that leave the slightest cause to weep,
Are those we passed in childhood, or-asleep.
'Tis beautiful to leave the world awhile,
For the soft visions of the gentle n:ght:
And free, at last, from mortal care or guile,
To 1;ve, as only in the an: el's sight,
In sleep's sweet realm so cosily shut in,
Where, at the worst, we only dream of sin.





198


VOICE AND ACTION.


So let us sleep, and give the maker praise.
I like the lad who, when his father thought
To clip his morning nap by hackneyed phrase
Of vagrant worm by early songster caught,
Cried, "Served him right! it's not at all surprising;
The worm was punished, sir, for early rising! "
SHORT EXTRACTS ARRANGED FOR
SPEAKING.
ELOQUENCE.
With gifts which raise man far above the brute creation, God has coupled powers of expression which are equally
pre-eminent, and without which, those gifts would have been
all but useless. But, until duly trained, they are crude, irregular, and impulsive. As an art, eloquence would cultivate all
the capacities of the soul with reference to its own specific
object. It teaclies how the orator is to deal with his powers,
and by what means he is to train them to their perfect maturity; how he is to discipline judgment, enrich and yet chasten
imagina'ion, refine taste, and strengthen those generous sentiments which as-ure him access to the hearts of others. It
aims to give him, too, a high idea of the power and dignity of
his art, and to inspire him with an ambition for its greatest
achievments. All this is inculcated, net in precept merely, but
by noble examples of the art, and also by frequent exercises;
and when, by such means, the faculties of the orator are unfolded, this art strives to subject them to his complete control,
so that, when he bids, they shall come forth obediently, and do
their appropriate work. The eloquence of the uncultivated is
called forth by occasions and emergencies. It is not at com




SHORT EXTRACTS.,


199


mand. When wanted, they are not always at hand; and when
drawn forth by circumstances, they often transport him beyond the mark. But the eloquence of the trained and cultivated s eaker is a power, though often dormant, yet always
ready for use: wtlen summoned it comes, though there be no
favoring circumstances. It can speak even to reluctant ears,
and compel an audience to listen. Neglected and despised
truths it can invest with majesty, such that they shall bow
men's hearts: and a taste, however fastidious or hypercritical,
if just, it can satisfy and delight.
THE PURIFYING INFLUENCE OF POETRY.
Poetry, far from injuring society, is one of tie great instruments of its refinement and exaltation. It lifts the mind above
ordinary life, gives it a respite from depressing cares, and
awakens the consciousness of its affinity with what is pure
and noble. In its legitimate and highest efforts, it has the same
tendency and aim with religion,-that is, to spiritualize our
nature. True, poetry has been made the instrument of vice,
the pander of bad passions: but when genius thus stoops, it
dims its fires, and parts with much of its power; and when
poetry is enslaved to licentiousness and misanthropy, she cannot wholly forget her true vocation. Strains of pure feeling,
touches of tenderness, images of innocent happiness, sympathies with what is good in our nature, bursts of scorn and indignation at the hollowness of the world, passages true to our
moral nature, often escape in an immoral work, and show us
how hard it is for a gifted spirit to divorce itself wholly from
what is good. Poetry has a natural alliance with our best affections. It delights in the beauty and sublimity of outward
nature and of the soul. It indeed portrays with terrible energy
the excesses of the passions; but they are passions which show a
mighty nature, which are full of power, which command, awe,
and excite a deep, though shuddering sympathy. Its great tendency and purpose is to carry the mind beyond and above the
beaten, dusty, weary walks of ordinary life; to lift it into a purer
element, and to breathe into it more profound and generous emo




200


VOICE AND ACTION.


tion. This power of poetry to refine our views of life and happiness is more and more needed as society advances. It is needed
to withstand the encroachments of heartless and artificial manners, which make civilization so tame and uninteresting, and
as men multiply bodily comforts, to prevent them from sinking
into an earthly, material, epicurean life.
SHAKSPEARE.
Shakespeare, by general concession, is the greatest name in
literature. Such various, nnd at the same time, such exalted powers, probably never met together in the mind of any other human
being. Whether we regard the kind or degree of his faculties,
he not only is, but is everywhere allowed to be, the prodigy
of our race. Of the various excellencies ofliterary production,
whether as a thinker or a speaker, in none has he a superior,
in many he has no equal, in some he has scarcely a competitor.
He is emphatically the eye, tongue, heart of humanity, and has
given voice and utterance to whatever we are, and whatever we
see. On all scores, indeed, he is the finest piece of work human
nature has yet achieved; in the whole catalogue of uninspired
men, there is no other name that could not better be spared.
In vital powers, Shakspeare's mind seems as inexhaustible
as nature is in the materials for their embodiment.   For
boundless variety and perfect individuality of character, he is
quite proverbial. All his characters, from  the lhast to the
greatest, numerous as they are, stand out in the most intense
individual life, perfectly rounded in with the distinctness of
actual persons, so that we know them as well and remember
them as distinctly as we do our most intimate friends; and
whether the development of tlhe, be concentrated into a few
lines, or extiededl through a who!e play, it seems free alike
from deficincy and from re'unclancy, s: th:t nothing can: be
added or taken away without injuring the effect. For aught
that we can s e, he mighit have gone omi until now, had he lived
so log, creating characters ja t as v tal, as original, as individual, as any Ie has given us. IHe seems, idleed, to have
w.anted nothing but length of days, to have rivalled nature
herself in the number as well as the truth of his characters.





SHORT EXTRACTS.


201


THE RUSSIAN CAMPAIGN.
By the irretrievable disasters of the Russian campaign, the
empire of the world was effectually placed beyond the grasp of
Napoleon. The tide of conquest had ebbed, never to return.
He was no longer the Invincible. The weight of military
power which had kept down the spirit of nations was removed,
and their long-smothered sense of wrong and insult broke
forth like the fires of a volcano. Bonaparte might still, perhaps, have secured the throne of France, but that of Europe
was gone. This, however, he did not, could not, would not
understand. He had connected with himself too obstinately
the character of the world's master, to be able to relinquish
it. Amidst the dark omens which gathered round him, he
still saw, in his past wonderful escapes, and in his own exaggerated energies, the means of rebuilding his fallen power. To a
mind which has placed its whole happiness in having no equal,the
thought of descending to the level even of Kings is intolerable.
Napoleon's mind had been stretched by such ideas of universal
empire, that France, though reaching from the Rhine to the
Pyrenees, seemed narrow to him. He could not be shut up in
it. Accordingly, as his fortunes darkened, we see no signs of
relenting. He could not wear, he said, " a tarnished crown,"
that is, a crown no brighter than those of Austria and Russia.
He continued to use a master's tone. Ile showed no change,
but such as opposition works in the obstinate; he lost his temper and grew sour. He heaped reproaches on his generals and
the legislative body. It is a striking example of retribution
that the very vehemence and sternness of his will, which had
borne him onward to dominion, now drove him to the rejection of terms which might have left him a formidable power,
and thus made his ruin entire. Thus fell Napoleon.
ENTHUSIASM.
Enthusiasm in its highest condition is that ecstasy of mind,
that lively transport of the soul, which is excited by the pursuit or contemplation of some great and noble object, the
9*





202


VOICE AND ACTIONt


novelty of which awakens attention, the truth of which fixes
the understanding, and the grandeur of which, by firing the
fancy, engages the aid of every passion, and prompts the mind
to the highest undertakings. A just and rightly formed enthusiasm is founded in reason, and supported by nature, and
carries the mind above its ordinary level, into the unexplored
regions of art and science. The rational enthusiast, indeed,
rises to an elevation so far above the distinct view of vulgar
eyes, that common understandings are apt to treat him either
with blind admiration, or cool contempt, only because they
are incapable of comprehending his real character; and while
some bow to him as an extraordinary genius. The powers
of enthusiasm, however, when founded upon proper principles,
so strengthen and invigorate the faculties of the mind, as to
enable it to resist danger undismayed, and to surmount difficulties that appear irresistible.  Those, indeed, who have
possessed themselves of this power to any extraordinary degree, have been considered as inspired, and their great achievements conceived to have been directed by councils, and sustained by energies of a divine or supermundane nature. Certain it is, we owe to the spirit of enthusiasm whatever is great
in art, sublime in science, or noble in the human character.
TIE VANITY OF MAN.
What an insignificant being does man appear, whlen he
compares himself with the magnificence of creation, and with
the myriads of exalted intelligences with which it is peopled!
What are all the honors and splendors of this earthly ball, of
which mortals are so proud, when placed in competition with
the resplendent glories of the sky! What is there in the situation of man that should inspire him  with lofty looks, and induce him to look down on his fellow-men with supercilious
contempt? He derived his origin from the dust, he is allied
with the beasts that perish, ard he is fast hurrying to the grave,
where his body will become the food of noisome reptiles.
He is every moment depending on a superior Being for every
pulse that beats, and every breath he draws, and for all that





SHORT EXTRACTS.


203


he possesses; he is dependent even on the meanest of his
species for his accommodations and comforts. He holds every
enjoyment on the most precarious tenure,-his friends may be
snatched in a moment from his embrace; his riches may take
to themselves wings and fly away; and his health and beauty
may be blasted in an hour, by a breath. His knowledge is circumscribed within the narrowest limits, his errors and follies are
glaring and innumerable, and he stands as an almost undistinguishable atom amidst the immensity of God's works.
Still, with all these powerful inducements to the exercise of
humility, man dares to be prond and arrogant.
How affecting to behold all ranks, from the highest to the
lowest, big with an idea of their own importance, and fired
with pride and revenge at the least provocation, whether
imaginary or real! How inconsistent the manifestations of
such tempers, with the many humiliating circumstances of our
present condition, and with the low rank which we hold in
the scale of universal being.
PLATO.
A grasp and a capacity of mind the most astonishing-a
spirit inquisitive and scrutinizing-a subtlety painfully acute-a
comprehensiveness which could embrace with equal ease the
smallest and most lofty knowledge-a suppleness which, with
almost incredible facility, could descend from the deepest abstraction to the commonest topics of the world-a temper
which, in the heat of disputation, could preserve the most perfect self-possession, and throw into disquisitions, which must
have been the result of long study, solitude, and profound
meditation, all the graces of society and the qualifying embellishments of the most perfect good-breeding-these are the
qualities which seem to have been inherent in the mind of
Plato, and with these he has accordingly endowed the person
whom he in general selected for the organ of conveying their
joint sentiments to the world.
To Plato, the past, the present, and the future seem alike;
he has amassed in himself all the knowledge of the first, he
paints the present to the life, and, by some wonderful instinct,





204


VOICE AND ACTION.


he has given dark hints, as if the most important events which
were to happen after his time had not been wholly hidden
from  his sight.  Less scientific in the arrangement of his
materials than his great scholar, he has infinitely more variety,
more spirit, more beauty, evincing, at every step, that it was
in his own choice to become the most profound of philosophers, the most pointed of orators, or the most sublime of
poets, or, by a skilful combination of all, to form such a character as the world had never yet seen, nor was ever after to
witness.
AMUSEMENTS.
An inordinate love of amusement tends to degrade all the
powers of the understanding.  It is the eternal law of nature,
that truth and wisdom are the offspring of labor, of vigor, and
perseverance in every worthy object of pursuit. The eminent
stations of fame, accordingly, and the distinguished honors of
knowledge, have, in every age, been the reward only of such
attainments, of that cherished elevation of mind which pursues
only magnificent ends, and of that heroic fortitude which,
whether in action or in speculation, pursues them  by the
means of undeviating exertion.
The mighty instructor, experience, may show you in every
rank of life what these effects are. It will show you men
born with every capncity, and whose first years glowed with
every honorable ambition, whom no vice even now degrades,
and to whom no actual guilt is affixed, who yet live in the eye
of the world only as the objects of pity or of scorn-who, in
the idle career of habitual amusement, have dissipated all their
powers and lost all their ambition-and who exist now for no
purpose but to be the sad memorials of ignoble taste and degraded understanding. The great duties of life, the duties for
which every man is born, demand, in all situations, the mind
of labor and perseverance.
We may see around us everywhere the fatal effects of unrestrained pleasure; the young sickening in the midst of every
pure and genuine enjoyment; the mature hastening, with hope.
less step, to fill up the hours of a vitiated being.





SHORT EXTRACTS.


205


Think, with the elevation and generosity of your age,
whether this is the course that leads to honor and fame;
whether it was in this discipline that they were exercised who,
in every age, have blessed or enlightened the world, whose
shades are present to your midnight thoughts--whose nnmes
you cannot pronounce without the tear of gratitude or admiration.
ON THE PLEASURE OF ACQUIRING KNOWLEDGE.
In every period of life, the acquisition of knowledge is one
of the most pleasing employments of the human mind. But
in youth, there are circumstances which make it productive
of higher enjoyment. It is then that everything has the charm
of novelty; that curiosity and fancy are awake; a~id that the
heart swells with the anticipations of future eminence and
utility. Even in those lower branches of instruction which
we call mere accomplishments, there is something always
pleasing to the young in their acquisition. They seem to become every well-educated person; they adorn, if they do not
dignify, humanity; and, what is far more, while they give an
elegant employment to the hours of leisure and relaxation,
they afford a means of contributing to the purity and innocence of domestic life.
But in the acquisition of knowledge of the higher kind in
the hours when the young gradually begin the study of the
laws of nature, and of the faculties of tile human mind, or of
the magn'ficent revelations of the gospel-there is a pleasure
of a sublimer nature; and, while they see, for the first time
the immnensity of the universe of God, and mark the majestic
simplicity of those laws by which its operations are conducted,
they feel as if they were awakened to a higher species of being, and admitted into nearer intercourse with the Author of
Nature.
To feel no joy in such pursuits, to listen carelessly to the
voice which brings such magnificent instruction, to see the
veil raised which conceals the counsels of the Deity, and to
show no emotion at the discovery, are symptoms of a weak
and torpid spirit-of a mind unworthy of the advantages it





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possesses, and fitted only for the humility of sensual and ignoble pleasure. Of those, on the contrary, who distinguish
themselves by the love of knowledge, who follow with ardor
the career that is open to them, we are apt to form the most
honorable anticipations.
GREATNESS.
There are different orders of greatness. Among these the
first rank is unquestionably due to moral greatness, or magnanimity; to that sublime energy by which the soul, smitten
with the love of virtue, binds itself indissolubly, for life and
for death, to truth and duty; espouses as its own the interests
of human nature; scorns all meanness and defies all peril;
hears in its own conscience a voice louder than threatenings
and thunders; withstands all the powers of the universe,
which would sever it from the cause of freedom, virtue, and
religion; reposes an unfaltering trust in God in the darkest
hour, and is ever "ready to be offered up" on the altar of its
country or of mankind.
Next to moral, comes intellectual greatness, or genius in
the highest sense of that word; and by this we mean that
sublime capacity of thought, through which the soul, smitten
with the love of the true and the beautiful, essays to comprehend the universe, soars into the heavens, penetrates the
earth, penetrates itself, questions the past, anticipates the future. traces out the general and all comprehending laws of
nature, binds together by innumerable affinities and relations
all the objects of its knowledge; and, not satisfied with what is
finite, frames to itself ideal excellence, loveliness and grandeur.
Next comes the greatness of action; and by this we mean the
sublime power of conceiving and executing bold and extensive
plans: constructing and bringing to bear on a mighty object a
complicated machinery of means, energies, and arrangements,
and accomplishing great outward effects.





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207


SHAKSPEARE'S SENSIBILITY.
Shakspeare's sensibility is in proportion with his other
gifts. His heart is as great and as strong as his mind. He
feels the beauty and the worth of things as truly and as deeply as he discerns their relations; is alive to the slightest and
equal to the strongest impression. He sympathizes, calmly
yet intensely, with all that he finds and all that he makes; he
loves all things; his soul gushes out in warm virgin-like affection over all the objects of his contemplation, and embraces
them in its soft, heavenly radiance. He discerns a soul, a
pulse of good even in things that are evil; knows, indeed, that
nothing can exist utterly divorced from good of some sort:
that it must have some inward harmony to hold it in existence.
To this harmony, this innate, indestructible worth, his mind
is ever open. He is, therefore, a man of universal benevolence; wishes well of all things; will do his best to benefit
them: not, indeed, by injuring others, but by doing them
justice; by giving them their due, be they saints or be they
sinners.  He is strictly and inexorably impartial, and even
shows his love of perfect justice by shedding the sunshine and
the rain of his genius alike on the just and on the unjust. For
hi- fe:lings are the allies, not the rivals, of his other powers;
exist in sympathy, not in antagonism with them, and therefore
never try to force or tempt him from   his loyalty to truth.
Many think him deficient in moral sensibility; whereas, in fact,
he sho)ws the perfection of such sensibility in altogether preferring truth to them both; for there is really nothing more
vicious or more vitiating than, what some people seem greatly
in love with, the attempting to teach better morality than is
taught by nature and Providence.
THE GREATNESS OF WASHINGTON.
Great he was, preeminently great, whether we regard him
sustaining alone the whole weight of campaigns all but desperate, or gloriously terminating a just warfire by his resources and his courage; presiding over the jarring elements
of his political council, alike deaf to the storms of all extremes,





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or directing the formation of a new government for a great
people, the first time that so vast an experiment had ever
been tried by man; or, finally, retiring from the supreme
power to which his virtue had raised him over the nation he
had created, and whose destinies he had guided as long as his
aid was required,-retiring with the veneration of all parties,
of all nations, of all mankind, in order that the rights of men
might be conserved, and that his example never might be
appealed to by vulgar tyrants.
This is the consummate glory of Washington; a triumphant
warrior where the most sanguine had a right to despair; a successful ruler in all the difficulties of a course wholly untried;
but a warrior, whose sword only left its sheath when the first
law of our nature commanded it to be drawn; and a ruler who,
having tasted of supreme power, gently and unostentatiously
desired that the cup might pass from him, nor would suffer
more to wet his lips than the most solemn and sacred duty to
his country and his God required!
To his latest breath did this great patriot maintain the
noble character of a captain, the patriot of peace; and a statesman, the friend of justice.
THE LIGHT OF INTELLECT.
Magnificent indeed, was the material creation, when, suddenly blazing forth in mid space, the new-born sun dispelled the
darkness of the ancient night. But infinitely more magnificent
is it when the human soul rays forth its subtler and swifter
beams; when the light of the senses irradiates all outward
things, revealing the beauty of their colors, and the exquisite
symmetry of their proportions and forms; when the light of
reason penetrates to their invisible properties and laws, and
displays all those hidden relations that make up all the sciences;
when tlhe light of conscience illuminates the moral world,
separating truth from error, and virtue from vice. The light
of the newly-kindled sun, indeed was glorious. It struck upon
all the planets, and waked into existence their myriad capacities of life and joy. As it rebounded from them, and showed
their vast orbs all wheeling, circle beyond circle, in their stupendous courses, the sons of God shouted for joy.





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209


But the light of the human soul flies swifter than the light
of the sun, and outshines its meridian blaze. It can embrace
not only the sun of our system, but all suns and galaxies of
suns; aye! the soul is capable of knowing and of enjoying
Him who created the suns themselves; and when these starry
lustres that now glorify the firmament shall wax dim, and
fade away like a wasted taper, the light of the soul shall still
remain; nor time, nor cloud, nor any power but its own perversity, shall ever quench its brightness. Again I would say,
that whenever a human soul is born into the world, God stands
over it and pronounces the same sublime fiat, " Let there be
light!" And may the time soon come, when all human
governments shall cooperate with the divine government in
carrying this benediction and baptism into fulfillment.
MEN OF PRINCIPLE.
Sometimes, in unfamiliar countries, the traveller finds himself shrouded in fog and the way so hidden, the features of the
country so singularly changed from the reality, that he cannot
safely move. But if some friendly mountain side lets him ascend a few hundred feet above, he finds himself suddenly in a
clear atmosphere with a blue sky and a shining sun. Below him
the smaller objects that misled and bewildered him lie hidden;
before him stand out, salient and clear, the leading ridges and
great outlines of the country which point out to him the right
way, and show him where he may reach a place of security and
repose for the right, and he goes. on his journey confidently.
And so it is with those men who devote their lives, unflinchingly
and singly, to the public good-to the maintenance of principles
and the advocacy of great reforms. They live in a pure atmospheire. And such ought also to be the character of the men
whom we elevate to our high places. Raised into that upper
air. and charged with the general safety, they are expected tor
be impersonal; they are expected to s e over and beyond tl:e
personal ambitions and individual interests whicli of necessity
influence men acting individually; their horizon is universal,
and they see broadly defined the great principles which lead a





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nation continuously on to a settled prosperity and a sure
glory. And as a condition of our, material safety we should
see to it that only such men are put in such places-men capable of receiving a conviction and realizing a necessity-men
able to comprehend the spirit of the age and the country in
which we live, and fearless in working up to it.
LIMIT TO HUMAN DOMINION.
God has given the land to man, but the sea He has reserved
to Ilimself. "The sea is His, and He made it." lie has
given man " no inheritance in it; no, not so much as to set his
foot on." If lie enters its domain, he enters it as a pilgrim and
a stranger. He my pass over it, but he can have no abiding
place upon it. He cannot build his house, nor so much as pitch
his tent within it. He cannot mark it with his lines, nor subdue
it to his uses, nor rear his monuments upon it. It steadfastly
refuses to own him as its lord and master. Its depths do not
tremble at his coming. Its waters flee not when he appeareth.
All the strength of all his generations is to it as a featler
before the whirlwind; and all the noise of his commerce, and
all the thunder of his navies, it can hush in a moment within
tie silence of its impenetrable abysses. Whole armies have gone
down into that unfathomable darkness, and not a floating bubble marks the place of their disappearing. If all the populations of the world, from the beginning of time, were cast into
its depths, the smooth surface of its oblivion would close over
them in an hour; and if all the cities of the earth, and all the
structures and monuments ever reared by man, were heaped
together over that grave for a tombetone, it would not break
the surface of the deep, or lift back their memory to the light
of the sun and the breath of the upper air. The sea would roll
its billows in derision, a thousand fathoms deep, above the topmost stone of that mighty sepulchre. Th'e patient earth submits to the rule of man, and the mountains bow their rocky
heads before the hammer of his power and the blast of
his terrible enginery. But God alone controls the mighty
sea.





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211


THE CITY OF OUR LIBERTY.
But now that our service of commemoration is ended, let
us go hence and meditate on all that it has taught us. You
see how long the holy and beautiful city of our liberty and our
power has been in building, and by how many hands, and at
what cost. You see the towering and steadfast height to
which it has gone up, and how its turrets and spires gleam in
the rising and setting sun. You stand among the graves of
some-your townsmen, your fathers by blood, whose names
you bear, whose portraits hang up in your homez, of whose
memory you are justly proud-who helped in their day to
sink those walls deep in their beds, where neither frost nor
earthquake might heave them,-to raise aloft those great
arches of stone,-to send up th.)se turrets and spires into the
sky. It wa; theirs to build; remember it is yours, under
Providence, to keep the city, to keep it from the sword of the
invader, to keep it from licentiousness and crime and irreligion, and all that would make it unsafe or unfit to live in,
to keep it from the fires of faction, of civil strife, of party
spirit, that might burn up in a day the slow work of a thousand
years of glory. Happy, if we shall so perform our duty that
they who centuries hence shall dwell ainong our graves may
be able to remember, on some such day as this, in one common
service of grateful commemoration, their fathers of thefirst
and tie second age of America, those who through martyrdom
and tempest and battle sought liberty, and made her their
own, and those whom neither eaise nor luxury, nor the fear of
man, nor the worship of man, could prevail on to barter her
away!
THE AMBITION OF WEBSTER,
Mr. Webster was an ambitious man. He desired the
highest office in the gift of the people. But on this subject, as
on all others, there was no concealment in his nature. And
ambition is not a weakness unless it be disproportioned to the
capacity. To have more ambition than ability is to be at once
weak and unhappy. With him it was a noble passion, because
it rested upon noble powers. He was a man cast in a heroio





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VOICE AND ACTION.


mould. His thoughts, his wishes, his passions, his aspirations,
were all on a grander scale than those of other men. Unexercised capacity is always a source of rusting discontent. The
height to which men may rise is in proportion to the upward
force of their genius, and they will never be calm till they
have attained their predestined elevation. Lord Bacon says,
"As in nature things move violently to their place and calmly
in their place, so virtue in ambition is violent, in authority,
settled and calm."  Mr. Webs:er had a giant's brain and a
giant's heart, and he wanted a giant's work. Ile found repose
in those strong conflicts and great duties which crush the
weak and madden the sensitive. He thought that, if he were
elevated to the highest place, he should so administer the government as to make the country honored abroad, and great
and happy at home. He thought, too, that he could do something to make us more truly one people. This, above everything else, was his ambition. And we, who know him better
than others, felt that it was a prophetic ambition, and we
honored and trusted him accordingly.
CALIFORNIA.
It is a trite saying, that we live in an age of great events.
Nothing can be more true. But the greatest of all events of
the present age is at hand. It needs not the gift of prophecy
to predict that the course of the world's trade is destined soon
to be changed. But a few years can elapse befire the commerce of Asia and the islands of the Pacific, instead of pursuing the ocean track, by way of Cape Horn or the Cape of
Good Hope, or even taking the shorter route of the Isthmus
of Darien, or the Isthmus of Tehuantepec, will enter the
Golden Gate of California, and deposit its riches in our own
city. Hence, on bars of iron, and propelled by steam, it will
ascend the mountains and traverse the desert; and having
again reached the confines of civilizati: n, will be distributed,
through a thousand channels, to every portion of the Union,
and of Europe. New York will then become what London
now is-the gre.t central point of exchange, the heart of trade,
the force of whose contraction and expansion will be felt





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213


throughout every artery of the commercial world; and San
Francisco will then stand the second city of Ameiica. Is this
visionary? Twenty years will determine.
The world is interested in our succe.ss; for a fresh field is
opened to its commerce, and a new avenue to the civilization
and p:ogress of the human race. Let us, then, endeavor to
realize the hopes of Americans, and the expectations of the
world. Let us not only be united amongst ourselves, for our
own local welfare, but let us strive to cement the common
bonds of brtliei hood of the whole Union. In our relations to
the Federal Government, let us know no South, no North, no
East, no West. Wherever American Liberty flourishes, let
that be our common country! Wherever the American banner waves, let that be our home!
THE CLASSICS.
He who studies English literature without the lights of
classical learning, loses half the charms of its sentimnts and
style, of its force and feelings, of its delicate tucmhes, of its
delightful allusions, o:f its iliustrative associations. Who tlat
reads the poetry of Gray, does not feel that it is the refinement
of classical taste which gives such inexpressible vividness and
transparency to his diction? Who that reads the concentrated
sense and melodious versification of Dryden and Pope, does
not perceive in them the disciples of the old school, whose
genius was inflamed by the heroic verse, the terse satire, and
the playful wit of antiquity? Who that meditates over the
strains of Milton does not feel that he drank deep at
" Siloa's brook, that flowed
Fast by the oracle of God,-- "
that the fires of his magnificent mind were lighted by coals
from ancient altars?
It is no exaggeration to declare, that he who proposes to
abolish classical studies, proposes to render, in a great measure,
inert and unedifying the mass of English literature for three
centuries; to rob us of the glory of the past, and much of the
instruction of future ages; to blind us to excellencies which





214


VOICE AND ACT1ON.


few may hope to equal, and none to surpass; to annihilate
associations which are interwoven with our best sentiments,
and give to distant times and countries a presence and reality,
as if they were in fact his own.
PUBLIC INSTRUCTION.
I know not what more munificent donation any government can bestow than by providing instruction at the public
expense, not as as a scheme of charity, but of municipal policy.
If a private person deserves the applause of all good men, who
founds a single hospital or college, how much more are they
entitled to the appellation of public benefactors, who plant a
school of letters! Other monuments of the art and genius of man
may perish, but these, from their very nature, seem, as far as
human foresight can go, absolutely immortal. The triumphal
arches of other days have fallen; the sculptured columns have
crumbled into dust; the temples of taste and religion have sunk
into decay; the pyramids themselves seem but mighty sepulchres ha-tening to the same oblivion to which the dead they
cover have long since passed. But here, every succe sive generation becomes a living memorial of our public instruction,
and a livin: example of its excellence. Never, never m ny this
glorious institution be abandoned or betrayed by the wevakness
of its friends or the power of its adversari s! It must forever
count in its defence a miajority of all those who ought to influence public affairs by their virtues or their talents; for it
must be that here they first felt the divinity of knowledge stir
within them. What consolation can be higher, what reflection
prouder than the thought that in weal or woe our youth are
under the public guardianship, and may here gather the fruits
of that learning which ripens for eternity!
TRUE GLORY.
Whatever may be the temporary applause of men, or the
expressions of public opinion, it may be asserted, without fear
of contradiction, that no true and permanent fame can be





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215


founded, except in labors which promote the happiness of mankind.
Wolfe, the conqueror of Quebec, has attracted, perhaps,
a larger share of romantic history than any of the gallant generals in English History. We behold him, yet young in years,
at the head of an adventurous expedition, destined to prostrate
the French Empire in Canada,-guiding and encouragi:ng the
firmness of his troops in unaccustomed difficulties,-awakening
their personal attachment by his kindly suavity, and their
ardor by his own example,-climbing the precipitous steeps
wh'ch conduct to the heights of the strongest fortress on the
American continent,-there, under its walls, joining in deadly
conflict,-wounded,-stretched upon the field,-faint with the
loss of blood,-with sight already dimmed,-his life ebbing fast,
cheered at last by the sudden cry that the enemy is fleeing in
all directions,-and then his dying breath mingling with the
shouts of victory. An eminent artist has portrayed this scene
of death in a much-admired picture. History and poetry have
dwelt upon it with peculiar fondness. Such is the glory of
arms! But there is, happily, preserved to us a tradition of
this lay, which affords a gle:un of a truer glory. As the commander flcated down the currents of the St L-wrence in his
boat, under cover of the n'ght, in the enforced silence of a
military expedition, he was h ard to repeat to himself that poem
of exquisite charms-" Gray's Elegy," and as the ambitions
warrior finished the recitation, he said to his companions, in a
low but earnest tone, that he " would rather be the author of
that poem than take Quebec."  And surely he was right. The
glory of that victory is already dying out, like a candle in its
socket. The true glory of the poem still remains with starbriglt, immortal beauty.
PERSEVERANCE.
The greatest is he who toils out his glorious schemes with
invincible resolution, who resists the sorest temptations, who
bears the heaviest disappointments; who is fearless under
menace and frown.
We can fix our eyes on perfection, and make almost every





216


VOICE AND ACTION.


thing speed us towards it. It matters not what and where we
are now, but there is more of a divinity than in the force
which impels the outward universe. How it slumbers in most
men unperceived, unsuspected! The thought to unfold all our
powers and capacities, nobly, vigorously.
We are to start with the conviction that there is something
greater within us than in the whole material creation, than in
all the worlds that press on the eye and ear.
We cannot only trace our powers, but guide them and impel
them. A vigorous purpose makes much out of little, breathes
power into weakn;ess, di.arms difficulties, and even turns them
into assistants. A true faith, looking up to something better,
catching glimpses of a distant future perfection, prophesying to
ourselves a greatness, givis energy of purpose, gives wings to
the soul. and this faitli will continually grow and increase. Set
your standard of knowledge high; attempt great things, expect
great things, and you. will accomplish great things.
BONAPARTE.
One unacquainted with human nature would think an empire
whose bounds extended to the Rhine, might have satisfied even
an ambitious man. But Bonaparte obeyed that law of progress
to whiich the highest minds are peculiarly subjected and acquisition inflamed, instead of appeasing the spirit of dominion. He
had long proposed to himself the conquest of Europe, of the
world; and the title of Emperor added intenseness to this purpose. Did we not fear that by repetition we might impair the
conviction which we are most anxious to impress, we would
enlarge on the enormity of the guilt involved in the project of
universal empire. Napoleon knew distinctly the price which he
must pay for the eminence which he coveted. He knew that the
path to it lay over wounded and slaughtered millions, over putrefying heaps of his fellow-creatures, over ravaged fields,
smoking ruins, pillaged cities. He knew that his steps would
be followed by the groans of widowed mothers and famished
orphans; of bereaved friendship and despairing love, and that,
in addition to this amount of misery, he would create an equal
amount of crime, by multiplying indefinitely the instruments





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217


and participators of his rapine and fraud. He knew the price
and resolved to pay it.
SELF-CULTURE.
Every man in every condition is great. It is only our diseased sight which makes him little. A man is great, as a man,
be he where, or what lie nray. The grandeur of his nature
turns to insignificance 1ll outward distinc ion,. It is the image
of God, the image even of his infinIty, for no limits can be set
to its unfolding. Ile who possesses the divine powers of the
soul is a great being, be his place what it may.
Real greatness has nothing to do with a man's sphere. It
does not lie in the magnitude of his outward agency, in: the extent of the effects which lie produces. Grandeur of character
lies wholly in force of soul,-that is, in the force of thought,
moral principles and love; and this may be found in the humblest condition of life. It is force of thought which measures
intellectual, and so it is force of principle which measures moral
greatness-that highest of human endowments, that brightest
manifestation of the Divinity. I believe this greatness to be
most common among the multitude, whose names are never
heard. Among common people will be found more of hardships
borne manfully, more of unvarnished truth, more of religious
trust, more of that generosity which gives what the giver needs
himself, and more of a wise estimate of life and death, than
among the prosperous.
HEROISM.
Courage in one thing does not mean courage in everything.
A man who will face a bullet will not face an audience. Heroism is the originality of action.
A cool, easy confidence is the source of daring. " Trust
yourself: every heart vibrates to that iron string."  Men of
all conditions do grow and die in obscurity, who. in suitable circumstances,might have attained to the temple which shines afar.
The hearts of Roman mothers beat an unnoted lifetime in dim
parlors. Souls of fire miss their hour and languish into ashes.
10





218


VOICE AND ACTION.


Who is there that has not thought, over and over again, what
else he could have done, what else he could have been? Vanity, indeed, may dupe us here, and self-tenderness be too ready
to look upon the misspending of years as anything but our own
fault. Regard for a moment the manner in which a vast proportion of those who, from independency of fortune, and from
their education, are able to do most good in the world, spend
their time, and say it there be not an immense proportion of
the capability of mankind undeveloped. Many struggle for a
while against the repres ive influences of opinion and society,
but at length yield to the powerful temptations, to nonentity.
The social de-potism presents the fetes with which it seeks to
solace and beguile its victims; and le who began to put on his
armor for the righting of many wrongs, is soon content to smile
with those who smile. Thus daily do generations ripe and rot
in life unemployed, the great mission unperfornied.
MORAL TASTE.
To the man whose taste has been formed on just principles,
and wlio has been led to perceive and relish what is truly
beautiful, a new world is opened. He looks abroad over nature and contemplates the pi oductions of art, with sentiments
to which those who are destitute of this faculty are strangers.
He perceives in the works of God, and in the contrivances of
man, all the utility for which they were destined and adapted
in common with others; but besides this, his heart is filled
with sentiments of the beautiful or the grand, according to the
nature of the object. It is in literature that taste, in the more
common use of the word, has its most extensive sphere, and
most varied gratifications; yet, whether it be exercised on nature, the fine arts, or literature, we are aware how much depends on associations with life, feeling, and human character.
Why does the traveller wander with such peculiar interest
over the mountains and plains of Italy and Greece, but because
every spot is consecrated by the memory of great events, or
presents to him the memorials of departed genius? It is for
this reason that poetry peoples even solitude and desolation
with imaginary life; so that in ancient days, every forest had





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219


its dryads, every fountain its nymphs, and the voice of the
naiads was heard in the murmuriLig of the streams. It is partly in reference to the same principle that deseits and moun
tains, where all is barrenness and solitude, ra'se in thle mind
emotions of sublimity. It is a feeling of vastness and desolation that depends in a great degree on the absence of everything having life or action. The mere modifications of nature
are beautiful, the human form from its just proportions, the
human face from the harmonious combination of features and
coloring; but, it is only when this form is living and moving,
and when this face is suffused with emotion and animated
with intelligence, when the attitude and the look alike express
the workings of the heart and mind, that we feel the perfect
sentiment of beauty.
SKETCH OF WEBSTER.
Earnestness, solidity of judgment, elevation of sentiment,
broad and generous views of national policy, and a massive
strength of expression, characterize all his works. We feel,
in reading them, that he is a man of principles, not a man of
expedients; that he never adopts opinions without subjecting
them to stern tests; and that he recedes from them only at the
bidding of reason and experience. He never seems to be playing a part, but always acting a life.
The ponderous strength of his powers strikes us not
more forcibly than the broad individuality of the man. Were
we unacquainted with the history of his life, we could almost
infer it from his works. Everything, in his productions, indicates the character of a person who has struggled fiercely
against obstacles, who has developed his faculties by strenuous
labor, who has been a keen and active observer of man and
nature, and who has been disciplined in the affairs of the
world. There is a manly simplicity and clearness in his mind,
and a rugged energy in his feelings, which preserve him from
all the affectations of literature and society.
He is great by original constitution. What nature originally gave to him, nature has to some extent developed,
strengthened, and stamped with her own signature. We never





220


VOICE AND ACTION.


consider him as a mere debater, a mere scholar, or a mere
statesman; but as a strong, sturdy, earnest man.
NATIONAL ALLEGIANCE.
Every individual of every nation, barbarian or civilized, is
bound by allegiance to the supreme authority which presides
over that nation, whether it be king, emperor, grand duke.
sultan, or constitutional republican government. Society without allegiance is anarchy; government without allegiance is
a mockery; people without allegiance are a mob.
ALLEGIANCE in its proper sense, can be exacted only by the
supreme power, which, in this land, is the Government created
by the Constitution of the United States. This allegiance may
not be put on and off, to suit the convenience and whims of
the individual, as he may assume or cast off State citizenship.
Once due, it is always due, unless the national Government
consent to its renunciation. The native-born citizen owes it,
from the cradle to the grave; the naturalized foreigner, from
the moment he acquires citizenship till his death. No such
obligation exists towards a State. A State's power over any
citizen begins only with his entrance upon her territory, and
ends with his departure from it. The United States have an
undoubted and indestructible right to call forth their citizens
from every spot of their domain, to defend and uphold in battle the honor and power of the nation; for no citizen can find
a place where the title of allegiance does not bind him to the
Constitution and flag of his country.
The citizen owes allegiance in return for protection by his
government, and that protection is his lawful right, wherever
in the world he may be. It was the certainty and swiftness
of Rome's vindication of the rights of her citizens, that gave
such power everywhere to the simple words, "I am a Roman
citizen;" and this hour, among all civilized nations, to be
known as an American citizen, is a passport and protection.
Why? Because the United States are known throughout the
world, as able and ready to protect their citizens.  But on
another continent than this, what would it avail to be known
as a citizen of any State of the Union? Who, in a foreign





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land, would, in extremity, proclaim himself a citizen of one of
the States, when his State has no power to protect him or to
avenge his wrongs, except through the Government of the
Union?
DUTY OF LITERARY MEN TO THEIR COUNTRY.
We cannot honor our country with too deep a reverence;
we cannot love her with an affection too pure and fervent;
we cannot serve her with an energy of purpose or a faithfulness
of zeal too steadfast and ardent.  And what is our country?
It is not the East with her hills and her valleys, with her
countless sails and the rocky ramparts of her shores. It is
not the North, with her thousand villages, and her harvesthome, with her frontiers of the lake and the ocean. It is not
the West, with her forest-sea and her inland-isles, with her
luxuriant expanses, clothed in the verdant corn, with her
beautiful Ohio and her majestic Missouri. Nor is it yet the
South, opulent in the mimic snow of the cotton, in the rich
plantations of the rustling cane, and in the golden robes of the
rice-field. What are these but the sister families of one greater,
better, holier, family,-OUR COUNTRY? We cannot think too
highly of that country, or sacrifice too much for her. And
let us never forget,-let us rather remember with a religious
awe,-that the union of these States is indispensable to our
Literature, as it is to our national independence and civil
liberties,-to our prosperity, happiness, and improvement.
American Literature will find that THE INTELLECTUAL
SPIRIT IS HER VERY TREE OF LIFE, AND THE UNION HER GARDEN OF PARADISE.
MORALITY, THE FOUNDATION OF NATIONAL
GREATNESS.
When we look forward to. the probable growth of this
country; when we think of the millions of human beings who
are to spread over our present territory; of the career of improvement and glory open to this new people; of the impulse
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to philosophy, religion, science, literature and arts; of the vast
field in which the experiment is to be made, of what the unfettered powers of man may achieve; of the bright page of history which our fathers have filled, and of the advantages under
which their toils and virtues have placed us for carrying on
their work;-when we think of all this, can we help, for a
moment, surrendering ourselves to bright visions of our country's glory, before which all the glories of the past are to fade
away?
Is it presumption to say, that, if just to ourselves and all
nations, we shall be felt through this whole continent, that we
shall spread our language, institutions, and civilization, through
a wider space than any nation has yet filled with a like beneficent influence? And are we prepared to barter these hopes,
this sublime moral empire, for conquests by force? Are we
prepared to sink to the level of unprincipled nations, to content
ourselves with a vulgar, guilty greatness, to adopt in our youth
maxims and ends which must brand our future with sordidness,
oppression, and shame? This country cannot, without peculiar
infamy, run the common race of national rapacity. Our origin,
institutions, and position are peculiar, and all favor an upright,
honorable course.
THE WISE AND GOOD.
The relations between man and man cease not with life.
The dead leave behind them their memory, their example, and
the effects of their actions. Their influence still abides with
us. Their names and characters dwell in thoughts and hearts.
We enjoy the benefits of their labors. Our institutions have
been founded by them. Our knowledge and our arts are the
fruits of their toil. We are most intimately connected with
them by a thousand dependencies.
Creatures of imitation and sympathy as we are, we look
around us for support and countenance even in our virtues,
We recur for them, most securely, to the examples of the dead.
There is a degree of insecurity and uncertainty about living
worth. The stamp has not been put upon it which precludes
all change, and seals it up as a just object of admiration





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for future times. There is no service which a man of commanding intellect can render his fellow-creatures better than
that of leaving behind him an unspotted example. If he do
not confer upon them this benefit; if he have a character dark
with vices but dazzling with shining qualities, it may be that
all his other services had better have been forborne, and he
had passed inactive and unnoticed through life. It is a dictate
of wisdom, therefore, as well as feeling, when a man eminent
for his talents has been taken away, to collect the riches of
his goodness and add them to the treasury of human improvement.
USES OF GREAT MEN.
It is natural to believe in great men. If the companions
of our childhood should turn out to be heroes, and their condition regal, it would not surprise us.
Nature seems to exist for the excellent. The world is upheld by the veracity of good men; they make the earth wholesome. Life is sweet and tolerable only in our belief in such
society, and actually, or ideally, we manage to live with
superiors.
The search after the great is the dream of youth, and the
most serious occupation of manhood.
Life is a scale of degrees. Between rank and rank of great
men are wide intervals. Mankind have, in all ages, attached
themselves to a few persons, who, either by the quality of that
idea they embodied, or by the largeness of their reception,
were entitled to the position of leaders and law givers. These
teach us the qualities of primary nature,-admit us to the constitution of things. These men correct the delirium of the
animal spirits, make us considerate, and engage us to new aims
and powers. The veneration of mankind selects these for the
highest place. Witness the multitude of statues, pictures and
memorials which recall their genius in every city, village and
house. Happy if a few names remain so high, that we have
not been able to read them nearer, and age and comparison
have not robbed them of a ray. But, at last, we shall cease to





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VOICE AND ACTION.


look in men for completeness, and shall content ourselves with
their social and delegated quality.
WRITERS.
Nature will be reported. All things are engaged in writing
their history. The planet, the pebble goes attended by its
shadow. The rolling rock leaves its scratches on the mountain; the river its channel in the soil; the animal its bones in
the stritum; the fern and leaf, their modest epitaph in the
coal. The falling drop makes its sculpture in the sand or the
stone. Not a foot steps in the snow or along the ground, but
prints in c!haracters more or less lasting, a map of its march.
Every act of man inscribes itself in the memories of its fellows,
and in his own manners and face. The air is full of sounds;
the sky, of tokens; the ground is all memoranda and signatures;
and every object covered over with hints, which speak to the
intelligent.
In nature this self registration is incessant, and the narrative is the print of the seal. It neither exceeds nor comes
short of the fact. But nature strives upward, and, in man, the
report is something more than print of the seal. It is a new
and finer form of the original. The record is alive, as that
which is recorded is alive. In man, the memory is a kind of
looking-glass, which, having received the images of surrounding objects, is touched with life, and disposes them in a new
order. Man loves to communicate. Men were born to write.
Society has no graver interest than the well-being of the
literary class. And it is not to be denied that men are cordial
in their recognition and welcome of intellectual accomplishments.
The world is young; the former great men call to us
affectionately. The secret of genius is to suffr no fictin to
exist for us; to realize all that we know; in the high refinement of modern life, in arts, in sciences, in books, in men, to
exact good faith, reality, and a urpose; and first, last, midst,
and without end, to honor every truth by use.





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ORATORS.
Oratory does not unfi d all its powers, in the midst of
peace and general prosperity. Great questions must agitate
men's minds; deep passions must be awakened; vast expectations excited.  It was so with the two great orators of
antiquity.  They did not live in the palhny state of their
respective republics.  Liberty was about to make her last
struggle, and these men appeared as her chosen champions.
They triumphed in her triumphs. Their most heroic efforts
were made to avert her fall, and their sublimest strains poured
out at her bier. They lived with the daily consciousness that
on their single arm hung interests, often too mighty for computation.  The same Providence, which raised them up to
give the world assurance of the power and perfection of
oratory, poured into their hearts the fire, the enthusiasm, the
unyielding devotion to their purpose which compels success.,
Liberty they might not save, but they could immortalize her
ruin. The resistless progress of an invader or a tyrant they'
might not be able to stay; but they could mingle the withering and undying flames of their eloquence even with his
triumphs, and thus consign him, at the very moment of his
proudest success, scathed and blackened, to the scorn and
execration of mankind.
We meet with no modern orators who seem contented
with nothing short of perfection; who shrink from no toil;
and who at length, after incredible pains, have succeeded in
enshrining their conceptions in forms so exquisite, that criticism is disarmed, and universal admiration is compelled.
LAFAYETTE.
There are few men whose history partakes so largely of the
spirit of romance and chivalry as that of Lafayette. At the
age,of nineteen years he left his country and espoused the
cause of the American colonies. His motive for this conduct
must have been one of the noblest that ever actuated the heart
of man. He was in possession of large estates, allied to the
highest orders of French nobility, surrounded by friends and
10*





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VOICE AND ACTION.


relatives, with prospects of future distinction and favor as fair
as ever opened to the ardent view of aspiring ambitious youth.
Yet he left his friends, his country, his prospects of distinction,
to assist a nation in its struggle for freedom, and at a tite too,
when the prospects of that country's success were dark, disheartening, and almost hopeless. He fought for that country,
he fed and clothed her armies, he imparted of his wealth to
her poor. lie saw her purposes accomplished, and her government established on the principles of liberty. HIe refused all
compensation for his services. lie returned to his native land,
and engaged in contests for liberty there. He was imprisoned
by a foreign government, suffered every indignity and every
cruelty that could be inflicted, and lived, after his release,
almost an exile, on the spot where he was born. More than
forty years after he first embarked in the cause of American
liberty he returned to see once more his few surviving companions in arms, and was met by the grateful salutations of
the whole nation. It is not possible to reflect on these facts
without feeling our admiration excited to a degree that almost
borders on reverence.
WASHINGTON.
Homer rose in the dawn of Greek culture, Virgil flourished
in the court of Augustus, Dante ushered in the birth of the new
European civilization, Copernicus was reared in a Polish
cloister, Shakespeare was trained in the green room of the
theatre,Milton was formed while the elements of English thought
and life were fermentitng towards a great political and moral
revolution, Newton under the profligacy of the restoration. Ages
may elapse before any country will produce a man like these, as
two centuries have passed since the last mentioned of them were
born. But if it is really a matter of reproach to the United
States, that in the comparatively short period of their existence
as a people, they have not added another name to the illustrious list (which is equally true of all the other nations of
the earth,) they may proudly boast of one example of life and
character, one career of disinterested service, one model of
public virtue, the type of human excellence, of which all the





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countries and all the ages may be searched in vain for the
parallel.  I need not-on this day I need not-speak the
peerless name. It is stamped on your hearts, it glistens in
your eyes, it is written on every page of your history, on the
battle-fields of the Revolution, on the monuments of your
fathers, on the portals of your Capitols. It is heard in every
breeze that whispers over the fields of independent America.
And he was all our own. He grew upon the soil of America;
he was nurtured at her bosom. She loved and trusted him in
his youth; she honored and revered him in his age; and though
she did not wait for death to canonize his name, his precious
memory, with each succeeding year, has sunk more deeply
into the hearts of his countrymen.
HOME AND SCHOOL INFLUENCE ESPECIALLY NECESSARY IN TIME OF WAR.
The grand march of humanity stops not in its course even
for war. From the cradle to the coffin, the crowding columns
move on with lock-step through the successive stages of life.
Childhood cannot halt in its progress for returning peace to
afford leisure for education. On into the years-to manhood,
to citizenship, to destiny-it rushes, whether learning lights
its path and guides its steps, or ignorance involves it in error
and conducts it headlong into vice. And if in peace the
school is needful to rear our children to an intelligent and
virtuous manhood, how much greater the need when war,
with its inseparable barbarism, is drifting the nation from its
onward course of peaceful civilization, back to the old realms
of darkness and brute force.
High and heroic aims mitigate the evils which necessarily
attend an appeal to arms. To say nothing of the physical
health and prowess that camp life and military discipline
develops, the love of country and love of liberty rise again
from mere holiday sentiments to the grandeur and power of
national passions, and the Union, made doubly precious by the
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VOICE AND ACTION.


no mortal force can shake or destroy. Histcry grows heroic
again, and humanity itself is inspired and glorified with fresh
vindication of its God-given rights and duties, in a new incarnation and triumph of the principles of Constitutional and
Republican liberty.
But with all this, the barbarisms of war are too palpable
and terrific to be forgotten or disregarded, and the wise and
patriotic statesman will find in them a more urgent reason for
fostering those civilizing agencies which nourish the growing
intelligence and virtue of the people. Against the ideas and
vices engendered in the camps, and amidst the battle-fields,
must be raised still higher the bulwarks of virtuous habits and
beliefs, in the children yet at home. We need the utmost
stretch of home and school influence to save society and the
state from the terrible dominations of military ideas and
military forces, always so dangerous to civil liberty and free
government.
THE PROBLEM FOR THE UNITED STATES.
The Union cannot expire as the snow melts from the rock,
or a star disappears from the firmament. When it fills the
crash will be heard in all lands. Wherever the winds of
heaven go, that will go, bearing sorrow  and dismay to millions of striken hearts; for the subversion of this Government
will render the cause of constitutional liberty hopeless throughout the world. What nation can govern itself, if this nation
cannot? What encouragement will any people have to establish liberal institutions for themselves, if ours fail?  Providence has laid upon us the responsibility and the honor of
solving that problem in which all coming generations of men
have a profound interest-whether the true ends of government can be secured by a popular representative system.
Never before was a people so advantageously situated for
working out this great problem in favor of human liberty;
and it is important for us to understand that the world so regards it.
If, in the frenzy of our base sectional jealousies, we dig
the grave of the Union, and thus decide this question in the





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negative, no tongue may attempt to depict the disappointment
and despir which will go along with the announcement as it
spreads through distant ltnds. It will be America, after fifty
years' experience, giving in her adhesion to the doctrine that
man wis not made for self-government. It will be freedom
herself proclaiming that freedom is a chimera; Liberty ringing her own knell, all over the globe. And, when the citizens
or su!jects ot the governments wlhich are to succeed this Union
shall visit Europe, and see, in some land now struggling to
cast off its fetters, the lacerated and lifeless form of Liberty
laid prostrate under the iron heel of Depotism, let them remember that the blow which destroyed her was inflicted by
their own country.
THE POWER OF HEROIC EXAMPLE.
We must not forget the specific and invaluable influence
exerted on the spirit of a people by those examples of signal
heroism and chivalrous self-devotion for which a magnanimous war gives occasion, and which it exalts, as peace cannot
before men's minds.
Such examples become great powers in civilization. Eloquence delights to rehearse and impress them.  The songs of
a nation repeat their story, and make their triumph sound
again through the silver cymbals of speech. Legends prolong
and art commemorates them. Language itself takes new images
from  them; and words that are themselves "half-battles,"
are suddenly born at their recital. The very household life
is exalted; and the humblest man feels his position higher,
and expresses his sense of it in a more dauntless bearing, as he
sees that heroism still lives in the world; that men of his own
race and stuff, perhaps of his own neighborhood even, have
faced so calmly such vast perils.
And by and by we shall see more clearly than now we
can, the great influence thus exerted on our own national
career. When at last from the thunder and flame on the top
of the mount the nation comes, as come it will, with its very
face shining from the heat and the splendor which it there has
encountered, then shall it appear as it cannot before, that no





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VOICE AND ACTION.


life hath been more productive than that which closed before
its prime, sprinkling with blood the stony steeps of this ascent 1
Then shall it appear that the delicate hands which have
changed silk gloves for iron gauntlets have swept thereby the
chords which vibrate into answers that distant ages still shall
hear! Yea, then shall it appear that never yet was forum
reared, or senate chamber builded to be the fit and equal
theatre for eloquence so thrilling and so majestic as that imperial eloquence of great deeds which shook the soul of the
whole people from the thundering bluffs this side of Leesburg!
Better than new Californias every year are such examples to
a nation that would be noble! Its very language and life
must be lost before their force shall have ceased to inspire it.
AMERICAN NATIONALITY.
By the side of all antagonisms, higher than they, stronger
than they, there rises colossal the fine sweet spirit of nationality, the nationality of America! See there the pillar of fire
which God has kindled and lifted and moved for our hosts
and our ages. Gaze on that, worship that, worship the highest
in that. Between that light and our eyes a cloud for a time
may seem to gather; chariots, armed men on foot, the troops
of kings may march on us, and our fears may make us for a
moment turn from it; a sea may spread before us, and waves
seem to hedge us up; dark idolatries may alienate some hearts
for a season from that worship; revolt, rebellion, may break
out in the camp, and the waters of our springs may run bitter
to the taste and mock it; between us and that Canaan a great
river may seem to be rolling; but beneath that high guidance
our way is onward, ever onward; those waters shall part, and
stand on either hand in heaps; that idolatry shall repent;
that rebellion shall be crushed; that stream  shall be sweetened; that overflowing river shall be passed on foot dryshod,
in harvest time; and from that promised land of flocks, fields,
tents, mountains, coasts, and ships, from north and south, and
east and west, there shall swell one cry yet, of victory, peace,
and thanksgiving!





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INFLUENCE OF REVOLUTIONS.
Think nationality first as a spring of feeling, as a motive
to exertion, as blessing your country, and as reacting on you.
Think of it as it fills your mind and quickens your heart, and
as it fills the mind and quickens the heart of millions around
you. Instantly, under such an influence, you ascend above the
smoke and stir of this small local strife; you tread upon the
high places of the earth and of history; you think and feel as
an American for America; her power, her eminence, her consideration, her honor, are yours; your competitors, like hers,
are kings; your home, like hers, is the world; your path, like
hers, is on the highway of empires; our charge, her charge,
is of generations and ages; your record, her record, is of
treaties, battles, voyages, beneath all the constellations; her
image, one, immortal, golden, rises on your eye as our western
star at evening rises on the traveller from his home; no lowering cloud, no angry river, no lingering spring, no broken
crevasse, no inundated city or plantation, no tracts of sand,
arid and burning, on that surface, but all blended and softened
into one beam of kindred rays, the image, harbinger, and
promiser of love, hope, and a brighter day!
But if you would contemplate nationality as an active
virtue, look around you. Is not our own history one witness
and one record of what it can do? This day and all which it
it stands for,-did it not give us these? This glory of the
fields of that war, this eloquence of that revolution, this one
wide sheet of flame which wrapped tyrant and tyranny and
swept all that escaped from it away, forever and forever; the
courage to fight, to retreat, to rally, to advance, to guard the
young flag by the young arm and the young heart's blood, to
hold up and hold on till the magnificent consummation crowned
the work,-were not all these imparted or inspired by this
imperial sentiment?
THE NATIONAL ENSIGN.
Sir, I must detain you no longer. I have said enough, and
more than enough, to manifest the spirit in which this flag is





232


VOICE AND ACTION.


now committed to your charge. It is the national ensign,
pure and simple; dearer to all our hearts at this moment, as
we lift it to the gale, and see no other sign of hope upon the
storm-cloud which rolls and rattles above it, save that which
is reflected from its own radiant hues; dearer, a thousandfold dearer to us all, than ever it was before, while gilded by
the sunshine of prosperity, and playing with the zephyrs of
peace. It will speak for itself far more eloquently than I can
speak for it.
Behold it! Listen to it! Every star has a tongue; every
stripe is articulate. There is no language or speech where
their voices are not heard. There's magic in the web of it.
It has an answer for every question of duty. It has a solution
for every doubt and perplexity. It has a word of good cheer
for every hour of gloom or of despondency.
Behold it! Listen to it! It speaks of earlier and of later
struggles. It speaks of victories, and sometimes of reverses,
on the sea and on the land. It speaks of patriots and heroes
among the living and the dead: and of him, the first and
greatest of them all, around whose consecrated ashes this unnatural and abhorrent strife has so long been raging-" the
abomination of desolation standing where it ought not." But
before all and above all other associations and memorieswhether of glorious men, or glorious deeds, or glorious places
-its voice is ever of Union and Liberty, of the Constitution
and the Laws.
THE PERPETUITY OF THE UNION.
Give up the Union?  NEVER!    The Union shall endure,
and its praises shall be heard when its friends and its foes,
those who support, and those who assail, those who bare their
bosoms in its defence, and those who aim their daggers at its
heart, shall all sleep in the dust together. Its name shall be
heard with veneration amid the roar of the Pacific's waves,
away upon the river of the North and East where liberty is
divided from monarchy, and be wafted in gentle breezes upon
the Rio Grande. It shall rustle in the harvest and wave in





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the standing corn, on the extended prairies of the West, and
be heard in the bleating folds and lowing herds upon a thousand hills. It shall be with those who delve in mines, and
shall hum in the manufactories of New England, and in the
cotton-gins of the South. It shall be proclaimed by the Stars
and Stripes in every sea of earth, as the American Union, one
and indivisible; upon the great thoroughfares, wherever
steam drives, and engines throb and shriek, its greatness and
perpetuity shall be hailed with gladness. It shall be lisped
in the earliest words, and ring in the merry voices of childhood, and swell to Heaven upon the song of maidens. It shall
live in the stern resolve of manhood, and rise to thie mercyseat upon woman's gentle availing prayer. Holy men shall
invoke its perpetuity at the altars of religion, and it shall be
whispered in the last accents of expiring age.
OUR HEROIC DEAD.
There is a history in almost our every home which will
never be written; but the memory of kindred has it embalmed
forever. The representatives of the pride and hope of uncounted households, departing will return no more. The shaft
of the archer, attracted by the shining mark, numbers them
among his fallen. And, beyond the Atlantic slope, every
battle-field has drunk the blood of our sons. Officers and
enlisted men have vied with each other in deeds of valor.
This flag, whose standard-bearer, shot down in battle, tossed
it from his dying hand nerved by undying patriotism, has been
caught by the comrade, who in his turn has closed his eyes
for the last time upon its starry folds as another hero-martyr
clasped the splintered staff and rescued the symbol at once of
country and of their blood-bought fame.
How can fleeting words of human praise gild the record of
their glory? Our eyes suffutsed with tears, and blood retreating to the heart, stirrv.d with unwonted thrill, spe'ak with tlie
eloquence of nature, uttered but unexpressed. From the din of
the battle, they have passed to the peace of eternily. Farewell! warrior, citizen, patriot, lover, friend; whether in the
humbler ranks or bearing the sword of official power, whether





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private, captain, surgeon, or chaplain, for all these in the
heavy fight have passed away, Hail! and Farewell! Each
hero must sleep serenely on the field where he fell in a cause
"sacred to liberty and the rights of mankind."
HONOR TO OUR HEROES.
The heart swells with unwonted emotion when we remember our sons and brothers, whose constant valor has sustained
on the field, during nearly three years of war, the cause of
our country, of civilization and liberty. The muse herself
demands the lapse of silent years to soften, by the influences
of time, her too keen and poignant realization of the scenes
of war, the pathos, the heroism, the fierce joy, the grief of
battle. But during the ages to come, she will brood over their
memory. Into the hearts of her consecrated ones will breathe
the inspirations of lofty and undying beauty, sublimity, and
truth, in all the glowing forms of speech, of literature and
plastic art. By the homely traditions of the fireside, by the
headstones in the churchyard consecrated to those whose
forms repose far off in rude graves by the Rappahannock, or
sleep beneath the sea, embalmed in the memories of succeeding generations of parents and children, the heroic dead will
live on in immortal youth.
POLITICAL MORALITY.
Remember that the greatness of our country is not in its
achievement, but in its promise, a promise which cannot be
fulfilled without that sovereign moral sense, without a sensitive
national conscience. If it were a question of the mere daily
pleasure of living, the gratification of taste, opportunity of
access to the great intellectual and vesthetic results of human
genius, and whatever embellishes human life, no man could
hesitate for a moment between the fulness of foreign lands in
these respects, and the conspicuous poverty of our own. - What
have we done? We have subdued and settled a vast domain.
We have made every inland river turn a mill, and wherever,
on the dim rim of the globe, there is a harbor, we have lighted





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it with an American sail. We have bound the Atlantic to the
Misisisippi, so that we drift from the sea to the prairie upon a
cloud of vapor; and we are stretching one hand across the
continent to fulfil the hope of Columbus in a shorter way to
Cathay, and with the other we are grasping under the sea to
clasp there the hand of the old continent, that so the throbbing
of the ocean may not toss us further apart, but be as the beating of one common pulse of the world.
Yet these are the results common to all national enterprise,
and different with us only in degree, not in kind. These are
but the tools with which to shape a destiny. Commercial
prosperity is only a curse, if it be not subservient to moral and
intellectual progress; and our prosperity will conquer us, if we
do not conquer our prosperity.
OUR COUNTRY'S GREATEST GLORY.
The true glory of a nation is in an intelligent, honest,
Shdustrvua Christian people. The civilization of a people
depends on their individual character; and a constitution
which is not the outgrowth of this character is not worth the
parchment on which it is written. You look in vain in the
past for a single Instanoe where the people have preserved
their liberties after trenf individual character was lost.
The true glory of a nation is in the living temple of a loyal,
Industrious, and upright people. The busy click of machinery,
the merry ring.of the anvi, the lowing of peaceful herds, and
the song of the harvest-home, are sweeter music than peans
of departed glory, or songs of trummph in war. The vine-clad
cottage of the hill-side, the cabin of the woodsman, and the
rural home of the farmer, are the true citadels of any country.
There is a dignity in honest toil which belongs not to the display of wealth or the luxury of fashion. The man who drives
the plough, or swings his axe in the forest, or with cunning
fingers plies the tools of his craft, is as truly the servant of
his country as the statesman in the senate or the soldier in
battle. The safety of a nation depends not alone on the wisiom of its statesman, or the bravery of its generals. The





236


VOICE AND ACTION.


tongue of eloquence never saved a nation tottering to its fall;
the sword of a warrior never stayed its destruction.
Would you see the image of true glory, I would show you
villages where the crown and glory of the people was in
Christian schools, where the voice of prayer goes heaven-ward,
where the people have that most priceless gift, faith in God.
LOVE OF COUNTRY.
Next to the worship of the Father of us all, the deepest
and grandest of human emotions is the love of the land that
gave us birth. It is an enlargement and exaltation of all the
tenderest and strongest sympathies of kindred and of home.
In all centuries and climes it has lived, and defied chains and
dungeons and racks to crush it. It has strewed the earth with
its monuments, and has shed undying lustre on a thousand
fields on which it has battled. Through the night of ages,
Thermopyle glows like some mountain peak on which the morning sun has risen, because twenty-three hundred years ago,
this hallowing passion touched its mural precipices and its
crowning crags. It is easy, however, to be patriotic, in piping
times of peace, and in the sunny hour of prosperity. It is
national sorrow-it is war, with its attendant perils and horrors, that tests this passion, and winnows from the masses
those who, with all their love of life, still love their country
more. We honor commerce with its busy marts, and the
workshop with its patient toil and exhaustless ingenuity, but
still we would be unfaithful to the truth of history did we not
confess that the most heroic champions of human freedom and
the most illustrious apostles of its principles have come from
the broad fields of agriculture. There seems to be something
in the scenes of nature, in her wild and beautiful landscapes,
in her cascades and cataracts, and waving woodlands, and in
the pure and exhilarating airs of her hills and mountains, that
unbraces the fetters which man would rivet upon the spirit of
his fellow-man. It was at the handles of the plow, and amid
the breathing odors of its newly-opened furrows, that the character of Cincinnatus was formed, expanded, and matured. It





SHORT EXTRACTS.


237


was not in the city full, but in the deep gorges and upon the
snow-clad summits of the Alps-amid the eagles nnd the thunders, that William Tell laid the foundations of those altars to
human liberty against which the surging tides of European
despotism have beaten for centuries, but thank God, have
beaten in vain.
LOYALTY TO LIBERTY OUR ONLY IOPE.
The love of country is the gift of God-it cannot dwell in
homes of sin, it has no abiding place in saloons of vice or dens
of infamy, it belongs not to infidel clubs or fanatical conventions,
they would tear down the sacred edifice which they have never
loved; they are impatient for change, for in the seething caldron of rebellion they are brought to the surface.   With
nothing to lose, they have no fear of the days of terror; their
only dread is in the majesty of the law. The love of country
belongs to a God-fearing people; it is seen in the purity of private life, in the privacy of Christian homes, in the devotions of
the closet, in the manliness of Christian character. The church
is its nursing mother. Loyalty to God and to her institutions
is her first and last lesson; it is the earnest cry of her loyal
children " that peace and happiness, truth and justice, religion
and piety, may be established among us for all generations."
The love of country belongs to loyal men. The power of selfgovernment depends upon a loyal people.
The protection of the nation depends not on the wisdom of
its senators, not on the vigilance of its police, not on the strong
arm of standing armies: but the loyalty of a united people.
Other nations have equalled us in all the arts of civilization,
in discoveries, in science, in skill, and in invention: they have
kept even step with us and often surpassed us in philosophy
and literature; they have been brave in war and wise in council; they have clustered round their homes all that art can
lavish of beauty-but ripe scholarship, cunning in art, or skill
in invention never gave to the people a constitution. This is
the outgrowth of a manly spirit of loyalty. It teaches men
duty-a right manly word for right manly men.





238


VOICE AND ACTION.


OUR GREAT INHERITANCE.
We have the greatest country on the face of the earth. Let
not our minds be so distracted by mere party strife and confusion that we shall see our government fall to pieces before
our eyes, and sacrifice our country to our party, instead of being ready at all times to sacrifice our party to our country.
After we become the slave of party, we dare not, in the presence of any danger to the country, turn our backs to our parties, and say that we have a country that demands our services,
and to it we will give them. Are we now unable to do this?
Have we lost this spirit? has it gone from among us?
Providence has given this great country to us. Our wise
and valiant forefathers gave us liberty and established a government for us. Let us take care of it-take care of the Constitution and the Union. That is all we require. We have
before us the prospect of a glory unknown to other nationsa prospect in which our land will become the glory of the
earth. Neither Rome nor any of the great empires of antiquity or of modern times can compare with what we shall be at
no distant day. We are now thirty millions strong, yet we have
been but eighty years in existence as a free nation. From the
year 1776 down to the present time, God Almighty has blessed
us above all other people and all other nations. Where shall
we be thirty years hence if such prosperity attend us? A great
nation of one hundred million souls, with not enough then to
develop all our resources. Every man free to think; free to
speak, free to act, free to work. What must this mighty freedom produce with this mighty concurrence of hearts, of heads,
of hands! What navies, what armies, what cities!
FREE HOMES FOR FREE MEN.
I would provide in our land policy for securing homesteads
to actual settlers; and whatever bounties the government
should grant to the old soldiers, I would have made in money





SHORT EXTRACTS.


239


and not in land warrants, which are bought in most cases by
speculators as an easier anl cheaper mole of acquiring the public lands. So they only facilitate land monopoly. Ti.e men
who go forth at the call of their country to u:phold its standard and vindicate its honor, are deserving, it is true, of a more
substantial reward than tears to the dead and thanks to the
living; but there are soldiers ofpe:;ce as well as of war, and
though no waving plume beckons them on to glory or to death,
their dying scene is often a crimson one. They fall leading
the van of civilization along untrodden paths, and are buried in
the dust of its idvancing columns. No monument marks the
scene of deadly strife; no stone their resting place; the winds
sighing through thie branches of the forest trees alone sing
their requiem. Yet they are the meritorious men of the Republic-the men who give it strength in war and glory in
peace. The achievments of your pioneer army, from the day
they first drove back the Indian tribes from the Atlantic seaboard to the present hour, have been the achievements of science
and civilization over the elements, the wilderness, and the
sava e.
If rewards or bounties are to be granted for true heroism in
the progress of the race, none is more deserving than the pioneer
who expels the savage and the wild beast, and opens in the
wilderness a home for science and a pathway for civiliazation.
ALL VALUE CENTRES IN MIND.
Universal education, the culture of every mind born into
the world, is necessary; if this world was made for any purpose besides the glory of God (and to contribute to God's
glory is to exalt and dignify mind), unless its creation was an
accident or a blunder, it was formed to be the schoolhouse of
the race, to minister in its various forms of harmony, beauty,
and sublimity, to the necess:ties of the souls that have been
placed in it. It is for this that the mountain shoots up from
the plain, and stands in majesty against the distant sky; for
this the earth puts on her gorgeous robes of spring and summer; for this the sea is spread. out in beauty when the winds





240


VOICE AND ACTION.


are hushed, or is roused into terrific sublimity when the tempest is abroad; for this the heavens put on their star-decked
mantle, and make the night more glorious than the day; for
this planets and suns move with measured and obedient step
through an extent of space that appals even the mind to which
it ministers; for this all nature, like a grand instrument, with
infinite variety of parts and expression, has been uttering her
voice; from tle time when the morning stars sang together,
and all the sons of God shouted for joy. Every tint of the
rose, every sigh of the breeze, every glimpse of the sunshine,
is laid as an offering upon the shrine of mind; and man, fceble
and frail though he be, is admitted to a share of the magnificent homage.
We may depend upon it, there is nothing with which we
have to do that is of so much consequence as mind. And,
if so, it follows that all mind should be educated. This is
the great duty of humanity.
OUR SYSTEM OF PUBLIC INSTRUCTION SHOULD DISTINCTIVELY INCULCATE A LOVE OF COUNTRY.
The true American patriot is ever a worshipper.    The
starry symbol of his country's sovereignty is to him radiant
with a diviner glory than that which meets his mortal vision.
It epitomizes the splendid results of dreary ages of experiments
and failures in human government; and, as he gazes upon its
starry folds undulating responsive to the whispering winds of
the upper air, it sometimes seems to his rapt spirit to recede
further and further into the soft blue skies, till the heavens
open, and angel hands plant it upon the battlements of
Paradise. Its stars seem real; its lines of white symbol the
purity of his heroic sires; those of red, their patriot blood
shed in defense of the right. To defend that flag, is to him
something more than a duty, it is a joy, a coveted privilege,
akin to that which nerves the arm and directs the blow in
defense of wife or child. To insult it, is worse than infamy;
to make war upon it, more than treason.





SHORT EXTRACTS.


241


A perfect civil government is the sublimest earthly symbol
of Deity-indeed, such a government is a transcript of the
divine will; its spirit and principles identical with those with
which he governs the universe. Its vigilance, care and protection, are ubiquitous, its strong hand is ever ready to raise
the fallen, restrain the violent, and punish the aggressor. Its
patient ear is bent to catch alike the complaint of the rich and
strong, or the poor and weak, while unerring justice presides
at the trial and settlement of every issue between man and
man.
Now, our government is not perfect, even in theory, and
still less so in practice; but it is good, and strong, and glorious
enough to inspire a loftier patriotism than animates the people
of any other nation. What element is wanting to evoke tie
passionate love and admiration of an American citizen for his
country?
LIBERTY AND THE LIBERTY OF THE PRESS.
Sir, the liberty of the press is the highest safeguard to all
free government. Ours could not exist without it. It is like
a great, exulting and abopnding river. It is fed by the dews
of heaven, which distil their sweetest drops to form it. It
gushes from the rill as it breaks from the deep caverns of the
earth. It is augmented by a thousand affluents, that dash
from the mountain-top, to separate again into a thousand
bounteous and irrigating steams around. On its broad bosom
it bears a thousand barks. There genius spreads its purpling
sail. There poetry dips its silver oar. There art, invention,
discovery, science, morality and religion, may safely and
securely float. It wanders through every land. It is a genial,
cordial source of thought and inspiration, wherever it touches,
whatever it surrounds. Upon its borders there grows every
flower of grace, and every fruit of truth. Sir, I am not
here to deny that that river sometimes oversteps its bounds.
I am not here to deny that that stream sometimes becomes a
dangerous torrent, and destroys towns and cities upon its bank.
11





242


VOICE AND ACTION.


But I am here to say that, without it, civilization, humanity,
government, all that makes society itself, would disappear, and
the world would return to its ancient barbarism. Sir, if that
were possible, though but fir a moment, civiliz;tion would
roll the wheels of its car backward for two thousand years,
and the fine conception of the poet would be realized:
" As one by one, in dread Medea's train,
Star after star fades off the ethereal plain,
Thus at her fell alpproach and secret might
Art after art goes out, and all is night.
Phi osophy, that leaned on heaven before,
Sinks to her second cause, and is no more.
Religion, blushing, veils her sacred fires,
And, unawares, morality expires."
A CATEGORICAL COURTSHIP.
I sat one night beside a blue-eyel girlThe fire was out, and so, too, was ler mother;
A feeble flame around the lamp did curl,
Making faint shadows, blending in each o:her;
'Twas nearly twelve o'clock, too, iin 1ovember,
She had a shawl on, also, I remember.
Well, I had been to see I:r every n glit
For thirteen days, and had a sneaki:tg notion
To pop the q:e tion, thinking all was right,
And once (,r twice h;d made an awk\wartl motion
To take her hand, and stammered, coughed and stuttered,
But somehow nothing to the point had uttered.
I thought this chance too good now to be lost;
I hitched my chair up pretty close beside her,
Drew a long breath, and then my legs I crossed,
Bent over, sig!hed, and for five minutes eyed her;
She looked as if she knew what next was coming,
And with her foot upon the floor was drumming.
I did'nt know how to begin, or whereI could'nt speak, the words were always choking;
I scarce could move--I seemed tied in my chair




SHORT EXTRACTS.


243


I hardly breathed-'t was awfully provoking;
The perspiration from each pore was oozing,
My heart and brain and limbs their power seemed losing.
At length I saw a brindle tabby cat
Walk purring up, inviting me to pat her;
An idea came, electric-like, at thatMy doubts, like summer clouds, began to scatter,
I seized on tabby, though a scratch she gave me,
And said, " Come, Puss, ask Mary if she'll have me '
'Twas done at once-the murder now was out,
The thing was all explained in half a minute;
She blusled, and turning pussy cat about,
Said, " Ptssy, tell him, yes! " Her foot was in it!
The cat had thus saved me my category,
And here's the catastrophe of my story.
MUTUAL ASSISTANCE.
A man very lame was a little to blame,
To stray far from his humble abode;
Hot, thirsty, bemired, and heartily tired,
lie laid himself down in the road.
While thus he recl'ned, a man who was blind,
Came by and entreated his aid:
"Deprived of my sight, unassisted to-night,
I shall not reach home, I'm afraid."
" Intelligence give of the place where you live,"
Said the cripple, "perhaps I may know it;
In my road it may be, and if you'll carry me,
It will give much pleasure to show it.
" Great strength you have got, which alas II have not,
In my legs so fatigued every nerve is;
For the use of your back, for the eyes which you lack,
My pair shall be much at your service."
Said the other poor man, " What an excellent plan I
Pray get on my shoulders, good brother;
I see all mankind, if they are but inclined,
May constantly help one another."





244


VOICE AND ACTION.


THE COURTIN'
God makes sech nights, all white an' still, furz you can look
or listen,
Moonshine an' snow on field an' hill, all silence an' all glisten.
Zekle crep' up, quite unbeknown, an' peeked in thru the
winder,
An' there sot Huldy, all alone, with no one nigh to hinder.
A fire-place filled the room's one side with half a cord o' wood
in,There warn't no stoves till Comfort died, to bake ye to a
puddin'.
The wa'nut logs shot sparkles out toward the pootiest, bless
her
An' leetle flames danced all about the chiny on the dresser.
Agin the chimbley crooknecks hung, and in amongst 'em
rusted
The ole queen's-arm that gran'ther Young fetched back from
Concord busted.
The very room, coz she was in, seemed warm from floor to
ceilin',
An' she looked full ez rosy agin ez the apples she was peelin'.
'T was kin' o' kingdom come to look on sech a blessed cretur,
A dogrose blushin' to a brook aint modester nor sweeter.
He was six foot o' man, A 1, clean grit an' human natur,
None could'nt quicker pitch a ton, nor dror a furrer straighter.
He'd sparked it with full twenty gals, he'd squired 'em, danced
'em, druv 'em,
Fust this one, an' then thet, by spells,-all is, he couldn't love
'em.
But long o' her, his veins 'ould run all crinkly, like curled
maple,
The side she breshed felt full o' sun ez a south slope in Ap'il.
She thought no v'ice had sech a swing as hisn in the choir;
My I when he made Ole Hundred ring, she knowed the Lord
was nigher.
An' she'd blush scarlit, right in prayer, when her new meetin-' bunnet





SELECTIONS.                    245 -Felt, somehow, thru its crown, a pair o' blue eyes sot upon it.
Thet night, I tell ye, she looked some! she seetred to 've gut
a new soul,
For she felt sartin-sure he 'd come, down to her very shoesole.
She heerd a foot, an' knowed it, 'tu, a-raspin' on the scraper,All ways to once her feelins' flew, like sparks in burnt-up
paper.
lie kin' o' loitered on the mat, some doubtfle o' the sekle,
Ilis heart kep' goin' pity-pat, but hern went pity-Zekle.
An' yit. she gin her cheer a jerk, ez though she wished him
furder,
An' on her apples kep' to work, parin' away like murder.
" You want tO see my Pa, I s'pose?"     Wal-no-I come
designin' ""To see my Ma? She's sprinklin' clo'es agin to-morrer's
i'nin."
To say why gals act so or so, or don't, would be presumin';
Mebby to mean yes an' say no comes nateral to women.
He stood a spell on one foot fust, then stood a spell on t'
other,
An' on which one he felt the wust, he couldn't ha' told ye,
nuther.
Says he, "I 'd better call agin."  Says she, "Think likely
Mister."
That last word pricked him like a pin, an'-wal, he up an
kissed her.
When Ma, bimeby, upon 'em slips, Huldy sot, pale as ashes,
All kin' o' smily roun' the lips, an' teary roun' the lashes.
For she was jest the quiet kind, whose naturs never vary
Like streams thet keep a summer mind snow-hid in Jenooary.
The blood clost roun' her heart felt glued too tight for all expressin',
Till mother see how matters stood, an' gin 'em both her
blessin'.
Then her red come back, like the tide down to the Bay o'
Fundy,
An' all I know is, they was cried in meetin' come nex' Sun
day.





246


VOICE AND ACTION.


JONTEEL HOMME.
In Angleterre, I vas vat you call de emigrant; because in
de revolution, ma foi! ven my countree, dat I love so much,
vant to cut off my head, I take to my feet, and run away very
fast, so dat de guillotine can no cut short my valk over de sea
-not at all. Here I make the montre, vat you call the vatch.
I am de horologer, de clock-maker, and get de living by de tick.
Mais dans Paris, in my own countree, I vas very large man,
indeed; vas nobleman, and stood very high indeed in de grand
armee Royale.
De oder day, I vas valk in vat you call you Park, and dere
I see sit on de bench, un pauvre homme. He seem    very
hungry, very cold; he looked very dirty, very ragged, and
very poor, indeed-but he appear very jonteel man for all
dat. I go to him, and I say to him-for I see in de twinkle
of de eye he vas von Frenchman-vas miy countree-man:
" Mon ami, my friend, my countree-man, for vat you sit on dis
bench here, vy you not go to de cook-shop, de restaurateur,
vere dey eat de beef and de mouton, and de sallad, and de
pomme de terre? "  He say to me: "I am brave Frangais,
I am jontil homme,-I am one of de first men in all France,
but I am sans sous, point d'argent, I have not one single farthing dans tout le monde, not a penny in all de vorld, and no
credit at all."
Den he show me his pockets filled vid very large holes, but
noting else; but he appear a very jontil-homme for all dat.
And all at vonce, immediately, instantment, in de half second,
I recollect tohave seen him in Paris, dress all in de silver and
in de gold lace. Jontilhomme, or nobleman, I forget vich,
but it vas all de same, I look again,-ma foi! he have no lice
but de rags, and no silver but de gray hair da:- grow out of
de hole in d3 top of his hat, like you see de pigeon claw stick
out of de pie,-but he vas a very jonteel homme for all dat.
Hie make de graceful bow to me. Mon Dieu! his knee
come out of de pantaloon, and I see his great toe look at me
Dut of de end of his boot. I say to him: My countree-man,





SELECTIONS,


R47


mon ami, no d'argent, no credit, no dinner! vat for you leave
you logement, den?-vy you no take de refreshment, and de
sleep in you bed? He say to me: " Ah, mon ami! I have no
logement, no bed: I lodge in de open air, vere I pay no rent,
and I sleep here: de bench is my mattrass, and de tree dat
hang over my head de curtain."  "Ma foi! no logement, no
bed! pauvre homme, my heart is melt vid de great big pity
for you. My friend, my countree-man, I shall take you home
to my maison, and give you de diner and de sleep for de night.
My landlady is very particulaire, she no like de stranger to
sleep in her domicile; so, ve vill vait, and get de bon appetite
till it is dark-den, you sall pull off you shoe, and ve vill steal
up de stair, and nobody sall know dat you are dere." Vell, ve
valk undJr de tree, and talk of do grand restaurateur vere dey
have de five hundred dishes for dinner, at de splendid palace
of de great monarque a Versailles, till at last it grow to de
dark night-den, ve steal home to my logemnent, and I open de
door vid de littel key vat I have in my pocket; den I rub my
shoe on de mat, and I leave de dirt; mon ami, my countreeman, he rub his shoe on de mat, and lie leave de sole derebut he vas a very jonteel homme for all dat. Ve have da
littel joke on his loss of de sole; den I pull off my shoe, and
dere ismy stocking; mon ami, my countree-man, he pull oft
his shoe, and dere is only his foot: he have no stocking at all.
Vell, ve have the littel joke because lie have no stocking, and
ve creep up de stair light as de feather, vidout anybody hear.
Vell, ve get into my room, mon apartment, mon chambre a
lit; dere I strike de light, make de fire, lay de cloth, and get
my dinner from da cupboard. I pull out de large piece of
bread, de neck of mouton dat vas boiled yesterday, and de
great dish of soup dat I make hot; and I say: "Now, mon
ami, my coantree-man, ve vill have de dinner." I get up for
de cloth to put under my chin, (Oat I may no grease my frill
vid de soup; mi foi! ven I come back to help myself dere is
none!-mon ami, my countree-man, he has swallow it all up.
Vell, ve lave de Lttel joke about de soup, sure not to grease
my frill now, and I go to take some mouton; ma foi dere is
only de bones! mon ami, mon countree-man, he have eat up all
de meat--but he vas a very jonteel man for all dat. Yell, ve





248


VOICE AND ACTION.


have de littel joke, and I laugh a littel, on de wrong side of
my mouth, about my friend eat all de meat and leave me de
bone: and I go to make shift vid de crust of bread-but, parbleu! dere is no bread at all! mon ami, my countree-man, he
eat all de bread vhile I eat de s)up. Ve have not de littel
joke dis time, and I content myself vid de cheese paring and
de bit of salt. At last it come time to go to bed; and I say:
"Mon ami, my countree-man, ve vill aller coucher, put our
heads in de night-cap.". Vell, I pull off my coat, and dere is
my vaist-coat; mon ami, my countree-man pull of his coat, ma
foi! dere is no vaist-coat at all. I say: " Mon ami, my countree-man, dere is de old sack de man bring vid de pomme
de terre. Youshall make shift vid dat. Vell, he lay down
on de potaroe sack, and I go to sleep.-In de morning I vake
and look for mon ami, my countree-inan;-and parbleu! he is
no dere! I look and he is gone!-I say I say I will put on
my clothes and see if he is down stairs. I look for my tings
and parbleu dey is no dere, no more is my hat, nor my st:cking, nor my shoe, nor my anyting: but dere is de chapeau vid
de hole in de top, de pantaloon out of de knee, de shoe dat
have no sole, and very littel body, and de greasy, rusty, ragged
habit of mon ami, my countree-mlan. Vell, I say, he has dress
himself in all my tings by mistake; he have no money no
credit, no logement; lie make shift and sleep in my potatoe
sack; he get up vhile I sleep and run avay vid all my clothes;
it is all very bad, ma foi -Vell! I make de fire vid his old
clothes, and dey vere too bad for me, and I wrap myself up in
de blanket and I tink I will go to vork; ven, parbleu! I find
all de vatcles dat vas left by my customers, because dey would
not go, had all go vhile I vas asleep! mon ami, my countreeman had taken dem vhile I vas dormi, and I vas ruin, and
oblige to run avay-but he vas a very jonteel man for all dat.
BILLY AND BETTY.
As Billy and Betty were sparking one night,
"Grammercy," said he, and turned pale with affright;
" Grammercy, dear Betty, a funeral is near,
For a death-watch is ticking e'en now in my ear."





SELECTIONS.


249


Now Betty applied her left ear to his right,
Pit-a-pat went her heart and her hair stood upright.
Now while she was listening it happen'd just then
The clock in the parlor began to strike ten.
"I hear it," cried Betty, and panted for breath;
"'Tis surely a death-watch, a token of death,
Alas, for us all, what terrible signs,
Tray howls every night and the tabby cat whines.
"To-day I was spinning, and out flew a coal
And here in my bran new gown burnt a huge hole.
Last week a hen crow'd, and to-day the cat dozed
With one eye wide open and the other fast closed.
"Three times in the candle a coffin I've seen,
Which signifies death, or pray what does it mean?"
"To be sure it means death," replied Will with a groan,
"Some one in this house will be dead very soon.
"To-day when I put on the fire an old stick,
A maggot was in it, I heard it go click.
Tills moment a peach-tree is in -ecoi!d bloom,
And the grass has decayed on the family tomb.
"Last night when I rode by the church-yard alone
A whippoorwill sat on the mai ble tombstone.
At that very instant a shooting star came
Plump into the grave-yard and sparkled like flame."
"Oh! dear," cried Betty, and seized Billy's arm:
"Oh! forgive me," said Will, " I don't mean any harm,
But as I was saying, a death will take place,
For the signs are as plain as the nose on my face.
"Last night while out riding, old Dobbin ne'er scares,
By the gate of the church-yard, he pricked up his ears;
Then plunging aside-with a terrible snortHe stared at the yew-tree and breathed very short.
11*





250O


VOICE AND ACTION.


So I mumbled a prayer, and my bosom I crossed,
For I knew that old Dobbin was spying a ghost."
"' Oh! Billy, don't frighten me so,
Good lack, don't you think the candle burns blue I"
"As blue as my coat, and I wish I may die
If I don't smell brimstone."  " Oh! dear, so do I."
Now while they were staring with speechless affright
A puff from the window extinguished their light.
Each started and screamed, but sad to relate,
Their stools were capsized on the tail of the cat.
The cat squalled aloud, and the lovers both roar'd,
Which roused up a dog in the corner that snor'd.
And now there was barking, and mewing, and biting,
And scratching, and squalling, and screaming, and fighting.
This moment the old negro ran into the room,
And by the light of the fire was seen thro' the gloom.
They saw him half-clothed and blacker than night,
With bright rolling eye-balls and teeth grinning white,
And both in a panic dropt down on their knees,
Crying, " Oh! sweet Mr. Devil, oh! pray if you please."
Old Cuffy replied, with a most ludicrous stare,
"Why, I'se not de debbil, I'se Cuffy," 1" Why so you are! "
Thus ended the uproar, and thus ends the wrong;
In short, to be brief, one should never be long.
FORTITUDE OF THE INDIAN CHARACTER.
A party of the Seneca Indians came to war against the
Katawbas, bitter enemies to each other. In the woods the
former discovered a sprightly warrior belonging to the latter,
hunting in their usual light dress: on his perceiving them, he
sprang off for a hollow rock four or five miles distant, as they





SELECTIONS.


intercepted him from running homeward. He was so extremely swift, and skilful with the gun, as to kill seven of them
in the running fight before they were able to surround and
take him. They carried him to their country in sad triumph:
but though he had filled them with uncommon grief and
shame for tho loss of so many of their kindred, yet the love of
martial virtue induced them to treat him, during their long
journey, with a great deal more civility than if he had acted
the part of a coward.
The women and children, when they met him at their several towns, beat him and whipped him in as severe a manner
as the occasion required, according to their law of justice; and
at last lie was formally condemned to die by the fiery torture.
It might reasonably be imagined that what he had for some
time gone through by being fed with a scanty hand, a tedious
march, lying at night on the bare ground, exposed to the
changes of the weather, with his arms and legs extended in a
pair of rough stocks, and suffering such punishment on his
entering into their hostile towns, as a prelude to those sharper
torments to which he was destined, would have so impaired
his health, and affected his imagination, as to have sent him to
his long sleep, out of the way of any more sufferings.
Probably this would have been the case with the major
part of white people under similar circumstances; but I never
knew this with any of the Indians; and this cool-headed,
brave warrior, did not deviate from their rough lessons of
martial virtue, but acted his part so well as to surprise and
sorely vex his numerous enemies: for when they were taking
him unpinioned, in their wild parade, to the place of torture,
which lay near the river, he suddenly dashed down those who
stood in his way, sprung off, and plunged into the water,
swimming underneath like an otter, only rising to take breath,
till he reached the opposite shore.
He ascended the steep bank, but though he had good
reason to be in a hurry, as many of the enemy were in the
water, and others running, like blood-hounds, in pursuit of
him, and the bullets flying around him from the time he took
to the river, yet his heart did not allow him to leave them
abruptly. He chose to take leave in a formal manner, in





252


VOICE AND ACTION.


return for the extraordinary favors they had done, and intended
to do him. So stopping a moment, he bid them defiance, in
the genuine style of Indian gallantry, he put up the shrill
warwhoop, as his last salute, till some more convenient opportunity offered, and darted off in the manner of a beast broke
loose fromn its torturing enemies.
He continued his speed, so as to run, by about midnight
of the same day, as far as his eager pursuers were two days in
reaching. There he rested, till he happily discovered five of
those Indians who had pursued him: he lay hid a little way
off their camp, till they were sound asleep. Every circumstance of his situation occurred to him and inspired him with
heroism. He was naked, torn, and bungry, and his enraged
enemies were come up with him; but there was everything
to relieve his wants, and a flir opportunity to save his life, and
get great honor and sweet revenge by cutting them off. R solution, a convenient spot, and sudden surprise, would effect the
main object of all his wishes and hopes.
He accordingly crept, took one of their tomalawks, and
killed them all on the spot, clothed himself, and took a choice
gun, and as much ammunition and provision as he could well
carry in a running march. He set off afresh w ith a li-ht heart,
and did not sleep for several successive nights, except when he
reclined as usual, a little before day, with his back to a tree.
As it were by instinct, when he found he was free from
the pursuing enemy, he made directly to the very pl:ce where
he had been taken prisoner and doomed to the fiery torture,
after having killed seven of his enemies. The lodies of these
he dug up, burnt them to ashes, and went home in safety with
singular triumph. Other pursuing enemies came, on the evening of the second day, to the camp of their dead people, when
the sight gave them a greater shock than they ever had known
before. In their chilled war council they concluded tliat as
he had done such surprising things in his defence before he
was captivated, and even after that in his condition, he. must
surely be an enemy wizard; and that, as he was now well
armed, he would destroy them all should they continue the
pursuit; they therefore very prudently returned home.





SELECTIONS.


253


DEFENCE     OF LITERARY      STUDIES IN     MEN   OF
BUSINESS.
Among the cautions which prudence and worldly wisdom
inculcate on the young, or at least among those sober truths
which experience often pretends to have acquired, is that danger which is said to result from the pursuit of letters and of
science, in men destined for the labors of business, for the
active exertions of professional life. The abstraction of learning, the speculations of science, and the visionary excursions
of fancy, are fatal, it is said, to the study of common objects,
to the habits of ploding industry which ordinary business
demands. The fineness of mind which is created or increased
by t!e study of letters, or the admiration of the arts, is supposed to incaplcitate a man for the drudgery by which professional eminence is gained; as a nicely tempered edge
applied to, a coarse and rugged material is unable to pe form
wlht a imore common instrument would have successfully
achieved. A   young man destined for liw or commerce is
advise]1 to look only into his folio of precedents, or his meth, d
of book-keeping; and dulness is pointed to his homage, as
that benevolent goddess, under whose protection he hol 's
of station and the blessings of opulence are to be attained;
while learning and genius are proscribed as leading their
votaries to barren indig nce and merited neglect.
In doubting the truth of these assertions, I think I shall not
ente tain any hurtful degree of skepticism, because the general
current of opinion s ems of late years to have set too strongly
in the contrary direction: and one may endeavor to prop the
falling cause of literature without being accused of blamable
or dangero us partiality.
In the examples which memory and experience produce of
idleness, of dissipation, and of poverty, brought on by indulgence of literary or poetical enthusiasm, the evidence must
necessarily be,n one side of the question only. Of the few
whom learning or genius h:s led astray, the ill success or the
ruin is marked by the celebrity of the sufferer. Of the many
who have been as dull as they were profligate, and as ignorant





254


VOICE AND ACTION.


as they were poor, the fate is unknown, from the insignificance
of those by whom it was endured. If we may reason apriori
on the matter, the chance, I think, should be on the side of
literature.
In young minds of any vivacity, there is a natural aversion
to the drudgery of business, which is seldom overcome, till the
effervescence of youth is allayed by the progress of time and
habit, or till that very warmth is enlisted on the side of their
profession, by the opening prospects of ambition or emolument.
From this tyranny, as youth conceives it, of attention and
of labor, relief is commonly sought from some favorite avocation or amusement, for which a young man either finds or steals
a portion of his time, either patiently plods through his task,
in expectation of its approach, or anticipates its arrival by deserting his work before the legal period for amusement is arrived. It may fairly be questioned whether the most innocent
of those amusements, is either so honorable or so safe as the
avocation of learning or of science. Of minds uninformed and
gross, whom youthful spirits agitate, but fancy and feeling have
no power to impel, the amusement will generally be either
boisterous or effeminate, will either dissipate their attention or
weaken their force. The employment of a young man's vacant
hours is often too little attended to by those rigid masters who
exact the most scrupulous observance of the periods destined
for business. The waste of time is undoubtedly a very calculable loss of much higher denomination. The votary of study
or the enthusiast of fancy, may incur the first, but the latter
will be suffered chiefly by him whom ignorance or want of
imagination has left to the grossness of mere sensual enjoyment s.
In this, as in other respects, the love of letters is friendly to
sober manners and virtuous conduct, which in every profession
is the road to success, and to respect, without adopting the
common-place reflections against some particular departments,
it must be allowed that in mere men of business there is a certain professional rule of right, which is not always honorable,
and though meant to be selfish, very seldom profits. A supe.
rior education generally corrects this, by opening the mind to
different motives of action, to the feelings of delicacy, the sense





SELECTIONS..255


of honor, and a contempt of wealth, when earned by a desertion of those principles.
To the improvement of our faculties as well as of our principles, the love of letters appears to be favorable. Letters
require a certain sort of application, though of a kind very different from that which business would recommend. Granting
that they are unprofitable in themselves, as that word is used
in the language of the world, yet, as developing the powers of
thought and reflection, they may be an amusement of some
use, as those sports of children in which numbers are used to
familiarize them to the elements of arithmetic. They give room
for the exercise of that discernment, that comparison of objects,
that distinction of causes which is to increase the skill of the
physician, to guide the speculations of the merchant, and to
prompt the arguments of the lawyer; and though some professions employ but very few faculties of the mind, yet there is
scarce any branch of business in which a man who can think
will not excel him who can only labor. We shall accordingly
find, in many departments where learned information seemed
of all qualities the least necessary, that those who possessed it
in a degree above their fellows, have found, from that very
circumstance, the road to eminence and wealth.
But I must often repeat, that wealth does not necessarily
create happiness, nor confer dignity; a truth which it may be
thought declamation to insist on, which the present time seems
particularly to require being told.
The love of letters is connected with an independence and
delicacy of mind, which is a great preservative against that
servile homage which abject men pay to fortune; and there is
a certain classical pride, which from the society of Socrates
and Plato, Cicero and Atticus, looks down with an honest disdain on the wealth-blown insects of modern times, neither enlightened by knowledge nor ennobled by virtue.
In the possession, indeed, of what he has attained in that rest
and retirement from his labors, with the hopes of which his fatigues were lightened and his cares were smoothed, the mere
man of business frequently undergoes suffering instead of finding
enjoyment. To be busy as one ought is an easy art; but to know
how to be idle is a very superior accomplishment. This diffi




256


VOICE AND ACTION.


culty is much increased with persons to whom the habit of
employment has made some active exertion necessary; who
cannot sleep contented in the torpor of indolence, or amuse
themselves with those lighter trifles in which he, who inherited
idleness as he did fortune from his ancestors, has been accustomed to find amusement. The miseries and misfortunes of
the " retired pleasures " of men of business have been frequently
matters of speculation to the moralist, and of ridicule to the
wit. But he who has mixed general knowledge with professional skill, and literary amusements with professional labor,
will have some stock wherewith to support him in idleness,
some spring for his mind when unbent from business, some
employment for those hours which retirement and solitude has
left vacant and unoccupied. Independence in the use of one's
time is not the least valuable species of freedom. This liberty
the man of letters enjoys; while the ignorant and the illiterate
often retire from the thraldom of business only to become the
slaves of languor, intemperance, or vice.
But the situation in which the advantages of that endow
ment of mind, which letters bestow, are chiefly conspicuous, is
old age, when a man's society is necessarily circumscribed, and
his powers of active enjoyment are unavoidably diminished.
Unfit for the bust'e of affairs, and the amusements of his youth,
an old m:m, if he has no source of mental exertion or employment, often set les into the gloom of melancholy and peevishness, or petrifies his feelings by habitual intoxication. From
an old man whose gratifications were solely derived from those
sensual app;et tes which time has blunted or from those trivial
amusements of which youth only can share, age h:s cut off
almost every source of enjoyment. But to him who has stored
his mind with the information, and can still employ it in the
amusement of letters, this blank of life is admirably filled up.
He acts, he thinks, he feels with that literary world whose society he can at all times enjoy. There is perhaps no state more
capable of comfort to ourselves, or more attractive of veneration from others, than that which such an old age affords; it
is then the twilight of the passions, when they are mitigated
but not extinguished, and spread their gentle influence over the
evening of our day, in alliance with reason and in amity with
virtue.                                      MACKENZIE.





SELECTIONS.


267


PSALM CXXXVII.
(SCOTCI  ERSION,) AS READ BY EDWARD IRVING.
By Babel's streams we sat and wept I when Zion we thought
on;
In midst thereof we hang'd our harps J the willow trees upon.
For there a song required they, I who did us captive bring:
Our spoilers call'd for mirth and said, j a song of Zion sing.
O how the Lord's s',ng shall we sirg [ within a foreign land?
If thee, Jerusalem, I forget, [ skill part from my right hand.
My tongue to my mouth's roof let cleave, I if I do thee forget,
Jerusalem, and thee above ] my chief joy do not set.
Remember Edom's children, Lord, | who in Jerus'lem's days,
Ev'n unto its foundation, I Raze, raze it quite, did say.
O daughter thou of Babylon, | near to destruction;
Bless'd shall be he that thee rewards, J as thou to us hast done.
Yea, happy surely shall he be-thy tender little ones
Who shall lay hold upon, and them j shall dash against the
stones.
SLAIN AT sADowA.-Bloomfield Jackson.
The cannon were belching their last
O'er the fields where the routed were flying,
And shouting pursuers strode fast
Through the heaps of the dead and the dying.
War's rage was beginning to wane;
The fierce cared no longer to strike;
And the good stooped to soften the pain
Of victors and vanquished alike.
A yellow-haired Austrian lad
Lay at length on a shot-furrowed bank;
He was comely and daintily clad
In the glittering dress of his rank.





258


VOICE AND ACTION.


Not so white, though, his coat as his cheek,
Nor so red the sash, crossing his chest,
As the horrible crimson streak
Of blood that had welled from his breast!
His foes approached where he was laid,
To bear him in reach of their skill;
But he murmured, " Give others your aid;
By our Fatherland! let me lie still."
At dawn they came searching again,
To winnow the quick from the dead;
The boy was set free from his pain,
And his faithful young spirit had fled.
As they lifted his limbs from the ground,
To hide them away out of sight,
Lo! under his bosom they found
The flag he had borne through the fight.
He had folded the silk he loved well,
Lest a thread should be seen at his side:
To wave it in triumph he fell;
To $ave it from capture he died.
The head of the sternest was bared
As they gazed on the shot-riven rag,
And the hand of the hardiest spared
To make prey of that Austrian flag.
O'er the tomb of their brother they bowed,
With a prayer for a spirit as brave;
And they gave him the flag for a shroud
In his narrow and nameless grave.





SELECTIONS.


259


THE CHILDREN IN THE MOON.
Hearken, child, unto a story I
For the moon is in the sky,
And across her shield of silver,
See 1 two tiny cloudlets fly.
Watch them closely, mark them sharply,
As across the light they pass,Seem they not to have the figures
Of a little lad and lass?
See, my child, across their shoulders
Lies a little pole! and lo!
Yonder speck is just the bucket,
Swinging softly to and fro.
It is said, these little children,
Many and many a Summer night,
To a little well far northward
Wandered in the still moonlight.
To the wayside well they trotted,
Filled their little buckets there,
And the Moon-man looking downwards,
Saw how beautiful they were.
Quoth the man, " How vexed and sulky
Looks the little rosy boy!
But the little handsome maiden
Trips behind him full of joy.
To the well behind the liedgerow
Trot the little lad and maiden;
From the well behind the hedgerow
Now the little pail is laden.
How they please me! how they tempt me!
Shall I snatch them up to night?
Snatch them, set them here for ever,
In the middle of my light?





260


VOICE AND ACTION.


Children, ay, and children's children
Should beliold my babes on high,
And my babes should smile for ever,
Calling others to the sky "
Thus the philosophic Moon-man
Muttered many years ago,
Set the babes with pole and bucket,
To delight the folks below.
Never is the bucket empty,
Never are the children old;
Ever when the moon is shining
We the children may behold.
Ever young and ever little,
Ever sweet and ever fair!
When thou art a man, my darling,
Still the children will be there!
Ever young, and ever little,
They will smile when thou art old!
When thy locks are thin and silver
Theirs will still be shining gold.
They will haunt you from their heaven
Softly beckoning down the gloomSmiling in eternal sweetness
On thy cradle, on thy tomb!
SHERIDAN'S RIDE.
(By T. Buchanan Read.)
Up from the South at break of day,
Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay;
The affrighted air with a shudder bore,
Like a herald in haste to the chieftain's door,
The terrible grumble and rumble and roar,
Telling the battle was on once more,
And Sheridan twenty miles away.





SELECTIONS.


261


And wilder still those billows of war
Thundered along the horizon's bar,
And louder yet into Winchester rolled
The roar of that red sea uncontrolled,
Making the blood of the listener cold,
As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray,
And Sheridan twenty miles away.
But there's a road from Winchester town,.
A good, broad highway leading down;
And there, through the flush of the morning light,
A steed, as black as the steeds of night,
Was seen to pass as with eagle flight;
As if he knew the terrible need,
He stretched away with his utmost speed;
Hills rose and fell, but his heart was gay,
With Sheridan fifteen miles away.
Still sprung from those swift hoofs thundering South,
The dust, like the smoke from the cannon's mouth,
Or the trail of a comet sweeping faster and faster,
Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster;
The heart of the steed and the heart of the master
Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls,
Impatient to be where the battle-field calls;
Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play,
With Sheridan only ten miles away.
Under his spurning feet, the road
Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed,
And the landscape sped away behind,
Like an ocean flying before the wind;
And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire
Swept on, with his wild eyes full of fire.
But, lo! he is nearing his heart's desire;
He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray,
With Sheridan only five miles away.





262


VOICE AND ACTION.


The first that the General saw were the groups
Of stragglers and then the retreating troops;What was done-what to do-a glance told him both;
Then striking his spurs, with a terrible oath,
He dashed down the line 'mid a storm of huzzas,
And the wave of retreat checked its course there because
The sight of the master compelled it to pause.
With foam and with dust the black charger was gray;
By the flash of his eye, and his red nostrils' play,
He seemed to the whole great army to say;
"I have brought you Sheridin all the way
From Winchester down to save the day "
Hurrah, hurrah for Sheridan!
Hurrah, hurrah for horse and man I
And when their statues are placed on high
Under the dome of the Union sky,
The American Soldiers' Temple of Fame,
There with the glorious general's name
Be it s:id in letters both bold and bright:
Here is the s'eed that saved the day
By carrying Sheridan into the fight,
From Winchester-twenty miles away!"





CLASSES--READINGS.
Persons desirous of forming classes for instruction, or wishing an everning's ENTERTAINMENT of READINGS for the public,
or in the social circle, are respectfully requested to addressJ. E. FROBISHER,
NEW YorK.
r- TE  S  rTI E I ON   T I. -A- T.
Odd-Fe'low's Hall was crowded to its utmost capacity, last
night, to hear Mr. FROBISTIER and his class. All our teaclers
have taken lessons, besides many pupi:s in the Hihl and Ward
schoo's.-Zanesville Courier.
We most cordially commend him as an able, efficient, and
fa'thful teacher.-Graduating Cass an.l Juniors, Dartmouth
College.
Mr. FROBISHnE has given entire satisfaction, and we heartily
recommend him as a very able teacher.-Students of Kenyon
College.
In our opinion he has few equals in this noble art, and we
therefore commend him as a successful and industrious teacher.
--Under Graduates and Students of Franklin College.
His Lecture before the Teacher's Association was received
with rapturous applause.   All were delighted.- Cleveland
Daily Herald.
We cheerfully recommend him as an efficient and faithful
teacher of Elocution.-Students of Victoria College, Canada.
Mr. FROBISHER delivered his Lecture before the Institute to
a delighted audience.-Port-Hope Guide, Canada.





264


TESTIMONIALS.


Mr. and Mrs. FROBISHER gave their second entertainment
before a large and well-filled house, and were loudly applauded.
" Hagar," by Mrs. FROBISHER, drew tears from the audience.
Mr. FROBISHER has formed a number of classes, several of
which are composed of young ladies. He has a large one of
the members of the Ontario Literary Society, which gives fine
satisfaction.-Toronto Daily Globe, Canada.
Mr. FROBISHER has been lecturing for the last three nights
to the largest audiences. One minute you could hear a pin
drop, and the next his voice would be drowned in thunders of
applause.-Bowmanville Statesman, Canada.
As a whole, the Lecture and Readings by Mr. and Mrs.
FROBISHER were superior to anything of the kind we have had
in Toronto for a considerable period. Mr. FROBISHER is a
lineal descendant of the great navigator, Sir MARTIN FROBISHER,
of the time of Queen Elizabeth.-Toronto Daily Globe, Canada.
The Readings were of the highest order, and the applause
which so continually broke in upon them must have been very
encouraging to Mr. FROBISHER.-Boston Daily Courier.
Professor FROBISHER is a strong advocate of the natural sys
tem of delivery, and affords in himself an excellent elample of
its superiority. His " Bells" are exceedingly effective, and
evince an astonishing power over the voice.-Montreal Daily
Gazette.
DAILY PAPERS OF NEW YORK CITY.
Dodworth's Hall was filled by an appreciative audience.
The entertainment was a decided success.- World.
The Readings at Dodworth Hall were attended by a highly
intelligent audience, completely filling the room. The pieces
were well selected, and were received with enthusiastic applause.- Tribune.
The Readings by Professor FROBISHER, at Dodworth Hall,
were well attended, and proved one of the most successful entertainments of the kind that has been given for some time.Times.