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 COMSTOCK'S ELOCUTION 
 
 AND 
 
 MODEL SPEAKER. 
 
 INTENDED FOR THE USE OE SCHOOLS, COLLEGES, AND 
 
 FOR PRIVATE STUDY, FOR THE PROMOTION OF 
 
 HEALTH, CURE OF STAMMERING, AND 
 
 DEFECTIVE ARTICULATION. 
 
 WITH EXERCISES IN ELOCUTION, VOCAL GYMNASTICS, ARTICULATION, 
 
 PITCH, EORCE, TIME, GESTURE, READING AND DECLAMATION; 
 
 WITH POSTURES OF THE BODY, ARMS, HEAD, FACE, 
 
 EYES, SHOULDERS, AND , THE LOWER LIMBS. 
 
 Illustrated with Two Hundred and Sixty-three Engravings, of Figures in various Positions 
 and Diagrams illustrative of the whole subject. 
 
 BY ANDREW CpMSTOCK, M.D. 
 
 TO WHICH IS ADDED A COMPLETE SPEAKER AND READING BOOK 
 OF GEMS BY THE BEST AUTHORS IN PROSE AND VERSE. 
 
 BY PHILIP LAWRENCE, 
 
 PROFESSOR OF ELOCUTION, AND TEACHER OF READING AND RECITATION IN 
 THE FIRST SCHOOLS AND COLLEGES IN PHILADELPHIA. 
 
 " ' Cometock's Elocution and Model Speaker' is the best and most perfect work of 
 the kind ever issued. It is intended for the use of Schools, Colleges, and for Pri- 
 vate Study, for the Promotion of Health, Cure of Stammering, and Defective Arti- 
 culation. It should be introduced at once into every Public and Private School in 
 the land, and every family should have a copy of it in the house." 
 
 / 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS; 
 
 306 CHESTNUT STREET. 
 
 1*71 
 
1 1 
 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by 
 
 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 
 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington, D. C. 
 
EDITOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 At the request of many of the Principals of 
 Private Schools and Colleges in Philadelphia, I have 
 undertaken the pleasing task of collecting some of 
 the finest productions of genius, in Yerse and Prose, 
 and adding them to the talented work of the late 
 Dr. Comstock (one of the best Teachers for the culti- 
 vation of the voice that I ever met with). I hope 
 to produce a Work on Elocution suited to all per- 
 sons, whether old or young. AVhile I do not hold 
 myself responsible for all the assertions of the tal- 
 ented Doctor, I yet agree with him in most of his 
 remarks, and believe his work can be studied with 
 great advantage. 
 
 All persons ought to be aware how important it is 
 to attend to the modulation of the voice. The chief 
 beauty of oratory is in the melody of the speaker's 
 utterance. If the orator delivers his* own ideas, or 
 those of another, how soon his hearers become indif- 
 ferent if the speech is delivered in one tone of voice ! 
 Bat, when the speaker whose voice is cultivated and 
 modulated, is heard, every ear listens with delight, 
 every eye beams upon him with pleasure ; the feel- 
 ings of his hearers will be at one time melted into 
 tears by the pathos of his tones, at another roused 
 
 (iii) 
 
IV PREFACE. 
 
 "by the fire of Ms eloquence ; the time seems to fly 
 on golden pinions; and although the discourse may 
 have occupied two hours in delivery, the hearers 
 wish it had been still longer. 
 
 The voice may be so cultivated that it will be 
 as musical as any instrument, rising and falling, 
 sinking and swelling, as the meaning requires. I 
 advise all who wish to become fine readers and speak- 
 ers, to study with the greatest attention Dr. Corn- 
 stock's work, as they will there find important truths 
 fully analyzed and explained. 
 
 But, while studying this noble art, remember that 
 Elocution is not a science that can be learned from 
 books; it is an art, and can be imparted by the 
 living teacher alone. 
 
 Every feeling and emotion of the human heart 
 can be expressed by the tones of the voice ; and as, 
 by appropriate gesture, every thing we say can be 
 made plain to the understanding through the sight, 
 so also, by giving every word its proper sound, can 
 it be made perfectly intelligible to the ear. There- 
 fore, as this can be done only by a finished reader or 
 orator, I repeat, the living teacher alone can instruct 
 
 in Elocution. 
 
 PHILIP LAWRENCE. 
 
THIS work is a system of Theoretical 
 and Practical Elocution. It is de- 
 signed for the use of Schools and Colleges, 
 as well as for the instruction of private 
 individuals who desire to improve them- 
 selves in the art of reading and speaking. 
 The arrangement of the several parts of 
 the work is strictly systematic: each is 
 discussed in its natural order, and with as 
 much brevity as consists with perspicuity* 
 
 The analysis of the vocal elements of 
 the English language, and the minute de- 
 scription which is given of their organic 
 formation, will be found important, not 
 only to the American who is desirous of 
 accurate knowledge upon this subject, but 
 also to the foreigner who is learning to 
 speak our vernacular tongue. And the 
 engravings, indicating the most favourable 
 postures of the mouth in the energetic 
 utterance of the elements, w T ill be found 
 a valuable auxiliary in the acquisition of 
 
 this knowledge. 
 
 (v) 
 
vi PREFACE. 
 
 In ordinary works on Elocution, the inflections of the 
 voice are given, but not the changes of pitch, which 
 constitute melody. In this work, however, not only are 
 the inflections and the melody given, but also those tran- 
 sitions in pitch, called modulation, or a change of key. 
 My method of representing the melody and modula- 
 tions of the speaking voice, is original ; and, I feel con- 
 fident, it will prove of singular advantage to the Stu- 
 dent in Elocution. 
 
 The part on gesture is extracted, principally, from 
 Austin's Chironomia, a work which is extremely rare, 
 and one whose great size and expense are insuperable 
 obstacles to its general introduction. All, however, 
 that is particularly valuable, which the Chironomia con- 
 tains on the subject of gesture, is here presented to the 
 reader in the compass of a few pages. Austin's system 
 of notation of gesture is of great practical utility. 
 This will appear evident to the reader when he shall 
 have learned that, by its application, all the gestures 
 which an orator makes, in the delivery of a discourse, 
 may be accurately recorded for his own practice and 
 improvement, as well as for the benefit of posterity. 
 
 In the practical part of this work, are Exercises in 
 Articulation, Pitch, Force, Time, and Gesture. These 
 are important, not only to the Student in Elocution, but 
 also to the Stammerer. In training the muscles of 
 speech, as well as those of gesticulation, I begin with 
 exercises of the most energetic kind; because these 
 only will produce the desired effect: by diligently prac- 
 tising energetic exercises, the Student soon acquires a 
 strength and compass of voice, a distinctness of utter- 
 ance, and a freedom and gracefulness of action, which 
 
PREFACE. vii 
 
 he could not attain by practising those of an opposite 
 character. 
 
 The Exercises in Reading and Declamation have 
 been taken from some of the best ancient and modern 
 authors ; and they are well adapted to the purposes of 
 the Student in Elocution. They are divided into para- 
 graphs, and subdivided into sections. The latter divi- 
 sion is marked by vertical bars. In concert reading, 
 as soon as a section is pronounced by the teacher, the 
 members of the class should repeat it together, in the 
 proper pitch and time, and with the requisite degree of 
 force. When a paragraph shall have been pronounced 
 in this way, it should be read singly by each member 
 of the class. Sometimes it will be found advantageous 
 to let each pupil, in turn, give out a piece, and the other 
 members of the class repeat it after him ; the teacher, 
 meanwhile, making the necessary corrections. In fine, 
 the exercise of reading should be practised in a variety 
 of ways according to circumstances. When a piece 
 is given out with gesticulation, the members of the class 
 should rise simultaneously, immediately after the first 
 section is pronounced, and repeat the words and ges- 
 ture. As the organs of speech require much training 
 to enable them to perform their functions -properly, the 
 pupil should repeat the same exercise till he can articu- 
 late every element, and give to each syllable the pitch, 
 force, and time which the sentiment demands. 
 
 The art of reading and speaking is not inferior in 
 importance to any branch of learning ; yet there is none 
 more generally neglected. While many of the merely 
 ornamental branches are cultivated with zealous assi- 
 duity, Elocution is allowed, at best, but a feeble sup- 
 
viii PREFACE. 
 
 port. Among the numerous colleges with which our 
 country abounds, there is not, perhaps, a single one 
 endowed with a professorship of Elocution ! And 
 among our numerous public speakers, how small a num- 
 ber can deliver a discourse without having half the body 
 concealed by a desk or table ! The orators of classic 
 Greece never ensconced themselves behind elevated 
 desks, nor " stood upon all fours" as some of our public 
 speakers do :* they were masters of their art. Hence 
 they needed no screen to conceal uncouth attitudes and 
 awkward gestures from the scrutinizing eye of criti- 
 cism; nor had occasion to present the crown of the 
 head, instead of the face, to the audience, to hide the 
 blush of ignorance : they exposed the whole person to 
 the audience ; they stood erect, in all the dignity of con- 
 scious worth; their attitudes were fit models for the 
 statuary; their gestures were replete with grace and 
 expression ; their elocution defied criticism. 
 
 Let us endeavour to restore Elocution to its former 
 place in the department of useful instruction. Nothing 
 is wanted but a correct medium, laudable ambition, and 
 common industry, to enable our American youth to 
 rival those ancient orators whose eloquence, it is said, 
 " shook distant thrones, and made the extremities of the 
 earth tremble." 
 
 ANDREW COMSTOCK. 
 
 * See Figure 1, page 70. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 ELOCUTION. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Introduction 11 
 
 Preliminary Observations 14 
 
 Elocution 15 
 
 PART I. 
 YOOAL GYMNASTICS. 
 
 Yocal Gymnastics 15 
 
 Articulation 16 
 
 Elements of the English Language 18 
 
 Classification of the Elements 19 
 
 The Yowels 21 
 
 The Sub-vowels , 23 
 
 The Aspirates 25 
 
 The Postures of the Mouth 27 
 
 Defective Articulation 30 
 
 Lisping 32 
 
 Stammering ■ • • ■ 33 
 
 Pitch 38 
 
 Keys of the Speaking Yoice 46 
 
 Inflections 47 
 
 Melody 52 
 
 Modulation 53 
 
 Force 59 
 
 Time 63 
 
 PART II. 
 GESTURE. 
 
 Gesture 69 
 
 Postures of the Body 69 
 
 Postures unfavorable to Yocal Delivery 70 
 
 Postures favorable to Yocal Delivery 71 
 
 (5) 
 
6 CONTENTS. 
 
 Demonstrating' on the Black-board 71 
 
 Manner of holding 1 the Book *?2 
 
 Notation of Gesture 73 
 
 Positions of the Feet and Lower Limbs 76 
 
 Positions, Motions, and Elevations of the Arms 84 
 
 Postures and motions of the Hands 93 
 
 The head, the Eyes, the Shoulders, and the Body 104 
 
 The Stroke and Time of Gesture 105 
 
 The Classification of Gesture 108 
 
 The Preparation, Transition, and Accompaniment of 
 
 Gesture 113 
 
 The Frequency, Moderation, and Intermission of Gesture. 123 
 The Qualities of Gesture, and the Gesture suited to 
 
 different modes of Public Speaking 125 
 
 Significant Gestures 129 
 
 Complex Significant Gestures 131 
 
 Grace 147 
 
 Synoptical Arrangement of the Notation Letters 150 
 
 Application of the Notation Letters 152 
 
 Question to be Answered by the Pupil 175 
 
 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 EXERCISES IN ARTICULATION, PITCH, FORCE, 
 TIME, AND GESTURE. 
 Exercises in Articulation, Pitch, Force, Time, and 
 
 Gesture 183 
 
 Table of the Elements of the English Language 1 83 
 
 Emphasis Melodies 188 
 
 Interrogative Sentences 190 
 
 Force 192 
 
 Modulation 192 
 
 Tremour 193 
 
 Time and Gesture 194 
 
 Method of Beating Time with the Dumb-Bells 194 
 
 Syllable Rhythm 195 
 
 Poetry Rythm 195 
 
 First Period of Gesture 198 
 
 Second Period of Gesture 199 
 
 Pronunciation 200 
 
 Declamation 200 
 
 Method of Teaching Declamation 201 
 
 Speech of Satan to his Legions, with Gestures 201 
 
 The Miser and Plutus, with Gestures 208 
 
CONTENTS. *l 
 
 PART II. 
 
 EXERCISES IN BEADING AND DECLAMATION. 
 
 Abou Ben Adhem Leigh Hunt. 459 
 
 Account Current Anonym ous. 374 
 
 Aclams and Jefferson , Wirt. 369 
 
 Alexander's Feast Dry den. 403 
 
 An Address to a Young Student Knox. 372 
 
 Annabel Lee Edgar A . Poe. 440 
 
 Antony's Oration over Caesar's Body. , Shakspeare. 368 
 
 A Psalm from Life Longjellow. 461 
 
 Apostrophe to Light Milton. 244 
 
 Apostrophe to the Queen of France Burke. 225 
 
 Barbara Frietchie J. G. Whittier. 510 
 
 Battle of Hohenlinden Campbell. 220 
 
 Battle of Warsaw Campbell. 226 
 
 Battle of Waterloo Byron. 227 
 
 Beautiful Snow Watson. 467 ^- 
 
 Belshazzar R. W. Procter. 416 s 
 
 Bernardo Del Carpio Mrs. Hemans. 399 
 
 Bingen on the Rhine Mrs. Norton. 508 
 
 Bridge of Sighs Hood. 502 
 
 Brutus's Oration on the Death of Csesar Shakspeare. 266 
 
 Bugle Song Tennyson. 442 
 
 Casabianca Mrs. Hemans. 354 
 
 Cato's Senate Addison. 351 
 
 Cato's Soliloquy A ddison. 364 
 
 Charge of the Light Brigade Alfred Tennyson. 419 
 
 Character of Pitt Robertson. 302 
 
 Childe Harold's Address to the Ocean Byron. 222 
 
 Clarence's Dream .- Shakspeare. 303 
 
 Darkness Byron. 248 
 
 Declaration of Independence Jefferson. 322 
 
 Douglas's Account of Himself Home. 320 
 
 - Drifting T. Buchanan Read. 524 
 
 Dying Christian to his Soul Alexander Pope. 462 
 
 Edward and Warwick From the French 337 
 
 Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard Gray. 316 
 
 Evelyn Hope Robert Browning. 457 
 
 Excelsior H. W. Longfellow. 493 
 
 Extract from a supposed Speech of John Adams, in 
 
 support of American Independence Webster. 379 
 
 Extract from a Speech of Robert Emmet, Esq., Before 
 
 Lord Norbury, on an Indictment for High Treason. . . 381 
 
8 CONTENTS. 
 
 Gambler's Wife Coates. 417 
 
 Genius . . Akenside. 337 
 
 God Derzhavin. 283 
 
 Greatness Akenside. 338 
 
 Hamlet's Soliloqu}' Shakspeare. 265 
 
 Happy Freedom of the Man whom Grace makes Free. 
 
 Cowper. 295 
 
 Horatius Macaulay. 436 
 
 Hy der Ali Burke. 246 
 
 Hymn to the Deity Thomson. 278 
 
 Industry necessary to the Attainment of Eloquence. 
 
 Ware. 339 
 
 Invocation to the New Year Tennyson. 442 
 
 Knowledge De Witt Clinton. 380 
 
 Lady Clare Tennyson. 552 
 
 Lament of the Irish Emigrant Dufferin. 532 
 
 Liberty and Union Webster. 499 
 
 Lines supposed to have been Written by Alexander 
 Selkirk, during his solitary abode on the Island of 
 
 Juan Fernandez Cowper. 195 
 
 " Little Jim." Anon. 434 
 
 Lochiel's Warning Campbell. 233 
 
 Lochinvar Scott. 352 
 
 Love Coleridge. 549 
 
 Marco Bozzaris Halleck. 239 -£• 
 
 Mariner's Hymn Mrs. Southey. 314 
 
 Maud Muller J. G. Whittier. 512 
 
 Meeting of Satin, Sin, and Death Milton. 355 
 
 Milton on his Loss of Sight E. Lloyd. 421 
 
 Morning Hymn to Mount Blanc Coleridge. 562 
 
 Moses Smiting the Eock Van Vranken. 342 
 
 Motives to the Practice of Gentleness Blair. 345 
 
 New Year's Eve Anon. 539 
 
 Night Thoughts Young. 341 
 
 Nothing to Wear Butler. 470 
 
 Ode on the Passions Collins. 276 
 
 Oh, why Should the Spirit of Mortal be Proud Knox. 500 X^ 
 
 Ossian's Address to the Sun Ossian. 219 
 
 Othello's Apology Shakspeare. 425 
 
 Over the Kiver - Anon. 469 
 
 Parrhasius and Captive Willis. 427 
 
 Paper Franklin. 341 
 
 Paul's Defence Before King Agrippa Testament. 397 
 
 Perpetual Adoration Moore. 310 
 
 Pitt's Keply to Walpole Lord Chatham. 335 
 
 Reception of Columbus on his return to Spain. W. Irving. 365 
 
CONTENTS. 9 
 
 Eienzi's Address M. R. Mitford 358 
 
 Scene from Catiline Croly. 568 
 
 Scene from Pizarro Kotzebue. 311 
 
 Schemes of Life often Illusory Dr. Johnson. 375 
 
 Scott and the Veteran Bayard Taylor. 505 
 
 Shamus O'Brien the Bold Boy of Glingall. A Tale of '98. 
 
 Sheridan Lefanbr. 516 
 
 Sheridan's Eide T. Buchanan Read. 522 
 
 Sincerity Tillotson. 359 
 
 Skipper Ireson's Ride J. G. Whittier. 472 jf 
 
 Softly Murmur Philip Lawrence. 433 
 
 Spartacus to the Gladiators at Capua Elijah Kellogg. 410 
 
 Speech of Cicero Against Verres Cicero. 260 
 
 Speech of Lord Chatham. . Chatham. 241 
 
 Speech of Patrick Henry „ Patrick Henry. 275 
 
 Speech of Rolla R. B. Sheridan. 221 
 
 Speech of Satan to his Legions Milton. 217 
 
 Speech of Sergeant Buzfuz Dickens. 544 
 
 Speech of Satan, with Gestures Milton. 201 
 
 Tell's Address to the Mountains Knowles. 21 9 
 
 Thanatopsis . Bryant. 257 
 
 The American Flag Drake and Halleck. 344 
 
 The Angels of Buena Yista J. G. Whittier. 465 
 
 The Battle of Ivry Macaulay. 390 
 
 The Bells Edgar A. Foe. 490 
 
 The Black Regiment. Port Hudson, May 27, 1863. 
 
 Geo. H. Boker. 542 , 
 
 The Burial of Sir John Moore Wolfe. 297 ^ 
 
 The Chameleon Merrick. 291 
 
 The Chestnut Horse Anon. 413 
 
 The Cumberland H. W. Longfellow. 483 
 
 The Curse of Regulus A non. 478 
 
 The Destruction of Senacherib Byron. 351 
 
 The Diver Schiller. 557 
 
 The Dream of Eugene Aram Thomas Hood. 443 
 
 The Drowned Mariner Mrs. Smith. 555 
 
 The Dying Gladiator Lord Byron. 54^ 
 
 The Exile of Erin Campbell. 296 
 
 The Famine H. W. Longfellow. 494 
 
 The Frenchman and the Rats Anon. 393 
 
 The Ghost Anon. 526 
 
 The Grave of Franklin Miss C. H. Waterman. 321 
 
 The Heavens and the Earth show the Glory and Wisdom 
 
 of their Creator Goldsmith. 298 
 
 The Hermit Beattie. 236 
 
 The High Tide on the Coast of Lincolnshire (1571.) 
 
 Jean Ingelow. 450 
 
10 CONTENTS. 
 
 The Hour of Prayer Mrs. Remans. 389 
 
 The Importance of Order in the Distribution of our Time. 
 
 Blair. 347 
 
 The Inquiry -. Charles Mackay. 548 
 
 The. Invocation Mrs. Herman*. 294 
 
 The Journey of a Day , Dr. Johnson. 327 
 
 The King of Denmark's Ride Caroline Norton. 565 
 
 The Land that we Live in C. W. Thomson. 332 
 
 The Launching of the Ship Longfellow. 480 
 
 The Maniac ; Mad-House Lewis. 420 
 
 The Mariner's Dream Dimond. 281 
 
 The Miser and Plutus Gay. 154 
 
 The Miser and Plutus, with Gestures Gay. 208 
 
 The Mother Perishing in a Snow-Storm Anon. 431 
 
 The Nation's Dead Anon. 459 
 
 The Nature of True Eloquence Daniel Webster. 414 
 
 The Old Clock on the Stairs Longfellow. 406 
 
 The Parting of Marmion and Douglas Walter Scott. 395 
 
 The Patriot's Song Philip Lawrence. 434 
 
 The Pauper's Death-Bed Caroline Bowles Southey. 418 
 
 The Quarrel of Brutus and Cassius Shakspeare. 385 
 
 The Raven Edgar A. Poe. 484 
 
 The Ride From Ghent to Aix Browning. 506 
 
 The Rose Coiuper. 197 
 
 The Seminole's Defiance G. W. PaHen. 534 
 
 The Smack in School * Anon. 529 
 
 The Song of the Shirt Thomas Hood. 455 
 
 The Three Warnings Mrs. Th rale. 288 
 
 The Union of the States Webster. 361 
 
 The Vagabonds J. T. Trowbridge. 535 
 
 The Village Blacksmith Longfellow. 408 
 
 The Wife's Appeal Grace Greenwood. 476 
 
 Time Van Vranken. 343 
 
 To Rosabelle. . . Philip Lawrence. 432 
 
 To the Ursa Major Ware. 306 
 
 Vat you Please Anon. 403 
 
 Vulture and Infant Anon. 423 
 
 "Warren's Address Rev. John Pierpont. 4 ! 5 
 
 What I Live for G. Linnaeus Banks. 474 
 
 What Might be done Charles Mackay 476 
 
 Without God in the World Rev. Robert Hall. 2h'6 
 
 W r olsey's Farewell to Cromwell Shakspeare. 334 
 
 Wolsey's Soliloquy Shakspeare. 333 
 
 Woman R. H. Townsend. 271 
 
 Woman Campbell. 358 
 
 Wounded William E. Miller. 530 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 ^3 A N is designed for action. Na- 
 ture has so constituted him, that 
 both body and mind require 
 daily exercise to develope their 
 powers, and maintain them in a 
 vigorous and healthy condition. 
 The truth of this remark is 
 manifest from constant observation and experience — those 
 who lead active, bustling lives, conjoined with temperance 
 and prudence, commonly possess robust frames, and healthy 
 constitutions; while the sedentary and the indolent are 
 enervated and sickly. 
 
 We find the same results from the exercise of the mental 
 faculties. He whose mind is constantly employed in the 
 acquisition of knowledge, usually retains his mental facul- 
 ties unimpaired to the last. But not so with the man of ease 
 and indolence. After the meridian of life, the powers of his 
 mind, with those of the body, become weaker, and weaker, 
 and he finally leaves the world as he entered it — a child. 
 
 The health and strength of the body, therefore, mainly 
 depend on the number of muscles that are frequently called 
 into action, and the degree of rational exercise through 
 which they pass. Now there are few, if any, whose daily 
 avocations are so varied as to bring into requisition all the 
 muscles of the body : hence the necessity of gymnastic exer- 
 cises. 
 
 The term, gymnastics, in its widest sense, signifies all 
 bodily exercises ; in a more limited sense, " exercises syste- 
 matically adapted to develope the physical powers, and pre- 
 serve them in perfection, which constitutes the art of gym* 
 nasties properly so called." 
 
 («) 
 
12 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 These exercises, when commenced in youth, develope the 
 muscles, give agility to the limbs, and promote the various 
 mnctions of the animal system: in this way they impart 
 strength and consistency to the body, and lay the founda- 
 tion of lasting health : and even when commenced in man- 
 hood, they invigorate the frame, and brace it against the 
 infirmities of age. 
 
 By the frequent and energetic exercise of the muscles, 
 they are brought completely under the control of volition, 
 which is a powerful auxiliary to every variety of action. 
 Hence Gymnastics are not only useful because they exert a 
 healthful influence upon the body ; but because they lay a 
 good foundation for the easy acquisition of every mechanic 
 art. 
 
 From what has been said of Gymnastics in general, it may 
 readily be conceived that very important advantages may 
 be derived from vocal gymnastics. 
 
 By the term, Vocal Gymnastics, may be understood the 
 principles of the human voice as employed in speech and 
 song, as well as the training of the organs by which this 
 voice is produced. The principles are the science of the 
 voice — the training, the exercise of the organs, necessary 
 to develope their powers, and enable them to act with rapid- 
 ity, precision, and effect. 
 
 Vocal Gymnastics give the pupil complete command of 
 the muscles of articulation, extend the compass of the voice, 
 and render it smooth, powerful, and melodious. They not 
 only call forth all the energies of the vocal organs, correct 
 stammering, lisping, &c. ; but they invigorate the lungs, and, 
 consequently, fortify them against the invasion of disease. 
 
 All the blood, in the course of its circulation, passes through 
 the lungs, where it undergoes a change, not only essential 
 to health, but also to life. Whenever their function, there- 
 fore, is interrupted by debility, or disease, the blood is dete- 
 riorated, and the whole system suffers; in fact, the very 
 citadel of life is sapped, and nothing but a restoration of 
 these organs to their natural condition, will effect a return 
 of general health. Indeed, the lungs are of so much impor- 
 
INTRODUCTION. 13 
 
 tance in the animal economy, that the complete suspension 
 of their office is followed by speedy dissolution. 
 
 Hence such healthful measures should be adopted as are 
 calculated to invigorate the pulmonary apparatus, and ena- 
 ble it to maintain its integrity. One of the most kopefu! 
 expedients for this purpose, is a well-regulated and perse- 
 vering course of vocal gymnastics. 
 
 Were we to exercise our voices a few minutes, every day, 
 according to just principles, the number of deaths from pul- 
 monary affections, especially consumption, I have no doubt, 
 would be greatly diminished. 
 
 While Vocal Gymnastics give a keenness to appetite, they 
 are a powerful means of promoting digestion. A young 
 clergyman entered my Vocal Gymnasium, for the purpose 
 of improving his elocution as well as his health. He laboured 
 under dyspepsia which was attended with loss of appetite, 
 general debility, languor, and dejection of spirits. But in 
 twelve days after he commenced the exercises, there was a 
 radical change in his mental and physical condition : he had 
 become very cheerful ; and, to use his own words, his appe- 
 tite was ravenous. Nor is this a solitary case — numerous 
 others might be cited with the like happy result. 
 
 My pupils have frequently told me that they always feel 
 invigorated by the exercises. A gentleman who was for- 
 merly a pupil of mine, and who had been in the practice of 
 resorting to a common gymnasium for the benefit of his 
 health, assured me that he derived more advantage from his 
 vocal, than from his athletic exercises. Let the individuals, 
 therefore, who visit those gymnasia, designed only for the 
 exercise of the limbs, not neglect the equally important 
 gymnastics of the pulmonary organs. 
 2 
 
PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS. 
 
 As Elocution is intimately connected with the voice, and 
 as every reader may not be prepared to enter upon a minute 
 development of its various principles, the following Prelimi- 
 nary Observations may be of some advantage. 
 
 Voice is sound, produced by the agitation of air when 
 forcibly expelled from the lungs. 
 
 The attributes of the voice, are general and special. The 
 general attributes are pitch and force, and are common to 
 all voices. The special attributes are those peculiarities 
 which render one voice more agreeable, or disagreeable, 
 than another, as sweetness, harshness, &c. 
 
 The acuteness and gravity of the voice depend on the 
 contractions and dilatations of the vocal tube. 
 
 The degree of loudness of the voice, is in proportion to the 
 expulsive effort, and to the resistance which the air meets 
 on its passage through the glottis. 
 
 When air is forcibly expelled from the lungs, and not suf- 
 ficient resistance given to its egress to produce what is gene- 
 rally understood by the term voice, an aspirated, or whis- 
 pered sound is the result. 
 
 From voice articulated by the motions of the lips, tongue, 
 and other parts of the mouth, is produced oral language. 
 Hence oral language is not inaptly termed articulated voice. 
 
 There are two varieties of oral language — song, and speech. 
 In several respects they resemble each other. Thus the 
 notes, both of song, and speech, vary in pitch, force, and 
 time. The most striking difference between them, is this : 
 a note of song is maintained in one range of pitch from its 
 commencement to its termination ; but a note of speech is 
 varied in pitch during its prolongation. If you prolong the 
 letter a, in one range of pitch, thus: 
 
 a 
 
 you will have an example of a note of song. If you utter it 
 interrogatively, and affirmatively, thus : 
 
 a 1 d. 
 
 you will have two varieties of the note of speech : the voice 
 in the interrogation, moving from a grave pitch to one more 
 acute ; in the affirmation, from acute to grave. 
 
 Perhaps enough has been said by way of preliminaries. 
 The principles here mentioned, together with the various 
 others, are methodically presented, fully discussed, and dia- 
 gramically illustrated, in the course of the work. 
 
 (14) 
 
ELOCUTIOiN. 
 
 LOCUTION is vocal delivery. 
 It may be said to comprise both a 
 science, and an art. The science 
 embraces the principles which con- 
 stitute the basis of reading and 
 speaking ; the art, the practical ap- 
 plication of these principles. 
 Elocution is naturally divided into two parts ; namely, 
 Vocal Gymnastics, and Gesture. 
 
 Vocal Gymnastics is the philosophy of the human 
 voice, as well as the art of training the vocal organs 
 in speech and song. 
 
 Gesture is the various postures, and motions, em- 
 ployed in vocal delivery. 
 
 PART I. 
 VOCAL GYMNASTICS. 
 
 OCAL GYMNASTICSisthe 
 
 philosophy of the human voice, 
 as well as the art of training 
 the vocal organs, in speech and 
 song. 
 
 Vocal Gymnastics is subdi- 
 vided as follows : 
 
 1. Articulation, 3. Force, 
 
 2. Pitch, 4. Time. 
 Articulation is the act of forming, with the organs 
 
 of speech, the elements of vocal language. 
 
 Pitch is the degree of the elevation of sounds. 
 
 (15) 
 
16 
 
 ELOCUTION. 
 
 Force is the degree of the loudness of sounds. 
 Time is the measure of sounds in regard to 
 duration. 
 
 theu 
 
 SECTION L 
 
 ARTICULATION. 
 
 RTICULATIONistheactof 
 
 forming, with the organs of speech, 
 the elements of vocal language. 
 
 These elements may be formed 
 separately, as in the utterance of 
 the letters of the alphabet, as 
 well as conjunctively, as in the 
 pronunciation of words. 
 By the utterance of the letters of the alphabet is not meant the 
 
 pronunciation of the mere names of the letters, but the formation 
 
 of the various sounds which the letters represent. 
 
 A good articulation is the perfect utterance of the 
 elements of vocal language. 
 
 The first step towards becoming a good elocutionist, 
 is a correct articulation. " A public speaker, possessed 
 of only a moderate voice, if he articulates correctly, 
 will be better understood, and heard with greater 
 pleasure, than one who vociferates without judgment. 
 The voice of the latter may indeed extend to a conside- 
 rable distance, but the sound is dissipated in confusion. 
 Of the former voice not the smallest vibration is wast- 
 ed, every stroke is perceived at the utmost distance to 
 which it reaches ; and hence it has often the appear- 
 ance of penetrating even farther than one which is 
 loud, but badly articulated. 
 
 " In just articulation, the words are not to be hurried 
 over, nor precipitated syllable over syllable ; nor, as it 
 were, melted together into a mass of confusion : they 
 
ARTICULATION. 17 
 
 should not be trailed, or drawled, nor permitted to slip 
 out carelessly, so as to drop unfinished. They should 
 be delivered from the lips as beautiful coins newly 
 issued from the mint, deeply and accurately impressed, 
 neatly struck by the proper organs, distinct, in due 
 succession, and of due weight."* 
 
 Without good articulation, it is impossible to be & 
 correct reader, or speaker. Those who have been ac 
 customed to pronounce their words in a careless or slo- 
 venly manner, will find it difficult, even with their 
 best efforts, to utter them distinctly. The organs of 
 articulation, for the want of proper exercise, become, 
 as it were, paralyzed. The pupil, therefore, at the 
 very commencement of his studies, should be conduct- 
 ed through a series of exercises, calculated to strengthen 
 the muscles of articulation, and render them obedient 
 to the will. The best method for effecting these pur- 
 poses, is to exercise the voice on the elements of speech ; 
 first, on each element separately ; f secondly, on va- 
 rious combinations. 
 
 Under the head, Practical Elocution, will be found a variety 
 of Exercises on the Elements of the English language, which are 
 calculated to develope the voice, increase its compass, and give 
 flexibility to the muscles of articulation. In that part of this work 
 which consists of Exercises in Reading and Declamation, most 
 of the sounds liable to be omitted or imperfectly articulated, are re* 
 presented by italic letters. Hence the reader, if he pay proper 
 attention to the subject, will have no difficulty in correcting all 
 ordinary defects in his utterance. 
 
 The value of vocal gymnastics cannot be duly appreciated by 
 those who have not experienced, or witnessed, their beneficial re- 
 eults. But, I feel confident, the time is not far distant when these 
 exercises will be considered, by all intelligent persons, an essential 
 part of primary instruction. 
 
 * Austin's Chironomia, p. 37, 38. 
 
 f " When the elements are pronounced singly, they may re- 
 ceive a concentration of the organic effort, which gives them a 
 clearness of sound and a definite outline, if I may so speak, at their 
 extremes, that make a fine preparative for a distinct and forcible 
 pronunciation in the compounds of speech." — Rush's Philosophy 
 of the Human Voice. 
 
18 ELOCUTION. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE ELEMENTS OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. 
 
 The Elements of vocal language are the Sounds of 
 which words are composed. These sounds are repre- 
 sented by graphic characters, called letters. 
 
 The number of letters in the English language, is 
 twenty-six ; but the number of elements is thirty-eight. 
 Hence, as the number of elements exceeds the number 
 of their literal signs, the same letter is employed, in 
 different situations, to represent different sounds. Thus 
 a represents four different sounds ; e, two ; i, two ; o, 
 three ; u, three ; z, two ; and there are six sounds, each 
 of which is represented by two letters — ou, ng, sh, wh, 
 ih in then, and th in thin. (See p. 19 and 20.) If we 
 had a perfect alphabet, every elementary sound would 
 be represented by its appropriate character.* 
 
 * That men have accomplished much by furnishing the world 
 with literature, art, and science, will be conceded by all. Nor will 
 it be denied by any that there remains much to be done to carry all 
 human institutions to their acme of excellence. Among- the nu- 
 merous proofs that our institutions have not attained their highest 
 possible degree of perfection, is the fact that the world is now fur- 
 nished with as much genius for contrivance, wisdom for invention, 
 and judgment for application, as at any former period. He, there- 
 fore, who advocates the doctrine of present perfection in human 
 productions, suggests, at least, the possibility that that amount of 
 mind which is unnecessary to the successful application of the pre- 
 sent principles, means, and inventions to their respective purposes, 
 is rendered a redundancy by the want, of appropriate subjects upon 
 which to operate. The English language, though by no means far 
 advanced in years, has already been the subject of much concur- 
 rent, and individual action ; yet there is hardly one part of it which 
 is not marred with defect, or deficiency. Even the English alpha- 
 bet suffers from both these imperfections. To attain perfection in 
 any thing, is, perhaps, beyond the power of man, especially in the 
 medium of communicating his ideas. But although perfection in lan- 
 guage can hardly be expected, yet, there is a degree of excellence 
 which is not so difficult of attainment as to render all exertion una- 
 
ARTICULATION. 19 
 
 The elements, as well as the letters by which they 
 are represented, are usually divided into two classes. 
 Vowels and Consonants. A more philosophical divi- 
 sion, however, is into three classes, Vowels, Subvowels, 
 and Aspirates. 
 
 The vowels are pure vocal sounds ; their number is 
 fifteen. 
 
 The subvowels have a vocality, but inferior to that 
 of the vowels ; their number is fourteen. 
 
 The aspirates are made with the whispering breath, 
 and, consequently, have no vocality ; they are nine in 
 number. 
 
 Classification of the Elements, 
 
 VOWELS. English. French. 
 
 k as heard in ale, day, fate, and in ete. 
 
 a arm, farm, arme, gaz, gaze. 
 
 k all, law, for, 
 
 a an, man, idea, aller. 
 
 e eve, see, deed, lie. 
 
 £ end, met, err, elle. 
 
 1 ile, fly, pine, 
 
 1 in, pin, il. 
 
 6 old, no, more, eau. 
 
 6 lose, too, move, voute. 
 
 6 on, lock, not, ecole. 
 
 ft tube, few, pupil, ' 
 
 a up, her, hurt, .Europe. 
 
 ii full, pull, wolf, ou. 
 
 oa our, now, flour, 
 
 vailing. There are thirty-eight elements in theEnglish alphabet, and, 
 to represent these elements by appropriate characters, we should 
 have thirty-eight letters. There is, then, a deficiency in our alphabet 
 of twelve letters — and he who shall supply this imperfection, will 
 be one of the greatest benefactors of the human race. This work 
 must be done before our orthography can be rendered consistent, 
 our pronunciation natural and uniform, and our language easy of 
 acquisition. Until this is accomplished, words must be spelled one 
 way, and pronounced another — indeed, two languages must be 
 learned, instead of one. Should the English language, as some 
 confidently expect, become the language of the world, the advan- 
 tages in which a complete alphabet would result, can be conceived 
 by those only who have duly reflected upon the subject. 
 
20 ELOCUTION. 
 
 ITUBVOWELS. English. French, 
 
 b as heard in bow, orb, barb, and in ion. 
 d day, hid, did, Dieu. 
 
 g gay. %■> g' ] g g™- 
 
 1 light, all, lull, Zoup 
 
 m wind, storm, maim, wion. 
 
 n no, on, nine, non. 
 
 ng song-, think, ag-neau (nearly). 
 
 r roll, war, rare, roue. 
 
 th THen, with, 
 
 v rile, lire, value, »il. 
 
 w wo, went, world, oui (nearly). 
 
 y yoke, yonder, yacht. 
 
 i zone, his, prism, zone. 
 
 2 azure, enclosure, ,/ardin. 
 
 ASPIRATES. 
 
 f /ame, if, dri/t, yemme. 
 
 h hut, Aence, — — 
 
 k A:ite, wrecA:, AricAr, cor. 
 
 p pit, up, papa.. 
 
 s sin, nice, crisp, sceur. 
 
 sh shade, push, flushed, chaise. 
 
 t tin, it, tart, four. 
 
 th thin, truth, months, 
 
 wh what, when, which, 
 
 The reader may ask why C, J, Q, and X, have not been classed 
 with the elements. These letters have no sounds which are not 
 represented, in the above scheme, by other letters. C has three 
 sounds — the sound of k, as in cat; that of s, as in cedar, and that 
 of sh, as in ocean. J expresses the combined sounds of d and z in 
 azure. Q has the sound of k. X, as in exercise, expresses the 
 combined sounds of k and s ; in example, the combined sounds of 
 g and z in zone ; in anxious, the combined sounds of A; and sh. In 
 Xenophon, x has the sound of z in zone.* 
 
 *Xin Xenophon was pronounced by the ancient Greeks as we 
 pronounce x in exercise, thus — Ksenophon; and I am informed by 
 Mr. Castanis, a native of the island of Scio, that the modern Greeks 
 bo pronounce it. 
 
ARTICULATION. SHI 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE VOWELS. 
 
 The vowels are divided into Monothongs, Diph 
 thongs, and Triphthongs. 
 
 The Monothongs consist of one kind of sound through- 
 out their concrete movement, and consequently are 
 simple elements ; they are represented by the italics in 
 the following words : 
 
 arm, all, an, eve, end, in, on, up, full. 
 
 The Diphthongs consist of two vowel sounds, which 
 coalesce so intimately that they appear like one uni- 
 form sound ; they are represented by the italics in the 
 following words : 
 
 ale, He, lose, tube. 
 
 The diphthong a, as well as 1, has a characteristic 
 sound for its radical, and the monothong, f, for its van- 
 ish. These diphthongs, under certain circumstances 
 (for instance, when they are carried through a wide 
 range of pitch, as in interrogation with surprise), are 
 converted into triphthongs, the third constituent being 
 the monothong, e. 
 
 The diphthong 6, as well as u, has a characteristic 
 sound for its radical, and the subvowel to, for its vanish. 
 
 The Triphthongs consist of three vowel sounds which 
 coalesce so intimately that they appear like one uni- 
 form sound ; they are represented by the italics, in the 
 following words : 
 
 old, our. 
 
 The first constituent of 6, as well as that of ou, is a 
 sound characteristic of this element ; and the diph- 
 thong 6 constitutes the second and the third constitu 
 ent of these triphthongs. 
 
 The following scheme is an analysis of the diph- 
 thongs and triphthongs. The reader will observe that 
 
22 
 
 ELOCUTION. 
 
 the letters which are employed to represent the diph- 
 thongs and triphthongs, are used under the head, Con- 
 stituents, to represent their radicals only. 
 
 Diphthongs. Constituents, 
 k 4—1 
 
 1 1—1 
 
 6 6 — w 
 
 u u — w 
 
 Triphthongs. Constituents, 
 k* k _1_ k 
 
 1* 1 _ i_ h 
 
 6 6 — 6- w 
 
 ou ou — 6- w 
 
 There is one diphthong, and three triphthongs, be- 
 sides those already noticed; they are represented by 
 the italics, in the following words : 
 oil, ay, boy, buoy. 
 
 But, as all their constituents are to be found among 
 the fifteen vowels before enumerated, they do not in- 
 crease the number of the elements. This may be seen 
 by the following analysis : 
 
 Diphthong. Constituents. 
 oi k — 1 
 
 Triphthongs. Constituents. 
 ay k — 1 — e 
 
 oy k — 1 — h 
 
 uoy 6 — 1 — b 
 
 During the utterance of a monothong, the aperture 
 of the mouth remains stationary ; but during that of a 
 diphthong, or triphthong, the aperture is gradually di- 
 minished till the commencement of the last constituent; 
 it then remains stationary till the sound is ended. 
 This is illustrated by the following diagrams : 
 
 Diagram 1. 
 
 Diag. 2. 
 
 Diag. 3. 
 
 The opening of the tube (Diag. 1,) represents the 
 v^erture of the mouth in the utterance of the mono- 
 
 * I have said that k and 1 are sometimes diphthongs, and some- 
 times triphthongs ; hence, above, they appear under both heads. 
 
ARTICULATION. 23 
 
 thong a, and the length of the tube represents the du- 
 ration of the sound. 
 
 The large end of Diag. 2 represents the aperture of 
 the mouth in commencing the utterance of the diph- 
 thong 6 — the portion of the figure between 6 and w f 
 shows the gradual diminution of the aperture of the 
 mouth during the utterance of the first constituent, and 
 the remaining portion shows the stationary position of 
 the aperture of the mouth during the utterance of the 
 second constituent. 
 
 The large end of Diag. 3, represents the aperture of 
 the mouth in commencing the utterance of the triph- 
 thong 6 — the portion of the figure between 6 and 6, 
 Bhows the gradual diminution of the aperture of the 
 mouth during the utterance of the first constituent — 
 the portion between 6 and w, shows the gradual dimi- 
 nution of the aperture of the mouth during the utter- 
 ance of the second constituent ; and the remaining por- 
 tion of the figure, the stationary position of the aperture 
 of the mouth during the utterance of the third constitu- 
 ent. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE SUBVOWELS. 
 
 . B consists of a vocal sound and an aspirate. The 
 first constituent is formed with the lips closed ; the 
 second, by aspirating the vowel u, at the moment of 
 their separation.* 
 
 When B is doubled, as in rabbit, the second constituent of the 
 first B is omitted. When B is whispered, the second constituent 
 only is heard. When words in which B is doubled are whispered, 
 the first B is mute. 
 
 D consists of a vocal sound and an aspirate. The 
 first constituent is formed with the tip of the tongue 
 
 * Care should be taken not to make the second constituent vocal. 
 
24 ELOCUTION 
 
 pressed against the gums of the upper incisory teeth ; 
 the second, by aspirating the vowel u at the moment 
 of its removal.* 
 
 When D is doubled, as in addition, the second constituent of the 
 first D is omitted. When D is whispered, the second constituent 
 only is heard. When words in which D is doubled are whispered, 
 the first D is mute. 
 
 G consists of a vocal sound and an aspirate. The 
 first constituent is formed with the root of the tongue 
 pressed against the curtain, or vail of the palate ; f the 
 second, by aspirating the vowel u at the moment of its 
 removal.* 
 
 When G is doubled, as in haggard, the second constituent of 
 the first G is omitted. When G is whispered, the second constitu- 
 ent only is heard. When words in which G is doubled are whis- 
 pered, the first G is mute. 
 
 L is a vocal sound, made with the tip of the tongue 
 pressed against the gums of the upper incisory teeth. 
 
 M is a nasal sound, made with the lips closed. 
 
 N is a nasal sound, formed with the tip of the tongue 
 pressed against the gums of the upper incisory teeth. 
 
 NG, as in song, is a nasal sound, formed with the 
 root of the tongue pressed gently against the curtain 
 of the palate. 
 
 R is a vocal sound, of which there are two varieties. 
 The first is called the trilled R, and is made by caus- 
 ing the tongue to vibrate against the gums of the upper 
 incisor teeth, while the breath is propelled through the 
 mouth ; the second is called the smooth R, and is made 
 with the tip of the tongue elevated towards the centre 
 of the roof of the mouth. R should be trilled when it 
 precedes a vowel, as in roll, crush, &c, ; but when it 
 follows a vowel, as in air, orb, &c, it should be made 
 smooth. 
 
 I have met with a number of individuals who could not trill the 
 R, and others who did it with difficulty. Those who cannot trill i 
 
 * Care should be taken not to make the second constituent vocal, 
 
 * In the language of anatomy, velum pendulum palati. 
 
ARTICULATION. 25 
 
 in a graceful manner, had oetter not attempt it in public ; let such, 
 however, not despair — their vocal organs may be rendered flexible 
 by frequent and energetic exercise. 
 
 TH, as in then, is a compound of vocality and aspi- 
 ration, formed with the tip of the tongue resting against 
 the inner surface of the upper incisory teeth. 
 
 V is a compound of vocality and aspiration. It is 
 formed with the under lip pressed against the edge of 
 the upper incisory teeth. 
 
 W is a vocal sound, formed with the lips contracted 
 as in the act of whistling. 
 
 Y is a vocal sound, formed with the lips and teeth a 
 little separated. 
 
 Z, as in zone, is a buzzing sound, a compound of vo- 
 cality and aspiration. It is formed by pressing the 
 tip of the tongue gently against the gums of the upper 
 incisors, and forcing out the breath. 
 
 Z, as in azure, is a compound of vocality and aspi- 
 ration. It is formed with the tip of the tongue nearly 
 in the same position as is z in zone, though drawn a 
 little further back, and somewhat widened, so as to 
 enlarge the aperture formed by its upper surface and 
 the roof of the mouth, through which the breath is 
 forced. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE ASPIRATES. 
 
 F, like V, is formed with the under lip pressed 
 against the upper incisory teeth. 
 
 H is the inceptive part of a vowel sound, aspirated 
 in a particular v/ay. H may be uttered in as many 
 varieties of ways as there are vowels in the language ; 
 each requiring the same posture of the mouth, which 
 the vowel itself requires. 
 
 K is formed by pressing the root of the tongue againsl 
 
26 ELOCUTION. 
 
 the curtain of the palate, and then aspirating the 
 vowel u. 
 
 When this element is doubled, as in fickle (pronounced fikkl) the 
 first k is mute. 
 
 P is formed by closing the lips, and then aspirating 
 the vowel u. 
 
 When this element is doubled, as in happy, the first P is mute. 
 
 S is a hissing sound, and, like z in zone, is formed 
 with the tip of the tongue pressed gently against the 
 gums of the upper incisory teeth. It is nearly the same 
 as z in zone aspirated. 
 
 SH is formed with the tongue in the same position 
 as is z in azure. SH is nearly the same sound as z in 
 azure, aspirated. 
 
 T is formed by pressing the tip of the tongue against 
 the gums of the upper incisory teeth, and then aspirat- 
 ing the vowel u.* 
 
 When T is doubled, as in attempt, the first T is mute. 
 
 TH, as in thin, like th in then, is formed with the 
 tip of the tongue pressed against the upper incisory 
 teeth. It is nearly the same sound as the subvowel 
 TH aspirated. 
 
 WH is the inceptive part of the vowel u aspirated 
 in a particular way. The sound which is produced, 
 in the formation of this element, is nearly the same as 
 hu, whispered. WH requires the same posture of the 
 mouth that the vowel u requires. 
 
 That hu and wh are n t identical, may be proved by pronounc- 
 ing-, alternately, the wo Js hoom and whoom, and observing the 
 contrast between them. 
 
 * Although of no practical importance, it may not be uninterest- 
 ing to the philosophic reader to know that the second constituent 
 of the subvowels B, D, G, and of the aspirates, K, P, T, is formed 
 by aspirating the vowel u only when these elements are uttered 
 singly, when they are final, and when they are followed by a con- 
 sonant. When they are followed by a vowel, their second consti- 
 tuent is formed by aspirating that vowel. This may be rendered 
 obvious by pronouncing forcibly, and deliberately, the words, Bay, 
 Day, Gay, and Kay, Pay, Tay, or any other words, in which B, D, 
 G, and K, P, T are followed by vowels. 
 
ARTICULATION. 27 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE POSTURES OF THE MOUTH. 
 
 An accurate knowledge of the positions which the 
 organs of articulation should assume in the formation 
 of the several elements of vocal language, is very im- 
 portant to those who would speak with ease and ele- 
 gance. To aid the reader still further in the acquisi- 
 tion of this knowledge, he is furnished with the various 
 postm^es of the mouth, required in uttering the elements 
 energetically, and singly. 
 
 The elements are grouped according to the posture 
 in which the mouth should be when they are formed. 
 It will be seen that the Diphthongs and Triphthongs 
 have each two postures of the mouth — one at the 
 commencement, the other at the termination of the sound. 
 
 These postures are, of course, more or less modified, 
 when the elements are uttered in their various combi- 
 nations, and with different degrees of force. 
 
 The pupil should exercise his organs of speech, in the 
 most forcible manner, three times a week, and, if pos- 
 sible, even every day, on all the elements. The vow- 
 els should be exploded from the throat, both interroga- 
 tively and affirmatively, in every range of pitch within 
 the compass of the voice, and with every possible de- 
 gree of force. 
 
 The vowels are exploded in the following manner : 
 make a full inspiration, close the glottis, and contract 
 the muscles of expiration so as to condense the air in 
 the lungs, then utter the element with a sudden and 
 forcible emission of the breath. The sounds thus pro- 
 duced may be denominated vocal thunder; the effect 
 upon an audience is electrical. 
 
 This exercise strengthens the vocal organs, and ena- 
 bles the speaker to be heard at a great distance, with 
 very little effort, or expenditure of breath. It is also 
 beneficial to health. 
 
28 
 
 ELOCUTION 
 
ARTICULATION. 
 
 29 
 
 how 
 m ind 
 2?it 
 
 ale 
 
 ale 
 
 old 
 our 
 
 lose 
 
 twbe 
 
 J 
 
30 ELOCUTION. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 DEFECTIVE ARTICULATION. 
 
 Articulation is defective when one o~ more ele» 
 ments of a word are omitted, or imperfectly formed ; or 
 when one element is substituted for another. 
 
 Defective articulation is exceedingly common : per- 
 haps there is not one individual in ten thousand whose 
 articulation is perfect. This arises from the neglect of 
 a proper gymnastic training of the organs of speech in 
 childhood. As soon as children are capable of imitating 
 sounds, they should be taught the elements of vocal 
 language ; and, to facilitate their acquisition of this 
 knowledge, they should be made to exercise before a 
 mirror, so as to compare the movements of their own 
 lips with those of the lips of their instructor. By pur- 
 suing this course, a good foundation will be laid for a 
 perfect and graceful articulation. 
 
 In that part of this work which consists of Exercises 
 in Reading and Declamation, all, or nearly all, the 
 letters representing sounds liable to be omitted, or im- 
 perfectly articulated, are italicised. Hence it. is not 
 necessary to furnish examples, and treat of the subject 
 minutely, in this place. There are, however, some in- 
 stances of defective articulation, which are not pointed 
 out by the italic letters — these are so important that 
 they deserve special notice. I allude to those cases in 
 which one element is substituted for another. The 
 remainder of this chapter will be devoted to their con- 
 sideration. 
 
 Children are apt to substitute the sound of d for that 
 of g in gay ; and the sound of t for that of k, or c in 
 cat. Thus, for gay, they say day ; for cake, tate, &c. 
 
 To enable the pupil to correct these faults, I explain 
 to him the manner in which the sounds of g and k are 
 
ARTICULATION. 31 
 
 produced — they are formed by pressing the root of 
 the tongue against the soft palate, and not, like d and 
 t by pressing its tip against the gums of the upper 
 incisors. I then direct him to pronounce, after me, the 
 elements, d, g, and t, k, and the syllables da, ga, and 
 ta, ka, thus : 
 
 d, g; d,g; d, g; d, g; d, g; d, g; d, g; d, g; d, g. 
 
 da, ga ; da, ga ; da, ga ; da, ga ; de, ge ; de, ge ; &e. 
 ta, ka ; ta, ka ; ta, ka ; ta, ka ; te, ke ; te, ke ; &c. 
 
 The object of this exercise is to contrast the substituted 
 sound with the correct one. 
 
 When this plan does not prove successful, I open my 
 mouth as widely as possible, so that the tip of the 
 tongue cannot touch the gums of the upper teeth, and 
 request the pupil to open his in like manner. I then 
 direct him to pronounce, after me, the following sylla- 
 bles: 
 
 ga, ga, ga, ga ; ge, ge ; gl, gl ; go, gd, gb ; gu, gu, gu ; gou. 
 ka, ka, ka, ka ; ke, ke ; kl, kl ; ko, k6, k& ; ku, ku, ku ; kou. 
 ag, eg, Ig, 6g, ug, oug; ak, ek, Ik, 6k, ftk, ouk. 
 
 When neither of these schemes proves successful, I 
 request the pupil to press his tongue downwards, and 
 backwards, with his index finger, while I do the same, 
 and pronounce, after me, the syllables in the preceding 
 exercise. This I have never known to fail. 
 
 Some children omit the element z, when it follows d, 
 and the element sh when it follows t ; for instance, they 
 pronounce John, don, and Charles, tarles, &c. # My 
 method of correcting these defects is to contrast the 
 false pronunciation with the true one, as in the follow- 
 ing exercise : 
 
 dia, d2a; da, dSa; da, d2a; da, dJa; de, die; &c. 
 
 ta, tsha ; ta, tsha ; ta, tsha ; ta, tsha ; te, tshe ; &c. 
 
 * J is a compound of d and z in azure ; and ch is equivalent to 
 Uh. 
 
32 ELOCUTION. 
 
 The v and w are confounded by some perons ; for 
 instance, when they would say vine, they say wine, and 
 vice versa. An attention to the proper postures of the 
 mouth, in the production of these elements will soon 
 enable the pupil to correct this fault.* (See pos- 
 tures of the mouth, page 28.) The following exercise, 
 founded on the principle of contrast, should be fre- 
 quently practised by the pupil, in the most energetic 
 manner. 
 
 va, wa ; va, wa ; va, wa ; va, wa ; ve, we ; ve, we ; &c. 
 
 wa, va; wa, va; wa, va; wa, va ; we, ve ; we, ve ; &c. 
 
 In correcting faults in articulation, I often find it 
 advantageous to exercise the pupil before a mirror, that 
 he may observe the contrast between the movements 
 of his own mouth, and those of mine. 
 
 LISPING. 
 
 Lisping is the substitution of the sound of th for that 
 of some other letter, generally for that of s in sin. 
 Thus the words, sale, send, sight, song, &c, are pro- 
 nounced thale, thend, thight, thong, &c. 
 
 The lisper should be told, that, in forming the sound 
 of th, the tip of the tongue is pressed gently against 
 the inner surface of the upper incisor teeth ; whereas, 
 in forming that of s, it is placed, in like manner, against 
 the gums of the upper incisor teeth. Hence, to avoid 
 making th for s, the tongue should be drawn back a 
 little, and its point turned upward against the gums of 
 the upper teeth. In the correction of lisping, the fol- 
 owing exercise may be practised with advantage : 
 
 tha, sa ; tM, sa ; tha, sa ; tha, sa ; the, se ; the, the ; &c. 
 
 * A young; gentleman recently entered my institution who had 
 many faults in his utterance. Among- others was the sing-ular one 
 of pronouncing; vw for v: for vine, he said vwine; for vale, vwaJe, 
 &c. This, as well as the other numerous faults with wn.ich his 
 pronunciation was marred, arose from the want of proper instruc- 
 tion upon the use of the organs of speech. 
 
ARTICULATION. 33 
 
 The defects of articulation, in which one element 
 (S substituted for another, are numerous ; but, as the 
 method of treatment is similar in all, it is presumed 
 enough has been said to enable the teacher to manage 
 them successfully, particularly as appropriate exer- 
 cises, for most of them, will be found in the practical 
 part of this work. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 STAMMERING. 
 
 Stammering is a functional derangement of the or- 
 gans of speech, which renders them incapable, under 
 certain circumstances, of promptly obeying the com- 
 mands of the will. 
 
 In a majority of cases, the cause of this affection 
 operates through the medium of the mind. 
 
 Stammering is cured by a regular course of hygienic 
 elocution. But, as the disease exists under a variety 
 of forms, it requires a variety of treatment. And, as 
 the treatment is medico-elocutional, he who would 
 apply it successfully, must unite the skill of the elocu- 
 tionist with that of the physician. The idea that non- 
 medical men are capable of discharging the duties of 
 applying the remedies to complicated complaints of 
 the human body, is a sui generis in logic, and a bane 
 in the practice of the healing art. 
 
 As a full consideration of the subject of stammering 
 is not compatible with the design of this work ; and, as 
 I am preparing for publication another which will 
 treat exclusively of impediments of speech, I shall con- 
 clude the present chapter with the following 
 
 Remarks on Stammering , from a Lecture on Elocution 
 delivered before the American Lyceum, May 6, 1837, 
 by Andrew Comstock, M.D. 
 
 For the last ten years the author of these remarks has 
 been engaged in an investigation of the philosophy of the 
 
34 ELOCUTION. 
 
 human voice, with a view to the formation of a system of 
 just Elocution, and to the discovery of the true means for 
 removing impediments of speech in stammerers. How far 
 he has succeeded in his attempt, is not for him to say. His 
 system is the result of his own reflection and experience ; 
 and, as it is founded in philosophy, it is the only true system. 
 The following pages contain the mere outlines of the system. 
 The work itself will be presented to the public as soon as 
 the author's other labours will permit. 
 
 Stammering or stuttering is a hesitation or interruption of speech, 
 and is usually attended with more or less distortion of feature. 
 This affection presents itself under a variety of forms ; but my limits 
 will not allow me to give a particular description of them. I will 
 notice only the most striking. 
 
 In some cases, the stammerer makes an effort to speak, and all 
 his breath is expelled without producing vocality ; in others, the 
 lips are spasmodically closed : — these two forms often occur in the 
 game case. Sometimes the stammerer, while speaking or reading, 
 loses all power over the vocal organs, and remains some momenta 
 with his mouth open, before he can recover sufficient energy to 
 proceed. In many cases, the stammerer repeats the word imme- 
 diately preceding the one he is attempting to pronounce, or he re- 
 peats, in a rapid manner, the first element, or the first syllable, of 
 the difficult word. 
 
 Causes. — The predisposing causes are nervous irritability and 
 delicacy of constitution. 
 
 The most usual exciting causes are diffidence, embarrassment, a 
 fear of not being successful when about to make an effort to speak, 
 an attempt to speak faster than the vocal organs can assume the 
 proper positions for utterance. Two or more of these causes often 
 occur in the same case. Sometimes the habit of stammering is 
 acquired by imitation. 
 
 The proximate cause of stammering is a spasmodic action of the 
 muscles of speech. 
 
 Prognosis. — The probability of a cure depends upon the follow- 
 ing circumstances: If the stammerer has a cheerful disposition, is 
 distinguished for energy of mind and decision of character, can ap- 
 preciate the variations of pitch in speech and song, or, in other 
 words, has an ear for music and a taste for elocution, the prognosis 
 is favourable. But if he is of a nervous temperament, subject to 
 melancholy, irresolute of purpose, incapable of imitation in speaking 
 and singing, the prognosis is unfavourable. 
 
 Treatment. — The stammerer should be impressed with the 
 importance, nay, necessity, of giving exclusive attention to the sub- 
 ject ; and he should not be allowed to converse with any one till 
 
ARTICULATION. 3o 
 
 he can speak without stammering 1 . These rules cannot be too 
 strongly enforced. I am fully persuaded of this from my own ex- 
 perience. Several stammerers, who have placed themselves under 
 my care, taking but two or three lessons a week, and attending to 
 their usual avocations, have left me disappointed ; while those who 
 have given undivided attention to the subject, have been entirely 
 relieved. True, many are more or less benefited even by occasion 
 ally taking a lesson ; but it is very difficult, by any irregular course, 
 to effect a radical cure. The habit of stammering should be ar- 
 rested at once ; for, while it is continued, how is it possible that the 
 habit of speaking correctly can be established 1 
 
 Great pains should be taken to inspire the stammerer with confi- 
 dence. He should be convinced that his success depends mainly 
 upon his own exertions : that he must pursue the various exercises 
 assigned him with indefatigable zeal, with untiring industry; that 
 he has the same organs of speech as other people, and nothing is 
 necessary to enable him to use them as well, but a conviction in his 
 ability to do so. To think that one can do, gives almost the ability 
 to accomplish — but to think that one cannot do, virtually takes 
 away the ability to do, even where it is ample. 
 
 Stammering is often continued by the subordinate estimation 
 which the stammerer puts upon himself. He is too apt to consider 
 those around him giants, and himself a dwarf. As this estimation 
 of himself serves to perpetuate his disease, it is clear that its reme- 
 dy must be found in making himself equal to any: if this mental 
 classification into giants and dwarfs must take place, let the stam- 
 merers make themselves the giants, and those around them the 
 dwarfs. 
 
 The teacher should study the disposition of his pupil : he should 
 persuade him to banish from his mind all melancholy thoughts — 
 in short, he should do every thing in his power to render his pupil 
 cheerful and happy. 
 
 Various athletic exercises should be resorted to daily, to invigo- 
 rate all the muscles of voluntary motion, and diminish nervous irri- 
 tability. In some cases it may be necessary to have recourse to 
 tonics, anti-spasmodics, bathing in salt water, frictions over the 
 whole surface of the body, &c, &c. Electricity may be used with 
 advantage as a tonic, and also as a means of interrupting the spasm 
 of the vocal organs. 
 
 The vocal treatment is deduced from the following circum 
 stances : 
 
 1. An ability to sing. 
 
 2. An ability to speak when alone : 
 
 3. And if the stammerer must speak before an audience, the 
 smaller the audience and the farther he is removed from it, the 
 better. 
 
36 ELOCUTION. 
 
 4. An ability to speak amidst a noise that is sufficient to render 
 the human voice nearly or quite inaudible. 
 
 5. An ability to speak better in the dark than in the light. 
 b\ An ability to speak in a measured manner. 
 
 7. An ability to speak in a drawling manner. 
 
 8. An ability to speak with the mouth more or less distorted. 
 
 9. An ability to speak in any key, either higher or lower than 
 that in which the stammerer usually converses. 
 
 10. An ability to speak with a halloo. 
 
 11. An ability to speak when the attention is divided or arrested 
 by some object or circumstance more or less irrelevant to the sub- 
 ject. 
 
 12. An ability to speak in concert or simultaneously. Every one 
 who has learned to sing, knows how much easier it is to sing in 
 concert than alone. All the exercises, therefore, for the cure of 
 stammering, should, at first, be conducted in concert. 
 
 Stammering may be considered a fault in elocution, the result of 
 defective education, and is confirmed by habit. If children were 
 properly instructed in .speaking and reading, this affection of the 
 vocal organs would probably, seldom or never occur. Hence, no 
 mode of treatment that is not founded in just elocution or the cor- 
 rect exercise of the organs of speech for the purposes of vocal ex- 
 pression, can be relied on. This must appear obvious to every in- 
 telligent and reflecting mind. The stammerer must be taught how 
 to give language the pitch, time, and force which the sense requires. 
 To effect this, his muscles of speech, which have long been refrac- 
 tory, must be trained till they are brought under the control of 
 volition, and like a well-marshalled troop of soldiers, made to act in 
 harmonious concert. 
 
 Oral language may be resolved into certain sounds which are its 
 elements. Now there are certain positions of the organs of speech 
 more favourable than others for the production of the elements. 
 The stammerer should be made thoroughly acquainted with these 
 positions, and, in connexion with them, should be required to exer- 
 cise his voice in the most energetic manner upon all the elements 
 singly, till he can utter them without hesitation. He should also 
 utter them in various combinations, not only according to the laws 
 of syllabication, but in every irregular way. The vowels should 
 be exploded from the throat with great force ; and they should be 
 sung, as well as pronounced with the rising and falling inflection, 
 through every interval of pitch within the compass of the voice. 
 
 The pupil should be drilled in various exercises whose highest 
 peculiarity is time and force. Time may be measured by means 
 of the Metronome, by beating with the hand, and by marching.* 
 
 Also by beating with the dumb-bells. 
 
ARTICULATION. 37 
 
 Pitch, time, and force, are the elements of expression, and a propel 
 combination of them in reading and speaking, constitutes good elo- 
 cution. When, therefore, the stammerer becomes master of these 
 elements, as well as the elements of the language, he may com- 
 mence speaking and reading. In his first attempts at conversation, 
 Doth teacher and pupil should speak in a deliberate manner, with a 
 full, firm tone of voice, and in a very low pitch. 
 
 The stammerer should now commit to memory a short piece 
 which requires to be spoken with explosive force; for example, 
 " Satan's speech to his legions." The members of the class should 
 stand at a sufficient distance from each other to prevent their hands 
 coming in contact when their arms are extended. They should 
 then pronounce the speech in concert, after the teacher, and accom- 
 pany it with appropriate gesticulation. It should be repeated again 
 and again, till each pupil can give it proper expression, both as 
 regards voice and gesture. Each pupil should then, in turn, take 
 the place of the teacher and give out the speech to the class. To 
 prevent the pupil's stammering, while he is performing the teach- 
 er's part, the teacher himself should play an accompaniment on the 
 violoncello, violin, organ, drum, or some other instrument. At firsl 
 the notes should be made very loud ; but if the effort of the pupil, 
 standing out of the class, is likely to be successful, they should gra- 
 dually be made softer and softer, and, finally, the accompaniment 
 omitted altogether. This piece should be pronounced alternately 
 with one which requires to be spoken with long quantity and in a 
 low pitch, as " Ossian's Address to the Sun." 
 
 When the pupil has mastered these two kinds of reading, he may 
 take up dignified dialogue, and, lastly, conversational pieces. He 
 should drawl out difficult words, which are generally those having 
 short vowels preceded by labials, dentals, and gutturals. 
 
 In very bad cases of stammering, the pupil should first sing the 
 words, then drawl them, then pronounce them with very long quan- 
 tity, and thus gradually approximate to common speaking. 
 
 As soon as the pupils can speak without stammering, they should 
 recite singly in a very large room, or in the open air, at a distance 
 from the audience, which, at first, should consist of the members of 
 the class only. A few visiters should be occasionally introduced, 
 and the number should be gradually increased. In this way the 
 stammerer will soon acquire sufficient confidence to speak before a 
 large assembly. In some cases it may be expedient for the stam- 
 merer to recite before an audience in a dark room ; but as he ac- 
 quires confidence, light should be gradually admitted. 
 
 Stammerers, instead of speaking immediately after inspiration, as 
 they should do, often attempt to speak immediately after expiration, 
 when, of course, they have no power to speak. The lungs, like a 
 bellows, perform their part in the process of speaking, best, when 
 plentifully supplied with air. This is an important fact, and should 
 
38 
 
 ELOCUTION 
 
 be remembered, not only by stammerers, but also by those who nave 
 occasion to read or speak in public. Loud speaking - , long-continued, 
 with the lungs but partially distended, is very injurious to these 
 organs : it is apt to occasion a spitting of blood, v Men is not unfre- 
 quently a precursor of pulmonary consumption. But loud speaking, 
 with proper management of the breath, is a healthful exercise : be- 
 sides strengthening the muscles which it calls into action, it pro 
 motes the clecarbonization of the blood, and, consequently, exerts a 
 salutary influence on the system generally. [See additional re- 
 marks, in Appendix at the end of the volume, where will be found 
 an account of the new surgical operation for the radical cure of 
 stammering, which has been performed, with more or less success, 
 both in Europe and in this country.] 
 
 SECTION II. 
 
 PITCH. 
 
 ITCH is the degree of the eleva- 
 tion of sounds. 
 
 As pitch regards the elevation of sounds, 
 it respects their acuteness and gravity. I 
 /5 $f use the term pitch in its widest significa- 
 tion. — In the science of music, it is used 
 not only in the sense in which I employ it, 
 but it also has a special application : in the 
 latter, it is applied to the medium note, the regulating note to 
 which instruments are brought by the act of tuning. When ap- 
 plied in this sense, it is termed concert-pitch. The note which has 
 been adopted, by common consent, as the pitch-note, is A, the open 
 note of the second string of the violin : it is written in the second 
 space of the treble staff. 
 
 A lax division of pitch is into high and low ; in other 
 words, into acute and grave ; (those notes being called 
 high, or acute, which are above the natural pitch of 
 the voice ; and those low, or grave, which are below it) 
 Strictly speaking, the application of high and low, to pitch, is 
 without philosophic foundation : it has originated, not from any 
 
PITCH. 39 
 
 principles in the acuteness and gravity of sound, but from the rela- 
 tive position of the notes in the graphic scale. This is obvious 
 from the fact that the degrees of the scale may be exemplified in a 
 horizontal line, by varying the forms of the graphic notes, as was 
 done by the Greeks. 
 
 An exact division of pitch, as demonstrated by the 
 diatonic scale, is into tones and semitones.* 
 
 The word tone, as here employed, signifies a certain degree of 
 difference in pitch between two notes, as that between the first and 
 second note of the scale. But in some cases we use the word tone, 
 as synonymous with note; for instance, in some persons the tones 
 oi the voice are more musical than in others — that is, the notes 
 of the voice. 
 
 The diatonic scale consists of seven sounds, moving 
 discretely from grave to acute, or from acute to grave, 
 by different degrees of pitch, of which the semitone 
 may be the common measure, or divisor, without a 
 fraction. The scale, however, is not complete without 
 the octave, which is a repetition of the first note in the 
 eighth degree. 
 
 The notes do not ascend by equal degrees of pitch, 
 but by tones and semitones ; the semitones occurring 
 between the third and fourth, and seventh and eighth. 
 The order of the scale, therefore, is as follows : two 
 tones and a semitone, three tones and a semitone. And 
 should it be desirable to extend the series of sounds, the 
 eighth note of the first octave will become the first note 
 of the second octave ; the eighth note of the second oc- 
 tave, the first note of the third, and so on. 
 
 In teaching the pupil to " raise and fall the eight 
 notes," as it is called, the monosyllables, Do, Re, Mi, 
 Fa, Sol, La, Si,f may be employed. 
 
 Diag. 4 is a graphic representation of the scale. The 
 heavy, horizontal, parallel lines, represent the notes ; 
 and the spaces between them, the consecutive intervals 
 of the scale. 
 
 * Diatonic [Greek, 8ca, by or through, and ?ovo$ sound]. 
 Ascending or descending by sounds whose proximate intervals arg 
 not more than a tone, nor iess than a semitone. 
 
 i Pronounced D6, Uk, Me, Fa, S61, La, S6. 
 
40 
 
 ELOCUTION. 
 
 The Diatonic Scale. (Diag. 4.) 
 
 -8- 
 -7- 
 
 -Do- 
 -Si- 
 
 -6- 
 
 -La- 
 
 -5- 
 
 -Sol- 
 
 -4- 
 -3- 
 
 -Fa- 
 -Mi- 
 
 -2- 
 
 -Re- 
 
 -1- 
 
 -Do- 
 
 An interval is a difference in pitch. Intervals are 
 either discrete, or concrete. A discrete interval is the 
 difference in pitch between any two notes which vary 
 from each other in acuteness and gravity. A concrete 
 interval is that portion of the scale through which the 
 voice slides on a concrete of speech. 
 
 The difference in pitch between the first and second 
 note of the scale, is called the interval of a tone, or 
 second ; between the second and third, a tone ; between 
 the third and fourth, a semitone ; between the fourth 
 and fifth, a tone; between the fifth and sixth, a tone ; be- 
 tween the sixth and seventh, a tone ; between the se- 
 venth and eighth, a semitone. 
 
 The difference in pitch between the first and third 
 note of the scale, is called the interval of a third ; be- 
 tween the first and fourth, the interval of a fourth ; be- 
 tween the first and fifth, the interval of a fifth ; between 
 the first and sixth, the interval of a sixth ; between the 
 first and seventh, the interval of a seventh ; between 
 the first and eighth, the interval of an octave. 
 
 The intervals between the first and third, fourth and 
 sixth, and fifth and seventh, are called major thirds; 
 because they contain two tones, or four semitones ; but 
 as the intervals between the second and fourth, third 
 
PITCH 
 
 41 
 
 Diag. 5. 
 
 > I 
 
 £ 
 
 o 
 
 ,-Do- 
 
 !-Si- 
 
 L. 
 
 -Fa- 
 -Mi- 
 
 2 -R» 
 
 -Do- 
 -Si- 
 
 -La- 
 
 -Sol- 
 
 -Fa- 
 -Mi- 
 
 -Re- 
 
 -Do- 
 
 -Si- 
 
 -La- 
 
 -Sol- 
 
 -Fa- 
 -Mi- 
 
 -Re- 
 
 -Do- 
 
 and fifth, and sixth and eighth, con- 
 tain but three semitones, they are de- 
 nominated minor thirds. 
 
 In the expression of our thoughts 
 by oral language, we employ three 
 sorts of voice — the natural voice, 
 the falsetto voice, and the whispering 
 voice, which I shall now attempt to 
 describe. 
 
 The medium compass of the voice, 
 in those whose voices have been pro- 
 perly cultivated, is three octaves.* 
 There is, however, a point of pitch 
 at which the voice, in ascending 
 the scale, is said to break. This 
 point, in a majority of persons, is 
 about two octaves above the lowest 
 note of the voice. The natural voice 
 embraces all the notes below this 
 point ; the falsetto, all the notes above 
 it. (See Diag. 5.) 
 
 The Italians call the natural voice voce di 
 petto, and the falsetto voice voce di testa ; f 
 because they suppose the former to come 
 from the chest, and the latter from the head. 
 This error has arisen from a want of anato- 
 mical and physiological knowledge of the 
 vocal organs. Voice is never formed in the 
 chest, or in the head : it is always formed in 
 the upper part of the larynx, at the aperture 
 of the glottis. It is, however, formed higher, 
 or lower in the throat, according to its de- 
 gree of acuteness, or gravity. At the command of the wi 
 larynx may be elevated, or depressed, and the aperture of the glot- 
 tis enlarged, or diminished. The larynx is the most depressed, and 
 the aperture of the glottis the most dilated, when the gravest sound 
 is formed ; and the larynx is the most elevated, and the aperture 
 
 the 
 
 * It is said that the ear is capable of perceiving nine octaves, 
 f Voce di petto (Ital.), voice from the breast. Voce di testa, 
 voice from the head. 
 
42 ELOCUTION. 
 
 of the glottis the most contracted, when the acutest sound is formed. 
 Hence grave sounds appear to come from the chest, and acute ones 
 from the head, or roof of the mouth. From this circumstance, no 
 doubt, has arisen the error of calling the natural voice voce di petto, 
 and the falsetto voice voce di testa. 
 
 The whispering voice does not, like the natural voice 
 and the falsetto, owe its peculiarity to pitch, but to the 
 absence of what is generally understood by the term 
 vocality. The compass of the whispering voice is about 
 an octave. My own extends through ten degrees of 
 the scale.* 
 
 The natural pitch of the female voice is an octave 
 above that of the male voice. The pitch of the female 
 voice corresponds to that of the violin ; the pitch of the 
 male voice, to that of the violoncello. The voices of 
 boys are of the same pitch as the female voice — one 
 octave above a man's voice. When boys are about the 
 age of fourteen, their voices undergo a change of pitch. 
 
 The notes of the falsetto voice are called treble ; the 
 upper notes of the natural voice, tenor ; and the lower 
 notes of the natural voice, bass.-f (See Diag. 5.) 
 
 The divisions of the voice, as given by Italian au- 
 thors, and adopted by many musicians of other coun- 
 tries, are as follows : 
 
 " There are three departments in the human voice, 
 viz., the high, the middle, and the low. These depart- 
 ments are in the female, as well as in the male voice. 
 Soprano, mezzo soprano, and contralto, are female voices. 
 Tenore, baritono, and basso, are male voices. "J 
 
 The reader will observe that the falsetto voice is not 
 included in the above division. 
 
 To a bass, a baritone, and a contralto voice, natu- 
 
 * Notes analogous to those of the whispering voice may be made 
 on the German flute, and some other wind instruments, through the 
 compass of an octave. 
 
 f When I speak of the voice, I speak of the adult male voice, 
 unless otherwise stated. 
 
 I Introduction to the Art and Science of Music, by Phil. Tra- 
 jetta. 
 
PITCH. 43 
 
 rally good, or made so by cultivation, Dr. Rush applies 
 the term orotund. 
 
 The notes of music are named after the first seven letters of the 
 alphabet, and are represented by graphic notes, which are written 
 on five horizontal, parallel lines, and in the intermediate spaces. 
 These lines and spaces are called the staff. (See Diag. 6.) The 
 lines and spaces of the staff are counted upward, that is, the lowest 
 
 the staff. {Diag. 6.) 
 
 i ~ TIZ0--SLZ&ZZL •* C SPACES. 
 
 line of the staff is called the first line, the one above it the second 
 line, and so on; the lowest space is called the first space, the next 
 the second space, and so on. (See Diag. 6.) Each line, and each 
 space, is called a degree. Hence, as there are five lines, and four 
 spaces, the staff includes nine degrees. (See Diag. 6.) 
 
 When it is desirable to extend the notes above or below the staff 
 short lines, called ledger lines, are employed. (See Diag. 7.) 
 
 THE STAFF WITH LEDGER LINES. (Diag. 7.) 
 
 As the great scale of sounds, which includes all the notes that 
 can be made by instrumental means, is very extensive, it has been 
 found convenient to divide it into two parts, and allot a staff to each 
 part. The notes in the upper division of the great scale are writ- 
 ten on what is called the treble staff ; those in the lower division, 
 upon what is denominated the bass staff. 
 
 To distinguish between the two staffs,* and to determine the 
 names of the graphic notes, and the sounds which they represent, 
 characters called cleffs are placed at the beginning of each staff. 
 
 The treble cleff is called G, because a particular Treble Cleff. 
 
 G note is written upon that line of the staff on which — q 1 
 
 the main part of this character is placed. This note, ' / ; 
 
 called the G cleff note, occupies that point of pitch G ~vS) — ff — ; 
 at which the falsetto voice generally commences. ~+3 ~~ 
 
 The bass-cleff is called F, because a particular F note is written 
 
 * In pluralizing staff, s is preferable to ves. (See Brown's Eng- 
 asV Syntax.) 
 
44 
 
 ELOCUTION. 
 
 upon that line of the staffwhich this character crosses B ASS Clef? 
 as in the margin. The pitch of this note, called the —75^ — 7 — 
 bass cleff note, is nine degrees of the diatonic scale F TT * ® 
 below that of the treble cleff note, and one octave ■•■■■ ■■ — ; 
 above the lowest note of the majority of bass voices 
 which have been properly cultivated. (See Diagram 8.) 
 
 Three Octaves of the Finger-Board of the Piano, and tifb 
 two Staffs, with their Cleffs. (Diag. 6.) 
 
 FGABCDEFGABCDEFGABCDEF 
 
 Diag. 8. represents three octaves of the finger-board of the piano- 
 forte, and the two staffs, with their cleffs. The notes are written 
 upon the staffs opposite those keys of the piano by which they are 
 respectively produced. 
 
 The usual compass of a modern grand piano-forte, is six octaves. 
 The instrument extends one octave below, and two octaves above 
 that portion of the finger-board which is represented in Diag. 8. 
 
 The keys of the piano, like the notes which they severally pro- 
 duce, are named after the first seven letters of the alphabet: the 
 key which produces the F note is called the F Key; that which 
 produces the G note, the G Key; that which produces the A note, 
 the A Key, and so on. 
 
 The finger-board of the piano consists of white and black keys. 
 The instrument is so constructed, that if you touch the white keya 
 in their consecutive order, a diatonic series will be produced ■ but 
 if you touch all the keys, white and black, in their consecutive 
 order, a semitonic series will be the result. 
 
 In the diatonic scale, as has been shown, there are five tones, 
 and two semitones. There are, however, two varieties of the scale : 
 one is called the major mode; the other, the minor mode. In the 
 major mode, the first semitone is between the third and fourth de- 
 
PITCH. 
 
 45 
 
 gree of the scale ; the second, between the seventh and eighth, 
 (Diagram 4, p. 40, represents the major scale.) The minor mode, 
 in ascending, has the first semitone between the second and third 
 degree; the second, between the seventh and eighth; but in de- 
 scending, the second semitone is between the fifth and sixth. (See 
 Diagram 9.) 
 
 (Diag. 9.) 
 
 No. 1. 
 
 No. 2. 
 
 No. 3. 
 
 No. 4. 
 
 La 1 — A 
 
 La 1 
 
 131— C. 
 121— B. 
 11 
 
 10 
 9 
 8 
 7 
 6 
 5 
 4 
 3 
 2 
 1 
 
 — A# or Bb 
 
 — A 
 
 — G# or Ab 
 
 — G 
 
 — F# or Gb 
 
 — F 
 
 — E 
 
 D# or Eb 
 
 D 
 
 C# or Db 
 C 
 
 No. 1, in Diagram 9, represents the ascending and descending 
 major scale ; No. 2, the ascending minor scale ; and No. 3, the de- 
 scending minor scale. 
 
 There is another scale, called the semitonic, or chromatic. It ia 
 formed by dividing the whole tones of the diatonic scale into semi- 
 tones, by five additional sounds. The chromatic scale may be il- 
 lustrated by touching all the white and black keys of a piano-forte, 
 in their consecutive order. (The chromatic scale is represented by 
 No. 4, in Diag. 9.) 
 
 The sounds which compose the diatonic scale, as I have said, are 
 named after the first seven letters of the alphabet. The five addi- 
 tional sounds, which, when added to the diatonic scale, divide it 
 into semitones, are called flats, or sharps, according as they receive 
 the names of the notes immediately below, or of those immediately 
 above them. Thus, the second note of the chromatic scale of C, is 
 called C sharp, or Dflat; the fourth is called D sharp, or Eflat; 
 the seventh, F sharp, or G flat ; the ninth, G sharp, or Aflat; 
 and the eleventh, A sharp, or Bflat. (See No. 4, in Diag. 9.) 
 
 When a note is to be sung, or played sharp, a character called a 
 sharp (sf) is prefixed to it. When a note is to be sung, or played 
 4 
 
46 
 
 ELOCUTION 
 
 flat, a character called a flat (b) is prefixed to it. Sharps and flats 
 are generally placed at the beginning of a tune, or strain, immedi- 
 ately after the cleff. They are then called the signature ; because 
 they serve to point out the key. 
 
 By key is meant a scale of sounds, to the first of which all the 
 others bear a certain relation. This first note is called the key- 
 note, .' fundamental note, or tonic. As each note of the diatonic 
 scat; ( ' C (see No. 1), as well as its sharp and flat (see No. 4), 
 may <.y-, assumed as a key-note of a series of seven, it follows that 
 there are twenty-one major, and twenty-one minor keys. And as 
 eaci» note of the diatonic scale of C, as well as its sharp and flat, 
 may also be assumed as a key-note of a chromatic series, it follows 
 thai there are twenty-one keys in the chromatic genus. These, 
 ••added to the forty-two keys in the diatonic genus, make the whole 
 number of keys in the musical system amount to sixty-three. Still, 
 as there are but twelve notes, there can be but thirty-six scales ; 
 and even this number may be resolved into three — one major, one 
 minor, and one chromatic; all the others are transpositions of the 
 three primitive scales into different ranges of pitch. 
 
 The speaking voice, in good elocution, seldom rises 
 higher than a fifth above the lowest note of its com- 
 pass. Supposing the lowest note which can be made 
 with a full intonation, to be F, the following scheme 
 will show the relative pitch of keys, adapted to the 
 expression of different kinds of sentiments. 
 
 KEYS OF THE SPEAKING VOICE. (Didg. 10.) 
 
 — F — Very spirited declamation, f Three millions of people, 
 
 — E — 
 
 10 
 
 — 
 
 A 
 
 — 
 
 9 
 
 - 
 
 G 
 
 - 
 
 $>s 
 
 - 
 
 F 
 E 
 
 - 
 
 6 
 
 
 
 D 
 
 z 
 
 5 
 
 _ 
 
 C 
 
 _ 
 
 4 
 S 
 
 - 
 
 Bb 
 
 A 
 
 - 
 
 2 
 
 _ 
 
 G 
 
 _ 
 
 1 
 
 - 
 
 F 
 
 — 
 
 Spirited declamation. 
 
 Ordinary declamation. 
 Modest declamation. 
 Ordinary narrative. 
 Dignified narrati\e. 
 Sublime description. 
 Very solemn discourse. 
 
 armed in the holy cause of liberty, 
 
 and in such a country as we possess,&c 
 
 My brave associates, &c. 
 
 Friends, Romans, countrymen, &c. 
 
 The tree of deepest root is found, <fec. 
 
 He scarce had ceased, &c. 
 
 I had a dream which was not all a, See 
 
 O when shall day dawn, &c. 
 
 The majority of the people in this country pitch 
 their voices too high, not only when they read and 
 speak in public, but also in their colloquial intercourse, 
 
PITCH. 47 
 
 We not unfrequently meet with individuals who always 
 speak in the highest key of the natural voice, and we 
 occasionally meet with some who even speak in the 
 falsetto. A high pitch, in speech, is unpleasant to a 
 cultivated ear ; and though it may answer in the busi- 
 ness transactions of life, it is totally inadequate tc the 
 correct expression of sentiments of respect, venerauon. 
 dignity and sublimity. 
 
 CHAPTER I. ■ 
 
 INFLECTIONS. 
 
 NFLECTIONS, in the science of 
 Elocution, are notes of speech — notes 
 that, in regard to pitch, undergo a con- 
 tinual change during the time of their 
 pronunciation. 
 
 Writers on elocution describe six dif- 
 ferent notes of speech ; namely, the rising 
 inflection, the falling inflection, the acuto- 
 grave circumflex inflection, the gravo-acute circumflex 
 inflection, the acuto-gravo-acute circumflex inflection, 
 and the gravo-acuto- grave circumflex inflection.* 
 
 In the rising inflection, the movement of the voice is 
 from grave to acute ; in the falling inflection, from acute 
 to grave ; in the acuto-grave circumflex, from grave to 
 acute, thence back to grave ; in the gravo-acute cir- 
 cumflex, from acute to grave, thence back to acute ; in 
 the acuto-gravo-acute circumflex, from grave to acute, 
 thence back to grave, and thence again to acute ; in the 
 
 * Mr. Steele calls the inflections of the voice accents — acute, 
 grave, and circumflex. Dr. Rush denominates the rising inflection 
 the rising- concrete; the falling- inflection, the downward concrete, 
 the circumflexes he calls waves. 
 
48 ELOCUTION. 
 
 gravo-acuto-grave circumflex, from acute to grave, 
 thence back to acute, and thence again to grave. 
 
 In that part of this work which consists of Exercises 
 in Reading and Declamation, these notes of speech 
 are represented by the acute, grave, and circumflex 
 accents, thus ; 
 
 Rising inflection ('). Acuto-grave circumflex ( A ). 
 
 Falling inflection ( l ). Gravo-acute circumflex (v). 
 Acuto-gravo-acute circumflex (/v). 
 Gravo-acuto-grave circumflex (v\). 
 
 In reading and speaking, each syllable has some one 
 of these inflections ; but, for practical purposes, it is 
 necessary to mark those only which are emphatic. 
 
 The various movements of the voice, in song and speech, may be 
 explained in the following manner : 
 
 When the bow is drawn across an open string of the violin, or 
 any of its species, a sound is produced of a uniform pitch, from be- 
 ginning to end. This sound is a pure note of music, and, so far as 
 pitch is concerned, is identical with a note of song. When the 
 bow is drawn across the same string, while the centre of the string 
 is pressed down with the finger, a sound is produced similar to that 
 of the open string, but an octave higher. The intermediate notes 
 of the diatonic scale may be produced by pressing down the string, 
 at the proper places, and drawing the bow across it. 
 
 When a string of the violin is pressed down by the finger, and, 
 at the same time, the finger is made to slide upon it towards the 
 bridge of the instrument, during the drawing of the bow, a sound is 
 produced which gradually increases in acuteness from beginning 
 to end. When the finger is made to slide in the opposite direction, 
 during the drawing of the bow, a sound is produced which gradu- 
 ally increases in gravity during its prolongation. When the finger 
 is made to slide towards the bridge, and thence back again, during 
 the drawing of the bow, a simple circumflex note is produced. 
 When the finger is made to slide towards the bridge, thence back 
 again, and thence again towards the bridge, during the drawing of 
 the bow, a compound circumflex note is produced. 
 
 Other varieties of the slide might be given, but these are suffi- 
 cient to answer the purpose of explanation. 
 
 "The slide is a grace of much simplicity and beauty, evidently 
 drawn from nature. It expresses the most tender and affectionate 
 emotions: we hear it in those little gusts of passion which mothers 
 use in caressing their infants: it is one of the most endearing tones 
 in the language of nature. 
 
PITCH. 49 
 
 " The portamento, or carriage of the voice, as the Italians term 
 it, is an easy mode of sliding from one tone to another. Hence 
 second-rate singers find it a convenient method of encountering 
 those notes which lie at remote and awkward distances. In some 
 voices it is so fixed, by habit, that two bars cannot be sung without 
 it. When so used, it utterly destroys every pretence to good sing- 
 ing, by interposing an effect of the most sickening kind ; when used 
 with discretion, it adds much to the force of expression ; and, in 
 Madame Caradori, it was a grace both tender and agreeable. 
 
 " The violinist, Paganini, the present wonder of the world, plays 
 an entire cantabile* upon one string, sliding through all the inter- 
 vals with a single finger — the effect of which is so plaintive, and 
 desolate, as to move his audience to tears. Velluti, the first singing- 
 master of the age, uses this grace with incomparable beauty; in his 
 voice it imparts a tenderness not to be described."! 
 
 The sliding notes above described are analagous to drawling 
 notes of speech. Speech, to be natural, requires each syllable to 
 be uttered with a certain degree of force. This force is always in 
 proportion to the length of the syllable. A syllable is drawled 
 when it is pronounced with inadequate force — in other words, with 
 force less than that which constitutes the minimum degree of natu- 
 ral speech. 
 
 The extent of the concrete intervals of the notes of 
 speech, is various under various circumstances. A 
 rising inflection may be carried through the whole 
 compass of the voice. But, in the most energetic in- 
 terrogation, the voice seldom rises higher than an oc- 
 tave; though sometimes it extends to a tenth, or a 
 twelfth. The smallest concrete interval does not, per 
 haps, exceed a quarter tone. 
 
 The concrete intervals of rising inflections are 
 greater than those of their corresponding falling inflec- 
 tions. This may be illustrated by pronouncing the 
 letter a interrogatively and affirmatively, several times, 
 with increasing energy, making the intervals of each 
 succeeding pair greater than those of the preceding, as 
 shown by the following diagram : 
 
 * Cantabile, a term applied to movements intended to be per 
 formed in a graceful, elegant, and melodious style. — Busby's Die 
 lionary of Music. 
 
 \ Gardiner's Music of Nature, p. 164-5, London edition. 
 
50 
 
 ELOCUTION 
 
 RISING AND FALLING INFLECTIONS, THROUGH VARIOU* 
 INTERVALS OF PITCH. (Didg. 11.) 
 
 Wm 
 
 JZL 
 
 e 
 
 5 
 
 ? a. a? 
 
 ? «. a ? 
 
 a: a. a r a. at a. a r a. a r a. a f a. 
 
 In the above diagram, each falling inflection com- 
 mences in a lower degree of pitch than that in which 
 its corresponding rising inflection terminates. Should 
 a falling inflection be made to extend through the same 
 interval as its corresponding rising inflection, it would 
 be a drawling note, and not a pure note of speech. 
 
 Falling inflections may be uttered with greater force 
 than rising inflections. This is shown, in Diag. 11, by 
 the relative widths of the notes. 
 
 Rising inflections are far more numerous than fall- 
 ing inflections : the former constitute the main body 
 of oral language, while the latter are employed for the 
 purposes of emphasis, and in the formation of cadences. 
 Rising inflections are often emphatic ; but their empha- 
 sis is weaker than that of falling inflections. 
 
 The circumflexes are used for the purposes of em- 
 phasis. The acuto-grave circumflex, when carried 
 through a wide interval, is employed for the expression 
 of irony and scorn.* When the circumflexes are pro- 
 perly introduced, they are very expressive. These 
 movements of the voice, however, are seldom required ; 
 when improperly employed, they affect the ear of a 
 good reader as unpleasantly as the too frequent use of 
 the portamento does that of a good musician. 
 
 * *' The circumflexes, acuto-grave" says Mr. Steele, " are cha- 
 racteristic of the Irish tone ; and the circumflexes, gravo-acute, are 
 characteristic of the Scottish tone." — (See Steele's Prosodia Ra- 
 twnaiis.) 
 
PITCH. 51 
 
 Writers on Elocution have given numerous rules foi 
 the regulation of inflections ; but most of these rules are 
 better calculated to make bad readers than good ones. 
 Those founded on the construction of sentences might, 
 perhaps, do credit to a mechanic, but they certainly do 
 none to an elocutionist. 
 
 The subject is of such a nature that it would be 
 difficult, if. not impossible, to give rules for the regula- 
 tion of all the inflections of the voice, in reading and 
 speaking; and, as any rule on this part of elocution 
 must necessarily be limited in its application, I have 
 thought proper to dispense with them altogether. This 
 work, however, does not leave the reader without a 
 guide : in the practical part of it, numerous examples 
 are given, which, I trust, will have a tendency to form 
 a correct taste. When the student shall have acquired 
 a knowledge of the principles of elocution, he will have 
 no occasion for rules. 
 
 The reader should bear in mind that a falling inflec- 
 tion gives more importance to a word than a rising in- 
 flection. Hence it should never be employed merely 
 for the sake of variety ; but for emphasis and cadences. 
 Neither should a rising inflection be used for the sake 
 of mere "harmony" where a falling inflection would 
 better express the meaning of the author. 
 
 The sense should, in all cases, determine the direc- 
 tion of inflections. Hence the absi^rdity of the term 
 u harmonic inflection" as employed by Walker and his 
 disciples— an inflection which, for the sake of harmony. 
 takes a direction contrary to that required by the sense i 
 If a sentence is pronounced so as to bring out the 
 sense in the most forcible manner, all the inflections 
 must necessarily be harmonic, or, more correctly speak- 
 ing, melodic* Every modification of the voice, which 
 is not compatible with the sentiment, weakens the force 
 of the elocution by drawing off the attention of the 
 hearer from the sense to the sound, 
 
 See the note at the bottom of page 72. 
 
52 
 
 ELOCUTION. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 MELODY. 
 
 r^ELODY is a series of simple 
 sounds, emanating from the 
 voice, or an instrument, so 
 varied in pitch as to produce 
 a pleasing effect upon the ear. 
 The series of graph denotes by 
 which these sounds are repre- 
 sented, is also called melody. 
 Melody is distinguished from harmony by not necessarily includ- 
 ing a combination of parts. The term harmony, as employed in 
 the science of music, signifies a union of melodies, a succession of 
 combined sounds, moving at consonant intervals, according to the 
 laws of modulation.* 
 
 Notation is the graphic representation of a melody — 
 in other words, the expression of a melody by written 
 characters. 
 
 Intonation is the act of sounding the notes of a me- 
 lody, either with the voice, or an instrument. When 
 each note is produced in its proper degree of pitch, the 
 intonation is true ; when the intervals are not observed 
 with exactness, the intonation is false. Correct into- 
 nation, in speech, is highly important : in song, and in- 
 strumental music, it is indispensable; for, if the intona- 
 tion is false, melody loses its charms, and harmony 
 becomes discord. 
 
 The melody of speech is founded on sense ; that of 
 song, generally, on sound. Words containing opposite 
 
 * The term harmonious is correctly employed when applied to 
 two or more sounds whose union is consonant, or agreeable ; it is 
 incorrectly employed when applied to the notes of a single melody, 
 as is done by some authors, who confound it with the word melo 
 dious. 
 
PITCH. 53 
 
 sentiments may be sung to the same air, with effects 
 equally good, if the force and time be properly varied. 
 Tnus, if the two songs, March to the Battle Field, and 
 Oft in the Stilly Night, be sung to the same air — the 
 former with great force, and in quick time — the latter 
 with diminished force, and in slow time, there will be 
 as much difference of expression between them as there 
 is between that of joy and sorrow.* But speech is not 
 so accommodating. Here every sentence must not 
 only have its appropriate tune, but the tune must be 
 properly pitched. 
 
 The melody of song is graduated on a scale whose 
 degrees are as definite as those of the scale of Gunter. 
 But the melody of speech is not formed with such ma- 
 thematical exactness — it has no scale of determinate 
 degrees. Hence it is difficult to represent it graphi- 
 cally — to give to each note 
 
 "A local habitation and a name." 
 
 But even if an exact notation of the melody of speech 
 should be given, it is doubtful whether it would be of 
 much practical importance to the generality of man- 
 kind, as none but a Paganini would be able to read it. 
 Such a notation, however, is a desideratum — it would 
 be highly interesting to the philosopher ; and I would 
 advise all elocutionists who have a good ear for music, 
 and can perform on stringed instruments of the violin 
 species, to direct their attention to the subject.f 
 
 For practical purposes, however, it is not essential 
 to present every syllable in speech under its proper 
 note, as is done in song : it is only necessary to give a 
 notation of the relative pitch of the emphatic syllables. 
 
 * The reader must not infer that I entertain the opinion that in 
 song- melody cannot be adapted to sentiment. I believe that if the 
 composers of music were elocutionists, they would always construct 
 their melodies with reference to the sentiments to be expressed. 
 
 f Any essays on this subject by one who cannot perform on a 
 musical instrument, must u>-ove entirely abortive. 
 
f>4 ELOCUTION. 
 
 Such a notation may be read by those who have no 
 knowledge of music whatever, and, consequently, does 
 not require the aid of a Paganini. Besides, if the rela- 
 tive pitch of the heavy, or emphatic syllables, and their 
 inflections, are given, the light, or unemphatic sylla- 
 bles will naturally take their proper degrees of eleva- 
 tion. 
 
 The series of notes by which the relative pitch, ana 
 inflections of the emphatic syllables are represented, 
 is denominated an emphasis melody. The emphasis 
 melodies are written on four horizontal, parallel lines. 
 These lines are called the staff of speech, in contradis- 
 tinction to the staffof music, which consists of five hori- 
 zontal, parallel lines, and the intermediate spaces. 
 
 "Ye are the things that tower, that shine, whose 
 smile makes glad, whose frown is terrible.'' 
 
 In the above sentence there are four emphatic points, 
 which are represented by the following 
 
 EXAMPLE OF EMPHASIS MELODY. (Diag. 12.) 
 
 Staff of Speech.^ 
 
 Pitch-Note Lino. 
 
 tower, shine, glad, terrible. 
 
 Each note in the above diagram has the falling inflec- 
 tion, and no two have the same radical pitch. There 
 is a gradual increase in the size of the notes from the 
 first to the last, which represents a gradual increase of 
 force, forming a sort of climax. 
 
 In that part of this work which consists of Exer- 
 cises in Reading and Declamation, the notes of the 
 emphasis melodies are represented by graphic inflec- 
 tions placed at different degrees of elevation, thus: 
 
 " Ye are the things that tow er, that shine*, whose 
 smile makes glad', whose frown is terrible." 
 
 In reading and speaking there is one note whicn 
 
PITCH. 55 
 
 predominates ; and in correct reading and speaking, the 
 pitch of this note is always in accordance with the 
 sentiment. This predominant, leading, or pitch-note 
 of speech, is written on the second line of the staff, 
 counting from below. To render the pitch-line con- 
 spicuous, it is made heavier than the other lines of the 
 staff. (See Diag. 12.) In the Exercises in Reading 
 and Declamation, the pitch-note is represented by the 
 graphic inflection which commences at the centre of 
 the body of the letter. (See the word shine, in the 
 foregoing example.) When one reads altogether in the 
 pitch-note, the reading is monotonous ; when the voice 
 is properly varied in pitch, it occasionally rises a de- 
 gree, or two degrees above, or descends a degree below 
 it, as represented by the staff. 
 
 The reader must not conclude that the melody of 
 speech is confined to four degrees of pitch, whose inter- 
 vals are as determinate as those of the diatonic scale. 
 The intervals between the several notes of an empha- 
 sis melody vary according to circumstances. In ener- 
 getic declamation, and in interrogative and exclamatory 
 sentences, they may be said to be at their maximum ; 
 in solemn, and in plaintive discourse, at their minimum. 
 Neither must the reader conclude that the melody of 
 speech consists solely of emphasis melodies. These form, 
 as it were, the grand outlines of the picture, and the 
 notes of the syllables not included in the emphasis 
 melodies, constitute the filling up and the shading of it. 
 
 The graphic notes of song represent absolute, as well 
 as relative pitch. But as the graphic notes of an em- 
 phasis melody of speech denote relative pitch only, two 
 emphasis melodies similarly constructed, though differ- 
 ent in their relative intervals, may be represented by 
 the same series of graphic notes. 
 
 In reading emphasis melodies, beginners are apt to 
 make the intervals too great. Care should be taken 
 to avoid this fault, or the melody will be caricatured. 
 A little practice, under a good teacher, will enable 
 
66 
 
 ELOCUTION 
 
 almost any one, who is not insensible to the changes 
 of pitch, to observe the proper intervals with tolerable 
 accuracy. And as these melodies are founded in the 
 nature of the subject, those who have a taste for elocu- 
 tion will scarcely require a teacher, for they will read 
 them, as it were, by intuition. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 MODULATION. 
 
 MODULATION is a chang- 
 ing of the pitch-note to a 
 higher or lower degree of ele- 
 vation — in other words, it 
 is the process of changing the 
 key, or of passing from one 
 key to another. This change 
 is sometimes made to a proxi- 
 mate key ; at other times, a bold and abrupt transition 
 to a remote key is necessary to produce the desired 
 effect. Modulation is generally attended with a change 
 of force, or time; and, not unfrequently, with a change 
 of both. There is not a more important requisite in 
 Elocution — nothing which contributes more to the 
 pleasure of an audience — nothing which gives stronger 
 proof that an orator is master of his art, than a well- 
 regulated and expressive modulation. Modulation, 
 however, should never be resorted to for the sake of 
 mere variety — it should always be subservient to the 
 sense; for it is the province of modulation to mark 
 changes of sentiment, changes in the train of thought, 
 and parenthetical clauses. 
 
 Under ordinary circumstances, the various modula- 
 tions of the voice, in reading and speaking, may be 
 represented by a staff of four lines. That this staff 
 may not be confounded with the staff of melody, de- 
 
PITCH. 
 
 57 
 
 scribed in the preceding chapter, it is made of lines 
 composed of dots, and called the staff of modulation. 
 The lines of this staff, like those of the staff of melody, 
 are counted from below upward. The second line is 
 called the pitch-note line of the staff of modulation. 
 
 A series of modulations, as represented by the fol- 
 lowing diagram, might, very appropriately, be termed 
 a melody of melodies. 
 
 A SERIES OP MODULATIONS. (Diag. 13.) 
 
 
 L 
 
 
 
 
 jf 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 4 
 
 
 
 
 e 
 
 
 
 A 
 
 3 
 
 <2 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 d 
 
 
 
 
 2 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 This diagram shows the modulations of the voice in 
 the correct reading of the following extract from Os- 
 sian's Address to the Sun. 
 
 {a) 2 The moon herself is lost in heaven ; | (b) 3 but 
 thou art for ever the same, | (c) 4 rejoicing in the bright- 
 ness of thy course. | (d) l When the world is dark with 
 tempests, | (e) 2 when thunder rolls, and lightning flies, 
 | (/) 3 thou lookest in thy beauty from the clouds, | 
 (g) 4 and laughest at the storm. | (A) 2 But, to Ossian, 
 thou lookest in vain. 
 
 Staff a, in Diagram 13, is designed for the first sec 
 tion in the above extract ; staff b, for the second sec- 
 tion, and so on. The transition from c to d is abrupt • 
 also that from g to A, The pitch-note of staff a is 
 identical with that of staff e and that of staff h, and 
 corresponds to the pitch-note of modulation. 
 
 In that part of this work which consists of Exer- 
 cises in Reading and Declamation, the modulations 
 of the voice are indicated by small numerals prefixed 
 
68 ELOCUTION. 
 
 to the words where the transitions should take place 
 These numerals are 1, 2, 3, 4, and represent, respec- 
 tively, the first, second, third, and fourth line of the 
 staff of modulation. This is shown in the preceding ex- 
 tract from Ossian's Address to the Sun. No. 2 is pre- 
 fixed to the first section, to show that this section is to 
 be read in the pitch-note of modulation ; No. 3 is pre- 
 fixed to the second, section, to show that this section 
 should be read in the third degree of the staff of modu- 
 lation : No. 4 is prefixed to the third section, to show 
 that this section should be read in the fourth degree 
 of the staff of modulation ; No. 1 is prefixed to the 
 fourth section, to show that this section should be 
 read in the first degree of the staff of modulation ; and 
 so on. (See the Extract, and Diag. 13.) 
 
 Some public speakers, who are ignorant of the principles of Elo- 
 cution, but who, nevertheless, are considered by the vulgar as 
 great orators, modulate their voices in the most erratic and hyper- 
 bolical manner. I once heard a clergyman pronounce the follow- 
 ing sentence in the way which I shall describe : 
 
 " While God's omniscient eye passes from seat to seat, | and 
 ranges throughout the house, j he beholds what is passing in every 
 heart." 
 
 The first section, while God's omniscient eye passes from seat 
 to seat, he pronounced in the first degree above the lowest note of 
 his voice ; the second section, and ranges throughout the house, he 
 uttered with great force, in the highest note of his natural voice; 
 the third section, he beholds what is passing in every heart, he 
 pronounced with a mixture of vocality and aspiration, in the lowest 
 note of his voice. Such wild and extravagant transitions, though 
 they may astonish the ignorant, " cannot but make the judicious 
 grieve." The manner in which the speaker pronounced the first 
 and third section in the above sentence, is good ; and had he pro- 
 nounced the second section in the same pitch and force with the 
 first, his elocution would have been faultless. 
 
 There are other public speakers who never modulate their voices, 
 however necessary it may be to give proper expression to their sen- 
 timents; and, what is worse, they generally pitch their voices a 
 third, a fifth, or an octave too high. I once listened to an excellent 
 discourse, from a very learned man, which, however, was nearly 
 lost upon the audience from the disgusting manner in which it was 
 delivered. The lecturer pitched his voice an octave too high, and 
 
FORCE, 
 
 59 
 
 spoke an hour and a half, without any variation in pitch, force, or 
 time; and, what rendered his delivery still more offensive, every 
 syllable was marred with an intolerable drawling. Such elocution 
 is discreditable to any man who speaks in public, and ought not to 
 be tolerated by an educated community. 
 
 SECTION III. 
 
 FORCE. 
 
 ORCE is the degree of the loud- 
 ness of sounds. It is also the 
 degree of exertion with which 
 sounds are made. 
 
 A lax division of force is into 
 loud and soft : those sounds are 
 called loud, which are made 
 with greater effort than the or- 
 dinary tones of conversation ; and those are called soft, 
 which are made with less effort. 
 
 Some use the terms high and low, as synonymous with loud and 
 soft. But this is an improper application of these words. High 
 and low regard the acuteness and gravity of sounds only, and not 
 their force : a sound may be high and soft, as well as high and loud — 
 a sound may also be low and loud, as well as low and soft. 
 
 For convenience, force is divided into nine degrees. 
 These degrees are expressed by the following abbre« 
 via t ions : 
 
 PPP (pianissimo), .. as soft as possible. 
 
 pp (piu piano), more soft, very soft. 
 
 p (piano), soft. 
 
 mp (mezzo piano), . . middling soft, rather soft. 
 
 m (mezzo), half, middle, mean. 
 
 mf (mezzo forte), . . middling loud, rather loud. 
 
 / (forte), loud. 
 
 ff (piii forte), more loud, very loud. 
 
 (ff (fortissimo), ... as loud as possible. 
 
60 
 
 ELOCUTION 
 
 The nine degrees of force are represented by Diag. 
 14. The upper line of the diagram contains notes of 
 song ; the lower one, notes of speech. 
 
 
 FORCE, 
 
 or stress. {Diag. 14.) 
 
 1 
 ppp 
 
 2 
 
 3 
 
 V 
 
 (ff A 
 
 4 
 
 5 
 
 6 
 mf 
 
 7 
 f 
 
 8 
 // 
 
 4 - 
 
 9 
 
 /// 
 
 4*~ 
 
 -4 V 
 
 ■& '<&^ 
 
 • *S 
 
 • •< 
 
 v tr w xtt 
 
 w-^ 
 
 1 ^ 
 
 m^ 
 
 Force may be considered in reference to its applica- 
 tion to sentences and paragraphs, as well as in refe- 
 rence to its application to syllables. The application 
 of force to sentences may be varied in the following 
 manner : 
 
 1. A sentence may be pronounced with uniform 
 force. 
 
 2. A sentence may be pronounced with a gradual 
 diminution of force. 
 
 3. A sentence may be pronounced with a gradual 
 increase of force. 
 
 4. The first part of a sentence may be pronounced 
 with a gradual increase of force, and the second part, 
 with a gradual diminution of force. 
 
 5. The first part of a sentence may be pronounced 
 with a gradual diminution of force, and the second part, 
 with a gradual increase of force. 
 
 Force, however, is generally applied to sentences in 
 a more irregular manner. It should always be varied 
 according to the varying demands of sentiment. 
 
 Force, applied to a note, or syllable, is denominated 
 stress. 
 
 Radical stress is the application of force at the be- 
 ginning of a note, or syllable ; it corresponds to the 
 diminuendo, in music. 
 
 Median stress is the application of force at the middle 
 of a note, or syllable ; it corresponds to the swell, or 
 crescendo et diminuendo, in music. 
 
FORCE. 
 
 61 
 
 Final stress is the application of force at the end of 
 a note, or syllable ; it corresponds to the crescendo, or 
 ratner, rinforzando,* in music. 
 
 Explosive stress is the abrupt application of force to 
 a note, or syllable; it corresponds to the forzando, in 
 music.f 
 
 Diagram 15. 
 
 Radical Stress. 
 
 Median Stress. 
 
 Final Stress. 
 
 d? 
 
 a. 
 
 d? 
 
 d? 
 
 Tremour is iterated stress on a note, or syllable. 
 Examples of the tremour are given in the following 
 diagram : 
 
 (Diag. 16.) 
 
 d ? it. 
 
 The tremour, in all its forms, may be illustrated on 
 the violin by sounding the notes with a vibratory mo- 
 tion of the bow. 
 
 Great attention should be paid to the subject of 
 force, as much of what is called expression, depends on 
 some modification of this attribute of the voice. In- 
 
 * Rinforzando is a sudden increase of sound from softness to 
 loudness. 
 
 f Nathan, in his Essay on the History and Theory of Music. 
 has given diagrams representing sixty modifications of force appli- 
 cable to the voice of song - . 
 
62 ELOCUTION. 
 
 deed, force may be considered the light and shade or 
 elocution. 
 
 " Mr. Alison observes, that loud sounds are connected with ideas 
 of power and danger; and that many objects in nature, which have 
 such qualities, are distinguished by such sounds. On the contrary, 
 soft sounds are connected with ideas of gentleness and delicacy. 
 The contrasts produced by the different degrees of force with which 
 sounds are uttered, form the most prominent effects of musical ex- 
 pression. The rushing of the fortissimo brings with it dread and 
 alarm ; but in the pianissimo, the chiaroscuro* of the art, we feel 
 the opposite sensation. The indistinctness of sounds apparently 
 removes them to a distance — like the faint touches in painting, 
 they seem to retire from us. Upon this principle, the ventriloquist 
 deceives the ear, by directing the attention to a point from which 
 the voice may be supposed to proceed ; and effects the deception by 
 reducing it to the exact degree of softness that it would seem to 
 possess had it really proceeded from the spot." 
 
 CRESCENDO AND DIMINUENDO. 
 
 " What is more alarming than the gradual increase of a mighty 
 sound, when it pours upon the ear from a distance; — whether it 
 proceeds from the roar of a multitude, or the raging of a storm, the 
 auditory sense is overwhelmed, and the mind is filled with imagi- 
 nary danger ! When the increasing force accumulates to excessive 
 loudness, the vibrations become too great for the soul to bear. 
 There is also a sublimity in the gradual decrease of sounds. 
 
 " It is equally sublime to listen to sounds when they retire from 
 us. Handel has aimed at this poetic effect in the ' Messiah,'' when 
 he pictures the ascent of the heavenly host, giving an idea of theii 
 distance and flight. 
 
 "There is no accomplishment in the art of singing more fascinat- 
 ing than the swelling and dying rfway of the voice; — when used 
 with taste and judgment, it never fails to delight us. The perform- 
 ance of the '■Miserere,'' in the Sixtine Chapel, in Rome, so often 
 described by travellers, owes its shadowy effect to this approaching 
 and retiring of the sounds. Farinelli moved his audience to a state 
 of ecstasy by the manner in which he commenced his famous song 
 ' Son qual nave,'' ' the first note of which was taken with such deli- 
 cacy, swelled by minute degrees to such an amazing volume, and 
 afterwards diminished in the same manner to a mere point, that it 
 was applauded for five minutes.' Beethoven is the only composer 
 who has introduced this effect into choral music: we find it applied 
 at the termination of some of the choruses in his posthumous Mass; 
 — here the voices alone pour upon the ear with an effect like the 
 swelling and dying away of the storm. 
 
 Chiaroscuro (Italian), the light of a shsde of a picture. 
 
TIME. 
 
 <33 
 
 FORZANDO. 
 
 " Explosive force forms a strong feature in the character of mo- 
 dern music ; we never find it expressed in any author before the 
 time of Haydn. It may be described as a forcible expression of 
 sound which is no sooner uttered than it drops into the utmost de- 
 gree of softness. It has its origin in the ebullition of our passions. 
 We hear it in the expressions of joy, rage, despair, &c. Indeed 
 it is natural to persons under any violent emotion. It properly 
 belongs to the sublime, although it may be so burlesqued as to as- 
 sume a ridiculous character. Like all other forcible expressions, 
 its meaning will depend upon the situation and manner in which it 
 is used."* 
 
 SECTION IV. 
 TIME. 
 
 I M E is the measure of sounds in 
 regard to their duration. 
 
 Time, in song, and instrumental 
 music, is divided into equal mea- 
 sures by rhythmical pulsation — in 
 other words, by a periodical return 
 aw of similar accents.f In graphic 
 music, these measures are rendered conspicuous to the 
 eye by vertical bars, as in the following line of poetry : 
 | Hail to the | chief who in | triumph ad- | vances. J 
 
 In speech there is also a return of similar accents, 
 but they do not always occur at regular intervals of 
 
 * Gardiner's Music of Nature. 
 
 f It is rhythmical pulsation which enables a band of musicians 
 to perform in concert. It is this also which enables a company of 
 soldiers to march synchronously, and which governs the movements 
 of the feet in daneing. 
 
64 
 
 ELOCUTION 
 
 time. Hence the rhythm of speech, like its melody, is 
 more or less irregular. 
 
 The time of a note, or syllable, is called quantity. 
 The time of a rest is also called quantity ; because 
 rests, as well as notes, are a constituent of rhythm 
 Hence the characters used for the expression of quan- 
 tity, are either of sound or silence. The former are 
 called notes ; the latter, rests. These characters, and 
 their relative lengths, are as follows : 
 
 Semibreve 
 
 Notes. 
 
 , . o = 4 Semibreve Rest, 
 
 Rests. 
 
 Minim . . 
 Crotchet 
 Quaver . 
 
 Semiquaver 
 
 Demi-Semiquaver. \* 
 
 Minim Rest -— ■ 
 
 Crotchet Rest j* 
 
 Quaver Rest *i 
 
 Semiquaver Rest 5 
 
 Demi-Semiquaver Rest *i 
 
 = 2 
 
 = 1 
 
 Hence, a semibreve is equal to two minims; equal to 
 four crotchets ; equal to eight quavers, &c. 
 
 A dot following a note, or rest, increases its length 
 one-half — in other words, increases its length in the 
 ratio of 2 to 3. Thus, a dotted semibreve ( o* ) is 
 equal to a semibreve and a minim ( a P), or to three 
 minims (ppp); a dotted minim - (P*), to a minim and 
 a crotchet (ff), or to three crotchets (ff?) ; and 
 so on. 
 
 There are two general modes of time — common and 
 triple. In common time each measure is divisible by 
 2 : in triple time each measure is divisible by 3. 
 
 There are several varieties of each of these modes 
 of time. When a piece is in common time, and each 
 measure contains two quavers, or their equivalent, the 
 
TIME. 65 
 
 figures | are prefixed to the words, or the music ; when 
 each measure contains two crotchets, the figures 4 are 
 prefixed ; and when each measure contains four crotch- 
 ets, a capital C, or the figures I are prefixed. When 
 a piece is in triple time, and each measure contains 
 three quavers, the figures | are prefixed to the words, 
 or the music; when each measure contains three crotch- 
 ets, the figures I are prefixed; and when each mea- 
 sure contains six quavers, the figures (j are prefixed to 
 the words, or the music. The upper figure, in each of 
 these cases, shows how many notes of a certain descrip- 
 tion there are in each measure ; and the lower figure, 
 how many of these notes are equal in value to a semi- 
 breve. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 Common Time; two Quavers in a Measure. 
 
 2>p»N|NN|S fell* 
 
 8» I I # «i or* I • 1 
 Oft has it been my lot to mark 
 
 m p ~ > I i ]*- I j N r 1 f* I 
 
 \ -1 \ m H \ m m I 1 I 
 A proud, con - ceited, talking spark. 
 
 Common Time ; two Crotchets in a Measure. 
 
 U U J I J Wm J I J. j" IJ J I j. 
 
 The curfew tolls — the knell of parting day 
 
 Triple time ; three Quavers in a Measure. 
 
 IT I X £ f\ X *X I X z.XT 1 f'jt 
 
 The rose had been wash'd, just wash'd in a shower. 
 
 MOVEMENT. 
 
 Movement is the velocitv with which a sentence i3 
 
 read or sung, or a strain of instrumental music is played. 
 
 The rate of movement should be such as the senti- 
 
66 ELOCUTION. 
 
 ment demands. Solemn discourse requires a slow 
 movement ; simple narrative, a medium rate of utter- 
 ance ; animated description, as well as all language 
 expressive of any sudden passion, as joy, anger, &c, a 
 movement more or less rapid, according to the inten- 
 sity of emotion. In the science of music, various terms 
 have been employed to denote the rate of movement, 
 the principal of which are the following : 
 
 Adagio, very slow ; the slowest time. 
 
 Largo, slow time. 
 
 Larghetto, . . . slow, but not so slow as largo. 
 Andante,. . . . medium time. 
 Andantino, . . a little quicker than andante. 
 Allegretto,. . . rather quick, but not so quick as allegro. 
 Allegro, .... quick time. 
 
 Presto, very quick. 
 
 Prestissimo . . as quick as possible. 
 
 Adagio, andante and allegro, are the three chief di- 
 visions of time ; the other terms mark the intermediate 
 degrees. 
 
 In addition to the foregoing terms, which mark the 
 movement, there are others, which indicate the style 
 of performance. Some of these are as follows : 
 
 Affetuoso, . . affectionate — a soft and delicate style of performance. 
 Brilldnte,. . shining, sparkling — a gay, showy style. 
 Furioso,. . . fierce, mad — a vehement style. 
 Spiritoso,. . spirited — a spirited style. 
 
 Sometimes these terms are used in connexion w 7 ith 
 those which express the rate of movement, thus : — 
 
 Allegro con spirito, quick with spirit — in a quick and spirited 
 manner. 
 
 The rate of movement is not definitely marked by 
 the terms Adagio, Largo, Larghetto, &c. ; it may, how- 
 ever, be designated with precision by means of the 
 
 METROTOME OF MAELZEL. 
 
 This instrument has a graduated pendulum, to which 
 is attached a sliding weight. The higher this w r eight 
 
TIME. 
 
 6? 
 
 is moved upon the pendulum, the 
 slower are its vibrations ; and the 
 contrary. When the weight cor- 
 responds to the number 50, the vi- 
 brations of the pendulum are the 
 slowest; when it corresponds to 
 160, they are the quickest. All 
 the numbers on the instrument 
 have reference to suninute of time. 
 Thus, when the weight is placed 
 at 50, fifty beats, or ticks, occur 
 in a minte ; when at 60, sixty beats 
 in a minute ; when at 100, one 
 hundred beats in a minute, &c. 
 The engraving in the margin represents the instrument 
 in action. 
 
 In reading, as a general rule, the time should be 
 marked on the metronome by whole measures — in 
 other words, each measure should correspond to one 
 tick of the instrument. 
 
 In music, it is most convenient to mark the time on 
 the metronome in adagios, by quavers ; in andantes, by 
 crotchets ; in allegros, by minims ; and in prestos, by 
 whole measures. 
 
 EXAMPLES OP THE SEVERAL MOVEMENTS. 
 
 In the following Examples, the words which indi- 
 cate the movement and the corresponding numbers on 
 the metronome, are both employed. 
 
 J. ! J. / 
 
 O when shall day 
 
 Jldagio. Metronome 60 
 
 i J.' 
 
 dawn 
 
 two beats in a measure. 
 
 the 
 
 0* \0 \ &» 
 
 night of the grave ! 
 
 5J 
 
 O 
 
 Largo. Metronome 56 — one beat in a measure. 
 
 j. r ! J:*:-? 
 
 I have pass'd 
 
 mis-er-a-ble 
 
 night. 
 
68 ELOCUTION. 
 
 Larghetto. Metronome GG — one beat in a measure. 
 
 sjm j j* i rr. >i j -, i j j* ai 
 
 thou that rollest a - bove, round as tne 
 
 j .* j* i «rr 
 
 shield of my fathers! 
 
 Andante. Metronome ?G — one beat in a measure. 
 
 5-T J* J» I J i J" ! J J I J. q -PI J 
 
 1 had a dream which was not all a dreacv 
 
 Andantino. Metronome 100 — one beat in a measure. 
 
 The tree of deepest root is found 
 
 5 M > jm J* gi r* & i r- 
 
 w i a. I « « I &• 9 I ©• « I «• 
 Least willing still to quit the ground. 
 
 Allegretto. Metronome 112 — one beat in a measure. 
 
 Shivering in thy playful spray. 
 
 • Note. — The figure 3 over the three quavers which compose the first measure, 
 lignifies that they are to be pronounced in the time of two. 
 
 Allegro con spirito. Metronome 104 — one beat in a measure. 
 
 i r\ j- j- r\ r j* /• i rrr\ jrq 
 
 And darkness and doubt are now flying a - way. 
 
 Animato. Metronome 100 — one beat in a measure. 
 
 i j £ js i J -r i jr jr i j q 
 
 Sylph of the blue and beaming eye ! 
 
 & l ©. &» ©• c I J J I © ! 
 
 The muses' fondest wreaths are thine. 
 
PART II. 
 
 GESTURE. 
 
 ESTURE is the various pos- 
 tures and motions employed in 
 vocal delivery : as the postures and 
 motions of the head, face, shoul- 
 ders, trunk, arms, hands, fingers, 
 lower limbs, and the feet. 
 
 Graceful and appropriate ges- 
 ture renders vocal delivery far more pleasing and effec- 
 tive. Hence its cultivation is of primary importance 
 to those who are ambitious of accomplishment in Elo- 
 cution. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 POSTURES OF THE BODY. 
 
 The postures of the body, with respect to vocal 
 delivery, may be divided into favourable and unfavour- 
 able ; and, the better to suit my purpose in giving their 
 illustration, I shall first treat of the unfavourable. 
 
 The most unfavourable posture is the horizontal. If 
 a reader or a speaker should lie prone, or supine, he 
 would not be likely to deliver a discourse with energy 
 and effect. I have never known an orator to deliver 
 a discourse in the horizontal posture ; but I have known 
 individuals to speak in public in postures almost as in- 
 appropriate. 
 
 As impressions communicated through the medium 
 of the eye, are the most lasting, two series of figures are 
 
 (69) 
 
70 
 
 ELOCUTION. 
 
 here introduced, the former of which are unfavourable, 
 and the latter favourable, to vocal delivery. 
 
 POSTURES UNFAVOURABLE TO VOCAL DELIVERY. 
 
GESTURE. 71 
 
 POSTURES FAVOURABLE TO VOCAL DELIVERY. 
 
 DEMONSTRATING ON THE BLACK-BOARD. 
 
 ■Hi 
 
 Absurd as are the unfavourable postures on page 70, 
 f have known readers to adopt not only all these, but 
 others equally inappropriate and ridiculous. This is 
 too much the case, particularly in seminaries for young 
 
72 ELOCUTION. 
 
 gentlemen, in a number of which it has fallen torn* 
 lot to give instruction in Elocution. 
 
 The human mind is so constituted, that, in its edu- 
 cation, order becomes almost indispensable. Hence, 
 any thing that interrupts methodical instruction, is a 
 serious obstacle to the growth of intellect. Nor is 
 order more necessary than perseverance ; consequently 
 all postures of the body which are calculated for re 
 pose, should be avoided by the student in elocution 
 And as grace and dignity are of primary importance 
 in vOcal delivery, all postures which are inconsistent 
 with these attributes should also be avoided. 
 
 The erect posture of the body is the best for vocal 
 delivery ; the trunk and limbs should be braced in pro- 
 portion to the degree of energy required by the senti- 
 ments to be delivered. The right foot should be from 
 two to four inches in advance of the left, and the toes 
 turned a little outwards ; meanwhile the body should 
 be principally sustained by the left foot. 
 
 The next best is the erect sitting posture, in which 
 the shoulders do not rest against the back of the seat, 
 and in which the body is retained in its proper posi- 
 tion by muscular action. (See Ornamental Letter, 
 page 11 and 16.) 
 
 The next best is the erect sitting posture in which 
 the shoulders rest against the back of the seat. 
 
 These are the only postures which are at all favour- 
 able to vocal delivery. 
 
 MANNER OF HOLDING THE BOOK. 
 
 The book should be held in the left hand, from six 
 to eight inches from the body, and as high as the centre 
 of the breast, so as to bring the face nearly perpendi- 
 cular. It should not, however, be held so high as to 
 prevent the audience from having a view of the reader's 
 mouth, as his voice would thereby be more or less ob- 
 structed. The fingers of the right hand may take hold 
 of the margin of the book lightly (see Fig. 10, and Orna- 
 
GESTURE. 73 
 
 mental Letter, page 16), so as to be ready to turn over the 
 leaves, as occasion may require ; or they may be placed 
 upon the page, just below the line the reader is pronounc- 
 ing, to aid him in keeping his place ; or, particularly 
 if the reader is pronouncing an original composition, 
 the right hand may be employed to illustrate and en- 
 force the sentiments by appropriate gesticulation. (See 
 Fig. 11.) If the reader be a lady, the right hand may 
 support the left arm. (See Fig. 12.) I do not, how- 
 ever, advise ladies to adopt this posture exclusively, 
 but deem it not ungraceful for them. 
 
 The eyes should occasionally be directed from the 
 words of the discourse to the audience. (See Fig. 11.) 
 
 In demonstrating on the black-board, the face, and 
 not the back, should be turned to the audience. (See 
 Fig. 13 and 14.) 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 NOTATION OF GESTURE. 
 
 The want of a language for expressing the different 
 modifications of gesture with brevity and perspicuity, 
 is the principal cause of the general neglect with which 
 the cultivation of this art has hitherto been treated. 
 For this desideratum the world is indebted to the Rev. 
 Gilbert Austin, of London. In 1806, this distinguished 
 elocutionist published a quarto volume of six hundred 
 pages ; and from that work I have taken the system 
 of notation of which the following is a specimen : 
 
 When the right arm is elevated backwards, and the 
 left extended forwards, in a horizontal direction, he 
 calls the posture of the former elevated backwards, and 
 notes it eb ; and the posture of the latter, horizontal 
 forwards, and notes it hf Now the abbreviations eb 
 and hf are placed over any word which requires these 
 postures of the arms, thus : — 
 
T4 ELOCUTION. 
 
 eb — hf 
 
 Jehovah's arm 
 
 Snatch'd from the waves, and brings to me my son !* 
 
 Douglas, Act 111 
 
 For an illustration of these gestures, the reader is 
 referred to the ornamental letter on page 69. 
 
 The original idea of this system of notation, says Mr. 
 Austin, was suggested by the labour of teaching decla- 
 mation in the usual manner. During this labour, which 
 for many years constituted a part of his duty in his 
 grammar-school, the author having often found that he 
 forgot, on a following day, his own mode of instructing 
 on a former, wished to be able to invent some perma- 
 nent marks, in order to establish more uniformity in 
 his instructions, for the ease both of himself and of his 
 pupils. The mode of instruction is not so liable to 
 change, with respect to the expression of the voice, and 
 countenance, for this is always pointed out by the sen- 
 timent. But the great difficulty lies in ascertaining 
 and marking the suitable gesture ; and for these ob- 
 vious reasons ; because a language of gesture was want- 
 ing, and because gesture may be infinitely varied, and 
 yet, perhaps, be equally just. To leave the pupil to 
 choose for himself would but distract him, and, instead 
 of giving him freedom and grace, would deprive him 
 of both. On his commencement as a public speaker 
 (which cannot be too early), it is necessary to teach 
 him every thing, and to regulate, by rules, every pos- 
 sible circumstance in his delivery ; his articulation, 
 accent, emphasis, pauses, &c, and along with all, his 
 gesture. After sufficient instruction and practice, he 
 will regulate his own manner, according to the sugges- 
 tions of his judgment and taste. 
 
 Among the higher objects of this system of notation, 
 may be reckoned its uses as a record, whence the his- 
 
 * Although an explanation of the gestures on Jehovah's arm, in 
 the above sentence, is sufficient to answer my present purpose, it 
 may not be improper to inform the reader that another gesture is 
 required on the word son. 
 
GESTURE. 75 
 
 torical painter may derive the materials of truth, and 
 whence the orator and the elocutionist may not only 
 obtain the instructions of the great men who have pre- 
 ceded them in the same career, but by which also they 
 may secure, unalterably, their own improvements for 
 the advancement of their art, and for the benefit of 
 posterity. A scene of Shakspeare, or a passage of Mil- 
 ton, so noted, after the manner of a great master of 
 recitation, or an oration so noted as delivered by an 
 admired speaker, would prove an enduring study of 
 truth and nature combined with imagination. And the 
 aspiring orator would not be obliged, as at present, to 
 invent for himself an entire system of action. He might 
 derive light from the burning lamps of the dead, and 
 proceed at once, by their guidance, towards the highest 
 honours of his profession. 
 
 Had the ancients possessed the art of notating their 
 delivery, such was the unwearied diligence of their 
 great orators, Demosthenes and Cicero, that we should, 
 most probably, at this day, be in possession of their 
 manner of delivery, as well as the matter of their ora- 
 tions ; and not be limited to conjecture relative to a 
 single sentence of these eminent speakers, on the great 
 occasions which called forth their powers. 
 
76 ELOCUTION. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 POSITION OF THE FEET AND LOWER LIMBS. 
 
 The parts of the human figure which are brought 
 into action, in gesture, cannot, in truth, be considered 
 separate ; for every muscle, over which men can exer- 
 cise voluntary action, contributes, in some measure, to 
 the perfection of gesture. For, convenience, how T ever, 
 we may enumerate and class the most distinguished 
 parts of the body, which effect the principal gestures. 
 These are : 
 
 1. The Head. 5. The Hands and Fingers. 
 
 2. The Shoulders. 6. The Low r ER Limbs and 
 
 3. The Trunk. Knees. 
 
 4. The Arms. 7. The Feet. 
 
 I shall begin, as it were, with the foundation of the 
 building, and shall first consider the positions and 
 motions of the feet and lower limbs ; since without the 
 stability and ease of these, neither grace nor dignity 
 can consist in the standing figure. 
 
 As the object of the orator is to persuade, and as 
 prejudice against his person or manners may greatly 
 impede him, he must recommend himself by every at- 
 tention to his external deportment which may be 
 deemed correct and proper ; and guard against every 
 species of inelegance that may prove disadvantageous. 
 He must, therefore, even in his posture as he stands, 
 prefer manly dignity and grace to awkward rusticity 
 and rude strength. Rude strength may suit him who 
 wishes to terrify, or to insult ; but this is rarely the 
 purpose of a public speaker. Grace and decorum win 
 favour; and this is the general object. Rude strength 
 stands indeed with stability, but. without grace. 
 
 The gracefulness of motion in the human form, or 
 perhaps in any other, consists in the facility and secu- 
 
GESTURE. 77 
 
 nty with which it is executed. And the grace of any 
 postures (except such as are manifestly designed for 
 repose), consists in the apparent facility with which 
 they can be varied. Hence, in the standing figure, the 
 posture is graceful when the weight of the body is 
 principally supported by one limb, whilst the other is 
 so placed as to be ready to relieve it promptly, and 
 without effort. And as the limbs are formed for a 
 mutual share of labour and of honour, so their alterna- 
 tion in posture, and in motion, is agreeable and grace- 
 ful. 
 
 The body must then be supported, if grace be con- 
 sulted, on either limb, like Apollo, Antinous, and other 
 beautiful and well-executed statues. 
 
 The positions of the feet are expressed by the nota- 
 tion annexed, which is to be written under the word 
 where the speaker is to assume such position. They 
 are the follow in 2 : 
 
 First Position of the Right Foot, noted R. 1. (See Fig. 15) 
 
 The upper part of the figure represents the eleva- 
 tion of the position ; the lower, the plan. 
 
 In this position the right foot (advanced before the 
 eft about the breadth of the foot), 
 orms, with the left, an an^le of 
 about seventy-five degrees, as may 
 be seen in the plan. The lines 
 which form this angle, passing 
 through the length of each foot, 
 meet its vertex under the heel of 
 the left. The principal weight of 
 the body is sustained by the left 
 foot ; the right rests lightly, but in 
 its whole length, upon the floor. 
 This fact is shown in the plan by deeply shading the 
 left foot, and lightly shading the right. 
 6 
 
78 
 
 ELOCUTION 
 
 Second Position of the Right Foot >notedR. 2. 
 
 In this position, the right foot sliding forward about 
 half its length, receives the principal 
 weight of the body, the left being 
 raised, and turning as far inwards 
 towards the right ; the ball of the 
 left great toe only lightly touching 
 the floor, to keep the body from tot- 
 tering. In the plan, the right foot, 
 by which the weight of the body is 
 principally sustained, is all shaded, 
 while that part only of the left is 
 shaded which rests upon the floor. 
 
 The angle formed by lines drawn through the length 
 
 of the feet, in this position, is about ninety degrees. 
 In this position, when the feet are near together, the 
 
 entire sole of the left foot may lightly touch the floor ; 
 
 but when the feet are separated about their own length, 
 
 or more, the left should touch only near the great toe ; 
 
 the knee should be bent, and the heel turned inward, 
 
 as in Fig. 24 and 26. 
 
 First Position of th* Left Foot, noted L. 1. (See Fig. 17). 
 
 This position of the left foot is, in 
 all respects, analogous to the first 
 position of the right. The left foot 
 is advanced, and the body is princi- 
 pally supported by the right. The 
 shading of the plan is similar to that 
 in the first position of the right, and 
 for the same purposes. 
 
 The first position of the right foot 
 is the proper reading position, when 
 no gesture is employed ; but it should be occasionally 
 alternated with the first position of the left, for the 
 relief of the supporting muscles. 
 
GESTURE 
 
 79 
 
 Second Position of the Left Foot, noted L. 2. (See Fig. IS) 
 
 This position of the left foot is, in 
 all respects, analogous to the second i / / / 
 
 position of the right; and, in the 
 figure, it is represented in the same 
 manner, only reversed. 
 
 Figure 19 is a better plan of the 
 feet than that annexed to the eleva- 
 tions. In both positions the right 
 foot advances about half its own 
 length, as may be seen by comparing 
 it with the equidistant parallel lines. In the first posi- 
 tion of the right foot, the lines ff, ff passing through 
 the centre of the feet, s 
 
 make an angle of F- 
 
 about seventy-five de- 
 grees ; and in the se 
 
 cond position, the 
 
 lines SS make an an- - 
 
 gle of about ninety 
 degrees. These an- 
 gles are nearly bi- \ \ y*<\ : i 
 
 sected by the line \^^'^, : \f^'^P s 
 
 EE, which goes to ^^iP^ VV*-|!' 
 
 the eye of the person 
 addressed. In the 
 
 first position, the lines 
 
 c,f, q, x, b<* annexed 19 
 
 to the dotted prints of both the feet, mark the manner 
 in which they are shifted, without altering their own 
 angle, according as the gesture is directed. In the 
 plan the gesture is supposed to be directed forwards. 
 This figure may be supposed to be reversed for the first 
 and the secoml position of the left foot. 
 
 The first position of either foot, but particularly that 
 
 * These are notation letters, which will be explained in their 
 place. 
 
80 
 
 ELOCUTION. 
 
 of the right (because the more graceful), is the proper 
 reading position. It is also the proper rising position 
 of the orator. But should he stretch forth his arms 
 towards the audience, when he begins to speak, he 
 should take the second position. 
 
 Besides the four positions above mentioned, there are 
 two others, w T hich may be called positions in front. 
 The heels are placed nearly together, and the body is 
 supported, alternately, on the right and left foot, whilst 
 the toes of the other lightly touch the floor. The angle 
 formed by the feet, in these positions, is somewhat 
 greater than a right angle. In other respects they 
 are similar to the ordinary positions. The right po- 
 sition in front, noted R. F., is when the body is sup- 
 ported on the left foot. The left position in front, 
 noted L. F., is when the body is supported on the right 
 foot. The position in front is used when persons are 
 addressed alternately, on either side, whilst the audi- 
 tors are in front, as on the stage. It is not graceful, 
 and should not often be used ; it is too stiff and formal, 
 like the military figure, and presents the body with too 
 much uniformity and flatness.* 
 
 * This appears to be the position condemned by Qumtilian : 
 " The swing of those who balance their body to the right side and 
 left, upon the alternate feet, is very ungraceful." 
 
GESTURE. 81 
 
 Connected with these positions which express the 
 moderate state of the feet, are marked the same posi- 
 tions in the extended state. (Fig. 20.) These differ 
 from the moderate, principally, in the greater separa- 
 tion of the feet. The second position extended, en- 
 larges the angle a few degrees by drawing up the heel 
 of the retired foot. (See Fig. 46 and 89.) The first 
 extended position is made when a person retires in any 
 degree of alarm; and the second, when he advances 
 with boldness. (See Fig. 106 and 108.) An x is added 
 to the notation to express the extended position, thus ; 
 R. 1. x; R. 2. x; &c. 
 
 The contracted position may be easily understood by 
 supposing the heels to be brought close together. A c 
 is added to the notation, to express the contracted 
 position, thus: R. 1. c. 
 
 The attitude of the orator should not be like that of 
 the affected dancing-master, which is adapted to spring- 
 ing agility and conceited display. The orator should 
 adopt such attitudes and positions only as consist with 
 manly simplicity and grace. The toes should be turned, 
 not inwards, like those of the awkward rustic, but 
 moderately outwards ; and the limbs should be so dis- 
 posed as to support the body with ease, and to change 
 with facility. The sustaining foot should be planted 
 firmly; the leg braced, but not contracted; and the 
 knee straightened (contraction suits the spring neces- 
 sary for the dancer, and bent knees belong to feeble- 
 ness, or timidity) ; the other foot and limb should press 
 lightly, and be held relaxed, so as to be ready for im- 
 mediate change and action, except in very energetic 
 delivery, where both limbs should be braced. The 
 trunk of the body should be well balanced, and sus- 
 tained erect upon the supporting limb, except in such 
 instances as particularly require its inclination, as 
 veneration, supplication, &c. The orator should face 
 his audience. Whatever his position may be, he should 
 present himself, as Quintilian expresses, cequo pectore 
 (Fig. 13), and never in the fencer's attitude. 
 
82 ELOCUTION. 
 
 In changing the positions of the feet, the motions 
 should be made with the utmost simplicity, and free 
 from the parade and SAveep of dancing. All changes, 
 except where particular energy requires the speaker to 
 stamp, start back, or advance with marked decision, 
 should be made almost imperceptibly. The changes 
 should not be too frequent : frequent change gives the 
 idea of anxiety and instability, which are unfavourable 
 to an orator. 
 
 The several acts resulting from the changes in the 
 positions of the feet, are, advancing (noted a) ; re- 
 tiring (r) ; traversing (tr.) ; starting (s. or st.) ; stamp- 
 ing {sp.),&LC. 
 
 If more steps than one are to be expressed (as in the 
 business of the theatre) the number may be introduced 
 in a parenthesis, after the letter marking the step, and 
 then the position follows which finishes the movement ; 
 thus, a (2) R. 2, means, advance two steps to the se- 
 cond position of the right foot. In private declama- 
 tions, or recitations on a platform, or rostrum, these 
 figures are not necessary, as a single step, in advancing 
 or retiring, is sufficient.* 
 
 Changes of position, or steps, are considered to be 
 made only by the foot on which the body is not sup- 
 ported, for that alone is free. Should it be required to 
 move the foot which supports the body (suppose the 
 left, in the first position of the right, Fig. 15), two mo- 
 
 * I have frequently seen college students take three steps to the 
 right, then three to the left, then three again to the right, and so 
 on, till they had changed their position fifteen times during the de- 
 livery of a discourse which did not occupy them more than ten 
 minutes. And I have known a clergyman to traverse the whole 
 length of his pulpit twenty-three times during the delivery of a ser- 
 mon. Such erratic movements in a public speaker are undigni- 
 fied : they betray a want of judgment, and are exceedingly annoy- 
 ing to an audience. An orator should "keep in his place:" he 
 should perform all the movements of his feet within the limits of 
 thirty-six inches square, and not be continually running about the 
 room ad if labouring under the effects of nitrous oxide. 
 
GESTURE. 
 
 83 
 
 ^ 
 
 xX.i 
 
 tions are necessary ; in the first the position must be 
 changed to R. 2. (Fig. 16), so as to throw the weight 
 of the body on the right foot, then the left may be 
 moved as required. 
 
 According to this principle, it will be found that 
 from each original &.&.% 
 
 position four steps 
 may be made. (See 
 Fig. 21 and 22.) 
 The plan of the 
 steps, in the origi- 
 nal position, is in 
 the centre, and 
 drawn larger ; the 
 plan of the steps, 
 made from that ori- 
 ginal position, is re- 
 presented smaller. 
 The line of motions 
 of the feet, is repre- 21 
 
 sented by a line of dots, nearly of the same form which 
 each foot should trace ; the line of the free, or first- 
 moving foot, is marked with a star. In the figures, it 
 will be observed, that from each position four steps 
 may be made — the speaker may advance, retire, tra- 
 verse, and cross. In 
 advancing and tra- 
 versing, each step 
 finishes on the second 
 position of the ad- 
 vancing foot ; and, 
 in retiring from the 
 first position, the step 
 finishes on the first 
 position of the con- 
 trary foot; but, in 
 retiring from the se- 
 cond position, it fin- 
 ishes on the first 
 
 a.L.2. 
 
 tr.Ki 
 
 K.2. 
 
 c Jl.x 
 
 l.R.l 
 
84 
 
 ELOCUTION 
 
 position of the same foot. In crossing from the first 
 position, the free foot passes before the other, and 
 finishes on the second position ; but, in crossing from 
 ♦he second position, it passes behind the planted foot, 
 and finishes on the first position. 
 
 The steps from the two positions of the left foot are 
 similar to those of the right, and do not require to be 
 explained by another figure. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE POSITIONS, MOTIONS, AND ELEVATIONS OF THE ARMS. 
 
 Fig. 23 represents a person standing with his arms 
 hanging unconstrained. Now, if from this position the 
 arm be raised as high as it can be, as in Fig. 24, the 
 extremity of the fingers will describe, in the vertical 
 direction, a semicircle, which, in the figure, is marked 
 
 at five points, 
 R, d, h, e, Z, at 
 intervals of for- 
 ty-five degrees. 
 If, in the trans- 
 verse direction, 
 the arm be ex- 
 tended across 
 the body, as far 
 as convenience 
 will permit, and 
 then swept hori- 
 zontally round, 
 and outwards, 
 the extremityof 
 the fingers will 
 describe a semi- 
 circle, which, in 
 Fig. 25, is also 
 marked at five points, c,/, q, x, b, at intervals of forty- 
 
GESTURE 
 
 85 
 
 five degrees.* Upon 
 these principles is 
 built the present sys 
 tern of gesture, which 
 is exemplified in the 
 following diagram : 
 
 Fig. 26 is a sphere, 
 consisting of the pri- 
 mary circle, Z e h d 
 R d h eZ, the right 
 circle, Z/R (crossing 
 the primary at right 
 angles), the two ob- 
 
 
 
 5^" 
 
 ^^N>\ 
 
 
 
 
 \\c\ 
 
 
 7*/ 
 
 -it 
 
 f 
 
 kfc: 
 
 
 \ \T 
 
 
 / 
 
 
 \ \ 
 
 / i 
 
 / 
 
 • 
 
 
 \ \ 
 
 I i 
 
 
 
 \ 
 
 I 
 
 
 
 \ 
 \ 
 
 s 
 I 
 
 
 
 sf 1 
 
 i ^ 
 
 i = 
 
 ^BC3 
 
 
 
 [ 
 
 
 
 f\\ 1 
 
 | 
 
 
 
 » \ \ ' 
 
 i 
 
 
 
 ■ N^S. / 
 
 , \ 
 
 
 
 1 Nl^ '' 
 
 V \ 
 
 
 
 
 \ 
 
 \ \ 
 
 
 
 A : 1 
 
 \ \ 
 
 . 
 
 
 J / / 
 
 A^ 
 
 
 1 ^ 
 
 
 S. \S 
 
 
 
 
 ^Sc- 
 
 
 
 
 26 
 
 T> 
 
 
 >^ 
 
 * The eye of the spectator is supposed to be above this figure. 
 
86 ELOCUTION. 
 
 lique circleSjZ&R^Z, and ZcRbZ (crossing the right 
 and primary circle at an angle of forty-five degrees), 
 the horizontal circle b h cfq h b (the plane of which 
 passes through the projecting point), and the two smaller 
 circles b e qfc e b, and bdcfqdb, parallel to it, 
 above and below, at the distance of forty-five degrees. 
 The human figure is so placed within this sphere, that 
 the internal central point between the shoulders, is the 
 centre of the sphere. The postures and motions of the 
 arms are referred to, and determined by, the points at 
 which, the circles intersect each other.* The circle 
 marked q, for the right arm, becomes c for the left, and 
 the contrary. According to this scheme, the postures 
 of the arms are determined, and noted as follows : 
 
 First, in the Vertical Direction. 
 
 When the arm hangs down, at rest, Fig. 23, it 
 is noted R. 
 
 When directed downwards, within forty-five 
 degrees of the nadir, Fig. 27 to 31, it is noted - d. 
 
 When directed towards the horizon, Fig. 32 to 36 h. 
 
 When elevated forty-five degrees above the ho- 
 rizon, Fig. 37 to 41 e. 
 
 When pointing to the zenith, Fig. 24 - - - - Z. 
 
 .Second, in the Transverse Direction. 
 
 When the arm is extended as far as convenient, 
 across the body, say forty-five degrees from the 
 right circle, Z/R, Fig. 27, 32, 37, it is noted - c. 
 
 When extended in the plane of the right circle, 
 or directly forward, Fig. 28, 33, 38 /. 
 
 When directed forty-five degrees obliquely from 
 this position, Fig. 29, 34, 39 q. 
 
 When in the plane of the primary circle, Fig. 
 30, 35, 40 x. 
 
 * In speaking of angles and elevations, determined by degrees, 
 mathematical precision is not intended, and is not necessary : it is 
 sufficient for the present purpose that the position described should 
 be nearly in the angle or direction mentioned. 
 
GESTURE. 37 
 
 When forty-five degrees backwards of this posi- 
 tion, Fig. 31, 36, 41 b. 
 
 From the combination of the three vertical and five 
 transverse positions (Fig. 24 and 25), exclusive of the 
 positions R and Z, fifteen primary positions of the arms 
 are formed. In the illustration of these primary posi- 
 tions of the arms, all the figures in the upper line (Fig. 
 27 to 31), direct the arm downwards, but to different 
 points in the transverse circle ; all the figures in the 
 second line (Fig. 32 to 36), direct the arm towards the 
 horizon ; and all those in the third (37 to 41), elevate it 
 towards the upper transverse circle. If they are taken 
 in the vertical direction, those in the first column (27 
 32, 37), point across; those in the second (28, 33, 38), 
 forwards ; those in the third (29, 34, 39), oblique ; those 
 in the fourth (30, 35, 40), extended ; those in the fifth 
 (31, 36, 41), backwards. 
 
 The Fifteen Primary Postures of the Arms more par' 
 ticularly noted. 
 
 Fig. First Line. Note** 
 
 27 directs the arm downwards across, - - - dc. 
 
 28 " " " downwards forwards, - - df. 
 
 29 " " " downwards oblique, - - - dq. 
 
 30 " " " downwards extended, - - dx. 
 
 31 " " " downwards backwards, - - db. 
 
 Second Line. 
 
 32 directs the arm horizontal across, - - - - he. 
 
 33 " " " horizontal forwards, - - - hf. 
 
 34 " " " horizontal oblique, - - - tiq. 
 
 35 " " " horizontal extended, - - hx. 
 3»? " " " horizontal backwards, - - hb. 
 
 Third Line. 
 
 37 directs the arm elevated across, - - - - et. 
 
 39 " " " elevated forwards, - - - ef. 
 
 39 " » « elevated oblique, - - - - eg. 
 
 40 « " " elevated extended, - - - ex. 
 
 41 " " « elevated backwards, - - - eb. 
 
ELOCUTION. 
 
GESTURE. 
 
 80 
 
 These are 
 the simple 
 primary pos- 
 tures of the 
 whole arm, 
 which, with 
 the latitude 
 allowed, will 
 be found suf- 
 ficient to re- 
 present most 
 of the ordi- 
 nary ges- 
 tures. Bythe 
 latitude al- 
 lowed, the 
 reader is to 
 understand 
 that deflex- 
 ion from the 
 true point in 
 reference to 
 which the 
 posture is 
 named: since 
 a near ap- 
 proach to the 
 proper point 
 is sufficient 
 to give the 
 posture the 
 name of that 
 point. 
 
 The collo 
 quial eleva- 
 tions of the 
 arm (Fig. 42, 
 43, 44), are 
 
90 
 
 ELOCUTION 
 
 less bold than the primary postures. The fore arm, in 
 the horizontal elevation, instead of being raised to the 
 
 lamer 
 
 height of the shoulder, points 
 about as high as the middle 
 of the breast; the hand, in 
 the elevated position, is not 
 raised above the eyes ; and 
 in the position downwards, 
 it is held but little below the 
 waist. 
 
 In delineating the primary 
 postures, the boldest and most 
 decided action has been cho- 
 sen, which is suited to the 
 epic style; because, in this 
 style, the different postures 
 gjgr are the most strongly discri- 
 minated. The colloquial 
 elevations are similar, but 
 In them the distinctive character is, that the 
 
GESTURE, 
 
 91 
 
 arm, at the elbow, is bent, and the upper arm held 
 closer to the side. 
 
 The degree of energy proceeding from the sentiment 
 of desire, or aversion, with which a passage is delivered, 
 influences much the character of the gesture, in the 
 same manner that it does the tones and expressions of 
 the voice ; the language still remaining unaltered. It 
 the passage to be delivered may properly be illustrated 
 by the arm in the posture horizontal extended (hx), the 
 degree of that extension should vary with the spirit of 
 
 the passage. If an object is 
 simply pointed to in the hori-* — 
 zon, the arm should be mode- 
 rately extended (Fig. 45), and 
 slightly bent at the shoulder, 
 the elbow, and the wrist. If 
 the object is highly interesting, 
 and supposed to be in the same 
 situation as if a general pointed 
 to those troops which he re- 
 quired to be instantly sustained, 
 the arm should be extended to 
 the utmost, the wrist thrown 
 up, and the fingers down, whilst 
 the whole body should be projected forwards 
 
92 
 
 ELOCUTION. 
 
 46.) The arm, in this posture, as in the last, is col- 
 sidered still to be horizontal extended, but in the ex~ 
 treme degree, and is marked with an additional x (hxx). 
 If the object in the same situation as before be sup- 
 posed something producing disappointment, or horror 
 the arm should be contracted, and the whole person 
 should recoil. (Fig. 47.) And this also is considered 
 horizontal extended ; horizontal, because the hand is 
 directed towards the horizon ; and extended, because 
 the arm continues in the same plane as in the former 
 instances. But the character of this gesture differs; 
 and, in order to express it by the notation letters, a c 
 is added, thus, hxc. This notation is read, horizontal 
 extended contracted. 
 
 There are other postures of the arm, w T hich require 
 u separate consideration. These postures are named 
 from the manner of holding the arm, or resting it upon 
 the body. They admit of considerable variety; but 
 the description of the following, will suffice to explain 
 the class to which they are to be referred. 
 
 Encumbered, or folded, noted en * (Fig. 48.) When 
 the arms are crossed, and enclose each other, the left 
 
 * With arras encumbered, thus. — Hamlet. 
 
GESTURE. 03 
 
 nand holding the upper right arm, and the right hand 
 passing under the upper left arm. 
 
 Kimbo, k. The posture into which the arm is thrown 
 by resting the hand upon the hip, as in Fig. 49. 
 
 Reposed, pd. When one fore arm rests upon the 
 other, as in Fig. 50. This posture is peculiar to ladies. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 POSTURES AND MOTIONS OF THE HANDS. 
 
 The Roman critics and orators attributed consider- 
 able importance to the manner of disposing the fingers, 
 in delivery, ascribing to each particular disposition of 
 them, a significancy, or suitableness for certain expres- 
 sions, of which we do not always see the force. Seve- 
 ral of these dispositions of the fingers are employed by 
 our speakers, but without attaching to them any par- 
 ticular significancy. Either they are natural gestures, 
 or they are imitations, of which the origin is not re- 
 membered, or regarded, as many of our apparently 
 original actions are. 
 
 The postures of the hand are determined by four 
 different circumstances : 
 
 1. By the disposition of the fingers. 
 
 2. By the manner of presenting the palm. 
 
 3. By the combined disposition of both hands. 
 
 4. By the part of the body on which they are occa- 
 sionally placed. 
 
 First Class of the Postures of the Hands, depending on 
 the Disposition of the Fingers. 
 
 The natural state, noted n., Fig. 51. The hand, 
 when unconstrained, in its natural, and relaxed state, 
 either hanging down at rest, or raised moderately up 
 has all the fingers a little bent inwards towards the 
 
 7 
 
94 
 
 ELOCUTION 
 
 palm ; the middle and third finger lightly touch ; the 
 fore-finger is separated from the middle finger, and less 
 bent, and the little finger separated from the third, and 
 more bent. The extremity of the thumb bends a little 
 outwards; and, in its general length and disposition, is 
 nearly parallel with the fore-finger. When the arm is 
 raised horizontal, the hand is held obliquely between 
 the postures inward and supine. Cresoilius recom- 
 mends the public speaker to adopt this posture of the 
 hand, and for this preference he adduces the authority 
 of Hippocrates and Galen. But it is not necessary that 
 a speaker should confine himself to any one posture of 
 the hand ; variety may often demand the contrary : if 
 however, he should prefer using only 
 one, this posture merits the preference. 
 
 Clinched, c, Fig. 52. The fingers, in this disposition, 
 are firmly closed, and press their extremities upon the 
 palm ; the thumb aids the pressure, and is lapped, par- 
 ticularly, over the middle finger. 
 
 Extended, xf* Fig. 53. The fingers, in this state, 
 whatever may be the general position of the hand, are 
 separated from each other with energy in proportion to 
 the excitation of the speaker. 
 
 Index, i, Fig. 54, 55, 56. Pointing w T ith the fore- 
 finger, and sometimes also with the middle finger ex- 
 tended, the other fingers turned inwards, and contract- 
 ed w 7 ith more or less force, according to the energy of 
 
 * The letter chosen for the notation of a particular gesture, is 
 not always the initial letter, because the names of many of the ges- 
 tures begin with the same letter. It becomes necessary, therefore, 
 to employ some remarkable letter in the word ; thus, x is used for 
 extended, and I for collected, which may be easily remembered. 
 Of the many names of gestures which begin with the same letter, 
 the gesture most used is marked by the initial letter. 
 
GESTURE. 
 
 95 
 
 the speaker. This gesture is used in reproach and 
 indication, from the last of which it has its name, indej*. 
 
 Collected, I, Fig. 57 and 58. When the ends of all 
 
 the fingers are , -*- > 
 
 gently inclined 
 towards, or touch 
 the end of the 
 thumb. 
 
 With the fin- 
 gers collected, as 
 in a, the hand is 
 brought near the 
 lips, or opposite 
 shoulder, then re- 
 moved in the contrary direction, with the fingers ex- 
 tended, as in b. 
 
 Holding, h, Fig. 59, 60, 61. The finger and thumb 
 
 are pressed together, either the fore 
 or middle finger, or both ; the other 
 fingers are contracted, more or less, 
 according to the degree of energy re- 
 quired by the sentiment. ei 
 
 Hollow, io, Fig. 62. When the palm is held nearly 
 
06 
 
 ELOCUTION 
 
 supine, and the fingers turn inwards, 
 without touching. 
 
 Thumb, m, Fig. 63 and 64. Point- 
 ing with the thumb, the fingers being 
 clasped down, and the thumb ex- 
 tended. 
 
 Grasping, g, Fig. 65. The fin- 
 gers and thumb seizing the garments, 
 or the hair. 
 That gesture," says Quintilian, " which urges on 
 
 the words, contract- 
 ing and opening the 
 I VW?^ f^=?lV v f!l ~ hand with alternate 
 
 yjj and rapid motion, is 
 rather admitted by 
 common usage, than according to art." (See Fig. GG.) 
 
 Second Class of the Postures of the Hands, depending 
 on the manner of presenting the Palm. 
 
 Prone, p, Fig. 67. The hand is prone when the 
 
 palm is turned 
 downwards. 
 
 Supine, s. The 
 
 hand is said to be 
 
 supine, when the palm is turned upwards, as in Fig. 68. 
 
 Inwards, n, Fig. 69. When the palm is turned to- 
 
 ^S ^ ^^~^*- N ^*s_ r - nr — wards the breast 
 
 £§E~^ nPSR^' ^~2 [BiB! an( i tne hand is 
 
 ^jS .>i|?|^ ^^^^i^Sfe held on the edge. 
 
 go ?n Outwards, o, 
 
 Fig. 70. When the palm is turned from the body, and 
 towards the object, the thumb down- 
 wards, the hand held on the edge. 
 
 Vertical, v, Fig. 71 . When the palm is 
 perpendicular to the horizon, the fingers 
 pointing upwards. 
 
 Forioards,f When the palm *s pre- 
 sented forwards, the arm hanging down, or placed in 
 one of the extended, or backward positions. 
 
GFSTURE. 97 
 
 Backwards, b. When the palm is turned back- 
 wards, the arm hanging down, or placed in one of the 
 extended, or backward positions. 
 
 Third Class of the Postures of the Hands, arising from 
 the combined disposition of both Hands. 
 
 Of this class a few only are noticed, and those are 
 Ihey which are most in use among public speakers; 
 others may be supplied as occasion may require. It is 
 found necessary to use two letters for the notation of 
 each of these postures. 
 
 Applied, ap, Fig. 72. When the palms are pressed 
 together, and the fingers and thumbs of each are mu- 
 tually laid against each other. 
 
 Clasped, Ip, Fig. 73. When all the fingers are in- 
 serted between each other, and the hands pressed 
 closely together. 
 
 Folded, Id, Fig. 74. When the fingers of the right 
 hand, at the second joint, are laid between the thumb 
 and fore-finger of the left, the right thumb crossing the 
 eft. 
 
38 
 
 ELOCUTION. 
 
 Crossed, cr, Fig. 75. When the left hand is placed 
 on the breast, and the right on the left, or the contrary. 
 
 Inclosed, in, Fig. 76. When the knuckles at the 
 middle joint of one hand, moderately bent, are received 
 within the palm of the other, the fingers of which stretcn 
 along the back of the inclosed hand nearly to the wrist, 
 the thumbs crossing, or rather, laid at length over each • 
 other. 
 
 Touching, tc, Fig. 77. When the points of the fin- 
 gers of each hand are brought lightly into contact. 
 
 Wringing, wr, Fig. 78. When both hands are first 
 clasped together, and elevated, then depressed, and 
 separated at the wrists, without disengaging the fin- 
 gers. 
 
 Enumerating, nu, Fig. 79. When the index finger 
 of the right hand is laid suc- 
 cessively upon the index, oi 
 the different fingers of the 
 left. If the number of divi- 
 sions be more than four, the 
 enumeration should begin 
 from the thumb. Sometimes 
 the finger and thumb oi the 
 right hand hold the finger of the left, which represents 
 the divisio i. 
 
 Fourth Class of the Postures of the Hands, arising from 
 the Part of the Body on which they are occasion' 
 ally placed. 
 
 The fourth class of the postures of the nands arises 
 from the part of the body on which they kre occasion- 
 
G E S T U R E . 
 
 99 
 
 ady placed. The notation letter by which these are 
 represented, is a capital ; and it occupies the place ir 
 
 the Systematic Ta- 
 ble (to be found in 
 another part of this 
 work), of those two 
 small letters which 
 represent the posi- 
 tion of the arm in 
 the vertical and 
 transverse direc- 
 tion. The parts of 
 the body and head 
 most remarkable, in 
 this respect, are, the 
 breast, noted B (Fig. 
 
 80): the eyes, E "(Fig. 81); the lips, L (Fig. 82) ; the 
 forehead, F (Fig. 83) ; the chin, C (Fig. 84)1 
 
 au 
 
 The Motions of the Arms and Hands, 
 
 In ascertaining the import of any posture of eitner 
 arm, or hand, it is important to consider the posture in 
 connexion with the action by which it is produced ; 
 
100 
 
 ELOCUTION. 
 
 for any posture of the arm, or hand, may sustain differ- 
 ent significant characters, because different actions give 
 the same posture an entirely different import. This 
 must be obvious to all who reflect that the effect of the 
 posture greatly depends upon the exact character of 
 the motion, which is produced partly by the direction 
 which the motion takes, partly by the force with which 
 it is commenced, and partly by the distance through 
 which it passes. 
 
 The motions of the hands and arms together, are, 
 therefore, considered ; first, as to their direction ; and, 
 secondly, as to their manner of moving. The energy 
 is not here taken into account. These motions are 
 noted by the fourth and fifth small letters, should so 
 many be necessary. 
 
 In the direction of the motion (Fig. 85), gestures are 
 considered as ascending, noted a ; descending, d; to 
 the right, r; to the left,/; forwards,/; backwards, 
 b ; revolving.* v. The stars, connected with the hand 
 by dots, show the various points from which the mo 
 tion of the gestures has commenced. 
 
GESTURE 
 
 101 
 
 As to the manner of motion, gesture may be consi- 
 dered as 
 
 Noting, noted n, Fig. 11, page 71. When the hano. 
 is first drawn back and raised, and then advanced, and, 
 with a gentle stroke, depressed. 
 
 Projecting, or pushing, p, Fig. 86. When the arm 
 is first retracted, and then thrust forward in the direc- 
 tion in which the hand points. 
 
 Waving, w, Fig. 87. When 
 the fingers are first pointed 
 downwards, and then, by a 
 smart motion of the elbow and 
 wrist, the hand is flung up- 
 ward in a vertical direction. 
 
 The flourish, fl, Fig. 88. A 
 circular movement above the 
 head. 
 
 The sweep, sw, Fig. 89. A 
 curved movement, descending 
 from the opposite shoulder, and 
 rising with velocity to the 
 utmost exient of the arm, or 
 the reverse : changing the position of the hand from 
 9* 
 
102 
 
 ELOCUTION. 
 
 supine to vertical, in the first case, and from vertical 
 to supine, in the latter. The sweep is sometimes doubled, 
 by returning the arm through the same arch.* 
 
 Beckoning, bk. When with the fore-finger, or the 
 whole hand, the palm being turned inwards, a motion 
 is made in the direction of the breast. 
 
 Repressing, rp. The reverse of the preceding ges- 
 ture, when the fore-finger, or the whole hand, the palm 
 turned outwards, makes a motion in opposition to the 
 person addressed. The motions, in these last two ges- 
 tures, are often repeated. 
 
 Striking, st. Fig. 90. When the whole fore-arm, and 
 the hand alon^ with it. descend from a higher elevation 
 rapidly, and with a degree of force like a stroke which 
 is arrested, when it has struck what it was aimed 
 
 Recoiling, re, Fig. 91. When after a stroke, as in 
 the former gesture, the arm and hand return to the 
 position whence they proceeded. 
 
 * The late John Kernble, says Mr. Austin, used the double sweep, 
 with nne effect, on these words: 
 
 T'.^e play *s the thing 
 Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king. — Hamlet. 
 
GESTURE. 103 
 
 Advancing, ad When the hand being first moved 
 downwards and backwards, in order to obtain greater 
 space for action, is then moved regularly forwards, and 
 raised as high as the horizontal position, a step being, 
 at the same time, made in advance, to aid the action. 
 
 Springing, sp. When the hand, having nearly ar- 
 rived at the intended limit of gesture, flies suddenly up 
 to it by a quick motion of the wrist, like the blade of a 
 pocket-knife, when it suddenly and decidedly snaps into 
 its proper situation by the recoil of the spring. 
 
 Throwing, th. When the arm, by the force of the 
 gesture, is thrown, as it were, in the direction of the 
 person addressed. 
 
 Clinching, cl. When the hand is suddenly clinched, 
 and the arm raised in a posture of threatening, or con- 
 tempt. 
 
 Collecting, 11. When the arm, from an extended 
 posture, sweeps inwards. 
 
 Shaking, sh. When a tremulous motion is made by 
 the arm and hand. 
 
 Pressing, pr. When the hand, already laid on some 
 part, the effort of pressing is marked by raising the 
 elbow, and contracting the fingers. 
 
 Retracting, rt. When the arm is withdrawn, pre- 
 paratory to projecting, or pushing, as may be imagined 
 in Fig. 47, if supposed to prepare to push towards the 
 star, and as in the dotted hand and arm of Fig. 91, or 
 in the right arm of Fig. 96 ; or, in order to avoid an 
 object either hateful or horrible, as in Fig. 95 and 105. 
 
 Rejecting, rj. Is the action of pushing the hand 
 vertically towards the object, and, at the same time, 
 averting the head, as in Fig. 97, for which Fig. 96 is 
 preparatory. 
 
 Rending, bn, is the gesture preparatory to striking. 
 It is represented by the uppermost dotted hand and 
 arm of Fig. 90, and by the strongly marked elevated 
 right arm of Fig. 91. 
 
 The gestures here given will suffice, as a specimen 
 
104 ELOCUTION. 
 
 of some of the most useful in this class ; others may be 
 named, and marked by proper notation, as occasion 
 may require. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE HEAD, THE EYES, THE SHOULDERS, AND THE BODY. 
 
 As the head gives the chief grace to the person, so 
 does it principally contribute to the expression of grace, 
 in delivery. 
 
 The head should be held in an erect and natural 
 posture ; for, when hung down, it expresses humility, 
 or diffidence ; when thrown back, arrogance ; and when 
 inclined to one side, languor or indifference. The 
 movements of the head should be suited to the charac- 
 ter of the delivery ; they should accord with the ges- 
 ture, and fall in with the action of the hands, and the 
 motions of the body. 
 
 The head is capable of many appropriate expres- 
 sions. Besides those nods which signify assent, or ap- 
 probation and rejection, there are motions of the head, 
 known, and common to all, which express modesty, 
 doubt, admiration and indignation. But to use the 
 gesture of the head alone, unaccompanied by any other 
 gesture, is considered faulty. It is also a fault to shake 
 or nod the head frequently, to toss it violently, or to 
 agitate the hair, by rolling it about. 
 
 The most usual motions and postures of the head, 
 are as follows. In the notation, the head and eyes 
 may, without confusion, be considered together. 
 
 Postures and Motions of 
 the Head. 
 
 Inclined, noted - - I 
 
 Erect, " - - E 
 
 Assenting, " - - As 
 
 Direction of the Eyes. 
 
 Forwards, noted - • F 
 Averted, " - - A 
 
 Downwards, " - - D 
 
GESTURE. 105 
 
 Denying, " - - Dn Upward, " - - U 
 
 Shaking, " - - Sh Around, " - - R 
 
 Tossing, " - - Ts Vacuity, or " 
 
 Aside, " - - S Vacancy,* " - - V 
 
 The motions of the trunk contribute much to the 
 effect in delivery. The gestures of the arms and hands, 
 therefore, should always be supported by the accom- 
 paniment of the body. Not by affected and ridiculous 
 contortions, but by the manly and free exertions of the 
 muscles of the body, the general consent of which is 
 indispensable to the production of graceful motion. 
 The raising up, or shrugging of the shoulders, in ordei 
 to express indifference, or contempt, is merely theatri- 
 cal, and should be sparingly used, even on the stage. 
 
 The postures of the trunk might also be enumerated, 
 and be subjected to the rules of notation ; but this would 
 be unnecessary, as they are in general sufficiently un- 
 derstood, being the accompaniment of the motions of 
 the head, the arms and the hands. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE STROKE AND TIME OF GESTURE. 
 
 The arm, the fore-arm, the hand, and the fingers, 
 form the grand instrument of gesture, or, as Cicero 
 calls it, " the weapon of the orator." The centre of 
 motion of this compound instrument, is the shoulder. 
 These parts do not move together in the manner of an 
 inflexible line ; but each separate joint often becomes 
 a new centre of motion for the portion between it and 
 the extremity. 
 
 In gesticulating, this complex instrument does not 
 continue long in one direct line, nor in any particulai 
 
 * Queen, Alas ! how is 't with you, 
 
 That you do bend 3 r our eye on vacancy, 
 
 And with the incorporeal air do hold discourse 1— Hamlet. 
 
106 ELOCUTION. 
 
 flexure, but changes every moment the angles formed 
 at the different joints, which adds grace and variety to 
 the motions. The farther any portion of this complex 
 line is from the centre of motion, the greater space does 
 it pass through. The least motion, therefore, is that 
 made by the upper arm, and the greatest, that made 
 by the hand : from this circumstance alone, the ges- 
 tures of the latter are conspicuous. In gesticulating, 
 the hand has not only the advantage of being placed at 
 the extremity of the line farthest from the centre of 
 motion ; but, by means of the joint at the wrist, it can 
 spring with increased velocity on approaching the point 
 to which its gesture is directed. This action of the 
 hand is termed the stroke of the gesture ; and it should 
 be marked by different degrees of force, according to 
 the energy of the sentiment. In high passion, it should 
 be distinguished by a strong percussion; and in the 
 more moderate state of the speaker's feelings, merely 
 by a turn of the hand, by a change of posture, or ele- 
 vation of the arm, or by a momentary arrest of the 
 motion of the gesture in its transitions. 
 
 The stroke of the gesture is analogous to the empha- 
 sis of the voice ; and they should both fall exactly on 
 the accented syllable of the emphatic word. In this 
 way the emphatic force of the voice, and the stroke of 
 the gesture, co-operate in presenting the idea in the 
 most lively manner, to the eye as well as to the ear. 
 
 There are other points of analogy between the voice 
 and gesture, which deserve consideration. In the sim- 
 ple and narrative parts of a discourse, there is little 
 effort or variety of expression, in the voice. Under 
 the same circumstances, the gesture, if any is used, 
 should be tame and simple ; but, in the more impas- 
 sioned parts, both should be equally exerted. The 
 gesture, also, in many instances, nearly imitates the 
 manner of the inflections of the voice. When the voice 
 rises, the gesture naturally ascends; and .when the 
 voice makes the falling inflection, or lowers its pitch, 
 
GESTURE 107 
 
 the gesture follows it by a corresponding descent ; and, 
 in the level and monotonous pronunciation of the voice, 
 the gesture seems to observe a similar limitation, by 
 moving rather in the horizontal direction, without much 
 varying its elevation. 
 
 Some writers say, that, " in calm discourse, the 
 words and the gestures should generally accompany 
 each other; but, in impassioned discourse, the feelings 
 of the speaker should first be manifested in the eyes ; 
 then, by the countenance ; next, by the gesture ; and, 
 lastly, by the words." This is not just. In all dis- 
 course, whether calm or impassioned, the words and 
 the gestures should accompany each other. As, in 
 beating time in music, the beat is made on the accented 
 part of the measure, so in speaking, the stroke of the 
 gesture should fall on the accented syllable of the em- 
 phatic word. The emotion which calls forth the word, 
 at the same moment, prompts the gesture. Hence, the 
 muscles of gesticulation should move synchronously 
 and harmoniously with those of the voice. When ges- 
 ture is not marked by the precision of the stroke, in 
 the proper places, it is very offensive. The arms, like 
 those of a person groping in the dark, seem to wander 
 about in quest of some uncertain object ; and the ac- 
 tion is of that faulty kind which is called sawing the 
 air. Even graceful motions, unmarked by the pre- 
 cision of the stroke of the gesture, as sometimes seen, 
 particularly among singers on the stage, lose much of 
 their force, and very soon cease to afford pleasure. 
 All the unmeaning motions of public speakers are at- 
 tended with the same ill effect as a mouthing and cant- 
 ting tone of declamation, which lays no emphasis with 
 just discrimination, but swells and falls with a vain 
 affectation of feeling, and with absolute deficiency both 
 m taste and judgment. 
 
.08 
 
 ELOCUTION. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE CLASSIFICATION OF GESTURE. 
 
 The arms, as well as the hands, may be employed, 
 in gesticulation, separately, or together, each using 
 similar, or dissimilar actions. Each arm may perforin 
 
 stg* similar gestures when 
 Mar the body of the speaker 
 is presented towards 
 the person addressed 
 precisely in front (Fig. 
 92); but when the 
 body is not so pre- 
 sented, the gestures 
 will not be similar 
 (Fig. 93) ; and, as such 
 posture and gestures 
 are not graceful, they 
 are not frequently 
 used. 
 
 The advancement of one hand before the other is 
 an indication of precedence, as is, also, in general, its 
 higher elevation. The advanced hand, therefore, is 
 said to perform the principal gesture. In general, trgj 
 elevation of the retired arm is a whole position lower 
 than that of the advanced arm ; and, though the ges- 
 ture of the retired hand occasionally resembles that of 
 the advanced hand, yet its action is performed with 
 less energy and authority. For these reasons, the ac- 
 tion of the retired hand is called the subordinate ges- 
 ture. 
 
 There is aclass of gestures called significant gestures :* 
 
 * As this word has long been applied to a certain class of ges- 
 tures, and as there is some difficulty in procuring a better, I have 
 followed my predecessors in its use. The objection to the word is 
 obvious — it conveys the idea that all the gestures which do not 
 
GESTURE. 109 
 
 the extending of the index-finger towards persons, or 
 things, points them out ; the laying of the hand on the 
 breast refers to the feelings of the speaker; the placing 
 of the finger on the lips signifies an injunction of si- 
 lence. &c. 
 
 But gestures, in general, are too vague to be com- 
 prehended under this description : they denote a sort 
 of general relation in the expressions — their power to 
 do this is derived from the time and manner of their 
 application, from the place in which they are used, and 
 from their various combinations. Some are used at 
 the beginning of a sentence, merely to indicate a com- 
 mencement in action, as well as speech; some are used 
 for description ; some, for explaining, extending, or 
 limiting; and some, for enforcing the predominant idea; 
 some, for keeping the audience in suspense, till the 
 more decisive gestures ; and some, for marking the ter- 
 mination of the sense, and the final result of the reason- 
 ing. These various gestures may be divided into five 
 classes : 
 
 1. Commencing gestures. 4. Suspending gestures. 
 
 2. Discriminating gestures. 5. Emphatic gestures. 
 .3. x\uxiliary gestures. 
 
 1. Commencing gestures are made simply by raising 
 the hand from rest; and that, in general, not higher 
 than the horizontal position. They are used at the 
 beginning, and at the divisions of a discourse. 
 
 2. Discriminating gestures comprehend all those ges- 
 tures which serve to indicate persons and objects, as 
 well as those which are used for explaining, extending, 
 limiting, or modifying the predominant idea, and those 
 which are employed in question and answer, when 
 made without vehemence. They are performed in the 
 intermediate degrees of the range of the gesture, with 
 
 fall into the class of which this is the distinctive name, are insigni* 
 Jicant, or unmeaning; a conclusion by no means correct. 
 
110 ELOCUTION. 
 
 model ate force, and at small intervals. In colloquial 
 intercourse they are frequently confined to the motions 
 of the head. 
 
 3. Auxiliary, or alternate gestures, serve to aid, or 
 enforce the gesture of the advanced hand. They are 
 performed as follows : after the advanced hand has 
 made its gesture on the emphatic word, instead of pass- 
 ing to another gesture, on the next emphatic word, it 
 remains in the attitude of the last stroke till the retired 
 hand is brought up in aid of it, either by a similar ges- 
 ture, or by a more decisive one. In this way, variety 
 and extraordinary energy are given, at once, to pas- 
 sages which admit of such gestures. Of course, these 
 gestures are used with great advantage in high passion; 
 they are also frequently employed in description, where 
 they are executed more tamely. 
 
 4. Suspending, or preparatory gestures, are so called 
 because they hold the audience in suspense, by the 
 elevation or contraction of the arm, preparatory to the 
 stroke which is to fall on the emphatic word. 
 
 5. Emphatic gestures mark, with force, words op- 
 posed to, or compared with, each other; and, more par- 
 ticularly, the word which expresses the predominant 
 idea. Their stroke is generally arrested on the hori- 
 zontal elevation. Sometimes, however, emphatic ges- 
 tures are directed to the highest point in their range ; 
 at other times, to the lowest. When they are directed 
 to a high point, they often serve as suspending, or pre 
 paratory gestures, to the next emphatic gesture ; and, 
 when made at the close of a sentence, they serve a; 
 terminating gestures ; because, when the last important 
 idea is marked, no other gesture should be added, to 
 weaken its effect ; the arm should then fall to rest. 
 
 As a sentence is an epitome of a complete composi- 
 tion, having a beginning, a middle, and a conclusion, 
 among single sentences illustrations of these different 
 gestures may be found. In the following sentence the 
 gestures for the righrhand, only? are noted. 
 
GESTURE. Ill 
 
 shf nef shfst — R* • 
 
 No man is wise at all times. 
 
 com. susp. emph. $ ter. 
 
 The first is a commencing gesture ; the second, a sus- 
 pending gesture ; the third, an emphatic gesture ; and, 
 as it is the last, it is a terminating gesture also; and 
 the arm falls to rest Should a deaf person observe 
 the gestures, as noted above, made by a speaker in a 
 public assembly, he would conclude that the orator 
 had performed what may be termed a regular period 
 of gesture, by the commencement, the suspension, and 
 the emphatic close of the action. Should the sentence 
 be rendered more complex by the introduction of other 
 members, discriminating gestures will be introduced. 
 
 shf — icf— i hf ra- 
 
 it is an old observation, but not, therefore, the less true, that 
 
 com. dis. dis. 
 
 shq nef shf st R 
 
 no man is wise at all times.f 
 
 dis. susp. emph. 8^ ter. 
 
 The beautiful reply of St. Paul to Agrippa, entering 
 as such, at once, into the subject abruptly, without 
 exordium, has no commencing gesture. 
 
 Bsef sp Bshfp q 
 
 I would to God, that not only thou, but also all that heal 
 emph. emph. dis. 
 
 x vcq 
 
 lay, 
 
 dis. dis. dis. emph. 
 
 Bnef Bshfsh R 
 
 except these bonds.:}; 
 
 susp. emph. $ ter. 
 
 * The notation letters, shf signify, the hand supine, the arm hori- 
 zontal forwards ; nef, the hand natural, the arm elevated forwards ; 
 shf st, the hand supine, the arm horizontal forwards striking ; R, 
 rest, the arm in its natural position, by the side. 
 
 f The letters, shf, signify, supine horizontal forwards; ief, index 
 elevated forwards; ihfn, index horizontal forwards noting; shq, 
 supine horizontal oblique; nef natural elevated forwards; shf st, 
 supine horizontal forwards striking ; R, rest. 
 
 \ Bsef sp, both hands supine, the arms elevated forwards spring- 
 ing ; Bshfp, both hands supine horizontal forwards pushing ; 9, ob- 
 
112 
 
 ELOCUTION. 
 
 The five classes of gestures, above described, may 
 be used in any part of an oration. They are, as it were, 
 the elements of gesture, which, by their combinations, 
 produce its whole power of language and expression. 
 These elements are the component parts of every style 
 of delivery, whether tame or vehement, argumentative 
 or diffuse, ardent or indifferent, cold or pathetic. 
 
 It has been observed that the principal gesture is performed by 
 the advanced hand, and the subordinate gesture by the retired hand. 
 The best modern speakers use either the right, or the left hand, in- 
 discriminately, for the principal gesture, as occasion may require. 
 As this practice is altogether at variance with the opinions and 
 rules of the ancient critics and rhetoricians, it may be proper to in- 
 quire how far we are justifiable in our departure from their great 
 authority. 
 
 "The left hand," says Quintilian, "can never, with propriety, 
 perform gesture alone ; but it frequently acts in support of the right 
 hand." The consideration of the dress of the 
 ancients, which differed so essentially from that 
 of the moderns, may be sufficient to account for 
 the difference between their customs and ours. 
 The form of the ancient dress obliged the speaker, 
 if not totally to disuse his left hand, at least to 
 restrain its action very considerably. (See Fig. 
 94.) The occasions on which the left hand may 
 perform the principal gesture, are the following : 
 1. When the persons addressed are on the left 
 side, the left hand naturally performs the prin- 
 cipal gesture, in order to avoid the awkward- 
 ness of gesticulating across the body. 2. The 
 necessary discrimination of objects opposed to 
 erch other, requires the left hand alternately to 
 perform the principal gesture. 3. The advan- 
 tage of variety. 4. The power of giving, not 
 only. variety, but force, by occasionally elevating the retired hand, 
 and bestowing upon it all the spirit and authority of the gesture. 
 
 But it is not only in the use of the left hand that modern speakers 
 differ from the ancients: they constantly violate another precept 
 enjoined by Quintilian and his followers, viz., that of speaking with 
 
 .ique position ; x, extended position ; veq, hands vertical, arms 
 elevated oblique; a, ascending; br, breast — the right hand is laid 
 on the breast; Bnef, both hands natural, the arms elevated for 
 wards; Bshf sh, both hands supine, arms horizontal forwards shak- 
 ing; R, rest, the hands fall to rest. 
 
GESTURE. 113 
 
 the corresponding- hand and foot advanced.* And yet, if the natural 
 emotions afford any just foundation for the manner of gesture, we 
 shall be inclined to give the preference to modern custom. Those 
 passions which incline us to advance towards their object, as love, 
 desire, anger, and revenge, naturally cause the corresponding hand 
 and foot to advance together with the head and body ; for, in this 
 way, the nearest approach is made to the object. And when pas- 
 sions of a contrary nature, as aversion and terror, affect us, still the 
 corresponding hand and foot are advanced; as if the better to guard 
 the body and head, which are thrown back. In such cases, it would 
 produce unnatural distortion to advance the contrary hand and foot. 
 Under tranquil circumstances, as when the speaker delivers narra- 
 tive, or reasons calmly, the contrary hand and footf may advance 
 together with grace and propriety. Indeed, perhaps such posture 
 is preferable, as it p^sents the body more exactly in front towards 
 the persons addressed. It was, probably, such circumstances alone, 
 which Quintilian had in view when he pronounced his opinion, that 
 it is unbecoming to stand with the corresponding hand and foot ad- 
 vanced. This explanation will serve to reconcile the apparent 
 deviation of the moderns from the ancient practice. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE PREPARATION, TRANSITION, AND ACCOMPANIMENT OP 
 GESTURE. 
 
 In the transitions of gesture, the hand and arm should 
 not, in general, be precipitated to the intended position 
 by the shortest course ; but, in the calmer parts of the 
 oration, they should move in a sort of waving line, or 
 in one returning upon itself, somewhat in the manner 
 represented by the following diagram : 
 
 Diag. 18. 
 
 Let f represent tho position of the arm and hand for 
 wards, and let the place of the next gesture be q (ob* 
 
 * Right hand and right foot ; or left hand and left foot. 
 
 i The right hand and left foot ; or the left hand and right foot. 
 
114 
 
 ELOCUTION 
 
 Jique), and of a third be x (extended). The hand should 
 not move in the line of dots directly from/ to q, and 
 from q to x ; bat from / go back almost to c (across), 
 in order that it may traverse the greater space; and 
 then proceed to q with an accelerated motion for the 
 stroke of the gesture. In the same manner, and for the 
 same purpose, it should return back almost tof, before 
 t proceeds to x. 
 The ascending and descending gestures are performed 
 
 Diag. 19. 
 
 in the same manner, under simi 
 lar circumstances, as may be 
 seen in diagram 19, in which Z 
 is the zenith, and R the point of 
 rest, and where the hand, in 
 ascending and descending, is re- 
 presented as making returning 
 inflections at the principal points, 
 d, h, and e. 
 
 The line of preparation as- 
 sumes a variety of other curves, 
 fourteen of which are repre- 
 sented by Diagram 20. 
 
 Whatever form this indirect 
 line may be, it is used as a pre- 
 paration for the gesture to which 
 it leads; and the extent of the 
 return, or depth of the sweep or 
 -^Z^^ indentation, is determined by 
 
 the character of the sentiments to be delivered. The 
 more magnificent they are, the greater is this parade ; 
 and the nearer to ordinary discourse, the less it is. 
 The preparation made by these different curves does 
 not suit every species of gesture ; it is adapted almost 
 solely to that kind which is termed discriminating 
 Another kind of preparation is made for emphatic ges- 
 tures. They are generally preceded by a suspending 
 gesture, which serves the double purpose of marking 
 some less important word, and of preparing for the 
 
GESTURE 
 
 115 
 
 stroke of the emphatic gesture. It will be recollected 
 that contracting and retracting gestures are reckoned 
 amongthesus- JW. 20. 
 
 pending ges- 
 tures, as be- 
 ing made pre- 
 vious to some 
 forcib^a ef- 
 fort, and are, 
 therefore, pre- 
 paratory to 
 the gestures 
 which ensue. 
 In order to il- 
 lustrate what 
 is here ad- 
 vanced, let it 
 be supposed 
 that the em- 
 phatic ges- 
 ture requires 
 a strong per- 
 cussion of the arm descending forwards, as shfst — - 
 the preparation for this is the suspending, or prepare 
 tory gesture nefbn — , as in the following example: 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 An example of a preparatory contracting gesture : 
 
 vhfrt — vhf rj — 
 
 I hate the drum's discordant sound. f — Langhorne. 
 
 A gesture across, which passes rapidly to the ex 
 tended position, may also be used as a preparation foi 
 rejection : 
 
 * The letters, nefbn, signify, natural elevated forwards bending 
 shfst, supine horizontal forwards striking. 
 
 ■J- The letters, vhfrt, signify, vertical horizontal forward retract 
 ing; vhfrj, vertical horizontal forwards rejecting. 
 
 nefbn— 
 
 
 
 
 shf st — 
 
 
 Hear 
 
 me 
 
 for 
 
 my 
 
 cause 
 
 # 
 
 susp. 
 
 
 
 
 emph. 
 
 
1 J 6 ELOCUTION. 
 
 ohc z rj 
 
 Who's here so base that would be a bondman?* — Shaks. 
 Another example of a previous contracted gesture: 
 
 Bvhfrt 
 
 To hear the roar she sends through ail her gates. — Cowp. 
 
 Tn the passage from Cowper, the suspending, or previous gesture, 
 Bvhfrj, contains all the letters belonging to the subsequent em- 
 phatic gesture, except the last (p). This new letter, only, is ex- 
 pressed, and is joined by a long dash, or mark of connexion, with 
 the notation letters of the preceding gesture : another line of con- 
 nexion, joining this letter to x, signifies that both hands continuing 
 in the same position, viz. vertical, the arms are to be extended. The 
 gestures, marked at large on this line, would be as follows: 
 
 Bvlif rt Bvhff ■ Bvhx 
 
 To hear the roar she sends through all her gates.j" 
 
 But the former method is preferable, as it abridges the trouble ol 
 notation, and is equally intelligible. 
 
 The connexion of gesture is, therefore, the relation 
 which one gesture bears to another ; and it is shown 
 by the notation of the circumstances in which they 
 agree, and of those in which they differ. Thus, the 
 gestures noted in the foregoing line agree, first, in 
 being common to both hands (B), and then in the posi- 
 tion of each hand, v {vertical), and also in the elevation 
 of both arms, h (horizontal). So that it is unnecessary 
 to repeat those circumstances in which they agree, as 
 the connecting-dash expresses them with sufficient 
 clearness, and with greater brevity. 
 
 The connexion of gesture in the vertical direction, 
 when the hand, without altering its posture, merely 
 ascends by short intervals, in order to mark a succes- 
 sion of discriminating gestures, is noted by the usual 
 connecting-dash, and an a over the word where the 
 hand ascends. 
 
 * The letters, ohc, signify, the hand outwards, the arm hori 
 2ontal across; x rj, extended rejecting. 
 
 f Bvhfrt, both hands vertical, both arms horizontal forwards re- 
 tracting ; Bvhfp, both hands vertical, both arms horizontal forward* 
 pushing ; Bvhx, both hands vertical, both arms horizontal extended. 
 
GESTURE. 117 
 
 phf- 
 
 I mourn the pride 
 
 •me/ — shfst — 
 
 And avarice that make man a wolf to man. — Coivper. 
 
 But this passage would perhaps answer better with 
 he auxiliary gesture, thus : 
 
 Bphfa vef — 
 
 I mourn the pride 
 
 — vef Bnef bn — Bs/ifst R 
 
 And avarice that make man a wolf to man.* 
 
 The transition of gesture relates to the manner of 
 arriving at a gesture, and to the changes of gesture ; 
 and signifies either the particular changes of the posi- 
 tion of the hand and arm, or the general change of the 
 principal gesture from one hand to the other. 
 
 A gesture may have a very different character and 
 effect, according to the manner in which the hand ar- 
 rives at its destined point. It may ascend, descend, 
 move towards the right, or towards the left, and may 
 also make the stroke with various degrees of energy, 
 and in various ways ; and these motions constitute, in 
 each, an absolutely different gesture, though, after the 
 moment of the stroke, which a painter might choose to 
 represent, the hand and arm of each should be in the 
 same precise position. (Fig. 85, p. 100.) As, however, 
 the emphatic gestures are liable to ambiguity, on ac- 
 count of the various transitions which might be sup- 
 posed to bring them to their stroke, painters more fre- 
 quently choose to represent the suspending gestures, 
 which give an idea of action, and greater interest to 
 their principal figures. 
 
 But the transition of gesture particularly relates to 
 the change of the principal gesture from one hand to 
 
 * Bphfa, both hands prone horizontal forwards ascending 1 , 
 vef (followed by a dash), right hand vertical elevated forwards ; 
 vef (preceded by a dash), left hand vertical elevated forwards; 
 Bnefbn, both hands natural elevated forwards bending; Bsltf st, 
 both hands supine horizontal forwards striking. 
 
118 ELOCUTION. 
 
 the other , which may be regulated, in some measure, 
 according to the following principles. So long as there 
 subsists a strict connexion between the sentiments, un- 
 interrupted by any considerable pause, or change of 
 persons, no transition can take place in this last sense : 
 the same hand which began, continues to perform the 
 principal gesture. And the variety which it is always 
 desirable to produce, must not be attempted by the 
 change of the principal gesture : it must arise alone 
 from the graceful and well-regulated action of the ad- 
 vanced hand, supported by the combined assistance or 
 accompaniment of the other. If the passage to be pro- 
 nounced be of considerable length, the right hand should 
 perform the principal gesture throughout the whole of 
 it. For the left, though allowed to take its place oc- 
 casionally, according to certain rules, by no means 
 arrives at an equality of honour. The right hand 
 always continues the better hand, both from long pre- 
 scription, and the ability arising from use. 
 
 In the narrative parts of an oration, where different 
 persons or things are to be described as variously dis- 
 posed, or in the recitation of descriptive poetry, when 
 a picture, as it were, is to be represented by the speaker, 
 consisting of many natural objects in different parts of 
 a landscape, of which Gray's Elegy in a Country 
 Church-yard will afford many examples, the right hand 
 having first pointed out those persons or objects sup- 
 posed to lie adjacent to itself, may yield to the left the 
 arrangement and ordering of those other parts, which 
 may be imagined to be at its own side. This inter- 
 change, judiciously regulated, produces a pleasing va- 
 riety in the gesture ; and if the speaker possess the 
 imagination of a painter, his disposition and colouring 
 will produce the most distinct and vivid picture. 
 
 Variety, which is a most important object to be kept 
 in view by a public speaker, allows, with advantage, 
 an interchange of the principal gesture, even when the 
 subject may be of a more abstruse and demonstrative 
 
GESTURE. 119 
 
 nature. When there is any opposition, or antithesis, 
 among the ideas, or even in the structure of sentences, 
 or where a new argument is introduced, after the dis- 
 cussion of a former is ended, as at. a new division, or a 
 new paragraph, there may be a change of the principal 
 gesture. But it will be a point of judgment and taste 
 in the speaker not to carry this balancing, or alterna- 
 tion of gesture, to an affected extreme, and not, even in 
 allowable cases, to indulge in it overmuch ; nor will he 
 prolong too far the principal action permitted to the 
 left hand, which he will always remember is the weaker, 
 and admitted into the foremost place rather by courtesy 
 than of right ; and which he will, therefore, restrict 
 with discretion in the exercise of this occasional dis- 
 tinction. 
 
 In the changes made from one hand to the other, the 
 transition should be managed with ease and simplicity. 
 As soon as the advanced hand has made the stroke of 
 its last, emphatic gesture, it should fall quietly to rest, 
 whilst, at the same time, the hand w r hich is, in its turn, 
 to assume the principal action, commences its prepara- 
 tion for the ensuing gesture. It will be observed that 
 a commencing, or discriminating gesture, should be 
 gentle, as a modest beginning suits its first entrance 
 into authority. An emphatic gesture immediately after 
 one from the other hand, would be violent and out- 
 rageous ; something like the gesticulations of those 
 little wooden figures set up to frighten birds from corn, 
 or fruit, which have the arms fixed on an axis in such 
 a manner that they are alternately raised and depressed 
 with equal vehemence, according as they are blown 
 about by the wind. 
 
 When the orator finds it necessary to change the 
 position of the feet, so as to advance that which was 
 before retired, the general rule is that he should effect 
 it imperceptibly, and not commence the change till 
 after the hand has begun its change of action. Some 
 times, however, in vehement passages, the oratoi is 
 
1^0 ELOCUTION. 
 
 allowed, by the highest authority, to advance suddenly 
 and even to stamp. 
 
 The subordinate gesture, already mentioned, as performed by the 
 retired hand, will be found to bear a ciose analogy to accompani- 
 ment in music. A little observation will suffice for acquiring a 
 general knowledge of the accompaniment of gesture ; and after 
 attentively practising ibr some time, the inferior hand will as easily 
 fall into a suitable accompaniment of the principal gesture, as the 
 left hand of a performer on a keyed instrument, will strike correctly 
 the fundamental bass. 
 
 The general rule for accompaniment of gesture, in 
 calm and moderate speaking, when both hands do not 
 perform the same gesture, is that the retired arm should 
 be about one interval less raised than the advanced 
 arm, and that in the transverse position it should be 
 distant from it about two intervals, or a right angle. 
 Hence, if the right hand should perform the principal 
 gesture, and this gesture should be supine elevated for- 
 wards, the accompaniment would be expressed in the 
 
 second set of letters, for the left hand, thus : -J-. , 
 
 prm. ac. 
 
 (Fig. 38) ; and again, vh f~~~ P dx , (Fig. 33). When the 
 prin. ac. 
 
 force of the expression is strong, the accompanying 
 hand is equally elevated with the principal. In this 
 degree of force, the gestures are thus : vhf — vhx. 
 These circumstances afford convenient opportunities 
 for abridging the notation. When both hands perform 
 the same, or nearly the same gesture, a capital B pre- 
 ceding one set of letters suffices for both hands, as Bvhf 
 And when the accompanying gesture follows the gene- 
 ral rule, and has nothing remarkable distinguishing it, 
 the gesture of the principal hand only need be noted ; 
 the accompaniment is easily understood, and will fol- 
 low of course to the well-practised speaker. 
 
 But besides the motions of the subordinate gesture, 
 other very important accompaniments are to be at- 
 tended to; as those of the lower limbs, of the body, 
 und of the head : otherwise the performance will bo 
 
GESTURE 
 
 121 
 
 rigid and absurd, like that of a puppet. Indeed, not 
 only those more prominent and distinguished parts 
 must accompany the voice and principal action of the 
 speaker, but every muscle of the body, and every ex- 
 pression of the countenance, must, join in harmony with 
 those gestures, in order to impress upon them the cha- 
 racter of nature and truth. There is no gesture, or 
 change of gesture, which is not meant to enforce or to 
 illustrate some new circumstance, which either cails 
 into action muscles before at rest, or into a change of 
 action those already in exertion. And this impression 
 and influence extend not only to those muscles which 
 are most strong and distinguished, but even to the most 
 delicate fibres of the human frame, such as those which 
 adjust the expression of the mouth, of the nostrils, of 
 the brows, and of that wonderful organ the eye. 
 
 An example may here be given of some of the stronger 
 changes of the head, body, and lower limbs, which ac- 
 company certain principal gestures. If the right hand 
 be forcibly withdrawn, and presented vhfc (vertical 
 horizontal forwards contracted), the left vdqc (vertical 
 dowmwards oblique contracted), the 
 feet will naturally retire, and be 
 rRlx (retire to the first position 
 extended of the right foot). The 
 body, at the same time, will be 
 thrown backwards, whilst the whole 
 countenance will express aversion, 
 or horror. (Fig. 95). 
 
 The gesture of the right, phf ad, 
 will be accompanied and noted thus : 
 
 p /LJ. — — L_L which signifies that 
 aR2 ° 
 
 the head, and consequently the body, 
 
 leans forwards, and that the eyes are turned earnestly 
 
 in the same direction. This evident desire of inspect 
 
 ing the object more nearly, is also accompanied by an 
 
 advanced step of the right foot, the principal gesture 
 
122 
 
 ELOCUTION 
 
 bemg performed by the right hand. As the gesture 
 of the left hand could hardly be avoided, under the 
 circumstances mentioned, the notation of it might have 
 been omitted. 
 
 It will be observed, that if the hand, in its gestures, 
 
 at any time 
 approach 
 the head, 
 the head 
 bends to- 
 wards the 
 hand ; and 
 if the hand 
 presents its 
 palm, and 
 pushes, as it 
 were, an ob- 
 ject away 
 in disgust, 
 
 the head accompanies the action, not only by retiring 
 back, but by averting the face. And the motions ex- 
 pressing this aversion are ; first, the eye, directed to- 
 wards the object ; the approaching of the back of the 
 hand towards the face, and the head bending towards 
 the hand, and then the pushing forwards of the palm 
 of the hand, and the throwing back of the head, and 
 averting the face at the same time. The notation will 
 
 stand thus : F vh f c ~~, (Fig. 96), and then, A vk 9 P ~~ 
 aR2 rRlx 
 
 (Fig. 07). 
 
 After the stroke of the emphatic gesture, if the 
 speaker has completely closed his remarks on a par- 
 ticular part of his subject, or if he has finished his ora- 
 tion, both hands should fall to rest, in a manner suiting 
 the last expressions which he has delivered. This 
 falling of the hand to rest is named the close and ter- 
 mination of gesture. It is contrary to the correct sim- 
 plicity of gesture to mark a single word or idea with 
 
GESTURE. 123 
 
 more than one emphatic stroke ; any appendix of ges- 
 ture, after this, would only weaken its force, or render 
 it ridiculous. 
 
 The termination of gesture, or rather, the emphatic 
 gesture which terminates, should not be made across. 
 It is generally made about the horizontal elevation, but 
 sometimes it is made downwards, or elevated, according 
 to the sentiment. The horizontal termination suits 
 decision and instruction ; the downward, disapproba- 
 tion and condemnation ; the elevated, pride, high pas- 
 sion and devotion. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE FREQUENCY, MODERATION, AND INTERMISSION OP 
 GESTURE. 
 
 As gesture is used for the illustration or enforce- 
 ment of language, it should be limited, in its applica- 
 tion, to such words and passages only as admit, or 
 rather require, such illustration or enforcement. That 
 is, gesture should not be used by a public speaker on 
 every word where it is possible to apply it without 
 manifest impropriety ; but it should rather be reserved 
 for such passages as require to be rendered more pro- 
 minent than the others, and to be more highly coloured. 
 A judicious speaker will therefore reserve his gesture, 
 at least the force and ornament of it, for those parts of 
 his discourse for which he also reserves the brilliancy 
 of language and thought. Sometimes, the absolute 
 intermission of gesture is advantageous, as in the com- 
 mencement or opening of arguments. When an argu- 
 ment is nearly concluded, moderate gesture will give 
 it more force, and relieve the monotony of a mere dry 
 demonstration, should the spirit of the composition 
 admit such addition. 
 
 In all discourses, the frequency of gesture will be 
 
124 ELOCUTION. 
 
 determined, in general, by the number, the novelty, and 
 the discrimination of ideas. In every well-constructed 
 sentence, some new idea is advanced, which may be 
 marked by a suitable gesture; and possibly the various 
 limitations and modifications of it will also admit of a 
 similar distinction. Thus each separate clause, or 
 member of a sentence, may admit a distinct gesture on 
 the principal word: and as each epithet is a distinct 
 quality, added to the principal name, and as each ad- 
 verb has the same effect on the principal action ex- 
 pressed by the verb, a new gesture may be made on 
 each. But for this purpose, unless the word is empha- 
 tic, a turn of the hand, a small motion in the trans- 
 verse or vertical direction, or a slight inclination of the 
 head, is sufficient. 
 
 In a sentence where every word is emphatic, each 
 may be marked with a gesture. Sentences of this kind 
 generally condense, in a small compass, valuable infor- 
 mation, and should therefore be strongly enforced and 
 marked with precision. They should, however, be 
 delivered distinctly and deliberately, or the gestures 
 will confuse the sentiment, and even cast a degree of 
 ridicule upon it, as may be found by pronouncing the 
 following serious observation with different degrees of 
 rapidity. 
 
 shf — nef — sfrfst — 
 
 JNJan is born to trouble. 
 
 com. susp. emph. $ t-er. 
 
 Neither the emphatic gesture, nor the force of the 
 voice, always falls on those words which are the prin- 
 cipal, in a grammatical sense — the nouns and verbs. 
 The gesture sometimes falls on the word which modi- 
 fies each — on the adjective, which expresses the 
 quality of the noun, or on the adverb, which has a 
 similar effect upon the action or assertion of the verb. 
 
 The same notation, applied to a vehement passage 
 requires the arm to be raised higher than when it is 
 apolied to one of the contrary character. A judicious 
 
GESTURE. 125 
 
 speaker will often omit his gesture altogether, and use 
 it only when absolutely necessary to illustrate, or to 
 enforce his sentiments. Gesture may be said to hold 
 the place of high seasoning; it must, therefore, be 
 managed with discretion, lest it should defeat its own 
 purposes, and create disgust. If a speaker proves 
 truly eloquent, he is sure of the most liberal and solid 
 approbation. But he should not hazard too much ; he 
 should be guarded in the commencement of his dis- 
 course, and should restrain his gesture in the calm and 
 reasoning passages, reserving its force and brilliancy 
 for the appropriate expression of his most earnest feel- 
 ings and boldest thoughts. His transitions from the 
 narrative parts to those which are most highly wrought, 
 and which require his utmost exertions, should be gra- 
 dual and just, and free from extravagance. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE QUALITIES OF GESTURE, AND THE GESTURE SUITED 
 TO DIFFERENT MODES OF PUBLIC SPEAKING. 
 
 The different qualities which constitute the perfec- 
 tion of gesture, and their opposite imperfections, are as 
 follows : 
 
 1. Magnificence. 5. Simplicity. 
 
 2. Boldness. 6. Grace. 
 
 3. Energy. 7. Propriety. 
 
 4. Variety. 8. Precision. 
 
 1. Magnificence of gesture. This is effected by de- 
 taching the elbow completely from the body, and 
 unfolding the whole oratorical weapon. In magnifi- 
 cent gesture, the action is flowing and unconstrained ; 
 the preparations are made in graceful curves ; the 
 transitions are easy, and the accompaniments, in all 
 respects, illustrative of the principal action. The mo- 
 9 
 
126 ELOCUTION. 
 
 tions of the head are free, and the inflections of the 
 body manly and dignified. The action of the lower 
 limbs is decisive, and a considerable space is traversed 
 with firmness and with force. 
 
 The opposite imperfections are short and constrained 
 gestures, rigidity of the joints, and stiffness of the body, 
 with short steps, and doubtful or timid movements. 
 
 2. Boldness of gesture. This arises from that ele- 
 vated courage and self-confidence which ventures to 
 hazard any action, however unusual, which is produc- 
 tive of a grand or striking effect. In this sort of ges- 
 ture, unexpected positions, elevations and transitions, 
 surprise at once by their novelty and grace, and thus 
 illustrate or enforce the ideas of the speaker with irre- 
 sistible effect. 
 
 The opposite imperfection is tameness. 
 
 3. Energy of gesture. This consists in the firmness 
 and decision of the whole action ; and in the precision 
 of the stroke of the gesture, which aids the emphasis 
 of the voice. 
 
 The opposite imperfections are feebleness and inde- 
 cision. 
 
 4. Variety of gesture. This consists in the applica- 
 tion of different, but appropriate gestures, to the same, 
 or analogous sentiments, so as to avoid recurring too 
 frequently to one favourite gesture, or set of gestures. 
 
 The opposite imperfection is monotony of gesture, 
 analogous to that of the voice. 
 
 5. Simplicity of gesture. This is such a character 
 of gesture as appears the natural result of the situation 
 and sentiments ; which is neither carried beyond the 
 just extent of the feeling, through affectation of variety, 
 nor falls short of it through want of confidence. 
 
 The opposite imperfection is affectation. 
 
 6. Grace of gesture. This is the result of all other 
 perfections, arising from a dignified self-possession of 
 mind, and the power of personal exertion, practised 
 into facility after the best models, and according to 
 
GESTURE. 1^7 
 
 true taste. To the more particular investigation of 
 this quality a Chapter is devoted. 
 
 The opposite imperfection is awkwardness. 
 
 7. Propriety of gesture, called also truth of gesture, 
 or natural gesture. This consists in the judicious use 
 of gestures best suited to illustrate or to express the 
 sentiment. Propriety of gesture is generally founded 
 on some natural connexion between the sentiment and 
 the action. Significant gestures are strictly connected 
 with the sentiment. 
 
 The opposite imperfections are false, contradictory, 
 or unsuitable gestures. 
 
 8. Precision, or correctness of gesture. This arises 
 from the just preparation, the due force, and the cor- 
 rect timing of the action : when the preparation is nei- 
 ther too much abridged, nor too pompously displayed ; 
 when the stroke of the gesture is made with such a 
 degree of force as suits the character of the sentiment ; 
 and when it is correctly marked on the precise syllable 
 to be enforced. Precision of gesture gives the same 
 effect to action, as neatness of articulation gives to 
 speech. 
 
 The opposite imperfections are the indecision, un- 
 certainty, and incorrectness arising from vague and 
 sawing gestures, which, far from illustrating, render 
 doubtful the sense of the sentiments which they accom- 
 pany, and distract the spectator. 
 
 There are three general modes of public speaking, 
 each of which requires a different style of gesture; 
 namely, 
 
 1. The Epic. 3. The Colloquial. 
 
 2. The Rhetorical. 
 
 1. Epic gesture demands every natural and acquired 
 power, on the part of the speaker : to it belong Magni- 
 ficence, Boldness, Energy, Variety, Simplicity, Grace, 
 Propriety, and Precision. The compositions which 
 require epic gesture, in delivery, are tragedy, epic 
 poetry, lyric odes, and sublime description. 
 
1 28 ELOCUTION. 
 
 2. Rhetorical gesture requires, principally, Energy 
 Variety, Simplicity, and Precision. Grace is desirable , 
 Magnificence is rarely wanting, but may sometimes 
 lave place. Propriety, in a limited sense, should be 
 observed. Boldness is inadmissible ; because the ora- 
 tor is not, like the player, subjected to any unexpected 
 circumstances. He is not, therefore, at liberty to ex- 
 press surprise, or any other passion, by bold gestures 
 or attitudes. 
 
 3. Colloquial gesture, when concerned in the higher 
 scenes of polite life, requires, principally, Simplicity 
 and Grace ; Precision will follow of course ; it may oc- 
 casionally demand something of Energy and Variety 
 Magnificence and Boldness are inadmissible. 
 
 The gesture of the public speaker must vary con- 
 siderably with the different circumstances of his situa- 
 tion, of his sentiments, and of his audience. If the 
 mere information or instruction of his audience be his 
 sole object, as when the evidences of religion and the 
 grounds of Christian duties are to be explained from 
 the pulpit, or w T hen the details of calculation and finance 
 are to be laid before Congress, or when facts are 
 weighed and laws are argued in the courts of justice, 
 his gestures should be of that class which is called dis- 
 criminating gestures. These he should exercise with 
 simplicity and precision. He should strip them of all 
 the parade of preparation, and of the graces of transi- 
 tion, and give them only that degree of variety which 
 shall guard them against disgusting sameness. This 
 is far removed from theatrical gesture ; it rather ap- 
 proaches the colloquial style. Nothing could be more 
 incongruous than for a public speaker, in either of the 
 foregoing situations, to introduce the parade and mag- 
 nificence of theatrical gesture. The charge which is 
 sometimes made against public speakers, of being thea- 
 trical in their gesture, probably arises more from some 
 unsuitableness in their manner to the matter, than from 
 any thing of uncommon majesty, boldness, or grace in 
 their action. 
 
GESTURE. 129 
 
 When the public speaker aims at persuasion, as in 
 discourses from the pulpit for public charities, or on 
 extraordinary occasions in Congress, or at the bar, 
 when the advocate desires to influence the opinions of 
 a jury, he will naturally use more graceful, more flow- 
 ing, and more varied gesture. But he should not fail 
 into the action of the theatre. He may be graceful, 
 but he should be simple ; he may be energetic, but he 
 should not affect gestures too strongly significant, much 
 less attempt surprise by attitudes. All his gestures 
 should be regulated by manly decorum, suitable to his 
 situation, to the character of his hearers, and to the 
 just expression of his sentiments. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 SIGNIFICANT GESTURES. 
 
 The most important of the significant gestures are 
 the following : 
 
 The Head and Face. 
 
 The hanging down of the head denotes shame, or 
 grief. 
 
 The holding of it up, pride or courage. 
 
 To nod forwards implies assent. 
 
 To toss the head back, dissent. 
 
 The inclination of the head implies diffidence or lan- 
 guor. 
 
 The head is averted, in dislike or horror. 
 
 ft leans forward, in attention. 
 
 The Eyes. 
 
 The eyes are raised, in prayer. 
 
 They weep, in sorrow. 
 
 They burn, in anger. 
 
 They are downcast -or averted, in shame or grief 
 
130 ELOCUTION. 
 
 They are cast on vacancy, in thought. 
 
 They are cast in various directions, in doubt and 
 anxiety. 
 
 The Arms. 
 
 The placing of the hand on the head, indicates pain 
 or distress. 
 
 On the eyes, shame or sorrow. 
 
 On the lips, an injunction of silence. 
 
 On the breast, an appeal to conscience. 
 
 The hand is waved, or flourished, in joy or contempt 
 
 Both hands are held supine, or they are applied, 01 
 clasped, in prayer. 
 
 Both are held prone, in blessing. 
 
 They are clasped, or wrung, in affliction. 
 
 They are held forward, and received, in friendship. 
 
 The Body. 
 The body, held erect, indicates steadiness and courage. 
 Thrown back, pride. 
 
 Stooping forward, condescension or compassion. 
 Bending, reverence or respect. 
 Prostration, the utmost humility or abasement. 
 
 The Lower Limbs. 
 The firm position of the lower limbs signifies courage, 
 or obstinacy. 
 
 Bended knees indicate timidity, or weakness. 
 
 The lower limbs advance, in desire or courage. 
 
 They retire, in aversion or fear. 
 
 Start, in terror. 
 
 Stamp, in authority or anger. 
 
 Kneel, in submission and prayer. 
 
 These are a few of the simple gestures which may 
 be termed significant. 
 
GESTURE. 
 
 131 
 
 COMPLEX SIGNIFICANT GESTURES. 
 
 Complex Significant Gestures are employed chiefly in 
 dramatic representation. They are combinations of 
 simple significant gestures, variously associated accord- 
 ing to the mingled passions which they represent. The 
 boldest and most magnificent of them are termed atti- 
 tudes. The following are examples of complex signifi- 
 cant gestures : 
 
 Reproach puts on a stern aspect : the brow is con- 
 tracted, the lip is turned up with scorn, and the whole 
 body is expressive of 
 aversion. Fig. 166 
 represents Queen Ka- 
 tharine, in the trial 
 scene, in the play of 
 Henry VIII. reproach- 
 ing Wolsey for the in- 
 juries which had been 
 neaped upon her. 
 
 Apprehension is the 
 prospect of future evil 
 accompanied with un- 
 easiness of mind. Fig. 
 167 is a good example. 
 It represents Hamlet 
 
 in the act of exclaiming, "Ay, there's the rub.' 
 Hamlet's Soliloquy, p. 249.] 
 
 Terror excites the person who suffers under it, to 
 avoid the dreaded object, or to escape from it. If it be 
 some dangerous reptile on the ground, and very neai, 
 the expression is represented by starting back and look- 
 
132 
 
 ELOCUTION. 
 
 ing downwards. If the danger threaten from a dis- 
 tance, the terror arising is expressed by looking for- 
 wards, and not starting back, but merely in the retired 
 position. But if the dread of impending death from 
 the hand of an enemy awaken this passion, the coward 
 flies. Of this there is a fine example in the battles of 
 
 Alexander, by 
 LeBrun. Fig. 
 168represents 
 terror as de- 
 scribed by En- 
 gel. It is that 
 of a man a- 
 1 a.r m e d by 
 lightning and 
 thunder. He 
 shuts his eyes, 
 covers them 
 with one hand 
 and extends 
 
 the other behind him, as if to ward off the dreaded stroke. 
 Aversion, as already observed, is expressed by two 
 gestures. (See p. 122.) 
 
 Horror, which is aversion or astonishment mingled 
 with terror, is seldom capable of retreating, but remains 
 in one attitude, with the eyes riveted on the object, the 
 arms, with the hands vertical, held forward to guard 
 the person, and the whole frame trembling. (Fig. 169.) 
 Listening in order to obtain the surest and most va- 
 rious information, first casts the eye quickly in the ap- 
 parent direction of the sounds; if nothing is seen, the 
 ear is turned towards the point of expectation, the eye 
 is bent on vacancy, and the arm is extended, with the 
 hand vertical ; but all this passes in a moment. If the 
 sounds proceed from different points at the same time, 
 both hands are held up, and the face and eyes alternately 
 change from one side to the other with a rapidity go- 
 verned by the nature of the sound ; if it be alarming, with 
 
 0^*" 
 
ELOCUTION. 
 
 133 
 
 trepidation ; if pleasing, with gentle motion. (Fig. 99 ) 
 The figure is listening fear. 
 
 99 100 
 
 Admiration, if of surrounding natural objects, of a 
 pleasing kind, holds both hands vertical, and across, 
 and then moves them outwards to the position extended 
 as in the figure. (Fig. 100.) In admiration arising 
 from some extraordinary or unexpected circumstances, 
 the hands are thrown up supine elevated, together with 
 the face and the eyes. , 
 
 Veneration crosses both hands on the breast, casts 
 
 down the eyes slow- 
 ly, and bows the 
 head, (Fig. 101.) 
 
 Deprecation ad- 
 vances in the ex- 
 tended position of 
 the feet, approach- 
 ing to kneeling, 
 clasps the hands 
 forcibly together 
 throws back the 
 H head, sinking it be- 
 tween the shoui 
 tiers, and looks earnestly up to the person implored 
 (Fig. 102.) 
 
134 
 
 GESTURE 
 
 In appealing to heaven, the right hand is laid on the 
 breast, then the left is projected su- 
 pine upwards ; the eyes are first di- 
 rected forwards, and then upwards. 
 (Fig. 103.) 
 
 In the appeal to conscience, the 
 right hand is laid on the breast, the 
 left drops unmoved, the eyes are fixed 
 upon the person addressed (Fig. 80, p. 
 99) ; sometimes both hands press the 
 breast. 
 
 Shame in the extreme sinks on the 
 knee, and covers the eyes with both 
 hands. (Fig. 104.) This is a femi- 
 nine expression of it. 
 
 Mild resignation falls on the knee, 
 crosses the arms on the breast, and looks forwards and 
 upwards towards heaven. (Fig. 105.) 
 
 Resignation mixed with desperation, stands erect and 
 unmoved, the head thrown back, the eyes turned up- 
 ward, and fixed, the arms crossed. A fine instance is 
 seen in Fig. 108, from an attitude of Mrs. Siddons. 
 
 Grief arising from sudden and afflicting intelligence, 
 covers the eyes with one hand, advances forwards, and 
 throws back tne other hand. (Fig. 107, and Fig. 81, p. 99.) 
 
ELOCUTION. 
 
 135 
 
 Attention demanding silence, holds the finger on the 
 lips, and leans forwards, sometimes repressing with the 
 left hand. (Fig. 82, p. 99.) 
 
 Distress, when extreme, lays the palm of the hand 
 upon the forehead, throws back the head and body, 
 and retires with a long and sadden step. (Fig. 83. p. 99. 
 
 Deliberation on ordinary subjects, holds the chin 
 and sets the arm a-kimbo. (Fig. 84, p. 99.) 
 
 Self-sufficiency folds the arms, and sets himself on 
 his centre. (Fig. 48, p. 92.) This was a favourite 
 posture of Bonaparte. 
 
 Pride throws back the body, and holds the head high. 
 
 These few complex significant gestures are some of 
 the most obvious, and principally such as occurred in 
 the illustration of other parts of this system; they 
 serve, however, in some degree, to explain the nature 
 of these gestures. But among the writers who have 
 treated particularly of significant gestures, none have 
 written with greater ingenuity than Engel : we will 
 borrow, therefore, an example or two from him. 
 
 Surprise causes the body and lower limbs to retire 
 and affection stimulates the person to advance. (Fig. 
 108.) The figure represents Frederick de Reuss, in a 
 German play, who unexpectedly sees his dear friend. 
 
136 
 
 GESTURE. 
 
 He withdraws, in surprise, his body and lower limbs, 
 Riid, in the ardour of friendship, immediately stretches 
 forwards his head and his arms. 
 
 When the thoughts flow without 
 diilicuity or opposition, the move- 
 ment of the limbs is free and direct. 
 But when difficulties occur, or ob- 
 stacles are discovered, a man either 
 arrests his action entirely, or changes 
 it to something altogether different. 
 The direction of his eyes, and the(ggxi^ 
 action of his head, are also, under ^e*—=* 
 similar circumstances, quite altered. 
 The eyes, instead of moving freely 
 from object to object, become fixed, 
 and the head is thrown back, if be- 
 fore hanging down on the breast. As an example of 
 these effects, M. Engel refers to a scene in a play of 
 Lessing, in which an old gentleman is very much 
 puzzled how to ma- 
 nage, in a situa- 
 tion of great diffi- 
 culty and delicacy. 
 In the commence- 
 ment of his delibe- 
 rations he is repre- 
 sented as in Fig. i09, 
 and in the next pe- 
 riod of them, as in 
 Fig. 110. 
 
 These examples 
 are introduced by 
 M. Engel to illus- 
 trate his analogous gestures, but they may also be 
 very well applied to illustrate the complex, significant 
 gestures, which are the present subject of investigation. 
 The description which he gives of melancholy, con- 
 trasted with anxiety, is, throughout, eorrect, and full 
 of nice discrimination. 
 
E L O C U T I N . 
 
 137 
 
 Melancholy is a feeble and passive affection ; it is 
 attended by a total relaxation of the muscles, with a 
 mute and tranquil resignation, un- 
 accompanied by opposition either 
 to the cause or the sensibility of 
 the evil. The character, externally, 
 is languor, without motion, the 
 head hanging at the " side next, the 
 heart," the eyes turned upon its 
 object, or, if that is absent, fixed 
 upon the ground, the hands hang- 
 ing down by their own weight, 
 without effort, and joined loosely 
 together. (Fig. 111.) 
 
 Anxiety is of a different charac- 
 ter; it is restless and active, and 
 manifest by the extension of the muscles ; the eye is 
 filled with fire, the breathing is quick, the motion is 
 hurried, the head is thrown back, the whole body is 
 extended. The sufferer is like a sick 
 man, who tosses incessantly, and finds 
 himself uneasy in every situation. (Fig. 
 112.) 
 
 One of the causes of M. Engel's ges- 
 tures of analogy is, as he observes, the 
 " disposition of the mind to refer intellec 
 tual ideas to external objects. When 
 king Lear recollects the barbarous treat- 
 ment of his daughters, who, in the midst 
 ?[IIL of a stormy night, had exposed his hoary 
 " head to the inclemency of the weather ; 
 and when he immmediately exclaims 
 
 O that way madness lies; 
 No more of that, 
 
 let me shun that 
 
 <here is not, in reality, any external object from which 
 this unhappy prince should avert his eyes with horror 
 and yet he turns his head away to the side opposite 
 that to which it was directed before, endeavouring, as 
 
138 
 
 GESTURE 
 
 it were, with his hand reversed, to banish that cru^l 
 
 and afflicting recollection." (Fig. 
 113.) 
 
 The significant gestures, how- 
 ever numerous and correct, which 
 u great actor makes in the repre- 
 sentation of an entire dramatic 
 character, bear no proportion to 
 the number of those gestures 
 which do not belong to this class, 
 and which are no less necessary, 
 though they are not so splendid 
 a.nd imposing. The painter is 
 struck by the boldest and finest 
 of the significant gestures, which are called attitudes; 
 and he records them : they are the proper objects oi 
 his art ; they are striking, and less evanescent, than the 
 other gestures which pass unnoticed by him, although 
 they make up by far the greater and more important 
 part of the gestures requisite for illustrating the senti- 
 ments. These less prominent gestures give to the de- 
 clamation its precision and force. A slight movement 
 of the head, a look of the eye, a turn of the hand, a ju- 
 dicious pause, or interruption of gesture, or a change 
 of position in the feet, often illuminates the meaning 
 of a passage, and sends it, full of life and warmth, into 
 the understanding. And the perfection of gesture, in 
 a tragedian, will be found to consist more in the skilful 
 management of the less showy action, than in the exhi- 
 bition of the finest attiludes. Attitudes are danger 
 ons to hazard : the whole powers of the man mus'„ be 
 wrought up to their highest energy, or they become 
 forced and frigid. Excellent players have been seen, 
 who have never ventured an attitude ; but none, deserv- 
 ing the name of excellence, have ever appeared, whose 
 declamation has been deficient in precision or propriety 
 Where all the solid foundation of just and appropriate 
 action has been laid, attitude, when regulated witn 
 
GESTURE 
 
 139 
 
 taste and discretion, may be added to ornament the su- 
 perstructure ; but, when it is introduced unseasonably, 
 or is overcharged, it is an evidence of deficiency of un- 
 derstanding, as well as of depravity of taste. 
 
 ATTITUDES OF MRS. SIDDONS. 
 
 185 
 
 V iz sp—xdx thf 
 
 Fig. 185. This arm shall vindicate a father's cause. G, DauW., AA t S. last 
 
 aRZ 
 
 S iZ sp—pdx 
 
 Fig. 186. Wert thou the son of Jupiter. Irnogen, Act 2, S. 3 
 
 a R 2 
 
 187 188 
 
 V Bcl.eb 
 
 Fig. 187. A widow cries, Be husband to me, heaven. K. John, A. 3, & 2 
 
 D . Bel ef V heq bn-hdx 
 
 Fig. 188. Pity and forgiveness. 
 
 aRVK 
 
 Venice Preserved, Act 5, & 
 
140 
 
 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 tell's address to the mountains. 
 
 vef—phx shf—sdz 
 
 Ye crags and peaks, I I'm with you once again 
 
 B<i 
 
 B seq 
 
 i hold to you the hands 
 you first beheld, ) 
 
 188 
 
 Bvee 
 
 to show they still 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 141 
 
 B veq 
 
 are free. | Methinks I hear a 
 
 spirit in your echoes, answer 
 me, | and bid your tenant 
 
 B shq 
 
 welcome to his home 
 
 R2 
 
 R 
 
 again ! | O sacred forms, 
 
 R 1 
 
 how proud vou look ! | 
 10 
 
 192 
 sef—sdx sky 
 
 How high you lift your 
 heads into the sky ! j 
 
 R2 
 
142 
 
 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 193 
 
 B shx 
 
 How huge you are ! | 
 
 194 
 B veq 
 
 How mighty \ 
 
 B shf 
 
 and how free I 
 
 Z—pa* 
 
 Ye are the things that tower;] 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 143 
 
 197 
 
 shf—sdx 
 
 that shine; | 
 
 whose smile makes glad ; ' 
 
 B veq 
 
 whose frown is terrible ; 
 
 rLl 
 
 B vec 
 
 whose forms, robed. 
 
144 
 
 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION 
 
 B veq 
 
 or unrobed, do all the 
 impress wear 
 
 vef—phx 
 
 of iwe divine. 
 
 shf—shx 
 
 Ye guards of liberty, I I'm with you once again ! ■ 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 145 
 
 Z—phx 
 
 I call to you with all my 
 
 voice ! ' 
 
 B seq B vec 
 
 I hold my hands to you, | to show they still are ) 
 
 £3 
 
146 
 
 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Bsef 
 
 I rush to you, I 
 
 oi22 
 
 211 
 
 Bi 
 
 as though I could 1 
 
 212 
 BsTif R 
 
 embrace you. 
 
GESTURE. 141 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 GRACE. 
 
 " Grace," says lord Karnes, " may be defined, that 
 agreeable appearance which arises from elegance of 
 motion, and from a countenance expressive of dignitj^. 
 Expressions of other mental qualities are not essential 
 to that appearance, but they heighten it greatly." 
 
 The gracefulness of rhetorical action depends partly 
 on the person, and partly on the mind. Some are so 
 happily formed that all their motions are graceful ;* 
 and some minds are so noble, that they impart genu- 
 ine grace to the most uncouth forms : both these cases, 
 however, are comparatively rare. 
 
 Grace, like the ideal beauty of the painter, and of 
 the sculptor, is not commonly to be found in the indi- 
 vidual living model, but to be collected from the various 
 excellencies of the many. 
 
 Neither true grace, nor consummate eloquence, can 
 be acquired by those who are totally deficient in natu- 
 ral qualifications; yet they to whom nature has not 
 denied some portion of talents, may improve in both, 
 precisely in proportion to the degree of their application. 
 
 The grace of oratorical action consists, chiefly, in 
 the facility, the freedom, the variety, and the simplicity 
 of those gestures which illustrate the discourse. 
 
 Action, to be graceful, should be performed with 
 facility ; because the appearance of great effort is in- 
 compatible with ease, which is a constituent of grace 
 It should also be performed with freedom : no gestures 
 can be graceful which are either confined by external 
 circumstances, or restrained by the mind. If an orator 
 should address an assembly from a narrow window, it 
 
 * Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye, 
 In every action, dignity and love. — Milton. 
 
148 ELOCUTION. 
 
 v^ould be in vain for him to attempt graceful gesture. 
 Confinement, in any less degree, is proportionally in- 
 jurious to grace. Thus, the crowded courts, which 
 impede the motions of the advocate, and the enclosed 
 pulpit, which not unfrequentiy conceals more than half 
 the preacher's figure, are equally injurious to graceful 
 action. Greece, the native soil of manly eloquence 
 and true taste, icas not the originator of the pulpit. 
 
 The restraint arising from diffidence is also prejudi- 
 cial to grace. It has, however, this advantage — t 
 may be effectually corrected by perseverance. 
 
 For the maintenance of grace, in rhetorical action, 
 variety is indispensable. The iteration of the same 
 gesture, or set of gestures, however graceful in them- 
 selves, betrays a poverty of resource which is altoge- 
 ther prejudicial to the speaker. 
 
 Simplicity and truth of manner, if they do not con- 
 stitute grace in themselves, are inseparable from it. 
 Gestures which are manifestly contrived for the mere 
 display of the person, or for the exhibition of some fop- 
 pery, as, for instance, a fine ring, instantly offend. 
 
 To simplicity of gesture is opposed affectation, which 
 destroys every pretension to genuine grace. The more 
 showy the gestures are, unless they are adapted to the 
 subject, and to the character of the speaker, the more do 
 they offend the judicious by their manifest affectation. 
 When the profligate speaks of piety, the miser of gene- 
 rosity, the coward of valour, and the corrupt of integ- 
 rity, they are only the more despised by those who 
 know them. 
 
 The faults of manner are analogous to those of cha- 
 racter, and almost equally disgusting : such as the 
 assumption of dignity where there is none in the senti- 
 ment ; pathos, where there is nothing interesting ; vehe- 
 mence in trifles, and solemnity upon common-place 
 subjects. 
 
 It is an observation founded in fact, that the action 
 of young children is never deficient in grace ; for which 
 
GESTURE. 149 
 
 two reasons may be assigned; first, because they are 
 under no restraint from diffidence, or from any other 
 cause, and therefore use their gestures, with ail sin- 
 cerity of heart, only to aid the expression of their 
 thoughts; and, secondly, because they have few ideas 
 of imitation, and consequently are not deprived of 
 natural grace by affectation, nor perverted by bad 
 models. 
 
 The grace of action, according to Hogarth, consists 
 in moving the body and limbs in that curve which he 
 calls the line of beauty.* When action is considered 
 independent of language and sentiment, this definition 
 will, perhaps, be found generally correct. Rhetorical 
 action, however, derives its grace, not only from the 
 actual motions of the speaker, but also from the con- 
 gruity of his motions with his own character and situa- 
 tion, as well as with the sentiments which he delivers. 
 The dignity which is a becoming grace in a judge, 
 would be quaint affectation in a young advocate ; and 
 the colloquial, but graceful familiarity of action, even 
 of the most polished society, would be highly indeco- 
 rous in the pulpit. Hence, it must be admitted, ac- 
 cording to the just maxim of Cicero and Quintilian, 
 that decorum constitutes true oratorical grace ; and that 
 this decorum admits of great variety of action, under 
 different circumstances. Vehement action is sometimes 
 both decorous and graceful ; so also are abrupt and 
 short gestures, if they bear the impress of truth and 
 suitableness. Such are the gestures of an old man, 
 when he is irritated. But the most flowing and beau- 
 tiful motions, the grandest preparations, and the finest 
 transitions of gesture, ill applied, and out of time, lose 
 their natural character of grace, and become indeco- 
 rous, ridiculous, or offensive. 
 
 * See Hogarth's Analysis of Beauty. 
 
150 ELOCUTION. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 SYNOPTICAL ARRANGEMENT OF THE NOTATION LETTER9. 
 
 Letters written above the Line, relating to the Fingets, 
 the Hands, and the Arms. 
 
 First small Letter, 
 Noting the disposition of the Fingers. 
 
 n, natural. h, holding. 
 
 c, clinched. to, hollow. 
 x, extended. ?», thumb. 
 
 i, index. g, grasping. 
 
 I, collected. 
 
 Noting the Manner of presenting the Palm. 
 
 p, prone. v, vertical. 
 
 s, supine. /, forwards. 
 
 w, inwards. b, backwards, 
 
 o, outwards. 
 
 Second small Letter, and two Capitals, 
 
 Noting the Elevation of the Arms. 
 
 d, downwards. Z, zenith. 
 h, horizontal. R, rest. 
 
 e, elevated. 
 
 Third small Letter, 
 Noting the Posture of the Arms in the Transverse Direction, 
 
 c, across. x, extended. 
 /, forwards. b, backwards. 
 
 q, oblique. 
 
 Fourth and Fifth small Letter, 
 
 Noting the Force of Motion of the Hands and Arms. 
 
 x, extreme. c, contracted. m, moderate. 
 
 Noting the Direction of Motion. 
 
 a, ascending. r, right. 
 
 d, descending. i, left. 
 
GESTURE. 151 
 
 /, forwards. i, inwards. 
 
 b, backwards. o, outwards 
 v, revolving. 
 
 Noting the Manner of Motion. 
 
 n. noting. pr, pressing. 
 
 p. projecting, or pushing. rt, retracting. 
 
 w waving. rj, rejecting. 
 
 f, flourish. bn, bending. 
 
 sw, sweep. re, recoiling. 
 
 bk, beckoning. sh, shaking. 
 
 rp, repressing. th, throwing. 
 
 ad, advancing. cl, clinching. 
 
 sp, springing. II, collecting. 
 st, striking. 
 
 Capitals, 
 
 Noting the Posture of the Head, and Direction of the Eyes 
 
 I, inclined. F, forwards. 
 
 E, erect. A, averted. 
 
 As, assenting. D, downwards. 
 
 Dn, denying. U, upwards. 
 
 Sh, shaking. R, around. 
 
 Ts, tossing. V, vacancy. 
 S, aside. 
 
 Letters written below the Line, relating to the FeeU 
 
 Capital Letters and Numerals, 
 
 Noting the Positions of the Feet. 
 
 Rl, right foot, 1st position. RF, right front position. 
 
 jR2, right foot, 2d position. LF, left front position. 
 
 TA, left foot, 1st position. K, kneeling. 
 
 L2, left foot, 2d position. 8, aside. 
 
 Small Letters and one Capital, 
 
 Noting the degree of Extension of the Feet. 
 
 x, extended. xx, extended extreme. 
 
 7wx, moderately extended. C, contracted. 
 
 Letters noting Steps.. 
 a, advance. s, start. 
 
 r, retire. sp, stamp. 
 
 tr, traverse. sk, shock. 
 
 c. cross. 
 
152 ELOCUTION. 
 
 Letters relating to Parts on which the Hand may be 
 placed. 
 E, eyes. F, forehead. 
 
 N, nose. C, chin. 
 
 L, lips. br, breast. 
 
 Tlie Manner of combining the Fingers of both Handi 
 
 is noted by two Small Letters. . 
 
 ap, applied. in, inclosed. 
 
 " Ip, clasped. tor, wringing. 
 
 cr, crossed. tc, touching. 
 
 Id, folded. nu, enumerating. 
 
 The Combinations of both Arms, 
 en, encumbered. km, kimbo, 
 
 pd, reposed. (either one or both). 
 
 A capital B, preceding, and joined to a set of small let- 
 ters, signifies that both Hands, or both Arms, perform 
 the same Gesture. 
 
 B, both hands, or both arms. 
 
 Significant Gestures and Expressions of Countenance, 
 may be noted in the margin, after the manner of Mr, 
 Sheridan. 
 
 Ap, 
 At, 
 
 appealing, 
 attention. 
 
 Av, 
 Cm, 
 
 aversion, 
 commanding. 
 
 Vn, 
 
 veneration. 
 
 Ad, 
 
 admiration. 
 
 Ls, 
 
 Lm, 
 
 listening, 
 lamentation. 
 
 Hr, 
 Gr, 
 
 horror, 
 grief. 
 
 Dp, 
 Pr, 
 
 Sh, 
 
 deprecation. 
 
 pride. 
 
 shame. 
 
 Fr, 
 En, 
 ms 
 
 fear. 
 
 encouraging ; and 
 my others at pleasure. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 APPLICATION OF THE NOTATION LETTERS. 
 
 The most complicated gestures are those which 
 relate to the combined postures and motions of the 
 hands and arms; yet these are expressed with suffi- 
 cient accuracy by four, or fewer, notation letters for 
 
GESTURE. 153 
 
 each movement. For this purpose they are divided 
 into four classes ; the notation letters of each always 
 preserve their own place, as to priority, or succession, 
 and derive their signification from it. The first four, 
 or the first three letters, taken together, are called a 
 set of letters. In a set, as phfd, or seq n, 
 
 The first letter relates to the posture of the hand. 
 
 The second, to the elevation of the arm. 
 
 The third, to the transverse situation of the arm. 
 
 The fourth, to the motion, or force of the gesture.* 
 
 Thus, phfd is to be read, prone horizontal forward 
 descending. Prone, is the posture of the hand ; hori- 
 zontal, is the elevation of the arm; forward, is the pos- 
 ture of the arm in the transverse direction ; and de- 
 scending, means that the arm descends from a higher 
 elevation. The set, seq n, is read supine elevated oblique 
 noting. Supine, the posture of the hand ; elevated, the 
 arm, as to elevation ; oblique, the arm in the transverse 
 direction ; noting, the action of the hand and arm. 
 
 As both hands and both arms are equally capable 
 of executing any gesture, the letters, and sets of letters, 
 relate to both indifferently. But they are thus distin- 
 guished : when there are two sets of small letters, the 
 first set denotes the gesture of the right hand and arm ; 
 the second, those of the left. The two sets are sepa- 
 rated by a short dash, thus : phq ■ — pdb, prone horizon- 
 tal oblique, the right hand ; and prone downwards back- 
 wards, the left. 
 
 When only a single set of three, four, or five smal 1 
 letters is marked, the gesture of one hand only is ex- 
 pressed ; that of the other is presumed to be easily 
 supplied, according to the rules of accompaniment. A 
 short dash always accompanies a single set of small 
 letters — when the dash follows the letters, they denote 
 the gesture of the right hand ; when the dash precedes 
 the letters, they denote the gesture of the left hand. 
 
 * This last letter is often omitted. 
 
 
154 ELOCUTION. 
 
 When a set of small letters is preceded by a capital 
 B, the gesture which they represent is to be performed 
 by both hands. 
 
 When a long dash follows the small letters, connect- 
 ing them with other small letters, or with a single one, 
 farther on, a change of gesture is marked, which is to 
 take place on the word over which such letter or let- 
 ters are placed ; and the commencement and termina- 
 tion of the dash mark the commencement and termina- 
 tion of the gesture. 
 
 When a set of small letters, having a dash, is con- 
 nected by a line of dots with another set of small letters, 
 having a contrary dash, the gesture made by the first 
 hand is to be followed and supported by another ges- 
 ture made by the other hand, which is to take place 
 where the second set of letters is marked. This is 
 called alternate gesture, and noted al. 
 
 In order to prevent, confusion, the postures of the 
 head, and the direction of the eyes, are indicated by 
 capital letters near the beginning of the sentence, or at 
 some distance from the letters relating to the hands 
 and arms. 
 
 The letters which mark the positions of the feet, and 
 the steps, are placed below the line, and under the word 
 where they should take place. 
 
 THE MISER AND PLUTUS. 
 
 (GAY.) 
 R BvJifr q peq n—pdq 
 
 1 . 2. The wind was high — | the window shakes ; | 
 am 
 
 veq e — vhzc 
 
 3. With sudden start the miser wakes ! | 
 
 sRlx 
 
 F pdc ad phq — 
 
 4. Along the silent room he stalks ; | 
 
 aR2 
 
 B jhx — vhqc Bvhftr 
 
 5. 6. Looks back, I and trembles as he walks ! | 
 
 tRlx 
 
GESTURE. 155 
 
 vhq — — vkx 
 
 7. Each lock, and ev'ry bolt he tries, | 
 
 aL2 
 shq o — — she i 
 
 8. In ev'ry creek, and corner, pries ; | 
 
 am 
 
 9. Then opes his chest with treasure stor'd, | 
 
 D Bseq 
 
 10. And stands in rapture o'er his hoard: I 
 
 Bvhfe 
 
 11. But now with sudden qualms, possest, | 
 
 rR\ 
 
 Idhf a — Idbr 
 
 12. He wrings his hands ; he beats his breast — | 
 
 g br — — veq 
 
 13. By conscience stung he wildly stares; | 
 
 Bshf sh 
 
 14. And thus his guilty soul declares : 
 
 Bsdf d n 
 
 15. Had the deep earth her stores confin'd, I 
 
 aR2 
 
 br—R 
 
 16. This heart had known sweet peace of mind; I 
 
 Rl 
 
 vhf — vkx U Bsefsp- 
 
 17. 18. But virtue *s sold ! | Good gods ! what price | 
 
 aR2 
 F-R 
 
 9. Can recompense the pangs of vice 1 \ 
 
 D Bsdf d n 
 
 20. O bane of good ! seducing cheat ! | 
 
 rRl 
 
 Bvhf vef shf st — sdq 
 
 21.22. Can man, weak man, | thy power defeat? | 
 
 seb sw — sdq 
 
 23. Gold banish'd honour from the mind, | 
 
 rLl 
 
 br- R 
 
 24. And only left the name behind; | 
 
 Bphc x 
 
 25. Gold sow'd the world with ev'ry iJl; | 
 
156 ELOCUTION. 
 
 ceb sh — cdq 
 
 26. Gold taught the murd'rer's sword to kill : 1 
 
 LIT 
 
 shf sh — sdq 
 
 27. 'T was gold instructed coward hearts | 
 
 aR-2x 
 Bvhf rj 
 
 28. In treach'ry's more pernicious arts. | 
 
 rR\ 
 
 seq — sdq 
 
 29. Who can recount the mischiefs o'er? | 
 
 Bpdf d 
 
 30. Virtue resides on earth no more ! I 
 
 Remarks on the Notation of the Miser and Plutus. 
 
 For the convenience of reference, the piece is divided into sec- 
 tions, by vertical bars, and the number of each section is printed in 
 the margin. 
 
 (1.) The direction of motion, expressed by the 4th small letter, 
 r, means that from the position in which both hands are presented, 
 vhf, they should move towards the right, and stop at the position, 
 oblique, as noted by q, connected by a dash to the position mentioned. 
 
 (2.) The 4th small letter, n, signifies noting - . 
 
 (12.) The posture of the hands is, at first, folded horizontal for- 
 wards, as expressed in the notation, Id hf. At the a, connected 
 by a dash, which signifies ascending, the hands are raised up, and 
 at the next notation, Id br, they are forcibly withdrawn back on the 
 breast. 
 
 (21.) This posture begins horizontal, as first noted, Bvhf, and 
 ends elevated, B vef; but the B is omitted over the word, weak, 
 being understood by the connecting dash. 
 
 (25.) The 3d small letter, relating to the transverse direction of 
 the arm, is often placed alone, but connected by a dash with a pre 
 ceding set of letters, as already observer (1.) In such case it is to 
 be understood that the posture of the hands remains as before, and 
 that the transverse direction of the arm only is changed. Here 
 each arm passes through the whole semicircle, from tie position 
 across to extended. 
 
 The fourth, and the fifth small letter, which relates to the direc- 
 tion and manner of motion, are also often separated, in this manner 
 from the position to which they belong, in order that the place of 
 the motion, or action, may be the more distinctly marked. (See 9, 
 
GESTURE. 157 
 
 15 ahd 20, in which n is thus separated, to point out the particular 
 eyllable on which the action of noting falls ) 
 
 The action of the hands and arms, at No. 15 and 20, is the same, 
 but the general effect is different, in consequence of the difference 
 in the positions of the feet. In the preparation for these gestures, 
 the palms of both hands are raised so as almost to touch the fore- 
 head ; then they descend gradually, and when the arms are a little 
 below the horizontal elevation, the wrists make that particular 
 motion called noting, on the respective words, stores and cheat. 
 
 (26.) Left foot first position extended. To make this position 
 extended, the left foot is advanced, the body at the same time is 
 thrown back, and sinks a little, bending the right knee. 
 
 (28.) This gesture, Bvhf rj, both vertical horizontal forwards 
 rejecting, is thus made : both hands are drawn backwards, nearly 
 to the mouth, in the vertical position ; the eyes, at this time, are 
 directed forwards, the hands are then pushed forwards, while the 
 face is averted, and the feet retire, to a greater or less extent, in 
 proportion to the degree of disgust or abhorrence to be expressed. 
 
 AN ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD. 
 (GRAY.) 
 
 I. 
 
 Ls veq — vhx a Bpef d 
 
 The curfew tolls — the knell of parting day! 
 am 
 
 F phf— q * 
 
 The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea ; 
 
 rR\ 
 
 -phf- 
 
 The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, 
 
 V Brief d BR 
 
 And leaves the world to darkness, and to me. 
 ii. 
 
 R Bphc ■ 
 
 Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, 
 
 Bvef 
 
 And all the air a solemn stillness holds 
 
 Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, 
 
 vefrt Pjifp— R 
 
 And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds. 
 
 aR2 
 11 
 
158 ELOCUTION. 
 
 m. 
 
 — ieq n 
 
 Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower 
 m 
 
 — veq U — seb 
 
 The moping owl does to the moon complain 
 
 rLl 
 
 — shq 
 
 Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, 
 
 — veq 
 
 Molest her ancient, solitary reign. 
 
 IV. 
 
 shf 71 — .... — shf n 
 
 Beneath those rugged elms, that yew tree's shade 
 
 Bbdf a vhf 
 
 Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap 
 
 Bnefsp 
 
 Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, 
 
 F Bphf d BR 
 
 The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 
 v. 
 
 shf — veq w — 
 
 The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, 
 
 rRl 
 
 The swallow, twitt'ring from the straw-built shed, 
 
 idq — veq w — 
 
 The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, 
 
 Bnefsp Bsdfd 
 
 No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed, 
 
 aR2 
 VI. 
 
 shf — 
 
 For them no more the blazing hearth shall burrs, 
 
 rRl 
 
 vhf — 
 
 Or busy housewife ply her evening care, 
 
 Bshfp 
 
 Nor children run to lisp their sire's return, 
 
 aR2 
 
 Bnefa D F Bskfn 
 
 Or climb his knees, the envied kiss to share 
 
 rRl 
 
GESTURE. 15 9 
 
 VII. 
 
 phc 
 
 Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield; 
 
 sdfst — 
 
 Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has brok> ; 
 
 see sw phq sp 
 
 How jocund did they drive their team afield \ 
 
 ceb bn chfst 
 
 How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy strode 
 
 VIII. 
 
 ief- ; ihf n — 
 
 Let not ambition mock their useful toil, 
 
 rU 
 
 ^ pe f pdf d — 
 
 Their homely joys, and destiny obscure : 
 
 oec - 9 rj 
 
 Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, 
 
 rRl 
 
 vef d ■ 
 
 The short, and simple annals of the poor. 
 
 IX. 
 
 vef sp — ief fl — 
 
 The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, 
 
 aR2 
 
 Bshf p q 
 
 And all that beauty, ail that wealth e'er gave, 
 
 B vhq sh 
 
 Await, alike, the inevitable hour — 
 
 rRl 
 
 a . ve f a d, sdq n R 
 
 The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 
 
 am 
 
 X. 
 
 Bphc q a shf n — 
 
 Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, 
 
 If mem'ry o'er their tomb no trophies raise, 
 
 L2 
 
 vhfp — sec q 
 
 Where, thro' the long-drawn aisle, and fretted vault, 
 
 a — B nef a d BR 
 
 The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 
 
160 ELOCUTION. 
 
 XI. 
 
 ihf— — vhq n 
 
 Can storied urn, or animated bust, 
 
 rRl 
 
 Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? 
 
 a veq d sdf — R 
 
 Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust, 
 
 aR2 
 
 Bshfsk a ve.f vdfp 
 
 Or flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of death? 
 
 XII 
 
 idf 
 
 Perhaps in this neglected spot, is laid 
 
 W Rl 
 
 br — R veq w — 
 
 Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; 
 
 B nef B shfst 
 
 Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'l, 
 
 pec sw veq sw 
 
 Or wak'd to ecstasy the living lyre. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 shfd- 
 
 But knowledge to their eyes her ample page, 
 
 phe 
 
 Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll; 
 
 Bvhf rt 
 
 Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, 
 
 B vhq c B nhfp B br 
 
 And froze the genial current of the soul. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 ihf- 
 Full many a gem of purest ray serene, 
 
 Bpdfd- 
 
 The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear; 
 
 aR2 
 
 shq p 
 
 Full many a flow'r is born to blush unseen, 
 
 pkc 
 
 And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 
 
GESTURE. 1*U 
 
 XV. 
 
 vef — br — R 
 
 Some village Hampden that, with dauntless breast 
 
 rIA 
 
 ihf — veq w 
 
 The little tyrant of his fields withstood ; 
 
 a B nef d B sdf 
 
 Some mute, inglorious Milton, here may rest; 
 
 am 
 
 B vhf rt 7> A B vhc x 
 
 Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. 
 
 rRl 
 
 XVI. 
 
 B shfp 
 
 The applause of listening senates to command, 
 
 j>hfp a a vef — rj' 
 
 The threats of pain and ruin to despise, 
 
 Bvhx sp 
 
 To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 
 
 B she 
 
 And read their history in a nation's eyes, 
 
 XVII. 
 
 phf st — R phc 
 
 Their lot forbade — nor circumscrib'd alone 
 
 Bvhfrt 
 
 Their growing virtues ; but, their crimes confin'd, 
 
 B bdf ad vhf- 
 
 Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, 
 
 B vhfp a d ■ BR 
 
 And shut the gates of mercy on mankind. 
 
 Remarks on the Notation of Gray's Elegy. 
 
 (Stanza I.) First Line. Ls, listening-. (See complex signifi- 
 cant gestures.) The small «, over knell, is connected with the set 
 of letters, B pef, over parting ; and the small d, over day, is also 
 connected with the same set. Each is considered a fourth small 
 letter, separated from its &et ; a denotes the preparation, and d, the 
 termination of the motion of the gesture. Second line. The set 
 of letters, phd, relates to the right hand, which finishes its action 
 at x, and falls slowly to rest. Third line. Here the left hand 
 
162 ELOCUTION. 
 
 takes up the principal gesture. This is called alternate gesture. 
 Both hands unite their action on weary. Fourth Line. V, the 
 eyes bent on vacancy. 
 
 (Stanza II.) The several gestures which are connected toge- 
 tner by long dashes, are to be considered as the flowing variation of 
 continued motion, till either one, or both hands fall to rest. Ges- 
 tures, thus connected, maybe called continuous; they are gene- 
 rally of that kind which are styled discriminating gestures. First 
 line. The posture, Bphc, on fades, is the preparation for sweep- 
 ing round the horizon. Whilst the hands are proceeding to the 
 position, Bphc, the head and eyes should turn towards either ex- 
 treme ; and whilst the arms are moving from this to the different 
 positions, q and x, the head and eyes should move to the other ex- 
 treme. In cases where the right hand performs the principal ac- 
 tion, the head should follow its motion ; in other words, it should 
 turn from left to right, and vice versa. Third line. The left hand 
 drops here, and the index-finger of the right hand is prepared to 
 point across. The eye should follow the object at which the finger 
 seems to point, as at a flying beetle. 
 
 (Stanza III.) In order to vary the gestures, and the better to 
 distribute the objects in the picture, the tower is supposed to be 
 placed on the left side, and the left hand assumes the principal ges- 
 ture; this is indicated, in the notation, by the short dash which 
 precedes the set of letters. Fourth line. " Ancient, solitary" 
 Nouns, or, substantives, may be considered as the outlines, or im- 
 ages of things; adjectives, as the colouring, or circumstances added 
 to those images, or limitations deducting something from them. In 
 poetical language they are called epithets. Gray has indulged in 
 the use of them, perhaps to a fault. But however that may be, 
 whenever they occur, they almost constantly rob the principal image, 
 or substantive, of its emphatic distinction, and claim it for themselves ; 
 perhaps, because the circumstances alone give individuality to the 
 image, which, in itself, is a general term. For these reasons, the 
 action, or gesture, falls rather on the epithet; and, if two, or more 
 epithets are added to the same image, each should be distinctly 
 marked, both by emphasis and action: if so pronounced, they serve 
 to illustrate the idea; but if they are hurried over, they cause only 
 confusion. Therefore, the words ancient solitary reign, require 
 two gestures, one on each epithet. But, to avoid affectation, the 
 transition should be the easiest possible ; and this will be when the 
 gesture on the preceding word is made the preparation for that on 
 the subsequent. When two epithets are applied to a name, the 
 latter should be the stronger; and in this view, also, it is proper to 
 reserve the emphatic gesture for it, as the principal. 
 
 (Stanza IV.) First line. On elms, the right hand again re- 
 sumes the principal gesture. It is here alternate, or auxiliary, as 
 appears from the dotted line of connexion. Second line. On heaves 
 
GESTURE. 163 
 
 the backs of the hands are presented forwards, the hands hanging 
 down, and in the action they ascend gradually towards vertical eleva- 
 ted, on the word mouldering. Third line. " Each in his narrow cell 
 for ever laid ;" the arms gradually ascend to the highest point, on the 
 word ever, and then, in the same manner, descend, to rest on the 
 word sleep, making, in their progress, a momentary arrest on the 
 word forefathers. It seems to be an incongruity to raise the arms, 
 in speaking of the grave, which is below ; but this is removed by 
 the downward inclination of the head, and look of the eyes, as noted ; 
 and it is not uncommon to elevate the arms in looking into any 
 thing dreadful below. This is also the preparation for the following 
 gesture, which requires the arms to fall to rest. From the third 
 line to the end of the stanza the gestures are continuous. 
 
 (Stanza V.) First line. On breathing the graceful wave is 
 marked. The wave may be considered of three kinds, the graceful, 
 the wave of triumph (which, in a less degree, is also the wave of 
 joy), and the wave of scorn, or contempt. The subject will always 
 sufficiently determine the character to be adopted, though the no- 
 tation is the same for all. Second line. On swallow, the index is 
 raised, to point out the object ; on twittering it ascends to the high- 
 est point in the range of gesture, or is retracted, so as almost to 
 touch the head, and then on the word straw-built it makes the ac- 
 tion of noting. Third line. The joyful wave, approaching to tri- 
 umph, should be made on echoing ; the voice should here mark the 
 crescendo, which will be contrasted with the gravity of the follow 
 ing line. Fourth line. In order to perform the action of springing, 
 indicated by sp, the arms begin to ascend from more, and having 
 arrived at the word rouse, the wrists make on it the stroke of the 
 gesture by springing suddenly into the elevated position. 
 
 (Stanza VI.) Fourth line. The gesture on climb is a suspend- 
 ing gesture, preparatory to that on kiss. The eyes look downwards 
 on climb, and forwards on kiss. The ends of the fingers approach 
 the mouth a little on kiss, after which the hands are advanced su- 
 pine noting. 
 
 (Stanza VII.) Second line. The preparation for the gesture 
 on stubborn is neq rt, and would fall on oft, but is here omitted as 
 taking place, of course, when the gesture marked on stubborn is 
 executed. It will be observed that several emphatic gestures im- 
 ply a proper suspending, or preparatory gesture, and reciprocally, 
 the latter the former. Thus, when a stroke is required to be made, 
 the arm must, of course, be raised ; therefore, shf st must necessa- 
 rily imply nefbn, inwards elevated forwards bending ; veq w im- 
 plies, bhf a, backwards horizontal forwards ascending ; and vhxrj, 
 implies, vhx rt, vertical horizontal extended retracting. In the 
 notation, the preparatory gestures are often omitted, when they arc 
 not required to make a preceding less emphatic word ; in which 
 case they are prepared with less decision, and their stroke is soft- 
 
164 ELOCUTION. 
 
 cried. When the suspending-, or preparatory gesture is used as the 
 principal, as in terror, where the arms are retracted violently, and 
 in surprise, where they are elevated forcibly, the subsequent ges- 
 ture is also softened ; and the emphasis of its stroke is remitted. 
 Fourth line. Should woods not be pronounced with a strong em- 
 phasis, the notation over this word might be omitted. 
 
 (Stanza VIII.) The first gesture in each of the first three 
 lines of this stanza, is a preparatory gesture, of the decisive kind, 
 and the last, in each, emphatic. As all the words which are noted 
 are important, each requires the enforcement of gesture; and the 
 connexion of suspending, or preparatory and emphatic gestures, 
 renders the transitions easy and unaffected. Second line. The 
 noun, destiny, being here placed before its adjective, or epithet, 
 may obtain both the emphasis and action ; they might, also, be re- 
 served for the epithet obscure. Fourth line. "• Short and simple ;" 
 the first epithet is distinguished by a slight discriminating gesture, 
 produced by a small change in the elevation of the arm and hand, 
 marked a. This is made the commencement of the gesture vef, 
 which is completed by a suspending gesture on simple, and which 
 descends to rest on the word poor, with an emphatic and terminat- 
 ing gesture. 
 
 (Stanza IX.) First line. The flourish is marked on power. 
 The flourish, as expressed in Fig. 88, is performed principally by 
 the wrist. In order to perform this action, the hand, with the in- 
 dex-finger, is dropped down a little above the head, nearly at right 
 angles with the fore-arm, and is then thrown forcibly upwards, and 
 sweeps round as marked by the line of dots in the figure. To ad- 
 vance boldly, indicates confidence, pride, &c. ; to advance slowly, 
 implies solemnity, grief, resignation, &c. The notation is the same, 
 in each case, as the sentiments sufficiently show in what manner 
 the speaker should advance. Of the former (bold advance), an in 
 stance is observed on the word power, in this line; of the latter 
 (slow advance), an instance is seen on the word grave, in the last 
 line. Third line. The shake, sh, is marked on inevitable. It 
 should not comprise many tremulous motions, lest it appear ridicu- 
 lous ; it is sufficient that the hand move twice suddenly backwards 
 and forwards. Fourth line. The gestures in this line are continu- 
 ous. The first, on paths, is a discriminating gesture, leading to 
 the suspending gesture, on glory. The gesture on lead, is the pre- 
 paration for that which descends to the word grave, on which falls 
 the emphatic and terminating gesture. The advance, noted in this 
 line, aR2, for the step, combines with the descending arms, and aids 
 in looking down with resignation. But it might be r/21, or rIA % 
 which would express terror, or alarm. / prefer aR2. 
 
 (Stanza XL) Second line. From back, both hands (the palma 
 inwards), move inwards, so that at mansion they nearly touch tha 
 
GESTURE. 165 
 
 lips, as noted ; they then move outwards to the position oblique, on 
 the word fleeting. 
 
 (Stanza Xll.) Third line. There is a suspending gesture on 
 hands, which is the preparation for the subsequent gesture. It 
 might have been omitted, as it is obviously implied, were it not 
 thought proper to mark the word hands with some force ; and, in 
 this way, it obtains the distinction of gesture without extravagance 
 or unnecessary waste of gesture. Were this preparatory gesture 
 not marked, the hands would ascend, by a uniform motion, to rod, 
 then make the stroke on empire, which would be feeble, and, if 
 noted at large, would be thus : 
 
 B shfst 
 
 Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd. 
 
 Fourth line. The double sweep is here performed — first inwards, 
 on ecstasy, and then outwards, on lyre. 
 
 (Stanza XIII.) The gesture on penury is a suspending one; 
 its fourth and its fifth letter, rp, which express the manner of mo- 
 tion, being separated, in order to place them over their proper syl- 
 lable. The notation, at large, would be as follows : 
 
 _ B vhf rt B v/if rp 
 
 Chill penury repressed, &c. 
 
 The first retracting, the last repressing ; this, however, is under- 
 stood from the nature of the emphatic gesture. Fourth line. The 
 fourth small letter, c, over froze, signifies contracted. The gesture 
 on current serves as a preparation for placing the hands on the 
 breast. This gesture, Bnhfp, begins on genial, and the arms are 
 stretched out, with some force, on current. 
 
 (Stanza XIV.) Third line. On the won] flower, shfrt might 
 be placed, as the preparation for the gesture on blush; but as the 
 word does not require a strong emphasis, the notation is omitted; 
 however, the gesture is implied. (See remarks on Stanza VII.) 
 
 (Stanza XV.) Fourth line. When from the transverse posi- 
 tion, c, the arms move directly to x, without noting the interme- 
 diate position, q, as here, on country's blood, the motion is under- 
 stood to be rapid, and decisive, expressing vehemence or horror. 
 
 (Stanza XVI.) Second line. The gestures necessary to be 
 marked, on this line, are four, of which the second, on pain, and 
 the third, on ruin, are made by the momentary arrest of the hand, 
 in its ascent to vef, on the first syllable of despise ,- rj* rejecting, on 
 the last syllable, finishes the whole with the emphatic stroke. 
 Thus sufficient discrimination is made, without falling into quaint- 
 ness of gesture, or affectation. These small discriminating ges- 
 tures, produced by a slight arrest of motion, and often by merely 
 changing the posture of the hand, are more frequent, and more im 
 portant to the orator, than the more showy gestures, and should be 
 particularly attended to. 
 
166 ELOCUTION. 
 
 (Stanza. XVII.) The last two lines have each a series of con- 
 tinuous gestures. 
 
 From the preceding- analysis and notation, it will be observed that 
 the discriminating gestures are principally requisite for the recit- 
 ing of this poem. The suspending and the emphatic are frequent; 
 but the last seldom require to be strongly marked, as the general 
 character of the sentiments is calm and tender. Of significant 
 gestures there are very few. The first, marked Ls, listening, over 
 curfew, is of this class, and perhaps a few others may also be 
 reckoned to belong to it, as when the hand is laid on the breast; but 
 there are not many more. 
 
 As these gestures may be varied, it may be said, infinitely, so 
 there can be no fixed standard, as to the manner of delivering this, 
 or any other poem, or oration, which should be considered exclusively 
 appropriate. The sentiments require, indeed, to be delivered with 
 suitable tones of voice, and expression of countenance; but great 
 variety of gesture may be consistent with propriety, provided gene- 
 ral rules are not violated : as, that decorum and simplicity be ob- 
 served; that the transitions, connexions, the time of the gesture, 
 and precision in the stroke, be attended to, and other obvious precau- 
 tions, of general import, already sufficiently detailed. The notation 
 will accommodate itself to every variety in the speaker's manner; 
 and this must prove a recommendation to its use. 
 
 THE SPEECH OF BRUTUS ON THE DEATH OP C^JSAR. 
 
 (SHAKSPEARE.) 
 B shfp q vex sp B nef 
 
 Romans, countrymen, and lovers ! hear me for 
 
 aR2 rRl 
 
 B shf st pef — phx phf st— R 
 
 my cause ; and be silent that you may hear. 
 
 Bshfp br — R br pr — veq sp 
 
 Believe me for mine honour; and have respect unto 
 
 aR2 
 
 Bshfn D B pef 
 
 mine honour that you may believe. Censure me 
 
 Bnhx Bvefsp 
 
 in your wisdom; and awake your senses that you 
 
 rRl 
 
 B shf n B she x • 
 
 may the better judge. If thero be any in this 
 
 W aRi 
 
 - sdfd vefsp ■ 
 
 assembly, any dear friend of Caesar's, to him I 
 
GESTURE. 16? 
 
 br—R 
 
 &av that Brutus' love to Caesar, was no less than 
 
 rRl 
 
 shfst ief n — veq — 
 
 his. If, then, that friend demand why Brutus rose 
 
 Bshfp- q 
 
 against Caesar, this is my answer: not that I loved 
 
 nef — shfst — B veq w 
 
 Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more. Had 
 
 shfp — peq sp — phfst — 
 
 you rather Caesar were living, and die all slaves, 
 
 rIA 
 
 B shfst Bnhx 
 
 than that Caesar were dead, and live all freemen? 
 
 aR2 
 
 sef— E — R veq to— 
 
 As Caesar loved me, I weep for him ; as he was for- 
 
 rLl 
 
 br- — veq — vhq Bsdfd 
 
 tunate, I rejoice at it ; as he was valiant, I honour 
 
 cef — chf st — D 
 
 him ; but, as he was ambitious, I slew him. There 
 
 m aR2 
 
 B nef shfdVbr — R veq w — D Bpef 
 
 are tears for his love, joy for his fortune, honour 
 
 rRl 
 
 Bveqsp — ceb — chf sh — BR shf 
 
 for his valour, and death for his ambition. Who's 
 
 rIA 
 
 p ohc x rj pef— 
 
 here so base that would be a bondman? If any, 
 
 aR2 
 
 pdfst— ihfrc R — 
 
 speak ; for him have I offended. Who's here so 
 
 rRl 
 
 phe x shf n 
 
 rude that would not be a Roman ? If any, speak ; 
 
 vefsp— Bvhfp 
 
 for him have I offended. Who 's here so vile that 
 
 rLl 
 B veq w B shfn JJ 
 
 will not love his country ? If any, speak ; for 
 
168 ELOCUTION. 
 
 Bvhfsh BR veqto — 
 
 him have I offended. I pause for a reply. None J 
 
 she sw 
 
 Then none have I offended. I have done no more 
 
 aR2 
 
 shfn — nef — br — R 
 
 to Caesar, than you should do to Brutus. The 
 
 ihfn — 
 
 question of his death is enrolled in the Capitol 
 
 phfd 
 
 his glory not extenuated wherein he was worthy , 
 
 ifif— vef sp 
 
 nor his offences enforced, for which he suffered 
 
 phf St — B — ihb . . , she — F shc—shb 
 
 death. Here comes his body, mourned by Mark 
 
 rRl 
 
 n shf—R 
 
 Antony, who, though he had no hand in his death, 
 
 nef — skf n — 
 
 shall receive the benefit of his dying, — a place in 
 
 B she q x 
 
 the commonwealth ; as which of you shall not 1 
 
 aR2 
 
 Bvef BR cef — 
 
 With this, I depart : that, as I slew my best 
 
 rRl rLl 
 
 Bshfn chfsh — 
 
 lover for the good of Rome, I have the same dagger 
 
 brst—R a B pef 
 
 for myself, when it shall please my country to 
 
 — d B R st 
 
 need my death. 
 
 rRl 
 
 Remarks on the Notation of the Speech of Brutus. 
 
 I have introduced this speech, and noted it, for the purpose of 
 showing- that the gestures necessary for delivering it in the true 
 spirit, are principally the suspending and the emphatic. These are 
 suited to the vehemence of the speaker's manner, which seeks no 
 ornament, but hastens to produce the main impression on his hearers, 
 by the most direct method. An inspection of the notation will make 
 his evident ; for, even though the reader may wish tr alter many 
 
GESTURE. 169 
 
 particular gestures which are here noted, he must change them for 
 others of the same nature, if he would preserve the character of the 
 speech. The suspending and the emphatic gestures must still 
 abound, and he will find little opportunity for introducing the other 
 descriptions, which are, in general, too tame for the abrupt and ve- 
 hement style of this speech. 
 
 " Be silent that you may hear. 1 '' On these words I have marked 
 the gesture for the left hand, as well as that for the right, and also 
 on the words, " have respect unto mine honour.'''' This last is an 
 auxiliary gesture, but of the vehement kind. The exordium of this 
 singular oration ends at " better judge ;" after which, the arms 
 should fall to rest, and there should be a considerable pause. An- 
 other division, which may be called the proposition, takes place at 
 "live all freemen " another, the narration, at "death for his am- 
 bition " and that which may be called the pathetic, or appeal to 
 the passions, finishes at " I pause for a reply.'*'' The argument, or 
 reasoning, ends at " suffered death ;" and the peroration follows. 
 
 " I weep for him?* This is noted E — R, the right hand on the 
 eyes, the left at rest. 
 
 "Him have I offended " noted on "him, 1 '' ihfrc, recoiling. In 
 this action the finger is pointed suddenly, and scornfully ; then im- 
 mediately withdrawn. 
 
 Frequent changes in the positions of the feet indicate anxiety ; 
 they are, therefore, noted, in this speech. 
 
 "His body, mourned;" auxiliary gesture. When the right 
 hand is brought up on " mourned,'''' both hands become supine ; and, 
 on the next words, " by Mark Antony," they make the action of 
 noting. At "Here comes," noted B, the speaker looks back; at 
 " Mark Antony," noted F, he looks forward to those whom he ad- 
 dresses. It would be tedious to point out all the suspending ges- 
 tures, succeeded immediately by the emphatic, for they abound. 
 In all the antitheses, which are numerous, the suspending will be 
 found over the first member, and the emphatic over the last. 
 
 EXTRACT FROM YOUNG S NIGHT THOUGHTS. 
 
 U vefn F B nef 
 
 The bell strikes one. We take no note of time 
 
 aR2 rBX 
 
 Bshfst U ief— 
 
 But from its loss : to give it then a tongue 
 
 shj n — V B phq 
 
 Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke, 
 
 U br- R ihf — 
 
 I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright 
 
170 ELOCUTION, 
 
 ■ ief idq R si 
 
 It is the knell of my departed hours. 
 
 R B vhc q rt B vhfp 
 
 Where are they ? With the years beyond the flood 
 
 V ieq — phfst — 
 
 It is the signal that demands despatch: 
 
 B phf x B vhq 
 
 How much is to be done ! My hopes, and fears 
 
 ■ sp • 
 
 Start up alarmed, and o'er life's narrow verge 
 
 aR2 
 
 D B phfst Bnefsp 
 
 Look down — on what? A fathomless abyss, 
 
 rRl 
 
 Bvefp 
 
 A dread eternity ! how surely mine 
 
 vef — br.. 
 
 And can eternity belong to me, 
 
 — vef Brief BR 
 
 Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour? 
 
 U nefc— F shf st — A ohc — vhfe F Bveqw 
 
 How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, 
 
 B vhc x 
 
 How complicate, how wonderful is man ! 
 
 U a Bvefsp d BR 
 
 How passing wonder he who made him such! 
 
 B nkxsp 
 
 Who center'd in our make such strange extremes I 
 
 B vhc 
 
 From different natures, marvellously mix'd, 
 
 B nef rt pefp ■ 
 
 Connexion exquisite of distant worlds ! 
 
 shfp a nefsp 
 
 Distinguish'd link in being's endless chain ! 
 
 idf n 
 
 Midway from nothing to the Deity! 
 
 U shf—^ vhf vef 
 
 A beam etherial, sullied, and absorpt ! 
 
 d phfst a. vefsp — f 
 
 Though sullied, and dishonour'd, still divine! 
 
GESTURE. 171 
 
 vhfc — V veqw — 
 
 Dim miniature of greatness absolute ! 
 
 Bnef d- _ Bsdfn 
 
 An heir of glory ! a frail child of dust ! 
 
 FBphf U Bveqsp D idf— Uveqw — 
 
 Helpless immortal ! insect infinite 1 
 
 idfn— U vefsp B shf sh 
 
 A worm! a God! I tremble at myself, 
 
 V Bbr vef—hr 
 
 And in myself am lost. At home, a stranger, 
 
 XT Fst — R V vefsp — — vhx sp 
 
 Thought wanders up and down, surpris'd, aghast, 
 
 V Bvhfsh Bvec x 
 
 And wond'ring at her own. How reason reels ! 
 
 vef c — pkf n — br — R 
 
 O what a miracle to man is man, 
 
 B vef w BR vefsp — vhfsh-- 
 
 Triumphantly distress'd ! what joy ! what dread ! 
 
 Bshfp Bvhfrt 
 
 Alternately transported, and alarm'd! 
 
 rRl 
 B br B vhc 
 
 What can preserve my life? or what destroy? 
 
 nefsp — d pdfn 
 
 An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave, 
 
 Bveqw Bnef Bsdfst 
 
 Legions of angels can't confine me there. 
 
 Remarks on the Extract from Young's Night-Thoughts. 
 
 The peculiarities of Young's style, especially in his Night- 
 Thoughts, render his poetry particularly difficult for recitation. 
 His use of epithets is faulty to excess. He heaps them profusely, 
 and in every manner, on the principal idea. Man is here his sub- 
 ject, which he colours with every variety of tint, exhibits in every 
 light, and touches and re-touches almost to disgust. And yet he 
 has here produced many sublime images ; and his very faults, his 
 labour, his antitheses and his catachreses,* are the source of his 
 beauties. This passage is particularly difficult to recite. The dif- 
 
 * Catachresis, a figure of speech by which one word is abusive^? 
 put for another. 
 
172 ELOCUTION. 
 
 ficnlty arises cbiefiy from the multiplicity of the images, and the 
 brevity of the expression ; consequently, if the speaker is not care- 
 ful to pronounce every line with due deliberation, his gesture makes 
 confusion only, and gives an air of mummery to his recitation. 
 This condensation of images occurs in almost every line ; but the 
 twenty -sixth line, which consists of only four words, is remarkable. 
 " Helpless immortal ! insect infinite !" 
 
 To give force and variety, and, at the same time, simplicity and 
 gracefulness to gestures so heaped on each other, is attended with 
 no inconsiderable difficulty. But even should the speaker's manner, 
 in the recitation of these lines, prove unexceptionable in this re- 
 spect, the difficulty is but half conquered. They do not, indeed, 
 require any considerable variety of voice; but the eye and the coun- 
 tenance of the speaker must be full of expression and intelligence: 
 he must appear to be rapt in meditation, which rises into sublimity 
 as it proceeds, and inflames, as it catches the rapid succession of 
 thought. On these accounts, this passage is seldom recited suc- 
 cessfully. 
 
 After what has been said in the analysis of the other pieces, a 
 few observations will suffice for this. 
 
 Line 4, "aright," continuous gesture to the end of the 5th line, 
 where the hand falls to rest with some degree of force, noted R st, 
 rest, striking. The hand, generally, in falling to rest, drops quietly 
 and imperceptibly by its own gravity, and it is then noted with a 
 simple R ; but sometimes the hand is struck down forcibly, and then 
 it is noted, as above, R st. 
 
 Line 8. " How much ;" the x, in the fourth place, means that 
 the arms are to be extended forwards eagerly. 
 
 Line 14, 15, 16, six epithets, antithesis, and a climax: the voice 
 and gesture must increase in energy, and on " Ae," in the 16th line, 
 complete the climax. The first, in each pair of gestures, is pre- 
 paratory to the subsequent, in the antithesis. 
 
 Line 23 to 25. Antitheses and catachreses heaped on each 
 other, each requiring a separate gesture, strongly contrasted with 
 that to which it is opposed. 
 
 Line 29. F st, the hand striking the forehead. 
 
 GENERAL REMARKS. 
 
 In order to render every circumstance perfectly intelligible, I have 
 marked with the notation letters the gestures in the preceding ex- 
 amples more minutely than is necessary for general use. For gene- 
 ral use, it is sufficient to note the most important circumstances, 
 leaving the filling up to the judgment of the speaker. 
 
GESTURE. 173 
 
 In the recitation of descriptions of any kind, the speaker must, in 
 imagination, have the picture before his eyes, and each object must 
 be disposed in the same order as if actually painted. If this imagi- 
 nary picture be faulty in the composition, confused, or ill-grouped 
 the gesture will perplex, rather than enlighten ; but, if well con- 
 ceived, and well disposed in its parts, the speaker will seem to give 
 it the interest of life by his skilful gesture and recitation; and the 
 puditor will almost imagine that he actually contemplates all that 
 the speaker describes. 
 
 Impassioned compositions, delivered with proper feeling and ex- 
 pression, open, in like manner, to the view of the hearer, the inter- 
 nal operations of the speaker's mind, — a contemplation still more 
 interesting than any scenes of external nature which can be pre- 
 sented in description. 
 
 As, in writing, even an appropriate term must not be used too 
 frequently, so in this art, the same gesture, however expressive, 
 must not be too often repeated. Variety is graceful, and requires 
 that similar gestures, as well as similar words, should be separated 
 b.v those which are diverse. 
 
 In oratorical action, it is a general rule that each new idea requires 
 a new gesture. But important ideas, only, require distinguished 
 gesture. For these last, therefore, should be reserved the species of 
 gestures named emphatic; for the former (which are the most nu- 
 merous), the discriminating will be sufficient. As to frequency, the 
 propriety of gesture will be found to depend on the deliberation and 
 expression of the speaker. If the feelings are not alive, and if the 
 lines are not pronounced with due deliberation, the gestures will 
 appear to be too numerous. In the preceding examples they may 
 seem to have this fault, from the circumstance that it is my object 
 to exhibit at large the greater part of their minute connexions and 
 transitions. A little attention, however, will show, that much, 
 still, has been left to be supplied by the judgment of the reader. 
 
 The notation, and the analytical observations on the foregoing 
 pieces, will, it is conceived, afford sufficient information to such as 
 may desire to assist their rhetorical studies by this system. I would 
 not recommend that the young speaker, in using this notation, should 
 mark every possible passage in his discourse, in the manner of these 
 examples; for such minuteness would lead to embarrassment, un- 
 less preceded by much labour. The utmost advisable notation 
 should not exceed a few marks on particular passages, and those 
 separated from each other; the filling up of which should be trusted 
 to the feelings of the moment. But the best method, in all re- 
 spects, for acquiring a finished rhetorical delivery, is the private 
 practice of declamation, which is supported on the authority of the 
 great masters and models of oratory, Demosthenes and Cicero. The 
 aspiring rhetorical student should select one or more celebrated 
 orations, couched in the style that he wishes to adopt; these he 
 12 
 
174 ELOCUTION. 
 
 should carefully subject to all the rules of notation ; he should study 
 them, and commit them to memory ; he will exercise on them all 
 the powers of his voice, his countenance and gesture ; and, like De- 
 mosthenes, consult his mirror, and obtain the opinion of a judicious 
 friend on his performances. The knowledge and facility, which, 
 by repeated exercises of this kind, he will acquire in rhetorical 
 delivery, may be transferred, with advantage, to his own composi- 
 tions which are to be delivered in public; and, without hazarding 
 the inconveniences of particular notation, he will find himself pos- 
 sessed of such a store of various, forcible, and expressive action, 
 that, whatever his feelings shall suggest at the moment, he will be 
 able to execute in a satisfactory manner. 
 
GESTURE. 175 
 
 QUESTIONS 
 
 TO BE ANSWERED BY THE PUPIL. 
 
 ELOCUTION. 
 
 Page 15. What is Elocution ] What does Elocution comprise 1 
 What does the science of Elocution embrace'? What does the art 
 of Elocution embrace 1 How is Elocution divided 1 What is Vo- 
 cal Gymnastics ] What is Gesture 1 How is Vocal Gymnastics 
 subdivided ! 
 
 ARTICULATION. 
 
 Page 16. What is Articulation] What is Pitch ] What is 
 Force] What is Time] Can the elements of vocal language be 
 formed separately ] What is good articulation ] What advantage 
 results from good articulation] 
 
 Page 17. Can one be a good reader, or speaker, whose articu- 
 lation is imperfect] What is the condition of the organs of articu- 
 lation in those who have never been in the practice of pronounc- 
 ing their words distinctly ] What is the best method for rendering 
 the muscles of articulation obedient to the commands of the will] 
 
 Page 18. What are the elements of vocal language] What 
 is the number of letters in the English language] What is the 
 number of elements in the English language] 
 
 Page 19. How are the elements divided ] Describe the vow- 
 els — the subvowels — the aspirates. Pronounce the vowels — the 
 subvowels — the aspirates. 
 
 Page 20. Why are not C, J, Q, and X, classed with the ele- 
 ments ] 
 
 Page 21. How are the vowels divided *? What is a monothong ] 
 By what letters are the monothongs represented ] What is a diph- 
 thong] By what letters are the diphthongs represented] What 
 are the constituents of the diphthongs] What is a triphthong] 
 By what letters are the triphthongs represented] What are the 
 constituents of the triphthongs] 
 
 Page 22. Are there any other diphthongs and triphthongs ] 
 By what letters are they represented] Do they increase the num- 
 ber of the elements] Give an analysis of them. What is the 
 condition of the aperture of the mouth, during the utterance of a 
 monothong ] — a diphthong ? — a triphthong 1 
 
1T6 ELOCUTION. 
 
 Page 23. Of what does B consist, and how is it formed 1 Of 
 what does D consist, and how is it formed] 
 
 Page 24. Describe G. What is L] What is Ml What is 
 N? What is NG] What is R, and how many varieties are there 
 of this element? When should R be trilled, and when made 
 smooth 1 
 
 Page 25. What is TH, in then, and how is it formed ] What 
 is V, and how is it formed ] Describe W. Describe Y. What kind 
 of a sound is Z, in zone, and how is it formed ? What is Z, in 
 azure, and how is it formed I How is F formed? What is HI 
 In how many ways may H be uttered ] How is K formed 1 
 
 Page 26. How is P formed] Describe S. Describe SH. How 
 is T formed 1 Describe TH, in thin. What is WH, and what 
 posture of the mouth does it require 1 
 
 Page 27. Are there any elements that require more than one 
 posture of the mouth] How is a vowel exploded] What advan- 
 tage results from exploding the elements] 
 
 Page 30. What is defective articulation ] Is it common ] From 
 what does it arise] Children are apt to say day for gay ; late for 
 cake, &c. — how may these faults be corrected ? 
 
 Page 31. Some children pronounce John, don ; Charles, tarles, 
 &c. — how may these faults be corrected] 
 
 Page 32. Some persons confound V and W — what exercises 
 will be found beneficial in correcting these faults] In correcting 
 errors in articulation, why is it advantageous to practise the exer- 
 cises before a mirror ] What is lisping] What is the remedy for 
 lisping ] 
 
 Page 33. What is stammering] How does the cause operate ? 
 How is stammering cured ] Does every case require the same 
 treatment ] Can any one treat stammering successfully 1 
 
 Page 38. What is pitch] There are two divisions of pitch — 
 what are they ] 
 
 Page 39. What is the Diatonic Scale ] What is the order of 
 the scale 1 What is the octave ? 
 
 Page 40. What is an interval ? What is a discrete interval ? 
 W 7 hat is a concrete interval] Name the principal intervals. 
 What is the difference between a major third and a minor third ? 
 
 Page 41. How many sorts of voice do we employ in the ex- 
 pression of our thoughts ] Describe them. What do the Italians 
 mean by the terms voce di petto and voce di testa ? 
 
 Page 42. Describe the whispering voice. In what respect 
 does the female voice differ from that of the male] Describe the 
 voices of boys. How is the voice divided? What is the orotund 
 voice ? 
 
 Page 46. To what range of pitch is the speaking voice mostly 
 
QUESTIONS. IT? 
 
 confined, in good elocution ? There is a very common fault, in re- 
 gard to pitching the voice — what is it? 
 
 Page 47. What are inflections ? How many different inflec 
 tions are described by writers on Elocution ? In what respect does 
 a rising inflection differ from a falling inflection ? 
 
 Page 49. What is the extent of the concrete intervals of the 
 notes of speech ? Do falling inflections traverse the same range of 
 pitch as their corresponding rising inflections'? 
 
 Page 50. In what other respect do these inflections differ? 
 Give some account of the circumflexes. 
 
 Page 51. Why should not a falling inflection be used for the sake of 
 mere variety ? What should determine the direction of inflections ? 
 
 Page 52. What is melody ? How is melody distinguished 
 from harmony? What is notation? What is intonation? On 
 what is melody founded ? 
 
 Page 53. In what respect does the melody of speech differ from 
 that of song ? Is it necessary, for practical purposes, to present 
 every syllable in speech under its proper note, as is done in song? 
 
 Page 54. What is an emphasis melody ? Describe the staff 
 of speech. Give an example of emphasis melody. What is the 
 pitch-note of speech? 
 
 Page 55. On which line of the staff is the pitch-note written ? 
 What is the effect of reading altogether in the pitch-note ? How 
 is the voice properly varied in pitch ? Is the melody of speech con- 
 fined to four degrees of pitch, whose intervals are as determinate as 
 those of the Diatonic Scale ? Does the melody of speech consist 
 solely of emphasis melodies? Mention some points in which the 
 graphic notes of song, and those of an emphasis melody, differ. 
 What care is necessary to be taken in reading emphasis melodies ? 
 
 Page 56. What is modulation ? How is modulation effected, 
 and with what is it generally accompanied ? What is the province 
 of modulation ? Describe the staff of modulation. 
 
 Page 57. Give an example of modulation. 
 
 FORCE. 
 
 Page 59. What is force ? How is force divided ? How are 
 the terms high and low, and loud and soft, applied to force ? By 
 what are the nine degrees of force expressed ? 
 
 Page 60. In what way should force be varied ? What is stress ? 
 What is radical stress? What is median stress? 
 
 Page 61. What is final stress? What is explosive sticss? 
 What is tremour ? How may tremour be illustrated ? W T hy is it 
 necessary to pay attention to the subject of force ? 
 
 TIME. 
 
 Page 63. What is time ? How is time, in music, divided 1 
 How does the time of speech differ from that of song ? 
 
178 ELOCUTION. 
 
 Page 64. What is quantity 1 By what characters is quantity 
 represented! What is their relative value 1 What is the effect 
 of a dot, when affixed to a note, or rest 1 How many general 
 modes of time are there 1 How are they distinguished ] Name 
 some of the varieties of the two general modes of time. 
 
 Page 65. What is movement 1 How should the rate of move- 
 ment be regulated 1 
 
 Page 66. What terms are employed to denote the rate of move- 
 ment] What are the three chief divisions of time 1 Name some 
 of the terms which indicate the style of performance. Are not 
 these terms sometimes used in connexion with those which express 
 the movement! Give an example. Is the rate of movement de- 
 finitely marked by the terms, Adagio, Largo, &c. 1 How may it 
 be designated with precision ! Describe the Metronome. 
 
 Page 67. How should the time be marked on the Metronome, in 
 reading 1 How should it be marked in music 1 
 
 Page 69. What is gesture 1 How may the postures of the 
 body, with respect to vocal delivery, be divided 1 Describe some 
 of the unfavourable postures. 
 
 Page 72. What postures are favourable to vocal delivery 1 In 
 what manner should the book be held, in reading? 
 
 Page 73. In demonstrating on the black-board, should the face, 
 or back, be turned towards the audience 1 What is the cause of 
 the general neglect with which the cultivation of the art of gesture 
 has hitherto been treated 1 To whom is the world indebted for a 
 system of notation of gesture 1 Give an example of the notation. 
 
 Page 74. What suggested the idea of this system of notation 1 
 What may be reckoned among the higher objects of this system of 
 notation T 
 
 Page 76. What parts of the body are brought into action, in 
 gesture 1 What should be the external deportment of the orator 1 
 In what does the gracefulness of motion, in the human form, consist ] 
 
 Page 77. How should the orator stand, to be graceful 1 How 
 are the positions of the feet expressed 1 Describe the first position 
 of the right foot. 
 
 Page 78. Describe the second position of the right foot. What 
 is the first position of the left foot 1 
 
 Page 79. Describe the second position of the left foot. Which 
 is the proper reading position 1 
 
 Page 80. Which is the proper rising position of the orator 1 
 Describe the positions in front. 
 
 Page 81. Describe the positions of the feet in the extended 
 state. Describe the contracted position. What attitudes and po« 
 hitions should the orator adopt ? 
 
 Page 82. In changing the positions of the feet, how should the 
 
QUESTIONS. 179 
 
 motions be made? Why should an orator not change his position 
 frequently] What are the several acts resulting irom the changes 
 in the positions of the feet, and how are they noted ? How are two 
 or more steps expressed ? How are changes of position, or steps, to 
 be made ? 
 
 Page 83. How many steps may be made from each original 
 position ? Describe them. 
 
 Page 84, 85. By what sort of a diagram is the present system 
 of gesture exemplified ? 
 
 Page 86. To what are postures and motions of the arm referred, 
 and how are they noted ? 
 
 Page 87. How many primary postures of the arm are there? 
 How are the fifteen primary postures of the arm more particularly 
 noted? 
 
 Page 89. In referring gestures to certain points in a sphere, is 
 mathematical precision necessary ? What is there peculiar in the 
 colloquial elevations of the arm ? 
 
 Page 91. How does the degree of energy, proceeding from the 
 sentiment of desire, or aversion, influence the character of gesture ? 
 How is the notation varied, to mark the different degrees of exten- 
 sion of the arm ? 
 
 Page 91. Enumerate some of the postures of the arm which 
 are named from the manner of holding the arm, or resting it upon 
 the body. 
 
 Page 93. By what circumstances are the postures of the hand 
 determined ? Describe some of the postures belonging to the first 
 class. 
 
 Page 96. Describe the postures of the second class, which de- 
 pend on the manner of presenting the palm. 
 
 Page 97. Describe the postures of the third class, arising from 
 the combined disposition of the hands. 
 
 Page 98. Describe the fourth class. 
 
 Page 100. Why may any posture of the arm, or hand, sustain 
 different significant characters ? How are the motions of the hands 
 and arms considered, and how are they noted ? 
 
 Page 101. What is noting ? What is projecting, or pushing ? 
 How is waving performed, and how is it noted ? How is the 
 flourish performed, and how is it noted ? What is the sweep, and 
 how is it noted 1 
 
 Page 102. What is beckoning ? What is repressing ? What 
 is striking, and how is it noted ? What is recoiling ? 
 
 Page 103. How is advancing performed ? What is springing ? 
 What is throwing ? What is clinching ? How is collecting per- 
 formed ? What is shaking? What is pressing? What is re- 
 tracting ? What is rejecting ? What is bending ? 
 
 Page 104. Why should an orator hold his head erect ? To 
 what should the movements of the head be adapted ? Name the 
 
180 ELOCUTION. 
 
 principal postures and motions of the head, and direction of the eyes, 
 with their notation letters. 
 
 Page 105. In what manner should the motions of the body ac 
 company those of the hands and arms] What forms the grand 
 instrument of gesture 1 Where is the centre of motion of this com- 
 pound instrument? Do these parts move together in the manner 
 of an inflexible line ? In gesticulating, does this complex instru- 
 ment continue long in one direct line, or in any particular flexure? 
 
 Page 106. What is the stroke of the gesture] Should the 
 stroke of the gesture always be made with the same degree of force ] 
 To what is the stroke of the gesture analogous ? Are there any 
 other points of analogy between the voice and gesture] 
 
 Page 107. Is it important that the stroke of the gesture should 
 fall precisely on the accented syllable of the emphatic word ] What 
 kind of gesture is that which is called sawing the air? With what 
 effect are all unmeaning motions of public speakers attended] 
 
 Page 108. What is meant by the t^rms principal gesture, and 
 subordinate gesture ? What are significant gestures ? 
 
 Page 109. Are the majority of gestures significant] What do 
 gestures, in general, denote ] Into how many classes are these 
 various gestures divided ! What are commencing gestures ] What 
 are discriminating gestures] 
 
 Page 110. What are auxiliary gestures] What are suspend- 
 ing gestures] What are emphatic gestures] 
 
 Page 111. Give illustrations of these several gestures. 
 
 Page 112. May these five classes of gestures be used in any 
 part of discourse] Do modern orators ever perform the principal 
 gesture with the left hand ! Is not this practice at variance with 
 the rules of Quintilian ] How do you account for this difference 
 between the customs of the ancient and modern orators'? On what 
 occasions may the left hand perform the principal gesture? Do the 
 moderns violate another precept of Quintilian ? 
 
 Page 113. Under what circumstances do the corresponding 
 hand and foot naturally advance together? When may the con- 
 trary hand and foot advance together? In the transitions of ges- 
 ture, should the hand and arm ahv ays be precipitated to the intended 
 position by the shortest course? Describe some of these curves. 
 
 Page 114. For what purpose is this indirect line used ? By 
 what is the extent of the return, or depth of the sweep, deter- 
 mined ? Does the preparation made by these curves suit every 
 species of gesture? What kind of preparation is generally made 
 for emphatic gestures? 
 
 Page 115. Illustrate it by examples. 
 
 Page 116. What is the connexion of gesture, and how is it 
 shown ? How is the connexion of gesture, in the vertical direction, 
 noted ? 
 
 Page 117. Illustrate the connexion ol gesture in the vertica. 
 
QUESTIONS. 181 
 
 direction by an example 1 ? To what does the transition of gesture 
 relate, and what does it signify ] May a gesture have a very 
 different character and effect, according to the manner in which 
 the hand arrives at its destined point] Why do painters generally 
 choose to represent the suspending gestures] To what does the 
 transition of gesture particularly relate] 
 
 Page 118. If the passage to be pronounced be of considerable 
 length, why should the right hand perform the principal gesture 
 throughout the whole of it] Under what circumstances may the 
 right hand yield to the left the performance of the principal gesture ] 
 
 Page 119. May not this balancing, or alternation of gesture, be 
 carried to an affected extreme ] How should the transition of ges- 
 ture, from one hand to the other, be managed ] What is the gene- 
 ral rule, in regard to changing the position of the feet] 
 
 Page 120. What is the general rule for accompaniment of ges- 
 ture, in calm and moderate speaking, when both hands do not per- 
 form the same gesture] What important accompaniments are to 
 be attended to besides the motions of the subordinate gesture] 
 
 Page 121. Give an example of some of the stronger changes of 
 the head, body, and lower limbs, which accompany certain principal 
 gestures. 
 
 Page 122. Describe, in their natural order, the several motions 
 which may be employed in expressing aversion. What is the close 
 and termination of gesture, and in what manner should it be ef- 
 fected ] Should a single word, or idea, be marked with more than 
 one emphatic stroke] 
 
 Page 123. Is there any particular point of elevation at which 
 emphatic gestures should terminate ] Should gesture be limited, 
 in its application, to any particular words and passages] For what 
 parts of the oration will a judicious speaker reserve the force and 
 ornament of gesture ] By what should the frequency of gesture be 
 determined ] 
 
 Page 124. In what kind of sentences may a gesture be made 
 on each word ] Why should a sentence be slowly delivered, in 
 which a gesture is made on almost every word ] Does the em- 
 phatic gesture always fall on those words which are the principal, 
 in a grammatical sense — the nouns and verbs] Under what cir- 
 cumstances should gestures, which are noted alike, be varied ? 
 
 Page 125. Should there be any cessation of gesture during the 
 delivery of a discourse ] What is gesture said to hold the place of] 
 How, then, should it be managed ] What are the principal quali- 
 ties which constitute the perfection of gesture ] How is magnifi- 
 cence of gesture effected ] 
 
 Page 126. What are the opposite imperfections ] From what 
 does boldness of gesture arise ] What is the opposite imperfection ] 
 Of what does energy of gesture consist ] What are the opposite 
 imperfections] Of what does variety of gesture consist 1 What 
 
182 ELOCUTION. 
 
 ts the opposite imperfection] What is simplicity of gesture' 
 What is the opposite imperfection ] What is grace of gesture? 
 
 Page 127. What is the opposite imperfection ] What is pro- 
 priety of gesture] What are the opposite imperfections J From 
 what does precision of gesture arise ] What are the opposite im- 
 perfections ] What are the three general modes of public speak- 
 ing ] Does each require a different style of gesture ] What does 
 epic gesture demand ] 
 
 Page 123. What does rhetorical gesture require ] What does 
 colloquial gesture require ] Under what circumstances should the 
 gestures of the public speaker be principally of that class which is 
 called discriminating gestures ] How should he perform them ] 
 From what does the charge, which is sometimes made against pub- 
 lic speakers, of being theatrical in their gesture, probably arise ] 
 
 Page 129. On what occasions should the public speaker use 
 more graceful, more flowing, and more varied gesture ] What 
 should he guard agairi^t, and how should all his gestures be regu- 
 lated ] What are the most important significant gestures of the 
 head and face ] What are the most important significant gestures 
 of the eyes ] 
 
 Page 130. What are the most important significant gestures 
 of the arms] Name some of the most important significant ges- 
 tures of the body. What are some of the most important signifi- 
 cant gestures of the lower limbs] 
 
 Page 147. What is Lord Karnes's definition of grace ? On 
 what does the gracefulness of rhetorical action depend ] Where is 
 grace to be found ] Can true grace and consummate eloquence be 
 acquired by every one ] In what does the grace of oratorical ac- 
 tion consist ] Why should action, to be graceful, be performed 
 with facility] Why should it be performed with freedom] 
 
 Page 148. What are some of the situations in which it would 
 be impossible for an orator to be truly graceful ] Is the restraint 
 arising from diffidence prejudicial to grace ] How may it be cor- 
 rected ] What is indispensable for the maintenance of grace in 
 rhetorical action ] Do simplicity and truth of manner constitute 
 grace ] What effect have gestures, which are contrived for the 
 mere display of the person, or for the exhibition of some foppery, 
 as, for instance, a fine ling] W T hat effect has affectation upon ora- 
 torical grace ] What are some of the faults of manner] 
 
 Page 149. Why is the action of young children never deficient 
 in grace] In what does the grace of action consist, according to 
 Hogarth] Is his definition correct ? From what does rhetorical 
 action derive its grace] 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Having treated of the principles of Reading and 
 Speaking, it is now necessary, in order to render this 
 Work an entire System of Elocution, to furnish the 
 pupil with appropriate Exercises for the practical 
 application of these principles. 
 
 The Exercises are divided into two Parts. Part I. 
 consists of Exercises in Articulation, Pitch, Force, 
 Time, and Gesture. Part II. consists of Exercises in 
 Reading and Declamation. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 EXERCISES IN ARTICULATION, PITCH, 
 FORCE, TIME, AND GESTURE. 
 
 FIRST EXERCISE. 
 Table of the Elements of the English Language, 
 
 VOWELS. 
 
 
 SUBVOWELS. 
 
 
 ASPIRATES. 
 
 ALE 
 
 
 BOW 
 
 
 FAME 
 
 ARM 
 
 
 DAY 
 
 
 HUT 
 
 ALL 
 
 
 GAY 
 
 
 KITE 
 
 AN 
 
 
 LTGHT 
 
 
 PIT 
 
 EVE 
 
 
 MIND 
 
 
 SIN 
 
 END 
 
 
 NO 
 
 
 TIN 
 
 ILE 
 
 
 SONG 
 
 
 SHADE 
 
 IN 
 
 
 ROLL 
 
 
 THIN 
 
 OLD 
 
 
 ORB 
 
 
 WHAT 
 
 LOSE 
 
 
 THEN 
 
 
 
 
 ON 
 
 
 VILE 
 
 VOWEL COMPOUNDS 
 
 TUBE 
 
 
 wo 
 
 
 OIL 
 
 UP 
 
 
 YOKE 
 
 
 AY 
 
 FULL 
 
 
 ZONE 
 
 
 BOY 
 
 OUR 
 
 
 AZURE 
 
 
 BUOY 
 
 This Exercise should be practised as 
 
 follows : 
 
 1. Utter each ele- 
 
 wont with the fall 
 
 ing 
 
 inflection, the vowels with explosive force. 
 
 
 
 
 
 (183) 
 
184 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 2. Utter each vowel and subvowel, alternately, with the rising- and 
 falling inflection. 3. Utter the vowels with the falling 1 inflection, 
 alternately, in a high and low pitch. 4. Utter each vowel in the 
 medium pitch of the natural voice, then in the falsetto, and lastly, 
 in the lowest note of the natural voice. 5. Pronounce every word 
 under the head Subvowels, as well as under the head Aspirates, in 
 the following manner: make a full inspiration, and dwell for two 
 or three seconds on the initial element ; then utter the remainder 
 of the word with a sudden and forcible expulsion of the breath.* 
 
 SECOND EXERCISE. 
 
 In this Exercise, every vowel is preceded by every subvowel, 
 ind by every aspirate. 
 
 aaaa|ee|li|666 |uuu|ou. 
 ba ba ba ba | be be | bl bl | bo b6 b6 [ bu bu bu | bou. 
 da da da da | de de | dl dl | d6 dd d6 | du da du | dou. 
 gk gk gk gk | ge ge | gl gl | g6 g6 g6 | gu gd gu |gou. 
 la la la la | le 16 | 11 11 | 16 16 16 | la la la | lou. 
 
 ma ma mk ma | me me | ml mi | m6 m6 m6 | 
 mu mu mu J mou. 
 
 na na na na. | ne ne | ni nl | n6 n6 n6 J nu nd nd | nou. 
 
 rk rk ra ra | re re | rl ri | ro r6 r6 | ru rd rd | rou. 
 
 THa THa th4 THa | th6 THe | th! th! | th6 th6 th6 | 
 
 THU THa THU | THOU. 
 
 va va va va | ve ve | vl vi | v6 v6 v6 | vu va vu J vou. 
 wa wa wa wa | we we | wi wi | wo w6 w6 | wu wa wu | w T ou. 
 ya ya ya ya. | ye ye J yi yi | yo y6 y6 | yu ya yu J you. 
 ik ik ik ik \ih ih \ i\ i\ \ io 46 ib \ in it 4u | ^ou. 
 2a ik ik ik \ ib ib | 21 2i | ib ib ib \ in in 2u | Sou. 
 fa fa fa fa | fe fe J fi fl | f6 f6 f6 | fd m f6 | fou. 
 ha ha ha ha | he he | hi hi | h6 h6 h6 j ha hd hd | hou. 
 ka ka ki ka | ke ke | kl kl | k6 k6 k6 j kd kd kd | kou. 
 pa pa pa pa | pe pe | pi p! j po p6 p6 | pu pd pd | pou. 
 sa sa sa sa. | se se | si si | so s6 s6 | su sd sd | sou. 
 
 * As song and orb do not begin with a subvowel, they should 
 be omitted in this exercise. And as it is impossible to dwell on the 
 aspirate, h, the word hut may also be omitted. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 185 
 
 &hk sha shk sha | she she 
 
 | shi shl 
 
 [ sh6 sh6 sh6 \ 
 
 shu shu shu. | shou. 
 
 
 
 tk tk ta ta | te te | ti tl j 
 
 to t6 t6 
 
 | tu tu tu | ton 
 
 thk thk thk thk \ thb thb 
 
 | thl thl | 
 
 thb thb thb | 
 
 thu thu thu 1 thou. 
 
 
 
 wha wha wha wha | whe whe | whl whl j wh6 wh6 wh6 | 
 whu wha whu | whou. 
 
 THIRD EXERCISE. 
 
 The object of this Exercise is to bring- into proper play the 
 muscles of the lips, and enable the pupil to pronounce with facility, 
 v, w, and wh, in certain situations, and to distinguish between them. 
 
 wa - va 
 
 va - wa 
 
 6v - 
 
 wa 
 
 wa 
 
 - wha 
 
 wa - va 
 
 va - wa 
 
 6v - 
 
 wa 
 
 wa 
 
 - wha 
 
 wa - va 
 
 va. - wa 
 
 6v - 
 
 wa 
 
 wa 
 
 - wha. 
 
 wa - va 
 
 va - wa 
 
 6v - 
 
 wa 
 
 wa 
 
 - wha 
 
 we - ve 
 
 ve - we 
 
 6v - 
 
 we 
 
 we 
 
 - whe 
 
 we - ve 
 
 ve - we 
 
 6v - 
 
 we 
 
 we 
 
 - whe 
 
 wl - vl 
 
 vl - wl 
 
 6v - 
 
 wl 
 
 wl 
 
 - whi 
 
 wl - vl 
 
 vl - wl 
 
 6v - 
 
 wl 
 
 wl 
 
 - whl 
 
 w6 - v6 
 
 v6 - w6 
 
 6v - 
 
 wo 
 
 wo 
 
 - wh6 
 
 w6 - v6 
 
 v6 - w6 
 
 6v - 
 
 w6 
 
 w6 
 
 - who 
 
 w6 - vd 
 
 v6 - w6 
 
 6v - 
 
 w6 
 
 w6 
 
 - whd 
 
 wu - vu 
 
 vu - wu 
 
 6v - 
 
 wu 
 
 wu 
 
 - whu 
 
 wu - vn 
 
 vu - wu. 
 
 6v - 
 
 wA 
 
 wu 
 
 - whu 
 
 wu - vu 
 
 vu - wu 
 
 6v - 
 
 wu. 
 
 wu 
 
 - whu 
 
 wou-vou 
 
 vou - wou 
 
 6v - 
 
 wou 
 
 wou 
 
 -whou 
 
 
 FOURTH 
 
 EXERCISE 
 
 .* 
 
 
 da - ga 
 
 ta - ka 
 
 THa 
 
 - ik 
 
 ^a 
 
 - sa 
 
 da - ga 
 
 ta - ka 
 
 THa 
 
 - ik 
 
 thk 
 
 - sa 
 
 da - ga 
 
 ta - ka 
 
 THa 
 
 - ik 
 
 thk 
 
 - sa 
 
 da - ga 
 
 ta - ka 
 
 THa 
 
 - ik 
 
 thk 
 
 - sa 
 
 de - ge 
 
 te - ke 
 
 THe 
 
 - ik 
 
 thb 
 
 - se 
 
 de - ge 
 
 te - ke 
 
 THe 
 
 - ih 
 
 thb 
 
 - se 
 
 di -gl 
 
 tl - kl 
 
 th! 
 
 - i\ 
 
 thl 
 
 - si 
 
 dl -gl 
 
 tl - kl 
 
 th! 
 
 - i\ 
 
 thl 
 
 - si 
 
 d6 - gb 
 
 t6 - k6 
 
 tho 
 
 - ib 
 
 thb 
 
 - s6 
 
 do - go 
 
 td - k6 
 
 th6 
 
 - ib 
 
 thb 
 
 - s6 
 
 d6 - g6 
 
 to - k6 
 
 th6 
 
 - £6 
 
 thb 
 
 - s6 
 
 du - gu 
 
 tu - ku 
 
 THU 
 
 - ih 
 
 thu 
 
 - su 
 
 du - go. 
 
 tu - M 
 
 THU 
 
 - ih 
 
 thb 
 
 - su 
 
 du - gu 
 
 tu - ku. 
 
 THU 
 
 - ib. 
 
 thu 
 
 - su 
 
 dou - gou 
 
 tou- kou 
 
 THOU 
 
 i - iou. 
 
 thou 
 
 - sou 
 
 * The design of this exercise is to bring into proper action the 
 
186 
 
 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION, 
 
 FIFTH EXERCISE. 
 
 The object of this Exercise is to enable the pupil to utter per- 
 fectly the subvowels and aspirates, when they are the final elements 
 of words. 
 
 af ef if of uf 
 
 ak ek ik ok uk 
 
 ap ep ip op up 
 
 ash esh ish osh ush 
 
 at et it ot ut 
 
 ath eth ith oth uth 
 
 ab eb ib ob ub 
 ad ed id od ud 
 ag eg ig og ug 
 al el il ol ul 
 am em im om um 
 an en in on un 
 
 ang eng mg ong ung 
 ar er ir or ur 
 
 aTH eTH iTH OTH UTH 
 
 av ev iv ov uv 
 ai ei ii oi ub 
 a2 ei ii 02 ui 
 
 N, and NG, contrasted, 
 an, ang; en, eng; in, ing; on, ong; un, ung. 
 
 SIXTH EXERCISE. 
 
 This Exercise exhibits the analysis of words in which there are 
 easy combinations of elements. In the first column the words are 
 presented as they are usually spelled ; in the second, their elements 
 are separated by hyphens. The pupil should spell the words, ut- 
 tering, separately, each element, and not the name of the letter, as 
 is generally done in the schools. 
 
 ale a-1 
 
 end 
 
 e-n-d 
 
 day d-a 
 
 Jane d-i-a-n 
 
 says 
 
 said 
 
 .... s-e-a 
 ... s-e-d 
 
 arm a-r-m 
 
 isle 
 
 1-1 
 
 baa b-a 
 
 cart k-a-r-t 
 
 all a-1 
 
 rhyme .... 
 
 ink 
 
 oak 
 
 . . . r-i-m 
 . . . i-ng-k 
 ... 6-k 
 
 law 1-a 
 
 beau 
 
 ... b-6 
 
 orb a-r-b 
 
 awe a 
 
 morn m-a-r-n 
 
 lose 
 
 John 
 
 few 
 
 ... 1-6-2 
 . ... d-fc-6-n 
 
 ... f-l 1 ! 
 
 
 
 muscles which move the tip, and root of the tongue, and to contrast 
 the elements, d and g, and t and k, which, by children, are some- 
 times confounded. The want of entire command of the muscles of 
 the tongue and lips, is the reason why some persons speak thick, as 
 it is called. A part of this Exercise is adapted to the case of lispers, 
 those who substitute the subvowel th for i ; and the aspirate th, 
 for*. 
 
add .. 
 Jamb . 
 eve . . 
 pea.. . 
 
 key . . 
 field . . 
 people 
 
 PRACTICAL 
 a-d 
 
 ELOCUTION 
 
 181 
 
 1-a-m 
 
 e-v 
 
 p-b 
 
 k-e 
 
 f-e-l-d 
 
 p-e-p-1 
 
 view . . . 
 suit .... 
 feud .... 
 
 her 
 
 sir 
 
 wolf . . . . 
 
 v-h 
 
 s-u-t 
 f-u-d 
 h-u-r 
 s-u-r 
 w-u-l-f 
 
 now n-ou 
 
 SEVENTH EXERCISE. 
 
 This Exercise exhibits the analysis of words in which there are 
 difficult combinations of elements. 
 
 months 
 
 rhythm 
 
 twists 
 
 breadths 
 
 tasks 
 
 acts 
 
 shrinks 
 
 hands 
 
 mists 
 
 truths 
 
 baths 
 
 paths 
 
 sixths 
 
 m-u-n-^-s 
 
 v-l-th-m 
 
 t-w-1-s-t-s 
 
 b-r-h-d-th-3 
 
 t-a-s-k-s 
 
 a-k-t-s 
 
 sh~r-l-ng-k-s 
 
 h-a-n-d-4 
 
 m-1-s-t-s 
 
 t-r-u-/A-s 
 
 b-a-TH-4 
 
 p-a-TH-^ 
 
 s-1-k-s-th-s 
 
 worlds 
 
 tracts 
 
 friendship 
 
 attempts 
 
 exhausts 
 
 precepts 
 
 themselves 
 
 suspects 
 
 resolves 
 
 exists 
 
 thousands 
 
 thousandth 
 
 objects 
 
 w-u-r-1-d-i 
 
 t-r-a-k-t-s 
 
 f-r-e-n-d-sh-1- 
 
 a-t-t-e-m-p-t-i 
 
 e-g-£-h-a-s-t- 
 
 p-r-e-s-e-p-t-s 
 
 TH-e-m-s-e-1- 
 
 S-U-S-p-^-k-t-! 
 
 r-e-£-6-l-v-£ 
 e-g-2-1 -s-t-s 
 th-ou-i'-X-n-d 
 fA-ou-i-a-n-d' 
 6-b-d-2-e-k-t 
 
 -th 
 
 EIGHTH EXERCISE. 
 
 This is an Exercise in Pitch. The first four notes, counting 
 from below, belong to the natural voice ; the fifth, to the falsetto. 
 The pupil should pronounce the letters, a, e, i, a, in the ascending 
 and descending order of the scale, and with the rising and falling 
 inflection, as represented by the notes. He should then, in like 
 manner, pronounce each vowel element — ascending and descend- 
 ing, as before. 
 
 Diag.2. 
 
 
 6 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 w 
 
 . 
 
 C3 
 
 ffi 
 
 
 o 
 
 
 w 
 
 <u 
 
 w 
 
 > 
 
 a. 
 
 
 
 
 QQ 
 
 3 
 
 
 cd 
 
 
 £ 
 
 - 
 
 — 
 
 -A-9 
 
 -6-9- 
 
 —6—9- 
 
 -a- a- 
 
 - A 
 
 -i-i- 
 
 -6-6- 
 
 -VL-tL- 
 
 
 -a-a- 
 
 -e-e- 
 
 -f-i- 
 
 -6-6- 
 
 -u-u- 
 
 -a-a- 
 
 -e-e- 
 
 -i-i- 
 
 -6-6- 
 
 -u-u- 
 
 -a-a- 
 
 „ ,, 
 
 -i-i- 
 
 -6-6- 
 
 -u-u- 
 
 
 -a-a- 
 
 -e-e- 
 
 -i-i- 
 
 -6-6- 
 
 -u-u- 
 
 Mr. President, 
 Mr. President, 
 Mr. President, 
 
 Mr. President, 
 
 Mr. President, 
 
18S 
 
 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 NINTH EXERCISE. 
 
 The pupil should pronounce all the vowels, which admit of long 
 quantity, alternately with the rising and falling inflection, through 
 various intervals of pitch, as shown by the Diagram. 
 
 Diag. 22. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 i 
 
 
 
 -ik — w - 
 
 
 ' (* 
 
 I A 
 
 l 19 
 
 ■ B 
 
 4 f 
 
 e v 
 
 8 v 
 
 • ¥ 
 
 
 
 a? k. a? a. kl 
 
 a? a. kl k. a! 
 
 a. 
 
 kl a. 
 
 kl k. a? a. a! 
 
 a? 
 b% 
 1? 
 6? 
 61 
 u? 
 
 a. 
 e. 
 i. 
 6. 
 ft. 
 u. 
 
 a 1 ? a. a? a. a? a. a? 
 £? e. £? e. e? e. e? 
 1 7 i. Hi. Hi. M 
 6] 6. 6? 6. 61 6. 6) 
 61 6. 6? 6. 61 6. 61 
 u.? a. u? U. U? U. 11? 
 
 a. 
 e. 
 i. 
 6. 
 6. 
 u. 
 
 a? 
 
 e? 
 i? 
 6? 
 6? 
 u? 
 
 a. 
 &. 
 
 i. 
 6. 
 6. 
 u. 
 
 ou? 
 
 ou. 
 
 OU? OU. OU? OU. OU?OU. ou? 
 
 TENTH EXERCISE. 
 
 EMPHASIS MELODIES. 
 
 OU. 
 
 OU? 
 
 OU 
 
 Diag. 23. 
 
 Di'co-. 24. 
 
 ■*- 
 
 -f- 
 
 f- 
 
 field, house, temple. thunder, battle, heaven, 
 
 A storm of universal fire- blasted every fields con 
 sumed every house', and destroyed every tern pie. 
 
 Then shook the hills with thunder riv'n, 
 Then rush'd the steed to battle driv'n, 
 And louder than the bolts of heaven, 
 Far flash'd the red artiMery. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION 
 
 189 
 
 Diag. 25. 
 
 Diag. 26. 
 
 ^Z- 
 
 ■?- 
 
 ^- 
 
 tower, shine, glad, terrible, man, woman, child, beast. 
 
 Ye are the things that tow N er, that shine^ whose 
 smile makes glad, whose frown is terrible. 
 
 They did not see one maa, not one woman, not one 
 chM, not one four-footed beast', of any description 
 whatever. 
 
 Diag. 27. 
 
 m- 
 
 Diaz. 28. 
 
 <r 
 
 <r 
 
 1— 
 
 exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, disturbed, delighted, raised, refined. 
 
 Exulting, trembling, ra ging, fainting, 
 Possess'd beyond the Muse's painting. 
 By turns they felt the glowing mind, 
 Disturbs, delight ed, rais'ds refin'd^ 
 
 Diag. 29. 
 
 — 9 * 1 
 
 w 
 
 
 w 
 
 
 
 V 
 
 
 
 V 
 
 
 
 V 
 
 
 — f ' 
 
 seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless, 
 
 death, 
 
 clay. 
 
 The populous and the powerful was a lump, 
 Seasonless, herbJess, treeless, manless, lifeJess 
 A lump of deatlr — a chaos of hard clay x . 
 
 Diag. 30. 
 
 ^ 
 
 poor, 
 
 rich, 
 
 abject, 
 
 august, complicate, wonderful 
 
 13 
 
190 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 How pooi\, how rich x , how abject, how august*, 
 How complicate, how won derful is man I 
 
 Diag* 31. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 — f— 
 
 
 9 
 
 
 V 
 
 
 V 
 
 
 
 
 9 
 
 
 ▼ 
 
 
 
 — *— 1 
 
 time, wrong, contumely, love, delay, office, spurns, 
 
 For w T ho would bear the whips and scorns of time*, 
 The oppressor's wrongs the proud man's comtumely, 
 The pang of despised lovev, the law's delays 
 The insolence of office, and the spurns, 
 That patient merit of the unworthy takes, 
 When he himself might his quietus make 
 With a bare bod.kin I 
 
 INTERROGATIVE SENTENCES. 
 
 There is nothing peculiar in the melody of interrogative sentences, 
 when they are pronounced with the falling inflection ; but, when 
 they are pronounced with the rising inflection, they are character- 
 ized as follows : 
 
 When a question is asked simply for information, and there is 
 but one emphatic syllable in it, this syllable rises concretely from 
 the pitch-note line, through the interval of a third, or fifth (or there- 
 abouts), according to the degree of energy with which the sentence 
 is pronounced. And the syllables which follow the interrogative 
 note (if I may so call it), are pronounced in the pitch of the upper 
 extreme of this note, thus : — 
 
 Dias* 32. 
 
 With you, and quit my Su - san's side 1 
 
 When a question is asked with surprise, the interrogative note 
 begins a degree below the pitch-note, and rises, concretely, about a 
 fifth, or an octave, thus: — 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 Diag. 33. 
 
 O @ 9 © & 8r~ 
 
 With you ! and quit my Su - san's side. 
 
 Should Susan's also be pronounced with emphatic force, but with 
 less energy than you, the melody would be as follows: — 
 
 Diag. 34. 
 
 6 &— 
 
 -4 ^ 
 
 With you! and quit my Su - san's side! 
 Susan's, be 
 
 Diag. 35. 
 
 Should side, instead of Susan's, be made emphatic, the melody 
 would be thus : — 
 
 I 
 
 -4 6 4- 
 
 With you ! and quit my Su - san's side ! 
 
 And should you, Susan's, and side, be all pronounced with empha- 
 tic force, the melody wonld be as follows : — 
 
 Diag. 36. 
 
 I 6 &- 
 
 With you! and quit my Su - san's side! 
 
 The following- sentence is apt to be read to the melody of dia- 
 gram 33 ; it should, however, be read to that of Diagram 37. 
 
 Diag. 37. 
 
 4- 
 
 W T ith you! the hap - less hus - band cried, 
 
192 
 
 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 The phrase, " the hapless husband cried,''' is not a part of the 
 interrogation, but is parenthetical, and should be read one degree 
 lower than the pitch-note. 
 
 ELEVENTH EXERCISE. 
 
 FORCE. 
 
 The pupil should utter all the vowel sounds with the rising- and 
 falling inflection, in each of the nine degrees of force. He should 
 then read, or recite, some passage in each of these degrees, begin 
 ning as soft as possible, thus : — 
 
 
 
 Diag. > 
 
 38. 
 
 
 I 
 
 ppp 
 
 2 3 
 
 PP P 
 
 4 
 mp 
 
 5 
 
 m 
 
 6 
 mf 
 
 7 
 / 
 
 if 
 
 Iff 
 
 a a 
 
 a a 
 
 a a 
 
 a a 
 
 a a 
 
 a a 
 
 a a 
 
 a a 
 
 'a a 
 
 tD 
 
 to" 
 
 «T 
 
 C/T 
 
 of 
 
 aT 
 
 of 
 
 oT 
 
 to 
 
 03 
 
 CD 
 
 CO 
 
 0) 
 
 CD 
 
 CD 
 
 0) 
 
 CD 
 
 CD 
 
 
 ■4-J 
 
 
 
 
 4-9 
 
 
 
 ■u 
 
 .H 
 
 Sj 
 
 _K3 
 
 .2 
 
 .5 
 
 .2 
 
 .2 
 
 .2 
 
 .2 
 
 '3 
 
 '5 
 
 '5 
 
 '3 
 
 '5 
 
 '3 
 
 "3 
 
 '3 
 
 '3 
 
 c 
 
 o 
 
 o 
 
 o 
 
 o 
 
 o 
 
 o 
 
 o 
 
 o 
 
 to 
 
 
 CO 
 
 CO 
 
 CO 
 
 CO 
 
 CO 
 
 CO 
 
 CO 
 
 CO 
 
 CO 
 
 CO 
 
 CO 
 
 CO 
 
 CO 
 
 CO 
 
 CO 
 
 CO 
 
 03 
 
 cC 
 
 E3 
 
 US 
 
 <S 
 
 03 
 
 US 
 
 03 
 
 03 
 
 0) 
 
 CD 
 
 CO 
 
 CD 
 
 CD 
 
 CD 
 
 CD 
 
 CD 
 
 O 
 
 > 
 
 > 
 
 > 
 
 > 
 
 > 
 
 > 
 
 > 
 
 t> 
 
 > 
 
 uS 
 
 ea 
 
 03 
 
 o3 
 
 03 
 
 03 
 
 o3 
 
 o3 
 
 03 
 
 !_ 
 
 u 
 
 s- 
 
 >-i 
 
 Si 
 
 
 J-. 
 
 fS 
 
 (h 
 
 J3 
 
 ^2 
 
 ^2 
 
 _Q 
 
 -Q 
 
 j= 
 
 X> 
 
 -Q 
 
 rQ 
 
 >> 
 
 >> 
 
 >> 
 
 >> 
 
 >> 
 
 S-> 
 
 >> 
 
 >> 
 
 >> 
 
 § 
 
 s 
 
 S 
 
 s 
 
 3 
 
 § 
 
 § 
 
 a 
 
 ^ 
 
 TWELFTH EXERCISE. 
 
 MODULATION. 
 
 There are many persons who do not vary the pitch and force of 
 their voices according to the varying demands of sentiment. They 
 read every thing alike ; and they do not appear capable of imitating 
 a correct manner of speaking. In such cases, I have found it ne- 
 cessary, in order to break up established habits, and direct the voice, 
 as it were, into a new channel, to institute exercises in which the 
 pitch and force of the voice are varied in the wildest and most ex- 
 travagant manner. For instance, I select some piece, and divide it 
 into sections. The first of these sections I pronounce in the falsetto 
 voice, and request the pupil, or, what is better, the whole class, to 
 pronounce it in like manner; the second section I pronounce in the 
 lowest note of the natural voice, and it is immediately repeated by 
 the class ; the third, in the highest note of the natural voice ; the 
 fourth in a whisper; the fifth, in the medium pitch of the natural 
 voice; and so on. After exercising awhile in this manner, the 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 193 
 
 pupil is able to appreciate smaller intervals of pitch ; and the voices 
 of the whole class are ultimately brought into the same key, as is 
 done in singing. The following is an exercise of the kind to which 
 I allude. 
 
 Falsetto. Lowest note of the natural voice. 
 
 My brave associates, | partners of my toil, | 
 
 Highest note of n.v. Whispering voice. Medium note of natural voice 
 
 my feelings, | and my fame ! | can Holla's words | 
 
 Highest note n. v. Lowest note of the natural voice. Falsetto. 
 
 add vigour | to the virtuous energies | which inspire 
 
 Lowest note. 
 
 your hearts ? | No ! 
 
 THIRTEENTH EXERCISE. 
 
 TREMOUR. 
 
 The pupil should pronounce all the vowels which admit of long 
 quantity, with a tremulous movement of the voice, as shown by the 
 following diagram : — 
 
 Diag. 39. 
 
 a a 
 
 a a 
 
 The vowels, a, a, e, i, 0, 6, u, and ou, should be pronounced in 
 the same manner. 
 
 The accented syllable of the words printed in italics, in the fol- 
 lowing passages, may be pronounced with the tremour. 
 
 That wash ihy hallow'd feet, and warbling flow. 
 Greece nurtured in her glory's time. 
 And the complaining brooks, that make the meadows 
 §reen. 
 
 The tremour heightens the expression, even of opponent passions, 
 as joy and sorrow. It may be occasionally introduced with great 
 effect, both in song and speech, as well as in instrumental music. 
 
194 
 
 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION 
 
 FOURTEENTH EXERCISE. 
 
 TIME AND GESTURE. 
 
 A rhythmical ear is essential to the public speaker who would 
 gesticulate with gracefulness, precision and effect. The subject of 
 time, therefore, should claim his particular attention. Those who 
 have not a rhythmical ear, may acquire one, by practising faithfully 
 the following progressive Exercises : 
 
 1. Raise the arms, with the hands clinched, to the position ele- 
 vated forwards {Beef ') ,and then bring them down, with great force, 
 to the position downwards forwards \Bcdf), on the energetic utter- 
 ance of each of the elements of speech. 
 
 2. Clinch the hands, then retract one arm, and project the other, 
 alternately, horizontal forwards, on each of the elements. 
 
 3. Clinch the hands, and make a beat, horizontal forwards, on 
 the first element ; strike the palms of the hands together on the 
 second; with the hands clinched, make a beat horizontal forwards 
 on the third ; strike the palms of the hands together on the fourth ; 
 and so on. 
 
 4. Beat time on the elements with the dumb-bells. Make the 
 first beat by bringing the bells in contact, horizontal forwards ; the 
 second, by bringing them in contact elevated forwards ; the third, 
 by bringing them in contact downwards forwards ; the fourth, by 
 bringing them in contact downwards backwards, thus : — 
 
 Diag. 40. 
 
 METHOD OF BEATING TIME WITH THE DUMB-BELLS.* 
 
 a &c. 
 
 *Dumb-bells are commonly made of lead. Those 
 used in the author's Vocal Gymnasium are turned 
 out of lignum vitae. They are one foot long, and 
 rbur inches in diameter. (See the cuts in the 
 margin.) 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 195 
 
 5. Mark the time by marching. The class should marcn, in rile, 
 on a line, in the form of the figure eight (8), and pronounce, after 
 ihe teacher, an element at every step. Should the class be large, 
 two columns may be formed, which should march in opposite direc- 
 tions. Meanwhile, two, or more pupils, standing out from the class, 
 may keep time with the dumb-bells. 
 
 SYLLABLE RHYTHM. 
 
 6. When the pupil cannot mark the rhythm of poetry, he should 
 first beat time on every syllable, in either, or in all, of the ways 
 which have been described. 
 
 \ | I r» I am r* | mon- r- | arch r- 1 of r- | all p- 1 1 r* I 
 sur- r* | vey p- | my p* | right p* | there p- | is p- 
 nonep* | to p* | dis- p» | pute r- | fromp* | the p- 
 cen- r» | tre r- | all r* | round r- | to r* | the p* | sea p- 
 J r- | amp. | lord p- | of p» | the p- | fowl p- | and p- | 
 thep- | brute r- | &c. 
 
 POETRY RHYTHM. 
 
 7. The rhythm of poetry should be marked by a beat on the ac- 
 cented part of the measure, which, in the following examples, is the 
 first syllable after each vertical bar. 
 
 Lines supposed to have been written by Alexander Sel- 
 kirk, during his solitary abode on ihe Island of Juan 
 Fernandez. 
 
 (cowper.) 
 
 I am | monarch of [ all I sur- | vey v , 
 
 My | right there is | none to dis- | putev ; 
 
 From the | centre all | round to the | sea v , 
 I am | lord of the | fowl and the | brute . 
 
 | solitude ! | where are the | charms 
 That | sages have | seen in thy | face v ? 
 
 Better | dwell in the | midst of a- | larms\ 
 Than | reign in this | horrible | places 
 
 1 am | out of hu- | inanity's | reach v ; 
 
 I must | finish my | journey a- | lonev ; 
 Never | hear the sweet | music of | speech', 
 I start at the | sound of my | own,. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 The | beasts that roam | over the | plain' 
 My | form with in- | difference | see* : 
 
 They are | so unac- | quainted with j man', 
 Their | tameness is | shocking to | me. 
 
 So- | ciety, | friendship, and | love x , 
 
 Di- | vmely be- | stow'd upon | man*, 
 O j had I the | wings of a | dove', 
 
 How | soon would I | taste you a- | gain* ! 
 My | sorrows I | then might as- | suage 
 
 In the | ways of re- | ligion and | truth* ; 
 Might | learn from the | wisdom of | age', 
 
 And be | cheer'd by the | sallies of | youth^ 
 
 Re- | Irgion! what | treasure un- | told', 
 
 Re- | sides in that | heavenly | word* ! 
 More | precious than | silver or | gold', 
 
 Or | all that this | earth can af- | ford v . 
 But the | sound of the | church-going | bell', 
 
 These | valleys and | rocks, never | heard* ; 
 Ne'er | sigh'd at the | sound of a | knell', 
 
 Or | smil'd when a | sabbath ap- | pear'd . 
 
 Ye | winds that have | made me your | sport , 
 
 Con- | vey to this | desolate | shore,, 
 Some | cordial en- | dearing re- | port', 
 
 Of a | land I shall | visit no | more^. 
 My | friends* — do they | now and then | send 
 
 A | wish or a | thought after | me' ? 
 O ! tell me I | yet have* a | friend, 
 
 Though a | friend I am | never to | see . 
 
 How | fleet is a | glance of the | mind* ! 
 
 Com | par'd with the | speed of its | flight', 
 The | tempest it- | self lags be- | hind', 
 
 And the | swift-winged | arrows of | light*. 
 When I | think of my | own native | land', 
 
 In a | moment I | seem to be | there* ; 
 But, a- j las ! recol- | lection at | hand', 
 
 Soon | hurries me | back to de- | spaii.. 
 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 197 
 
 But the | sea-fowl is | gone to her | nests 
 
 The | beast is laid | down in his | lain; 
 Even | here is a | season of | rest', 
 
 And | I to my | cabin re- | pair. 
 There's | mercy, in | ev v ery | place; 
 
 And | mercy en- | couraging | thought ! 
 Gives | even af- | fliction a | grace', 
 
 And | reconciles | man to his | lot v . 
 
 THE ROSE. 
 (COWPER.) 
 
 The | rose had been | wash'^, just | wash'd in a | showier, 
 
 Which I Mary to | Anna con- | vey'd' ; 
 The | plentiful I moisture en- I cumber's? the | flow'er, 
 
 And | weigh W down | its beautiful | head . 
 
 The | cup was all I fill's?, and the I leaves were all | we^ ; 
 
 And it | seem'd, to a I fanciful | view, 
 To I weep for the | buds it had | left with re- 1 gret, 
 
 On the | flourishing | bush where it J grew. 
 
 1 1 hastily | seiz'd' it, un- | fit as it | was, 
 
 For a | nosegay, so | dripping, and | drownWv, 
 
 And | swinging it I rudely, too I rudely, a- 1 las ! 
 1 1 snapp'd* it — it i fell to the | ground . 
 
 And | such, I ex- 1 claim'd, is the | pitiless | part', 
 
 Some, | act by the I delicate | mind% 
 Re- j gardless of | wringing, and | breaking a | heart, 
 
 Al- 1 ready to I sorrow re- 1 sign'd . 
 
 This I elegant I rose, had I I shaken it | less, 
 
 Mighi have I bloom'd with its | ow'ner a- | while ; 
 
 And the | tear ; that is | wip'd with a I little ad- | dress-, 
 May be | follow'd, per- 1 haps ( by a | smile . 
 
 8. Accompany the pronunciation of the elements with gesture. 
 In the following series of figures, there are two periods of gesture. 
 The first gesture should be made during the pronunciation of the 
 four sounds of a; the second, during the pronunciation of the two 
 sounds of e; and so on. The whole of the Second Exercise (p. 
 168), should be practised in this way. The stroke of the gesture 
 should be made on the last element in each group. 
 
198 FRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 FIRST PERIOD.* 
 
 98 
 shq — sdq 
 
 a, a, a, a ; 
 am 
 
 veq — pkz 
 
 M; 
 
 100 
 *r — R 
 
 1,1; 
 
 6,6,6; 
 
 Bveq 
 
 i, ft, & ; 
 
 iZ2 
 
 Bsdq 
 OU. 
 
 * These two periods of gesture are intended as examples; others 
 may be supplied by the teacher, as occasion shall require. Every 
 variety of action should be practised, in connexion with the ele- 
 mentary exercises of the voice; and the pupil should be careful to 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION 
 
 SECOND PERIOD. 
 
 199 
 
 Viq — phx 
 
 Bveqe 
 
 Bveqx 
 
 b&,bi,b£,b&; 
 
 b£, bfe; 
 
 bi, bl ; 
 
 m 
 
 m 
 
 rLlx 
 
 cl 
 
 eeq — cdx 
 
 edf— edb 
 
 b6, b6, b6 ; 
 
 bu, bu, bu ; 
 
 bou. 
 
 Z2 
 
 aR2 
 
 
 mark the stroke of the gesture with precision. These exercises 
 are introductory to declamation. They should be practised in the 
 most energetic manner, and be persevered in till the muscles of the 
 trunk and imbs act harmoniously with those of the voice. 
 
200 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 FIFTEENTH EXERCISE. 
 
 PRONUNCIATION. 
 
 The article a should have the sound oi u in an, thus — He waa 
 & man ; not k man. When, however, this article is emphatic 
 (which is seldom the case), it should have the sound of a in ale, 
 thus — Did you say a man, or the man! 
 
 When the article the precedes a word beginning with a vowel, it 
 should be pronounced the ; when it precedes a word beginning' with 
 a consonant, it should be pronounced the, thus — The arts and the 
 sciences. But, when the precedes a word beginning with a conso- 
 nant, and is emphatic, it should be pronounced the, thus — Did you 
 say a man or the man 1 
 
 The pronoun my, when emphatic, is pronounced ml ; when not 
 emphatic, it is generally pronounced me. Sometimes the perspi- 
 cuity of a sentence requires my to be pronounced ml, when this 
 pronoun is not emphatic, as in the following example: 
 "And the pale stars shall be at night, 
 The only eyes that watch my rite." 
 
 Should my, in the above example, be pronounced me, by a public 
 speaker, the auditors might suppose the meaning of the passage to 
 be as follows : 
 
 And the pale stars shall be at night, 
 The only eyes that watch me right. 
 
 Euphony sometimes requires my, when not emphatic, to be pro- 
 nounced ml. The following passages are examples: 
 
 " My brave associates." " Hear me for my cause." " When it 
 shall please my country to need my death." 
 
 Mine should always be pronounced mine, not mean; by should 
 always be pronounced bl, not bee; to should be pronounced t6, not 
 tu ; of should be pronounced 6v, not uv ; and from should be pro- 
 nounced fr6m, not frum. 
 
 The pronunciation of many other words, liable to be pronounced 
 wrong, is given in the foot-notes under the Exercises in Reading 
 and Declamation. 
 
 SIXTEENTH EXERCISE. 
 
 DECLAMATION. 
 
 Before the student attempts to declaim, he should learn to stand 
 erect; to hold his book in a proper manner, and to read correctly. 
 He should then select some short piece, and learn a set of gestures 
 for its illustration by practising them in pantomime, after the 
 teacher. Lastly, he should learn to combine the words and ges 
 tures, by repeating them together, after the teacher. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 201 
 
 METHO» OF TEACHING DECLAMATION. (Didg. 41.) 
 
 SPEECH OF SATAN TO HIS LEGIONS. 
 
 veq — phx 
 
 Princes, 
 
 Bveq 
 
 potentates, 
 
202 
 
 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION 
 
 Bsdq 
 
 warriors, 
 
 Bveq — 
 
 the flower of heaven, | 
 
 a 
 
 once yours, | 
 
 vdq — vde 
 
 now lost, | 
 
 Rl 
 
 if such astonishment 
 
 B sdq 
 
 as this | 
 
^f, 
 
 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 203 
 
 shf — sdx 
 
 eternal spirits: I 
 
 \z. 
 
 Bsdf 
 
 or have ye chosen this 
 place, after the toil of 
 battle,! 
 
 Bphf- 
 
 to repose your weary 
 
 __ q 
 
 virtue, for the ease you 
 find to slumber here, I 
 
£04 
 
 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION 
 
 r\ 
 
 seq — shx vdc — vdq 
 
 as in the vales of heaven? | Or in this abject posture I 
 
 Rl rLl 
 
 veq-phx 5«ey 
 
 have you sworn to adore who now beholds cherub 
 m am 
 
 the Conqueror? | and seraph | 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION 
 
 205 
 
 vkc sw — phx 
 
 rolling in the flood, 
 
 El 
 
 Bvee 
 
 with 
 m 
 
 J 
 
 Bphz 
 
 scattered arms and en- 
 signs, | till anon, his 
 swift pursuers, I 
 14 
 
 Bscq 
 
 from heaven gates, 
 m 
 
206 
 
 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION 
 
 Bveq 
 
 discern the advantage, 
 
 m 
 and descending, | 
 
 Bsdq 
 
 tread us down, thus 
 drooping, | 
 
 c«q — cdx 
 
 or, with linked thunder- 
 bolts, | 
 
 cdf— cdb 
 
 transfix us to the bot- 
 tom of this gulf. | 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 201 
 
 veq — phx 
 
 Awake, 
 
 B sdq 
 
 or be for ever 
 
 BR 
 
 fallen. I 
 
208 
 
 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 THE MISER AND PLUTUS. 
 
 R Byhfr q peg n — pdq 
 
 The wind was high — | the window shakes ; | 
 
 veq c — vhx e 
 
 with sudden start the 
 
 Rlx 
 
 miser wakes ! I 
 
 pdcad- 
 
 Along the silent room 
 
 phq — 
 
 he stalks ; | 
 
 aR2 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION 
 
 209 
 
 B vhx — vhq c 
 
 Looks back, I 
 
 Bvkftr 
 
 and trembles as 
 
 sRlx 
 
 he walks ! I 
 
 vhq 
 
 Each lock, | and ev'ry 
 
 — vhx 
 
 bolt he tries, | 
 am 
 
 shqo — . 
 
 In ev'ry creek, 
 
 — shci 
 
 and corner, pries ; | 
 
210 
 
 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION 
 
 B pdg — 
 
 Then opes his chest, 
 
 with treasure stor'd, 
 
 D B seq 
 
 And stands in rapture 
 m 
 
 o'er his hoard : | 
 
 idhf- 
 
 But now with sudden He wrings his hands ; | 
 
 Bvhfc 
 
 qualms possest, 
 
 rRl 
 
 Idbr 
 
 he beats his breast — | 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 211 
 
 g br — 
 
 By conscience stung, | 
 
 — veq 
 
 he wildly stares ; | 
 
 Bshfsh 
 
 And thus his guilty 
 soul declares : I 
 
 B sdf d ■ 
 
 br — R 
 
 Had the deep earth | This heart had known 
 
 al& Rl 
 
 her stores confin'd, | sweet peace of mind ; | 
 
212 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 152 
 
 153 
 
 vhf—vhx U Bsefsp a 
 
 But virtue's sold ! I Good gods ! I what price 
 
 aR2 
 
 Can recompense the 
 
 Bsdfi- 
 
 O bane of good ! 
 
 rRl 
 
 F—R 
 
 pangs of vice ? 
 
 seducing cheat ! 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION 
 
 2L3 
 
 B vhf vef shf st — sdq 
 
 Can man, | weak man, | thy power defeat ? | 
 
 159 
 
 scl sw — sdq 
 
 Gold banish'd honor 
 
 rLl 
 
 And onlv left the 
 
 from the mind, | 
 
 br — R 
 
 name behind ; 
 
214 
 
 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION 
 
 160 
 
 Gold sow'd the 
 
 Bphc 
 
 world with ev'ry ill ; 
 
 Gold taught the 
 
 eebsh — cdq 
 
 murd'rer's sword to kill : | 
 
 'T was gold instructed In treach'ry's more 
 
 shfsh — sdq 
 
 coward hearts 
 
 aH2x 
 
 Bvhfrj 
 
 pernicious arts. 
 mi 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 215 
 
 164 165 
 
 Who can recount Virtue resides on 
 
 seq — sdq 
 
 the mischiefs o'er? 
 
 Bpdfd 
 
 earth no more ! | 
 
EXPLANATION 
 
 OP THE CHARACTERS USED IN THE EXERCISES IN READING 
 AND DECLAMATION. 
 
 ( | ) A vertical bar, employed to divide each paragraph into sec- 
 tions of a convenient length for concert reading. [See the Pre- 
 face.] 
 
 ( i ) A separation mark. It signifies that the words between 
 which it is placed, should not coalesce. 
 
 (n) A rest. Where this character is employed there should be 
 a slight suspension of the voice. 
 
 (-) A hold. The vowels over which this character is placed, 
 should have an unusual prolongation. 
 
 (o) A pause, called also a suspending pause. When placed over 
 a rest, it signifies that this rest should have two or three times its 
 usual length. It is called a suspending pause, because it keeps 
 the mind of the hearer in suspense. [See an example on page 221, 
 seventh line from the bottom.] 
 
 ( M / \ ' * ' ) Acute and grave accents. They are employed to 
 represent the rising and falling inflections, and also the emphasis 
 melodies. [See page 48 and 54.] 
 
 (a) Acuto-grave accent, or acuto-grave circumflex. [See p. 48.] 
 
 (") Gravo-acute accent, or gravo-acute circumflex. [See p. 48.] 
 
 (ir) Irony. The passage to which these letters are prefixed, is 
 ironical. 
 
 (rp) Reproach. When these letters are prefixed to a passage, 
 it contains the language of reproach. 
 
 (wh) Whisper. The passage to which these letters are prefixed, 
 should be whispered. 
 
 (1, 2, 3, 4) These numbers represent the degrees of modulation. 
 [See p. 57.] 
 
 The italic letters represent sounds which are liable to be omitted, 
 or imperfectly articulated. When all the letters in a word are 
 italic, the word is emphatic. The emphatic words, however, are 
 seldom, in this work, marked by italic letters. 
 
 In designating the pronunciation of words, in the foot-notes, I 
 have used the letters which, on page 19, and 20, represent the ele- 
 ments of the English language. No superfluous letters are em- 
 ployed, as is done by lexicographers. The pronunciation of each 
 word is determined by the letters which represent the sounds of 
 which it is composed, and by the situation of the accent. 
 
 (216) 
 
PART II. 
 
 EXERCISES IN READING AND DECLA 
 MATION. 
 
 SPEECH OF SATAN TO HIS LEGIONS. 
 
 (MILTON.) 
 
 Narrative, 
 
 He scarce had ceas'd, | when the superior fiend 1 
 
 Was moving tow'rd the shores ; | his pond'rous shield, | 
 
 Etherial temper, mas'sy, large', and round', | 
 
 Behind Aim cas^ ; I the broad circumference a | 
 
 Hung on Ais shoulders \\ke the moon | whose orb 
 
 Through optic glass | the Tuscan artist views 
 
 At evening | from the top of Feso-le, | 
 
 Or in Valdar no, c l to descry new lands', | 
 
 Riv'ers, or mountains/ 1 in her spotty globe. | 
 
 His spear' I (to equal which | the tallest pine,! 
 
 Hewn on Norwegian hills, | to be the m-dst 
 
 Of some greaZ amiral, e |were hut a wand') | 
 
 He walk'd^ with, | to support uneasy steps | 
 
 Over the burning marl, I (not like those steps 
 
 On heaven's a'zure ! f ) I and the torrid clime | 
 
 Smote on him sore besides^ | vaulted with fire v : | 
 
 Nathless" he so endur'd, I till on the beach 
 
 Of thai inflamed sea he stood, I and call'd 
 
 His le x gions, | angel-forms | who lay entranc'd | 
 
 a Ser-ktim'fe-r£ns. b Gallileo. He was born at Florence, the 
 capital of Tuscany, in Italy. c Valdarno, Vdlle'di Arno (Italian), 
 the vale of the Arno, a delightful valley in Tuscany. d Moun'tlnz. 
 e Am'i-ral (French), admiral. f A'2ur. s Nath'l&s. 
 
 (217) 
 
218 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Thick as autumnal* leaves | thaZ strow the brooks 
 In Vallombro sa b | where the Etrurian shades, | 
 High over-arch'd, imbo\v'i\ ; i or scatter'd sedge, 
 Afloat, | when with fierce winds, I Orion, c arm'd, [ 
 Hath vex'd the Red-Sea coas£ I whose waves o'erthrew 
 Busiris, d |and his Memphian 6 chivalry/ 1 
 While with perfidious 5 hatred | they pursu'd 
 The sojourners' 1 of Go v shen, I who beheld 
 From the safe shore, | their floating carcasses, | 
 And broken charioZ wheels : I so thic& bestrown, | 
 Abject, and lost, I lay these*, I covering the flood, | 
 Under amazement of their hideous j change v . | 
 He call'd so loud, I that all the hollow deep 
 Of hell resounded / I 
 
 Speech. 
 
 ff Prinzes, ] potentates, | 
 Warriors, k | the flow'r of heaven, | once yours*, InowlosA, j 
 If such astonishment as this' | can seize | 
 Eternal™ spirits : \ ir or have ye chosen this place, 1 
 After the toil of battle, | to repose 
 Your wearied virtue, | for the ease you find 
 To slunrber here, | as in the vales of heaven ? | 
 r *Or, in this abject posture, I have ye sworn 
 To adore the Conq^'ror ? | who now beholds 
 Cheru&, and seraph, | rolling in the flood | 
 With scatter'd arms, and ensigns ; | till anon | 
 His swift pursuers, | from heav'n-gates | discern 
 The advantage, | and descending, I tread us down x , | 
 Thus droopving ; | or, with linked thunderbolts, 1 
 Transfix' us | to the bottom of this gulf. | 
 f// Awa£e N ! I arise' ! | or be for ev*er fallen, ! | 
 
 a A-tftm'n&l. b Vallombrosa (ydlle, a vale ; ombroso, shady), a 
 Bhady valley in the Apennines, fifteen miles east of Florence. 
 • Orl'on, a constellation, in the southern hemisphere. d Busi'ris, 
 Pharaoh. e Memphian, from Memphis, ancient capital of Egypt 
 f Shlv'al-re. s Per-fld'ius. h S6'd2urn-uri. * A-mai'ment. * Hld'- 
 £-us. kWar'yuri. > As-t6n'lsh-ment. *E-ter'nal. n Be-hdldi, 
 not burholds. ° Dlz-zern'. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 219 
 
 O thou tha£ rollesi above, I round as the shield of my 
 fathers ! | Whence are thy beams', O sun 7 , | thy ever- 
 lasting ligh^ 1 | Thou comesi forth in thy awful beauty; | 
 the stars hide themselves in the sky*; | the moon, cole?, 
 and pale', | sinks in the western wave 4 . I But thou thy- 
 self movestf alonex : | who can be a companion of thy 
 course*? I 
 
 The oaks of the mountains a falb ; I the mountains 
 themselves' , decay with yearsv ; | the ocean shrinks, 
 and grows* again ; | the moon herself, 6 is lost in heavvn ; | 
 but thou art for ever the same*, | rejoicing in the bright- 
 ness of thy course^. I 
 
 1 When the world is dar& with tempests', | 2 when 
 thunder rolls, and lightning flies', 1 3 thou lookes* in thy 
 beauty from the clouds', 1 4 and laugh 'est at the storni . I 
 2 But, to Ossian, thou lookes* in vain* ; | for he beholds 
 thy beams c no morev, d | whether thy yellow hairs | flow 
 on the eastern clouds', 1 or thou trembles^ at the gates 
 of the wes^. | 
 
 But thou art perhaps li&e me' — I for a season : | 
 thy years will have an ends. I Thou shu.lt sleep in the 
 clouds', | careless of the voice of the morn ing. | 4 Ex- 
 ult\ then, O sun', I in the strength of thy youth* .'PAge, 
 is dar/r, and unlovely: | 2 it is like the glimmering lighZ 
 of the moon , 1 when , it shines through broken clouds'; | 
 and the mis£ is on the hills*, I the blast of the north is 
 on the plain', | the traveller shrinks in the mids* of Ais 
 jour ney. | 
 
 tell's address* to the mountains, 
 (knowles.) 
 
 ff Ye crags, and peaks', e | I'm with you once agaim ; f J 
 I hold to you the hands you firs*' beheld,, | 
 
 » Moun'tlnz. b Moon herself, not moo'-ner-self. c He , beholds 
 thy beams; not He'be holds thy beams. d Ossian was blind. 
 • Crags and peaks ; not cragz'n peaks, nor crags Ann Peaks. f Agen'. 
 
220 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 To show they still are a free^. | ! Methinks P hear 
 
 A spirit in your echoes, an'swer me, | 
 
 2 And bid your tenant welcome to //is homes 
 
 Againv ! c | O s^crec? forms, | how prourf* , you looA d ! j 
 
 How high you lift your heads into the sky' ! | 
 
 How hugev , you 6 are ! | how miglrty, | ana 7 how free v ! j 
 
 Ye are the things thaUow'r— |tha? shine* — [ whose smile 
 
 Makes glao 7 * — | whose frown is ter rible — I whose forms 
 
 Robed, or umrobea 7 , I do all the impress wear I 
 
 Of awe divine v . | Ye guards of liberty, | 
 
 I 'm with you once agaim ! c — j fff I call to you | 
 
 With all my voice' ! — | I hold my hands to you I 
 
 To show they still are free v — 1 1 rush to you I 
 
 As though I could embrace* you f ! | 
 
 BATTLE OF HOHEN LINDEN. 
 
 (CAMPBELL.) 
 
 On Linden, 5 when the sun was low, | 
 All bloodless lay the untrodd'n snow*, | 
 And dark as win ter, was the flow' | 
 Of Iser h rolling rapidly. | 
 
 "But Linden 2 saw anotlrer sigh?, I 
 When the drum beat at dead of nighfv, | 
 Commanding fires of deatlr , to lighi' | 
 The darkness of her scenery. | 
 
 By torch, and trumpet fas? array'o 7 ', | 
 Each horseman' drew his battle blade ; | 
 And furious every charger neigh'o 7 ', | 
 To join the dreadful rev elry. | 
 
 a Still , are ; not stillar. h Methinks , I ; not me-think' si 
 * Ag£n. d Proud , you look ; not prow'jevv-look. e Huge , yon 
 are ; not hew'jew-are. f Embrace you ; not embra'shew. * Lin' 
 d£ n ; not Lindun. h E'sur. L Hars'man ; not hosmun. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 221 
 
 Then shooft the hills with thumder riv'n ; x 
 Then rush'd the steed to battle driv'n ; | 
 And louder than the bol^s of heav 'n, | 
 Far flash'd the red artiMery a . I 
 
 And redder yet' those fires shall glow | 
 On Linden's 4 hills of blood-stain'd snow* ; j 
 ^.nd darker yet, shall be the flow | 
 Of Iser rolling rapidly. | 
 
 'Tis morns — I hut scarce yon lurid sun' ( | 
 Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun*, | 
 Where furious FranA:, and fiery Hun' | 
 Shou£ in their sulph'rous can opy. I 
 
 The combat deepens — | -#On\ ye brave x , ' 
 Who rush to glory, or the grave* ! I 
 •^Wave, Munich/ | all thy banners , wave' ! 1 
 And charge with all thy chiv N alry e ! I 
 
 mp Few, few shall part where many mee^ ! j 
 The snow shall be their windang-sheeJ, | 
 And every turf beneath f their feet 1 , \ 
 Shall be M a soldier's sepulchre. | 
 
 SPEECH OF ROLLA TO THE PERUVIAN ARMY. 
 
 [From Kotzebue's Pizarro.] 
 (R. B. SHERIDAN.) 
 
 My brave associates ! I partners of my toil', , my 
 feel'ings, | and my fame* ! I Can RoilaV words add 
 vigor | to the virtuous 11 energies' I which inspire your 
 hearts' ? I No v ! | you have judged as I v have, | the 
 foulness of the crafty plea' I by which these bold in- 
 vaders would delude* you. | Your generous spirit | has 
 compared as mine* has, | the motives | which, in a 
 war ( liA-e this', | can snimate their minds, and ours v . j | 
 
 » Artll'lur-re. b Lin'den; not Lindun. a Mu'nlk. 
 
 « Shlv'al-re. f Bc-neTH\ * R6\'\Ai ; not Rolluz. h Vlr'tshfc- 
 6s. > En'&r-dzei. i And ours ; not Ann Dowers. 
 15 
 
222 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 They, by a strange frenzy driven, j fighi for powder, 
 for plun'der, | and extended rule* — | We, for our couiv- 
 try, | our altars, I and our homes v . j They follow an 
 adventurer I whom they fean, I and obey a power \ 
 which they hatew I We serve a monarch [ whom we 
 love* — | a God | whom we adore, ! | 
 
 Whene'er they move in an'ger, b | desolation trac/cs 
 their progress ; | where'er they pause in am'ity, c | af- 
 fliction mourns their friendship. I They boast — | they 
 come but to improve our state x , | enlarge our thoughts', | 
 and free us from the yoke of er.ror ! | Yes* — I they 
 will give enlightened freedom to our minds, | who are 
 themselves' | the slaves of passion, j avarice, j and 
 pride . | 
 
 They offer us their protection. 1 Yes* — I such pro- 
 tection | as vultures give to lambs', — | covering, and 
 devouring them ! | They call on us | to barter all of 
 good | we have inherited, and proved*, j for the despe- 
 rate chance of something better | which they prom - 
 ise. | 
 
 Be our plain answer 6 this* : | The throne we honor | 
 is the peo pie's choice — I the laws we reverence f | are 
 our brave fathers' leg v acy — | the faith we follow j 
 teaches us | to live in bonds of charity with all man- 
 kinds, | and die with hopes of bliss | beyond the grave v . | 
 Tell your invaders this' ; | and tell them too', | we seeA: 
 no v change ; ] and leasi of all', j such change | as they* 
 would bring us. | 
 
 childe harold's address to the ocean. 
 
 (byron.) 
 O thai the desert were my dwell'ing-place, | 
 With one fair spirit for my minister, | 
 Thai I mighi all forgei the human race', | 
 And, hating no one, | love but only her ! | 
 
 a Mdn'nark ; not monnuck. b Move in anger ; not mo-vin-nang"' 
 ger. c Pause in amity ; not paw-zin-nam'ity. e Plain an* 
 
 pwer , not plain-nan'swer. f R£v'£r-fens ; not revurunce. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 223 
 
 Ye elements ! — | in whose ennobling stir J 
 I feel myself exalted — | can ye not { 
 Accord me such a being? | Do I err | 
 In deeming such inhabit ma*ny a spotl | 
 Though with them to converse, j can rarely be our lo£ v . ; 
 
 There is a pleasure^ in the pathless woods, | 
 There is a rap'ture on the lonely shores | 
 There is society, where none intrudes | 
 By the deep seas | anc/ music in its roar. | 
 I love not man the less, | but nature mores | 
 From these, our interviews, j in which I steal [ 
 From all I may be, | or have been before*, | 
 To mingle with the universe, | an<^ feel | 
 Wha£ I can ne'er express^ | jet cannot all conceah | 
 
 Roll on', a | thou deep, &nd dar/v-blue ocean — jrolh ! | 
 Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain* ; | 
 Man marks the earth' with ruin — | his control | 
 Stops with the shore* ; — | upon the watery plain | 
 The wrecks are all thy' dee<i, | nor doth remain | 
 A shad ow of man's ravage, | save his own*, | 
 When, for a moment, | like a drop of rain', | 
 lie sinks into thy dep^As with bubbling groans | 
 Without a grave*,) unknell'^sl uncof fin'<2,| said unknown .| 
 
 His steps are not upon thy paths*, — | thy fields | 
 Are no* a spoil for Aims — j thou dost b arise, | 
 And shake Aim from' thee ; | the vile strength Ae wields | 
 For earth's destruction, | thou dost all despise*, | 
 Spurning Aim from thy bosom to the skies', | 
 And send'sZ Aim, | 'shivering in thy playful spray, j 
 And howling to Ais gods', | 2 where haply lies | 
 His petty hopes | in some near port, or bay*, c | 
 Then dashes^ Aim again d to earth' : — ] there let Aim lay;.| 
 
 a Roll on ; not roll-Ion'. b Dust. c Port, or bay ; not P< rter 
 Bay. d Ag&n'. 
 
224 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 The armaments which thunderstri/ce the walls | 
 Of roc/c-buik cit'ies, | bidding nations qua/ce, | 
 And monarchs a tremble in their capitals, | 
 The oaA: leviathans | whose huge ribs make \ 
 Their clay-creator the vain title take | 
 Of lord of thee', | and arbiter of war ; | 
 These are thy toys*, | and, as the snowy fiake\ | 
 They melt into thy yest b of waves*, | which mar, | 
 AliAe, the Armada's pride, ] or spoils of Trafalgar . c | 
 
 Thy shores are em'pires, | chang'd in all save thee v — | 
 A ssyi\ia,l Greece*,} Rome',| Car thage,| what are they v ? | 
 Thy waters wasted them while they were free', | 
 And many a tyrant since^ ; | their shores obey | 
 The stranger, slave', or savage; | their decay | 
 Has dri'd up realms to desserts : — | not so thou', ] 
 Unchangeable, | save to thy wild waves' play v — | 
 Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow* — | 
 Such as creation's dawn' beheld, | thou rollesZ no\v. | 
 
 Thou glorious mir 'ror, | 'where the Almighty's form 
 Glasses itself in tenrpeste ; | 2 in air time, | 
 Calm, or convuls'd* — j in breeze', or gale', or storm*, | 
 Icing the pole 1 , j or in the torrid clime, | 
 DarA-heavang; j boundless, | endless, and sublime* — | 
 The image of eternity — | 'the throne | 
 Of the Invisible; | 2 e'en from out thy slime' | 
 The monsters of the deep are made v ; | each zone | 
 Obeys* thee ; Ithou goest forth,ldread*,| fath omless, lalone v .| 
 
 sp And I have lov'd' thee, ocean ! | and my joy | 
 Of youthful sports, | was on thy breast to be | 
 Borne, like thy bubbles, on*ward ; j from a boy x | 
 I wanton'd with thy breakers : | they to me, | 
 Were a delight; | and, if the fresh'ning sea | 
 Made them a terror — | 't was a pleasing fear, | 
 For I was as it were a child' of thee, | 
 And trusted to thy billows, far, and near, | 
 And aid my hand upon thy mane' — ] as I do here. | 
 
 * M6n'narks : not mon'nacks. 'Yest. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 225 
 
 APOSTROPHE TO THE QUEEN OF FRANCE. 
 
 (burke.) 
 
 It is now sixteen, or seventeen years', | since I saw 
 the queen of France, | then the dauphiness, ] ai Ver- 
 sailles v ; | and surely, never lighted on this orb, | (which 
 she hardly seemed to touch) | a more delightful vis v ion. j 
 1 saw her jusi above the hori zon, | decorating, and 
 cheering the elevated sphere j she jusi began to move^ 
 in — | glittering like the morning star' — | full of life', | 
 and splendor, | and joy\. | x Oh whai a revolution ! j 
 and what a heart must I have, | to contemplate without 
 emotion, | thai elevation, j and that fall v ! | 
 
 2 Little did I dreams | when she added titles of vene- 
 ration | to those of enthusiastic, distani, respectful love, j 
 that she should ever be obliged | to carry the sharp an- 
 tidote against disgrace', | concealed in that bovsom — j 
 little did I dream j that I should have lived | to see such 
 disasters fallen upon her j in a nation of gallant mem, — | 
 in a nation of men of hon or, | and of cavaliers*. | I 
 thought ten thousand swords must have leaped from 
 their scabbards | to avenge even a looF | thai threatened 
 her with insuli. | Bui the age of chivalry is gone*. | 
 That of soplristers, | economists, | and calculators, | has 
 succeed*ed; | and the glory of Europe n | is extinguished 
 for ev er. | 
 
 Never, never more, | shall we behold thai generous 
 loyalty to rank and sex*, — | thai proud submission, — 
 thai dignified obedience — j thai subordination of the 
 heari' | which kept alive, | even in servitude itserfs | the 
 spirit of an exalted freedom. | The unboughi grace of 
 life*, | the cheap defence of nations, | the nurse of manly 
 sentiment, | and heroic enterprise, | is gone* ! | It is 
 gone, — | thai sensibility of principle, — j thai chastity 
 of hon or, | which feli a stain like a wounds, — | which 
 inspired courage | whilsi ii mitigated fero'city, — 
 which enno'bled whatever ii touched ; | and under 
 which, : vice itself | losi half its evil ) by losing all its 
 gross*ness. | 
 
226 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 BATTLE OF WARSAW. 
 
 (CAxMPBELL.) 
 
 O sacred Truth! | thy triumph ceas'd* awhile, f 
 And Hope, thy sister, ceas'd with thee to smile*, | 
 When leagued Oppression pour'd to northern wars, | 
 Her whisker'd pandoors, a and her fierce hussars', b | 
 Wav'd her dread standard to the breeze of morn, J 
 Peal'd her loud drum, | and twang'd her trumpet-horn i 
 Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van' | 
 Presaging wrath to Poland, and to man ! I 
 
 Warsaw's last champion, from her height, survey'd, | 
 Wide o'er the fields, | a waste of ruin laid — | 
 O Heav'n ! ^e cried,|my bleeding country, save* ! | 
 Is there no hand on high to shield the brave' ? | 
 Wha£ though destruction , sweep* these lovely plains — 
 Rise', fellow-men ! | our country yet remains* ! | 
 By that dread name, | we wave the sword on high, | 
 And swear for her to live— | with her to die, ! | 
 
 He said — | ana on the ramparf-heights, array d J 
 His trusty war riors, | few, hut undismay'd ; | 
 Fi?-m-paced, and slow, | a horrid fron^ they form ; ) 
 Still as the breeze*, | hut dreadful as the storm^ : | 
 Low, murmuring sounds along their banners fly, | 
 Revenge', or death , | the watchword, and reply* ; | 
 Then peal'd the notes, omnipotent to charm*, | 
 And the loud tocsm told their las; alann | 
 
 In vain, alas ! | in vain, ye gallant few ! | 
 From rank to ra.uk, your volley 'd thun'der flew : | 
 O bloodies; picture in the hook of Time* ! | 
 Sarmatia fell, | unwept, | without a crime v ; | 
 Found uol a generous friend*, | a pitying foe*, | 
 Strength in her arms, | nor mercy in her wo t ! 
 
 a Pandour (French), Hungarian soldier. b Huz-zar, one of the 
 Hungarian horsemen, so called from the shout they generally make, 
 ©J, the first onset. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 221 
 
 Dropp'd from her nerveless grasp, the shatter'd spear, 
 Clos'd Aer bright eye, J and curb'd her high career : J 
 Hope, for a season, bade the work/ farewell — | 
 And Freedom shriek'd, as Koscius'ko fell v ! | 
 
 The sun went down, ; | nor ceas'd the carnage there v , J 
 Tumultuous murder shooA; the midnigbJ air, : | 
 On Prague's proud arch 1 1 the fires of ru v in glow, | 
 His blood-dy'd waters murmuring far below i : | 
 The storm prevails 1 , | the rampart yields away 1 , | 
 Bursas the wild cry of horror, and dismay, ! | 
 Har&* ! I as the smouldering piles with thunder fall, | 
 A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call ! | 
 Earth shoo& , j red meteors fiash'd along the sky 1 , | 
 And conscious Nature shudder'd at the cry^ ! | 
 
 Departed spirits of the mighty dead 1 ! | 
 
 Ye thai at Marathon, and Leuc tra bled / | 
 
 Friends of the world 1 ! | restore your swords to man x , j 
 
 Fight in his sacred cause, [and lead the van, ! 1 
 
 Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood', atones | 
 
 And make her arm puissant as your own,, | 
 
 O ! once again to Freedom's cause returns ] 
 
 Thou patriot Telf — | thou Bruce of Bannockburn ! j 
 
 BATTLE OF WATERLOO. 
 
 (byron.) 
 
 There was a sound of revelry by nigh; 1 ; | 
 And Belgium's capital | had gather'd then | 
 Her beauty, and her chiv,alry; | and bright J 
 The lamps shone o'er fair women, and brave men; j 
 A thousand hearts beat hap'pily ; j and, when | 
 Music arose, with its voluptuous swell, | 
 Soft eyes h look'd love' j to eyes which spake agahr ; • 
 And all went merry as a mar riage-bel! — | 
 Jjut hush, !|har& v !|a deep sound strikes like a rising kneli !| 
 
 * Proud arch ; not prow-darch'. b Soft eyes ; not sof-ties. 
 
228 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Did ye noi hear it? — | No v ;| 'twas but the wind 1 , \ 
 Or the car' rattling o'er the stony street — | 
 On with the dance' ! , let joy be unconfin'd N ; | 
 No sleep till morn*, ■ when Youth, and Pleasure meei 
 To chase the glowing hoars, with Hying fee£ v — | 
 Bui har&' / — j thai heavy sound breaks in once mores | 
 As if the clouds its echo would repeal ; | 
 And nearer, , clearer, | deadlier than before ! | 
 Arim ! j arm' ! j it is — j it is the cannon's opening roar ! | 
 
 Within a window'd niche of thai high hall, | 
 Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain; | he did hear | 
 Thai sound the firsis amidsi the festival, | 
 And caughi its tone with Death's prophetic ear; j 
 And, when they smil'd,| because he deem'd ii near, | 
 His hear* more truly knew thai peal too wells | 
 Which stretch'd his father on a bloody bier, | 
 And rous'd the vengeance, Wood alone could quell . I 
 He rush's? into the field, j and foremosi fighting, felK | 
 
 Ah! then, and there was hurrying to, and fro, | 
 And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress*, | 
 And cheeks all pales | which bui an hour ago, j 
 Blush'd at the praise of their own loveJiness. | 
 And there were sudden parsings, j such as press | 
 The life from oui young heariss j and choking sighs v | 
 Which ne'er mighi be 2*epeat^ed ; | who could guess | 
 If ever more should meei those mutual eyes, | 
 Since upon nighi so sweei | such awful morn could rise ? . 
 
 x\nd there was mounting in hoi hasie* : | the steed,] 
 The mustering squadron. | and the clattering car, ) 
 Weni pouring forward with impetuous speeds J 
 And swiftly forming in the ranks of war, ; | 
 And the deep thunder peal on peal afar ! j 
 And near the beai of the alarming drunv | 
 Rous'd up the soldier ere the morning star' ; j 
 While throng'd the citizens with terror dumb., | 
 Or whispering, with whiie lips, — |' A "The foe^! , They 
 come v ! j they come' !" | 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 229 
 
 1 And wild and high the " Cameron's gathering" rose x ! | 
 2 The war-note of LochieF, | which Albyn's hills | 
 Have heardv,| mid heard too, have her Saxon foes v : — | 
 How in the noon of nighZ tha£ pibroch thrills, | 
 Savage, and shrill ! | But with the breath which fillsj 
 Their mountain-pipe, | so fill the mountaineers', ] 
 With the fierce native daring | which instils | 
 The stirring memory of a thousand years* ; | 
 And Even's, |Don aid's fame, | rings in each clansman's 
 ears^ ! | 
 
 And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves', | 
 Dewy with nature's tear-drops, | as they pass^, | 
 Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, j 
 O'er the unreturning brave, — | alas ! | 
 Ere evening to be trodden like the grass v ( | 
 Which now beneath' them, | but above shall grow, J 
 In its next verdure, | when this fiery mass j 
 Of living valor, | rolling on the foe, | 
 And burning with high hope, jshall moulder cold, and krw.j 
 
 Las£ noon beheld them full of lusty life'; | 
 Las£ eve, in Beauty's circle proudly gay v ; | 
 The midnight brought the signal sound of strifev ; | 
 The morn,jthe marshalling in arms', — | the day, | 
 Battle's magnificently-stern array v ! | 
 The thunder-clouds close o'er it, | which when ren£, , 
 The earth is cover'd thic/c with otLer clay | 
 Which Aer own clay shall cover, j heap'd and pen&, 
 Rider, and horsey — | friendv, | foe v , — ) in one red 
 burial blent ! | 
 
 MARCO BOZZARIS. a 
 
 (halleck.) 
 
 A^ midnight, in his guarded tent, | 
 
 The Turk was dreaming of the hour | 
 
 When Greece, j her knee in suppliance bent, , 
 Should tremble a£ his powder : | 
 
 "Marco Bozzaris, the Epaminonda^ of modern Greece. He fell 
 In a mghl attack upon the Turkish camp at Laspi, the site of the 
 
230 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 In dreams, through cam/), ant/ court, ^e bore | 
 The trophies of a conqueror ; | 
 
 In dreams Ms song of trrumph heart/ ; a | 
 Then , wore Ms monarch's 13 sig\ne/-ring ; | 
 Then , press't/ tha£ monarch's thrones — | a king ; 
 As wilt/ Ms thoughts, ant/ gay of wing, | 
 
 As Eden's garden'-birt/. | 
 
 l At midnigh/, in the fores£-shades v , | 
 
 2 Bozzaris rang't/ Ms Suliote bant/* — | 
 True as the steel of their tried blades', j 
 
 Heroes in heart, ant/ hant/. | 
 There had the Persian's thousands stoot/; | 
 There had the glat/ earth drun& their bloot/*, | 
 
 On old Plataea's day — ] 
 And now , there breath't/ that hauntet/ air, | 
 The sons of sires who con quer't/ there, | 
 With arm to striAe, | ant/ soul to dare% | 
 
 As quicA;, as far' as they. | 
 
 1 An hour pass'tZ on* d — | 2 the TurA awoAe v — | 
 
 Tha£ bright dream was his las^ ; | 
 He woAe to hear his sentries shrieA M — | 
 
 ff " To arms' ! |they come 1 !|theGreeA1 the /iJ Gree& v ! | 
 He woAe to die* midst flame, ant/ smoAe% | 
 And shout, ant/ groan, ant/ sa'bre-stroAe, | 
 
 And death-shots falling thick, ant/ fas^, | 
 As lightnings from the mountain-clout/ / | 
 And heart/, with voice as trunrpeZ-loutZ, j 
 
 Bozzaris cheer his bant/* : | 
 fff " StriAe till the last arm't/ foe expires^ ; j 
 StriAe for your aFtars, ant/ your fires* ; | 
 StriAe for the green graves of your sires* — | 
 
 Got/ , ant/ your native lantf !" | 
 
 ancient Platsea, August 20, 1S23, and expired in the moment of 
 victory. His last words were — " To die for liberty is a pleasure, 
 and not a pain." 
 
 a Triumph heard ; not tri-um'furd. b M6n'narks. c Gar'dn, 
 1 Pass'd on ; not pass-ton'. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 231 
 
 They fought Me brave v men — | long, and well*; j 
 
 They pil'd tha£ ground with Moslem slain*; . 
 They conquer'^ — | hut Bozzaris fell, | 
 
 Bleeding at every vein . | 
 His few surviving comrades* ( saw , | 
 His smile when rang their proud hurrah , ' 
 
 And the red field was worn ; | 
 Then saw in death his eyelids close ( | 
 Calmly, as to a night's repose^ | 
 
 hike flowers at set of sun v . | 
 
 l Come to the bridal h cham ber, Death ! | 
 
 Come to the mother's, | when she feels | 
 For the firsZ time, ] her firs^-born's breath — | 
 
 Come when the blessed seals | 
 That close the pestilence, are broke, \ 
 And crowded cities wail its stro&e — | 
 Come in consumption's ghastly form, | 
 The earthquake shoc&', | the ocean-storm x — | 
 2 Come when the heart beats high, and warm, | 
 
 With bamquet-song, | and dance', | and wine v — .' 
 1 And thou art ter rible — | the tear', | 
 The groan/, | the knell', | the pall', | the bien ; j 
 And all we know, | or dream', J or fear' | 
 
 Of agony, | are thine v . | 
 
 4 Bu£ to the hero, | 3 when his swore? I 
 
 Has won the battle for the free, ] 
 4 Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word 
 2 And in its hollow tones, are heard | 
 
 4 The thanks of millions yet to be^. | 
 3 Come when his task of fame' is wrought — ] 
 Come with her laurel-leaf, | bloo^-bough^ — | 
 
 Come in her crowning hour — | and then | 
 B Thy sunken eye's unearthly light | 
 To him is welcome as the sight | 
 
 Of sky, and stars to prison'd men v : | 
 
 K6m'rad:fc , saw; not com'rades-saw. b Brl'dal; not bri'die. 
 
232 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 3 Thy grasp is welcome as the hand j 
 Of brother in a foreign land^ ; | 
 Thy summons, welcome as the cry | 
 That told the Indian Isles' were nigh [ 
 
 To the world-seeking Gemoese, | 
 When the land-wind, | from woods of palm, 
 And orange-groves, | and fields of balm, | 
 
 Blew o'er the Haytian seas v . | 
 
 4 Bozzaris ! | with the stori'd brave, | 
 
 Greece nurtur'd in her glory's time, | 
 Res^ thee — | 2 there is no prouder grave, | 
 
 Even in her own proud clime. | 
 She wore no funeral weeds for thee\ | 
 
 Nor bade the dark hearse wave its plume 
 Like torn branch from death's leafless tree*, J 
 In sorrow's pomp, and pageantry, | 
 
 The heartless luxury of the tomb . | 
 
 Bu£ she remembers thee as one | 
 Long lov'd', | and for a season gone v ; | 
 For thee her poet's lyre is wreath'd^; | 
 Her marble wrought, | her music breath'dv ; | 
 For thee she rings the births-day belta ; | 
 Of thee her babes' first lisping tells : | 
 For thine her evening prayer is said | 
 At palace-couch, and cot v tage-bed ; | 
 Her soldier, closing with the foe, | 
 Gives, for thy sake, a deadlier blow* ; | 
 His plighted maiden, when she fears | 
 For him, the joy of her young years, | 
 Thinks of thy v fate, | and checks her tearsv — 
 
 And she, the mother of thy boys% | 
 Though in her eye, and faded chee& | 
 Is read the grief she will not speak\ | 
 
 The mem'ry of ^er buried joysv, | 
 And even she who gave thee birth v , | 
 Will, by their pilgrim-circled hearth, | 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 233 
 
 Talft of thy doom without a siglr : | 
 "^For thou art Free dom's now , | and Fame's ; j 
 One of the few, | the immortal names, | 
 
 That were not born to die v . | 
 
 LOCHIEL S WARNING. 
 
 (CAMPBELL.) 
 
 Wizard and Lochiel. 
 
 Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day' | 
 When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array* ! | 
 For a field of the dead rushes red on my sigh*', | 
 And the clans of Culloden are scatter'd in figh^ : ) 
 They rally, | they bleed\ j for their kingdom and crown ; { 
 Wo, wo to the riders thaZ trample them down* ! | 
 Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slaim, j 
 And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain . | 
 hut har&* / | through the fastf-flashing lightning of war. j 
 What steed to the desert flies frantic and far' 1 | 
 'T is thines Oh Glenullin ! J whose bride shall await | 
 lAke a love-lighted watch'-fire, all night at the gatev. 
 A steed comes at morning — | no rider is there; | 
 But its bridle is red with the sign of despair. | 
 Weep v , Albin ! | to death, and captivity led/ | 
 O weep'! \ but thy tears cannot number the deadv: | 
 For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave', | 
 Culloden tha£ reeks with the blood of the brave,. | 
 
 LOCHIEL. 
 
 Go, preach to the cow r ard, | thou deatlr-telling seer ! ,< 
 Or, if gory Cullodpn so dreadful appear, | 
 Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sighZ, | 
 This man tie, | to cover the phantoms of frigltf . | 
 
 WIZARD. 
 
 Ha N ! laugh's^ thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn'? | 
 Proud bird of the mountain, J thy plume shall be tornj j 
 
234 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Says | rush'd the bold eagle, exultingly forth', ] 
 From /*is home in the dark-rolling clouds of the north'? 
 Lo ! the death-sho^ of foemen out-speeding, he rode \ 
 Compan'ionless, | bearing destruction abroad ; | 
 But down let him stoop from his havoc on high x ! | 
 Ah ! home' let //im speed, | for the spoiler is nigh. | 
 Why flames the far sunrmiJ? J Why shooi to the blast 
 Tliose embers, | like stars from the firmament, cast? j 
 'T is the fire-shower of ruin, | all dreadfully driven | 
 From his ey v ry, \ that beacons the darkness of heav n. J 
 O cresterZ Lochiel ! i the peerless in might, \ 
 Whose banners arise on the battlements' height, | 
 Heaven's fire is around thee to blas£ and to burn\ ; | 
 Return to thy dwelling : j all lonely return ! | 
 For the blackness of aslres shall mark where it stood, 
 And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing brood / 
 
 False Wizard, avaunZ7 | I have marshall'd my clan v : | 
 Their swords are a thousand; | their bosoms areonew 
 They are true to the last of their blood, and their breaths 
 And like reapers, descend to the harvest of death . j 
 Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shoc£7 | 
 Le2 Mm dash his proud foam like a wave on the rock ! 
 But wo to his kindred, | and wo to his cause', | 
 When AFbin her claymore indignantly draws ; | 
 When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd, | 
 Clanronald the dauntless, and Moray the proud; | 
 All plaided, and plunrd in their tartan array | 
 
 Lochiel, Lochiel, bew r are of the day x ! | 
 For, dark, and despairing, my sight I may seal, | 
 Yet man cannot cover what God would reveah : ] 
 'T is the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, 
 And coming events cast their shadows before^. | 
 I tell thee, Culloden's dread echoes shall ring | 
 With the bloodhounds tha^ bark for thy fugitive king' 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 235 
 
 Lo ! anointed by heaven with the vials of wrath, | 
 
 Behold where he flies on Ais desolate patlh ! | 
 
 Now in darkness, and billows, he sweeps from my sigh^; , 
 
 Rise 1 ! RiseM ye wild tempests, and cover his flight/ — 
 
 'Tis fin ish'd.— | Their thunders arehush'donthe moors ;! 
 
 Culloden' 1 is losZ*, | and my country deplores v . ) 
 
 But where is the iron-bound pris oner 1 | Where* ? | 
 
 For the red eye of battle is shut in despair . | 
 
 Say*, mounts he the ocean-wave, | banish'd, forlorn', | 
 
 hike a limb from //is country, cast bleeding, and torn' ? | 
 
 Ah ! no* ; | for a dark er departure is near ; | 
 
 The war-drum is muffled, | and black is the bier* ; | 
 
 His death-bell is tolling ; | Oh ! mercy, dispel | 
 
 Yon sigh£, that it freezes my spirit to tell 1 ! | 
 
 Life flutters, convuls'd in his quivering limbs, | 
 
 And his blood-streaming nostril in ag ony swims. | 
 
 Accurs'd be the fagots ihat blaze at Ais feet, | 
 
 Where his heart 1 shall be thrown, ere it ceases to heat, j 
 
 With the smo/ce of its ashes to poison the gale — — { 
 
 LOCHIEL. 
 
 Down , soothless b insurer ! I I trust not the talev ; ] 
 
 For never shall Albin , a destiny meet \ 
 
 So blacA; with dishonour — | so foul with retread. | 
 
 Tho' his perishing ranks should be strow'd in their gore, 
 
 Like o cean-weeds ; heap'd on the surf-beaten shore*, | 
 
 Lochiel, untainted by flight, or by chains', | 
 
 While the kindling of life in his bosom remains, | 
 
 Shall victor exult, | or in death be laid low, | 
 
 With his bac/c to the field, \ and Ms feet to the foe* ! | 
 
 And, leaving in battle no blot on his name, | 
 
 LooA: proudly to heaven | from the death-bed of fame. 
 
 a CAl-16'dfen ; not Cfil-16'dn. b Sbth'lba. 
 
236 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 THE HERMIT. 
 
 (beattie ) 
 At the close of the day, when the hamleZ is still, | 
 
 And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove ; | 
 When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill, ) 
 
 And nought but the nightingale's song v in the grove* : | 
 It was thus, by the cave of the mountain afar, | 
 
 While his harp rung symphonious, | a hermit began ; | 
 No more with Aimself, or with nature at war, | 
 
 He thought as a sage v , a | though he felt as a man^ b . | 
 
 Ah ! why all abandon'd to darkness, and wo v ? | 
 
 Why, lone Philomela, that languishing fall* '( \ 
 For spring shall return, and a lover bestow, | 
 
 And sorrow , no longer thy bosom inthrah | 
 But, if pity inspire thee, ] renew the sad lay; | 
 
 Mourn, sweetest complainer.jmam calls thee to mourn ;| 
 O soothe Mm whose pleasures like thine' , pass away; | 
 
 Full quickly they pass — | hut tl they never return. | 
 
 Now , gliding remote on the verge of the sky, | 
 
 The moon half-extinguish'd, her crescent displays ; | 
 But lately I mark'd , | when majestic on high', | 
 
 She shone*, ! and the planets were lost in her blaze. | 
 Roll , on v , thou fair , orb, | and with gladness pursue | 
 
 The path thai conduces thee to splendor again* : | 
 But man's* faded glory | what change shall renevv ? | 
 
 Ah fool' ! to exuk x in a glory so vain ! | 
 
 'T is night" — I and the landscape is lovely no more* : | 
 I mourn ; I but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you N ; | 
 
 For morn is approaching, your charms to restore*, \ 
 Perfum'd with fresh fragrance,and glittering with dew. J 
 
 Nor yet for the ravage of win'ter I mourn ; | 
 Kind Nature, the embryo blossom will save* : I 
 
 But when shall spring , visit the mouldering urn* ! I 
 
 when shall day ( dawn , on the night of the grave v ! ) 
 
 1 Thought as a sage ; not thaw'taz-zer sage. b Felt as a man , 
 not fel'taz-zer man. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 237 
 
 'T was thus ( by the glare of false science betray'd, ) 
 
 That leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind; | 
 My thoughts wont to roam from shade onward to shade, j 
 
 Destruction before me, and sorrow behind. | 
 O pity, greaZ Father of Lighf, I then , I cried, | 
 
 Thy creature who fain would not wander from thee* ! ! 
 Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride* : | 
 
 From doub^and from darkness, | thou only, canst free .| 
 
 And darkness, and doub£ are now flying away v ; | 
 
 No longer ( I roam in conjecture forlorn^ : | 
 So breaks on the traveller, | fain£ and astray 1 , | 
 
 The bright, and the balmy effulgence of morn . | 
 See Truth, Love, and Mercy, in tri umph descending, | 
 
 And Nature all glowing in Eden's flrs£ bloonr ! j 
 On the cold chee& of Death,|smiles and ro v ses are blending,) 
 
 And Beauty, immortal, | awakes from the tomb . | 
 
 DIALOGUE BETWEEN KING EDWARD, AND THE EARL OV 
 WARWICK. 
 
 [Translated from the French, by Dr. Thomas Franklin.] 
 
 Edw. "Let me have no intruders ; | above all, 
 Keep Warwic/s from my sigh£ v — | 
 
 [Enter Warwick.] 
 
 War. Behold Mm here* — | 
 No welcome guest, it seems, | unless I as& 
 My lord of Suffolk's leave — | there was a time I 
 When Warwick wanted not his' aid J to gain 
 Admission here, j 
 
 Ed. There was a time, perhaps, j 
 When Warwick more desired 1 , | and more f deserved \t.\ 
 
 War. Never; | I 've been a foolish, faithful slaves! 
 All my best years*, | the morning of my life', | 
 Have been devoted to your* service : | wha£ 
 Are now the fruits' ? j Disgrace*, and infamy — | 
 My spotless name, j which never yet the breath 
 Of calumny had tainted, ! made the mock 
 16 
 
238 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 For foreign fools to carp at : but 'tis fii, | 
 
 WI13 trusi in princes, | should be thus rewarded. | 
 
 Ed. I thought, my lord, ; I had full well repaid' 
 Your services | vritli honors, J wealth', j and power 
 Unlimited ; ; thy all-directing hand \ 
 Guided in secret | every latent wheel 
 Of government, ■ ant/ mov'd the whole machine* : | 
 Warwick was all in v all, j and powerless Edward | 
 Stood like a cipher in the great account | 
 
 War. Who gave that cipher w^ortlr, land seated thee 
 On England's throne" ? | Thy undistinguish'd name \ 
 Had rotted in the dusi from whence it sprang', | 
 And moulder'd in oblivion, i had noi WarwieA | 
 Dug from its sordid mine ("the useless ore', | 
 And stamp'd it with a dradem. | Thou knowesi 
 This wretched country. ! doomW, perhaps, liAe Rome . 
 To fall by its own self -destroying hand, \ 
 Tost, for so many years i in the rough sea 
 Of civil discord', | hut for me had per ishW. j 
 In thai distressful hour, | I seiz'd the heW, | 
 BacZe the rough waves subside in peaces | and steer'd 
 Your shatter'^ vessel safe into the hai\bor. | 
 You may despise, perhaps, | thai useless aid | 
 Which you no longer want* ; ] hut know, prout/ youth, ( 
 He w r ho forgets a friend, j deserves a foe v . | 
 
 Ed. Know 7 , too, j reproach for benefits receiv'J, J 
 Pays every debt", j and cancels obligation. | 
 
 War. Why, thai indeed is frugal honesty, | 
 A thrifty, saving knowledge : j w T hen the debi 
 Grows burdensome, j and cannoi be discharge, | 
 A sponge w T ill w T ipe oui all v , j ana' cosi you nothing. ( 
 
 Ed. When you have counted o'er the numerous train 
 Of mighty gifts j your bounty lavish'^ on me, | 
 You may remember nexi j the injuries 
 Which I have done you ; J let me know r them all', | 
 And I will make you ample satisfaction. | 
 
 War. Thou cansi* noi; jthou hasi robb'c? me of a jewel } 
 It is noi in thy powder to restore : | 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 239 
 
 I was the firsi, | shall future annals say, | 
 Thai broke the sacred bond of public trusi | 
 And mutual confidence ; | ambassadors, 
 In after times, j mere instruments, perhaps, | 
 Of venal states men, | shall recall my name | 
 To witness thai they wani not an exam pie, I 
 And pleat/ my guili | to sanctify their own. | 
 Amidsi the herd of mercenary slaves 
 Thai hauni your couri, | could none be fount? bui War- 
 wick, | 
 To be the shameless herald of a lie' ? ] 
 
 Ed. And wouldsi thou turn the vile reproach on me'? | 
 If I have bro&e my faith, | and stain'd the name 
 Of England, j thank thy own pernicious coun sels | 
 That urged' me to it, \ and extorted from me [ 
 A cold conseni to whai my heari abhorr'd*. 
 
 War. I 've been abus'ds | insulted, | and betray f d\ ; { 
 My injur d honour cries aloud for vengeance, j 
 Her wounds will never close^ ! | 
 
 Ed. These gusis of passion j 
 Will bui inflame v them ; | If I have been righi 
 Inform'd, my lord, | besides these dangerous scars 
 Of bleeding honor, J you have other wounds 
 As deep", | though noi so fa^tal : | such, perhaps, I 
 As none bui fair Elizabeth can cure. | 
 
 War. Elizabeth! | 
 
 Ed. Nay, start' noi — | I have cause 
 To wonder mosi x : | I little thoughi, indeed, | 
 When Warwick told me, I mighi learn to love, J 
 He was himself so able to instruct me: ] 
 Bui I 've discover'd alh — | 
 
 War. And so have F — | 
 Too well I know thy breach of friendship there A , | 
 Thy fruitless, base endeavors to supplant me. | 
 
 Ed. I scorn' ii, Sir — | Elizabeth hath charms*, j 
 And I have equal righi with you 1 to admire x them; ■ 
 Nor see I aughi so godlike in the fornr, | 
 So all-commanding in the name of Warwick, | 
 
^40 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Thai he alone should revel in the charms 
 Of beauty, | and monopolize perfection, i 
 I knew noi of your love. 
 
 War. 'Tis false! | 
 You knew it all*, | and meanly took occasion, | 
 Whilst I was busied in the noble office, | 
 Your Grace thought fi7 to honor me withal, | 
 To tamper with a weaft, unguarded wo'man, | 
 And basely steal a treasure | 
 Which your kingdom could noi purchase. | 
 
 Ed. How know you that' ? j but be it as it may*, | 
 I had a righ^, | nor will I tamely yield 
 My claim to hap'piness, | the privilege 
 To choose the partner of my throne* : j 
 It is a branch of my prerogxative. | 
 
 War. Prerogative ! | what 's thaiv ? | the boasi of ty 
 rants, | 
 A borrowed jew*el, | glittering in the crown 
 With spe cious lustre, | leni but to betray\. | 
 You had it, Sir, | and hold 1 it, | from the peo*ple. 
 
 Ed. And therefore do I prize* it : \1 would guard 
 Their liberties, | and they shall strengthen mine* : | 
 Bui when proud faction, and her rebel crew J 
 Insula their soveTeign, ] trample on his laws', j 
 And bid defiance to his power, | the people, 
 In justice to themselves*, | will then defend 
 His cause', | and vindicate the rights they gave. | 
 
 War. Go to your darling people, then ; | for soon, 
 If I mistake not, j 't will be needful ; | try 
 Their boasted zeal*, | and see if one v of them | 
 Will dare to lift his arm up in your cause, | 
 If I forbid* Aim. | 
 
 Ed. Is it so, my lord' ? \ 
 Then marA my wordsx : | I 've been your slave too long', 
 And you have ruled me with a rod of i*ron ; | 
 Bui henceforth know, proud peer, | I am thy mas'ter, | 
 And will* be so : | the king who delegates 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 241 
 
 His power to others' hands, | but ill deserves 
 The crowir he wears. | 
 
 War. Ijook well then to your own* : j 
 It sits but ioosely on your hea^ ; | for, know x , | 
 The man who injur'd War wic/s, | never passed 
 Unpunished yet | 
 
 Ed. Nor he who threaten'd Edward — | 
 You may repent* it, Sir — | my guards' there — ( seize 
 This trartor, | and convey him to the Tower — | 
 There let him learn obedience. | 
 
 SPEECH ON THE SUBJECT OF EMPLOYING THE INDIANS 
 TO FIGHT AGAINST THE AMERICANS. NOV. 1«, 1777.* 
 
 (LORD CHATHAM.) 
 
 I can^no/, my lords, | I will' not | join in congratula- 
 tion | on misfortune and disgrace^ | This, my lords, | is 
 a perilous, and tremendous moment ; | it is not a time 
 for adula'tion : | the smoothness of flattery cannot save 
 us | in this rugged and aw v ful crisis. | It is now neces- 
 sary j to instruct the throne in the language of truths | 
 We musf, if possible, | dispel the delusion, and darkness 
 which envelope it ; | and display in its full danger, and 
 genuine colours, | the ruin which is brought to our 
 doorsv. j 
 
 Can ministers still presume to expect support in their 
 infatua'tion ? | Can parliament be so dead to its dig- 
 nity, and duty, | as to give its support to measures thus 
 obtruded, and forced' upon it ? | measures, my lords, | 
 which have reduced this late flourishing empire | to 
 scorn, and contempt \ Bu£ yesterday, | and England 
 might have stood against the world'; | now, none so poor 
 is to do Aer reverence ! | 
 
 * Mr. Pitt delivered this speech in opposition to Lord Snfibik, 
 who proposed in Parliament to employ the Indians against the 
 Americans; and who had said, in the course of the debate, that they 
 had a right to use all the means, that God and Nature had put into 
 their hands, to conquer America. 
 
242 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 The people whom we at first despised as rebels, | but 
 whom we now acknowledge as enemies, | are abetted 
 against us, j supplied with every military store*, ] their 
 interest consulted, j and their ambassadors entertained ] 
 by our inveterate ememy ; j and ministers do not, j and 
 dare' no* | interpose with dignity, or effect | 
 
 The desperate state of our army abroad, | is, in par/, 
 known. | No man more highly esteems, and honors 
 the English troops than L do : | I know their virtues, 
 and their valor ; j I know they can achieve any thing 
 but impossibilities ; | and I know thai the conquest of 
 English America, j is v an impossibility : | you cannot, my 
 lords, | you cannot, conquer America, j 
 
 What is your present situation there .' | We do not 
 know the worst ; | but we know ] tha£ in three cam- 
 paigns | we have done nothing, and suffered mucbu. J 
 You may swell every expense 1 , | accumulate every as- 
 sistance, | and extend your traffic to the shambles of 
 every German des v po£, | yet your attempts will be for 
 ever vain and im potent ; j doubly so indeed | from this 
 mercenary aid on which you relyv ; | for it irritates, to 
 an incurable resen^men/, | the minds of your adversa- 
 ries, | to overrun them with the mercenary sons of ra- 
 pine, and plunder, devoting them, and their possessions, ( 
 to the rapacity of hireling cruelty. | If I were an 
 American, ! as I am an Englishman, | while a foreign 
 troo/? was landed in my country, 1 1 nev^er would lay 
 down my arms — | Nev x er ! j Nev er ! ! Nev er ! | 
 
 But, my lords, | who is the man | tha/, in addition to 
 the disgraces, and mischiefs of the war, j has dared to 
 authorize, and associate to our arms | the tomahaw/f, 
 and scalping-knife of the sa\ n age — | to call into civil- 
 ized alliance, j the wild, and inhuman inhabitant of the 
 woods' — | to delegate to the merciless Xn v dian | the 
 defence of disputed rights v , | and to wage the horrors 
 of his' barbarous war j against our brethren? | My 
 lords, | these enormities J cry aloud for redress, and 
 punishment | 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 243 
 
 Bui, my lords, | this barbarous measure has been de- 
 fended, | noi only on the principles of policy, and neces- 
 sity, | but also on those of morality ; | " for it is per- 
 fectly allowable," | says Lord Suffolk, | " to use all the 
 means j thai God, and nature -have pui into our hands." j 
 I am astonished, | 1 am shocker/', | to hear such princi- 
 ples confessed ; | to hear them avowee? in this house', | 
 or in this couirtry ! j 
 
 My lords, | I did noi intend to encroach so much on 
 your attention ; j but I cannot repress my indignation : I 
 I feel myself impelled' to speak. | My lords, | we are 
 called upon as members of this houses | as men', | as 
 Christians, | to protest against such horrible barbar- 
 ity — | " Thai God, and nature have put into our 
 hands v !" | What ideas of Goof, and nature | thai noble 
 lord may entertain, | I know^ not ; \ but I know | thai 
 such detestable principles | are equally abhorreni to 
 religion, and humanity. | 
 
 Whai* / | to attribute the sacred sanction of God, and 
 nature, | to the massacres of the Indian scal'ping-knife ! | 
 to the cannibal savage, | torturing, | murdering, | and 
 devouring his unhappy vic'tims ! | Such notions shock 
 every precepi of moral ity, | every feeling of human ity, | 
 every sentimeni of homor. | These abominable prin- 
 ciples, | and this more abominable avowal of them, | 
 demand the mosi decisive indignation. | 
 
 I call upon thai righi reverend, j and this mosi learn- 
 ed bench, | to vindicaie the religion of their God,", | to 
 suppori the justice of their country. | I call upon the 
 bishops | to interpose the unsullied sanctity of their 
 lawn N , | upon the judges | to interpose the purity of their 
 ermine, ( to save us from this pollution. | I call upon 
 the honor of your lordships | to reverence the dignity 
 of your an cestors, | and to maintain your own 1 . | I call 
 upon the spirii, and humanity of my country, | to vin- 
 dicaie the national character : j I invoke the genius of 
 the British Constitution. ] 
 
 To send forth the merciless Indian, j thirsting for 
 
244 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 blood^ / | against whom' ? | your protestaru brethren ! ( 
 To lay waste their country, | to desolate their dweh- 
 lings, J and extirpate their race, and name 1 , | by the ait/, 
 and instrumentality of these ungovernable savages. | 
 Spain can no longer boast pre-eminence in barbarity, j 
 She armed Aerself with blood v -hounds ; to extirpate the 
 wretched natives of Mex ico ; | we, more ruthless, | loose 
 these* dogs of war j against our countrymen in Amer- 
 ica, | endeared to us j by every tie thai can sanctify 
 humanity. | 
 
 I solemnly call upon your lordships, | and upon every 
 order of men in the state*, | to stamp upon this infa- 
 mous procedure, | the indelible stigma of the public ab- 
 horrence. | More particularly, I I call upon the vene- 
 rable prelates of our relrgion, i to do away this iniquity ;| 
 let them perform a lustration | to purify the country | 
 from this deep, and deadly sin. I 
 
 APOSTROPHE TO LIGHT. 
 
 (MILTON. ) 
 
 Hail ! holy Lights j offspring of Heaven, first born v , | 
 
 Or of the Eternal co-eternal beam., | 
 
 May I express thee unblam'd' ? i since God x , is ligh/', 
 
 And never but in unapproaclred lights | 
 
 Dwek from eter mty, | dwelt then in thee v , | 
 
 Bright effluence of bright essence imcreate ; | 
 
 Or hear'si thou rather, | pure ethereal stream', j 
 
 Whose fountain who shall tell. ? I Before the sum, j 
 
 Before the heavens, thou werf, ! and at the voice 
 
 Of God, ! as with a man'tle, ! didsi invest 
 
 The rising world of waters, I dark, and deep*, j 
 
 Won from the void, and formless infinite. I 
 
 Thee I revisit now with bolder wing v , I 
 Escap'd the Stygian pool, I though long detain'd 
 In thai obscure sojourn, I while in my flight, ' 
 Through utter, and through middle darkness borne ] 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 245 
 
 With other notes than to the Orphean lyre, | 
 I sung of chaos, and eternal nigh** ; | 
 Taught by the heavenly muse | to venture down 
 The dar/c descend, ! and up to re-ascend, I 
 Though hart/, and rare* : I thee I revisit safes I 
 And feel thy sovereign, vital lamp* ; | bu* thou 
 Revisit's* not these eyes x | tha* roll in vain, | 
 To ftnd thy piercing ray, I and fine/ no dawn* ; | 
 So thic/c a drop serene 1 | hath quench'd their orb^ 
 Or dim suffusion veil'd . | 
 
 Ye* not the more | 
 Cease , I , to wander where the muses haun*, ] 
 Clear spring', | or shady grove', | or sunny hills | 
 Smi* with the love of sacred song* ; | bu* chief 
 Thee, Sion, | and the flowery brooks beneath, | 
 Tha* wash thy hallow'd fee*, and "warbling flow, | 
 Nightly I vis*i* : | nor sometimes forge* 
 Those other two, j equall'd with me , in fa*es \ 
 ( l So were I equall'd with them in renown x ) | 
 2 Blind Thanryris, | and blind Maeon ides, I 
 ^nd Tyre'sias, and Phin eas, | prophets oldx : | 
 Then feed on thoughts | tha* voluntary move 
 Harmonious* numbers ; | as the wakeful bird 
 Sings darkling, ! and in shadiest cover* hid, | 
 Tunes her nocturnal notes v . | 
 
 Thus with the year, 
 Seasons return ; | bu* no* to me returns 
 Days I or the sweet approach of e'ens or morn* — 
 Or sigh* of vernal bloom', I or summer's roses 
 Or flocks', ! or herdss I or human face divine* ; | 
 'Bu* cloud instead, I and ever-during dar&* 
 Surrounds* me, 1 2 from the cheerful ways of men 
 Cut off, I and for the book of knowledge fair, | 
 Presented with a universal blan& 
 Of nature's works*, I to me expung'd and raz'ds I 
 
 * Drop serene, gutta serena, a disease of the eye, attended wiW 
 loss of vision, the organ retaining its natural transparency, 
 
246 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 And wisdom, at one entrance, qui/e shui ou? . I 
 
 So much the rather thou, celestial Lighi, | 
 
 Shine iirward, and the mine/ through ail her powers 
 
 lrra v diaie : \ there' plant eyes?, I all misi from thence | 
 
 Purge, ant/ disperses I thai I may see, and tell j 
 
 Of things invisible to mortal sighZ v . | 
 
 HYDER ALL 
 [Extract i'rom Mr. Burke's Speech on the Nabob of Arcot's D^bts.] 
 
 Among the victims to this magnificent plan of uni- 
 versal plunder, J pursued by the company in India, | so 
 worthy of the heroic avarice of the projectors, | you 
 have all heart/ ! (and he has made Aimself to be well 
 remembered) | of an Indian Chief, called Hyder Ali 
 Khan. | This man possessed the western, ] as the com- 
 pany under the Nabofr of Arcoi, | does the east'ern 
 division of the Carnatic* I It was among the leading 
 measures in the design of this cabal I (according to their 
 own emphatic language) | to extir pate this Hyder Ali. | 
 They declared the Nabob of Arcoi to be his sovereign, | 
 and himself to be a rebel, I and publicly invested their 
 instrument | w T ith the sovereignty of the kingdom of 
 Mysore. | Bui their victim was not of the passive 
 kind: | they were soon obliged I to conclude a treaty of 
 peace, and close alliance with this rebel, j at the gates 
 of Madras. | 
 
 Both before, and since' that treaty, | every principle 
 of policy I pointed out this power as a natural allrance; | 
 and, on his pari, | it was courted by every sort of ami- 
 
 * "The Carnatic is that portion of southern India which runs 
 along 1 the coast of Coromandel. Its length is 500 miles, and its 
 breadth from 50 to 100, and it belongs to the East India Company. 
 Hyder Ali and the Nabob of Arcot were neighboring princes, — 
 but the Nabob held his power from the Company. Toe Company 
 lent themselves to the Nabob's schemes of ambition, the object of 
 which was (as usual), to enlarge his own dominion at the expense 
 of that of Hvder Ali." a Plant eyes ; not plantize. 
 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 247 
 
 cable office. | Bui the cabinet council of English cred- 
 itors j would not suffer their Nabob of Arcot to sign* 
 the treaty, | nor even to give to a prince 1 , | at leas? /.'is 
 ea^ial, | the ordinary titles of respect, and courtesy. I 
 From that time forward, j a continued plot' was car- 
 ried on within the divan, ] blac&, and whites I of the 
 Nabob of Arcoi', | for the destruction of this Hyder Ali. | 
 As to the outward members of the double, j or rather 
 treble government of Madras, | which had signed the 
 treaty, | they were always prevented by some over- 
 ruling influence I (which they do not describe, | but 
 which cannot be misunderstood) I from performing whaZ 
 justice, ant? interest | combined so evidently to enforce. | 
 
 When at length Hyder Ali | found that he had to 
 do with men | who either would sign no convention, | 
 or whom no treaty, and no signature could bind ( , | and 
 who were the determined enemies of human intercourse 
 itself, | he decreed to make the country I possessed by 
 these incorrigible, and predestinated criminals, | a me- 
 morable example to mankind. | He resolved, | in the 
 gloomy recesses of a mind, capacious of such things, ) 
 to leave the whole Carnatic I an everlasting monument 
 of vengeance, | and to put perpetual desolation, | as a 
 barrier between him, and those | against whom, I the 
 faith which holds the moral elements of the world to- 
 gether, | was no protection. | 
 
 He became at length I so confident of 7ms force, I and 
 so collected in his mighi, j thai he made no secret what- 
 ever | of his dreadful resolution. I Having terminated 
 //is disputes with every enemy, and every rival, I who 
 buried their mutual animosities | in their common in- 
 terest againsi the creditors of the Nabob of Arcoi, j he 
 drew from every quarter, | whatever a savage ferocity | 
 could add v to his new rudiments in the art of destruc- 
 tion ; | and, compounding ail the materials of fu'ry, 
 havoc, and desola'tion, I into one blacA- cloud, | he hung 
 for a while on the declivities of the mountains. | Whilst 
 the authors of all these evils, | were idly, and stupidly 
 
248 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 gazing on this menacing meteor | (which blackened all 
 the horizon) | it suddenly burs^, | and poured down the 
 whole of its contents i upon the plains of the Carnatic. ) 
 
 Then ensued a scene of wo ( ; I the like of which no 
 eye had seen, | nor heart conceived*, I and which no 
 tongue can adequately tell. | All the horrors of war, 
 before known, or heard* of, | were mercy to tha* new 
 havoc. | A storm of universal fire', I blasted every 
 fields I consumed every house/ | and destroyed every 
 teimple. | The miserable inhabitants, I flying from their 
 flaming villages, | in part, were slaughtered ; j others, | 
 without regard to sex', to age', to rank', or sacredness 
 of function — | fathers torn from their chifdren, | hus- 
 bands, from wives 1 , I enveloped in a whirlwind of cav'- 
 alry, | and amidst the goading spears of dri'vers, | and 
 the trampling of pursuing horses, I were swep£ into 
 captivity I in an unknown, and hostile land. I Those 
 who were able to evade this tempest, | fled to the walled 
 cities ; I but escaping from fire', sword', and exile, | they 
 fell into the jaws of famine. I 
 
 For eighteen months', I without intermission, | this 
 destruction raged from the gates of Madras I to the 
 gates of Tanjorex ; I and so completely did these mas- 
 ters in their art, | Hyder Ali, and his more ferocious 
 son, | absolve themselves of their impious vow, I tlmt, 
 when the British armies traversed, as they did, | the 
 Carnatic for hundreds of miles in all directions, | through 
 the whole line of their march, | they did not see one 
 mam, i not one woman*, | not one child , | not one four- 
 footed beast' I of any description whatever. | One dead, 
 uniform silence M | reigned over the whole region. | 
 
 DARKNESS. 
 
 (byron.) 
 
 I had a dream | which was not all' a dream — \ 
 The bright sun was extinguished ; I and the stars 
 Did wander darkling in the eternal space, | 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 249 
 
 Rayless, and pathless ; | and the icy earth | 
 Swung blind and black'ning in the moonless air . | 
 Morn came, and \venP f i and came, and brought no day ;} 
 find men forgot their pas'sions | in the dread 
 Of this their desolation ; | and all hearts 
 Were chilli into a selfish prayer for ligh^. | 
 
 And they did live by watch'-fires ; | and the thrones, | 
 The palaces of crowned kings x — ! the huts', | 
 The habitations of all things which dwell 1 , | 
 Were burn'd for beacons. | Cities were consuraU; | 
 And men were gather'd round their blazing homes J 
 To looft once more into each other's face . | 
 Happy were they ] who dwell within the eye 
 Of the volca noes, I and their mountain-torch. | 
 A fearful hope | was all the world contain'^ ; | 
 Fores/s were set on fire v ; ! and hour by hour 
 They fell and fa^ded — | and the crackling trunks j 
 Extinguish'd with a crasrr, — | and all was blacA; v . ) 
 
 The brows of men, | by the despairing light, | 
 
 Wore an unearthly as'pec^, | as by fits 
 
 The flashes fell upon them. | Some lay down, | 
 
 And hid their eyes, I and wepP ; \ and some did res* 
 
 Their chins j upon their clinched hands, | and smiPd* ; | 
 
 And others hurried to and fro, I and fed 
 
 Their funeral piles with fuel, I and look'd up 
 
 With mad disquietude I on the dull sky*, | 
 
 The pall of a pas£ world ; I and then again 
 
 With curses, I east them down upon the dus^, | 
 
 And gnash'd their teetlr, | and howl'd . ) 
 
 The wild birds shriek'd, | 
 And, terrified, 1 did flutter on the ground, | 
 And flap their useless wings^ ; | the wildest brutes' | 
 Came tame, and tremailous ; I and vipers crawl'd, | 
 And twin'd themselves among the multitude, I 
 Hissing, hut stintless. I They were slain for food ; j 
 And war I which, for a moment, was no more, I 
 
250 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Did glu* v himself again : j a meal was bough* 
 With blood* ; ! and each sa* sullenly apart, | 
 Gorging Aimself in glooin . | 
 
 No love' was left ; | 
 x\ll earth was bu* one thought ; ! and thai was death , i 
 Immediate, and inglo rious ; I and the pang 
 Of famine I fed upon all emtrails. | Men 
 Died, | and their bones were tombless as their flesh x ; | 
 The meager by the meager were devourYA. | 
 E'en dogs' assail'd their masters ; j all, save one, | 
 And he was faithful to a co?-se, | and kept 
 The birds, and beasts, | and famish Y/ men at bay', | 
 Till hunger clung them, | or the dropping dead | 
 Lured their lan/t jaws v . | Himself sough* ou* no* food, | 
 Bu* with a piteous, and perpetual moan, | 
 And a quicA, desolate cry, licking the hand 
 Which answer'd no* with a caress, | he died . | 
 
 The crowd was famish'd by degreesv ; | bu* two 
 
 Of an enormous city, ! did survive, ; | 
 
 And they were eiremies. I They me* beside 
 
 The dying embers of an altar-place, | 
 
 Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things | 
 
 For an unholy u'sage : i they rak'd up, | 
 
 And, shivering, scrap'd with their cold skeleton hands, | 
 
 The feeble ashres, I and their feeble breath | 
 
 Blew for a little life, ! and made a flame | 
 
 Which was a mockery. I Then they lifted up 
 
 Their eyes as i* grew lighter',! and beheld 
 
 Each other's as pec*s — ' saw,|and shriek'd', | and died* ; j 
 
 E'en of their mutual hid'eousness they died, | 
 
 Unknowing who he was j upon whose brow [ 
 
 Famine had written fiend . | 
 
 The world was void* / j 
 The populous, and the powerful was* a lump, | 
 
 * Some, being anxious to correct what is already right, have 
 substituted were for was. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 251 
 
 Sea v sonless, I herbJess, | treeless, | man less, | lifeless — j 
 A lump of deatir — I a chaos of hard clay v . | 
 The rivers, lakes', and o cean, I all stood still ; | 
 And nothing stirr'd within their silent depths^. | 
 Ships, sailorless, I lay rotting on the sea x ; | 
 And their masls fell down piece*-rneal ; I as they dropp 9 d,\ 
 They slep£ on the abyss, without a surge . — | 
 The waves were dead" ; j the tides were in their grave*, — j 
 The moon, their mistress, ! had expired before ; | 
 The winds were wither W in the stagnant air; | 
 And the clouds perish'd. — I Darkness had no need 
 Of aid from them* — I she ,, was the universe. I 
 
 (ADDISON.) 
 
 Lucius, Sempro?iius, and Senators. 
 
 Semp. Rome still survives in this assembl'd senate ! ] 
 Let us remember we are Ca'to's friends, | 
 And ac^ like men who claim that glorious title. | 
 
 Luc. Cato will soon be here , ! and open to us 
 The occasion of our meeting. I Har/c* ! I he comes v ! | 
 
 [Flourish of Trumpets. 
 
 May all the guardian gods of Rome direct him ! | 
 [Enter Cato.] 
 
 Cato. Fathers, we once again are met in council — j 
 Caesar's approach has summon'd us together ; | 
 And Rome attends her fate from our resolves^. | 
 How shall we treat this bold aspiring mam ? | 
 Success still follows him, \ and backs his crimes* : | 
 Pharsalia gave him Rome' ; I E*gyp£ has since 
 Receiv'd //is yoke ; I and the whole Nile v is Caesar's. | 
 Why should I mention Juba's overthrow, | 
 And Scipio's death* ? | Numidia's burning sands 
 Still smoke with blood*. I ? T is time we should decree 
 Wha£ course to taAe. ! Our foe advan ces on us, ] 
 And envies us e'en Libya's sultry desserts. 
 
252 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Fathers, I pronounce your thoughts* — | are they still fixil 
 To hold it oui, ! and fight it to the last ? | 
 Or are your hearts subdu'd at length, ! and wrought 
 By time, and ill success, | to a submission? j 
 Sempronius, speafc. | 
 
 Semp. My voice is still for war. | 
 
 Can a Roman senate long debate | 
 Which of the two to choose — | slav'ry, or death' I | 
 No x — ! let us rise at once*, I gird on our swords', | 
 And, at the head of our remaining troops, | 
 AttacA. the foe v , ! breaA through the thick array | 
 Of //is throng'd legions, | and charge home' upon Mm: | 
 Perhaps some arm, more lucky than the resi, | 
 ]May reach //is heart 1 , ' and free the world from bondage. I 
 Rise 1 , fathers, I rise' ! I 'T is Rome* demands your help; | 
 Rise, and revenge her slaughter'd citizens, | 
 Or share their fate^ ! I The corpse of half Aer sen We, } 
 Manure the fields of Thes saly, \ while we 
 S\t here j deliberating in cold debates, | 
 Whether to sacrifice our lives to honor, | 
 Or wear them oui in servitude, and chainsv. | 
 Rouse up*, for shame' ! | our brothers of Pharsalia I 
 Poini at their w r ounds*, | and cry aloud — I to battle ! | 
 Greai Pompey's shade I complains thai we are slow*; | 
 And Scipio's ghost | walks unreveng'd' amongst us ! | 
 
 Ccito. Let not a torrent of impetuous zeal | 
 Transport thee thus beyond the bounds of rea*son: | 
 True fortitude j is seen in great exploits | 
 Thai justice warrants, | and thai wisdom guides^ — | 
 All else is s tow'ring frenzy and distraction. [ 
 Are noi the lives of those I who draw the sword 
 In Rome's defence, I intrusted to our care ? | 
 Should we thus lead them to a field of slaughter, | 
 Mighi not the impartial world, | with reason, say, [ 
 We lavish'd at our deaths I the blood of thou sands, | 
 To grace our fall, | and maAe our ruin glorious ? | 
 Lucius, ] we nexi would know what's your' opinion. | 
 
 Luc. My thoughts, I must confess,|are turn'd on peace.] 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 253 
 
 Already have our quarrels ! fili'd the world 
 
 With widows, and with orphans : | Scythia mourns 
 
 Our guilty wars, | and earth's remotest regions | 
 
 Lie half unpeopled by the feuds of Rome, — | 
 
 'T is time to sheathe* the sword, | and spare mankind. | 
 
 It is not Coesar 9 | hut the gods', my fathers, | 
 
 The gods declare against* us, I and repel 
 
 Our vain attempts, i To urge the foe to battle, j 
 
 Prompted by blind revenge, and wild despair, | 
 
 Were to refuse the awards of prov idence, a | 
 
 And not to rest in heaven's determination. | 
 
 Already have we shown our love to Rome, — | 
 
 Now ( let us show submission to the gods. | 
 
 We took up arms, | not to revenge' ourselves, | 
 
 But free the convmon wealth : j when this end fails, | 
 
 Aauis have no further use. I Our country's cause, | 
 
 Thai drew our swords, jnow wrests them from our hands,j 
 
 And bids us not delight in Roman blood, | 
 
 Unprofitably shed. | Whai men could do, | 
 
 [s done already : | heaven, and earth will witness, | 
 
 If Rome miist fall, | thai we are innocent | 
 
 Semp. This smooth discourse, and mild behavior, | oft 
 Conceal a traitor — | something whispers me 
 All is not right, — | Cato, beware of Lucius. | 
 
 [Aside to Cato. 
 
 Cato. Let us be neither rash nor diffident — | 
 Immod'rate valor swells into a fauli* ; i 
 And fear, admitted into public councils, | 
 Betrays like treason, j Let us shun them both. | 
 Fathers, j I cannot see that our affairs 
 Are grown thus desp'rate — I we have bulwarks' 
 
 round us : | 
 Within our walls, I are troops, inured to toil 
 In Afric's heai, I and season'd to the sun* — | 
 Numidia's spacious kingdom lies behind 1 us, | 
 Ready to rise at its young prince's call. | 
 
 ■ Pr6v'e-dfens; not prov'ur-dunce. b Bul'w&rks. 
 
 17 
 
254 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 While there is hope, ! do no* distrust the gods x ; | 
 Bat wai*. at leas*, till Caesar's near approach J 
 Force' us to yield. 'T will never be too late | 
 To sue for chains, | anri own a conqueror. | 
 Why should Rome'fail a moment ere her time v ? i 
 No x , I let us draw her term of freedom ou* | 
 In its full length 1 , i and spin it to the las*v — j 
 So shall we gain still one* day's Ifberty : ] 
 And let me perish, j bu* in Cato's judgment, | 
 A day*, | an hour', ■ of virtuous liberty, | 
 Is worth a whole eternity in bondage. I 
 
 [Enter Marcus.] 
 
 Ma?~c. Fathers, this moment, as I watch'c? the gate, { 
 Lodg'c? on my post, I a herald is arriv'd 
 From Caesar's cam/) 1 ; ! and with him, comes old De cius,J 
 The Roman knight — I he carries in //is looks 
 Impatience, I and demands to speaA; with Ca^to. | 
 
 Cato. By your permission, fathers — j bid Aim enter. ) 
 
 [Exit Marcus. 
 
 Deems was once my friend ; ! bu* other prospects 
 Have loos'd those ties, I anc? boun^ /?im fas* to Caesar, j 
 His message may determine our resolves. | 
 
 [Enter Decius.] 
 
 Dec. Caesar sends health to Ca v to. | 
 
 Cato. Could he send it 
 
 To Cato's slaughter'^? friends, ! it would be welcome. | 
 Are no* your orders to address the senate ? j 
 
 Dec. Sly business is with Ca'to. j Caesar sees 
 The straits to which you 're driven ; | and, as he knows 
 Cato's high worth, I is anxious for your life. \ 
 
 Cato. My life is grafted on the fate of Rome\ | 
 Would he save Cato, \ bid him spare 7?is country. ] 
 Tell your dictator this x — i and tell him too, | Cato 
 Disdains 1 a life I which he has power to offer. | 
 
 Dec. Rome, and her senators submi* to Caesar; ! 
 Her generals, and /?er consuls are no more, | 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 255 
 
 Who check'd his conquests, | and denied his triumphs, j 
 Why will not Ca'to be this Caesar's friend? | 
 
 Cato. Those very reasons thou has£ urg'd v , forbid \L j 
 Dec. Cato, I have orders to expostulate, | 
 And rea v son with you, I as from friend to friend ; | 
 Tiling on the storm thai gathers o'er your head, j 
 And threatens ev'ry hour to burs^ upon it ; \ 
 Still may you stand high in your country's honWs, — j 
 Do hut comply, I and make your peace with Caesar, | 
 Rome will rejoice', I and casi its eyes on Cato, | 
 As on the sec N ond of mankind. | 
 
 Cato. No more v — | 
 
 I must not thin&' of life on such conditions. ] 
 
 Dec. Caesar is well acquainted with your virtues, J 
 And therefore sets this value on your life. | 
 Let 7/irn hut know the price' of Cato's friendship, | 
 And name your terms, j 
 
 Cato. Bid Mm disband his le N gions, | 
 
 Restore the commonwealth to liberty, | 
 Submit his actions to the public cemsure, | 
 And stand the judgment of a Roman senate, j 
 Let him do this 1 , | and Cato is his friend. | 
 Dec. Cato, the world talks loudly of your wis'dom — J 
 Cato. Nay, more' — | though Cato's voice j was ne'er 
 employ'd 
 To clear the guilty, | and to varnish crimes, | 
 Myself will mount the rostrum in his faVor, | 
 And strive to gain his pardon from the people. | 
 Dec. A style like this becomes a con 'queror. | 
 Cato. Decius, a style like this, becomes a Ro man. | 
 Dec. What is a Roman , that is Caesar's foe* ? 
 Cato. Great 'er than Caesar : | he's a friend to virtue. | 
 Dec. Consider, Cato, you 're in U'tica, | 
 And at the head of your own little semate ; | 
 You don'i now thunder in the Capitol, | 
 With all the mouths of Rome to second you. | 
 
 Cato. Lei him consider thai, I who drives us hither, j 
 *T is Caesar's sword' has made Rome's senate little, I 
 
256 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 And thinn'd its ranks. | Alas ! thy dazzled eye | 
 
 Beholds this man in a false glaring light, \ 
 
 Which conquest, and success' have thrown upon him: 
 
 Didst thou bu* view him righf, | thou 'ds* see him blacA 
 
 With murder, ] trea'son, I sacrilege, ' and crimes', j 
 
 That strike my soul with horror bu* to name* them, j 
 
 I know thou look's* on me, ! as on a wretch | 
 
 Bese* with ills, and cover'd with misfortunes; | 
 
 Bu* , millions of worlds' | 
 
 Should never buy me i to be liAe tha* Caesar. | 
 
 Dec. Does Cato send this answer bacA; to Caesar, | 
 For all his generous cares, and proffer'd friendship ? \ 
 
 Cato. His cares for me, are insolent, and vain . | 
 Presumptuous man ! ! the gods' take care of Cato. j 
 Would Csesar show the greatness of his soul, | 
 Le* him employ his care for these my friends'; | 
 And make good use of Ms ill-gotten power, | 
 By shelt'ring men much better than Mmself. | 
 
 Dec. Your high unconquer'd hear* j makes you forgef 
 You are a man. I You rush on your destruction. | 
 But I have done. I When I relate hereafter | 
 The tale of this unhappy embassy, I 
 All Rome , will be in tears. | [Exit. 
 
 Semp. Cato, we thanA;' thee. | 
 
 The mighty genius of immortal Rome', I 
 Speaks in thy voice : J thy soul breathes lib erty. | 
 Coesar will shrink to hear the words thou utter's*, | 
 And shudder in the mids* of all his conquests. | 
 
 Luc. The sena/e owes its gratitude to Cato | 
 Who, with so grea* a soul, ! consults its safety, j 
 And guards our' lives, I while he neglects Ms own. | 
 
 Semp. Sempronius gives no thanks on this* account ! 
 Lucius seems fond of life' ; I bu* wha* is* life '! | 
 'T is no* to stalA: abou*, | and draw fresh air 
 From time to time, ! or gaze upon the sun : | 
 f T is to be free'. I When liberty is gone, | 
 Life grows insipid, ' and has los* its relish. ' 
 O could my dying hand j bu* lodge a sword 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 257 
 
 In Caesar's bosom, j and revenge my country, | 
 I could enjoy the pangs of deaths | 
 And smile in agony ! | 
 
 Luc. Others, perhaps, ] 
 
 May serve their country with as warm a zeal, | 
 Though 't is not kindled into so much rage. | 
 
 Semp. This sober conduct | is a mighty virtue 
 In luke-warm patriots ! | 
 
 Cato. Come^ — no more', Sempronius, | 
 All here are friends to Rome, i and to each other — ) 
 Let us not weaken still the weaker side | 
 By our divisions. | 
 
 Semp. Cato, my resentments 
 Are sacrificed to Rome^ — | I stand reprov'd. | 
 
 Cato. Fathers, 't is time you come to a resolve. | 
 
 Luc. Cato, we all go into your' opinion — | 
 Cassar's behavior has convinced the senate ] 
 We ought to hold it out till terms arrive. | 
 
 Semp. We ought to hold it out till death' — I but, Cato,] 
 My private voice is drown'd amidsi the senate's. ] 
 
 Cato. Then let us rises my friends', | and strive to fill 
 This little interval, | this pause of life, | 
 While yet our liberty, and fates are doubtful, I 
 W ith resolu tion, | friendship, | Roman bra Very, | 
 And all the virtues we can crowd into it, | 
 Tha£ heaven may say it oughz to be prolong'd. | 
 Fathers, farewell. — j The young Numidian prince* 
 Comes forward, | and expects to know our counsels. | 
 
 TIIANATOPSIS.* 
 
 (W. C. BRYANT.) 
 
 To him who, in the love of Nature, | holds 
 Communion with Aer visible forms, I she speaks 
 A various language : I for //is gayer hours, | 
 She has a voice of glad ness, | and a smile, 
 
 * Thanatopsis (Greek), from thanatos, death, and opsis t sight 
 a view of death. 
 
258 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 And eloquence of beairty ; j and she glides 
 Into his darker musings I with a mild 
 And gentle sym pathy i that steals away 
 Their sharpness, | ere he is aware. | 
 
 When thoughts 
 Of the last bitter hour, I come liAe a blight 
 Over thy spirit ; ) and sac? images* 
 Of the stern ( agony , b | and shroud', | and pall', | 
 And breathless dark/ness, | and the narrow house', | 
 Ma/ce thee to shudder, | and grow sicA at heart, | 
 Go forth under the open sky', | and list 
 To Nature's teachings, | while from all around — | 
 Earth', and her wa'ters, | and the depths of air — | 
 Comes a still voice. — ! 
 
 Yet a few days, | and thee 
 The all-beholding sun | shall see no more' | 
 In all his course. ; I nor yet in the cold ground, | 
 Where thy pale form | was laid with many tears,, 
 Nor in the embrace of ocean, | shall exist 
 Thy image. I Earth thai nourish'^/ thee, | shall claim 
 Thy growth | to be resolv'd to earth again. ; | 
 And, lost each human trace, | surrendering up 
 Thine individual being, | shali thou go | 
 To mix for ever with the elements, — ] 
 To be a brother to the insensible rocA', | 
 And to the sluggish clod" | which the rur/e swain | 
 Turns with his share, | and treads upon. | The oak 
 Shall send his roots abroad, | and pierce thy moult/. J 
 
 Yet not to thy eternal resting-place, \ 
 
 Shak thou retire alone. — | nor couldsi thou wish' | 
 
 Couch more magnificent. | Thou shak lie down | 
 
 With patriarchs of the infant world — | with kings', | 
 
 The powerful of the earth — | the wise v , | the good\ | 
 
 Fair forms., j and hoary seers' of ages pasi x , | 
 
 All in one mighty sepulchre. | 
 
 ■ Sad images ; not sad-dim'a-ges. b Stern agony ; not stern-nag^- 
 go-py. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 259 
 
 The hills, | 
 Rock-ribb'd, and ancieni as the sun' ; | the vales*, j 
 Stretching in pensive quietness between* ; | 
 The venerable woods* ; | rivers thai move 
 In majesty, j and the ""complaining brooks* | 
 Thai make the meadows green* ; | and, pour V round all 
 Old ocean's grey, and melancholy waste', J 
 Are hut the solemn decorations all', I 
 Of the greai tomb of man . | 
 
 The golden sun*, j 
 The plamets, | all the infinite host of heav'n, | 
 Are shining on the sad , abodes a of death, | 
 Through the still lapse of ages. ] All that tread 
 The glofte , | are but , a hand*ful b | to the tribes 
 Thai slumber in its bosom. | Take the wings 
 Of morning, I and the Barcan des*eri , pierce*, | 
 Or lose thyself in the continuous woods* | 
 Where rolls the Or egon, | and hears no sound, | 
 Save his own dash*ings — | yet the dead are there^ ; f 
 And millions in those solitudes, | since firsi 
 The ilighi of years began, j have laid them down 
 In their last sleep* — | the dead reign* there, alone x . | 
 
 So shalt thou rest — 1 and what if thou shali fall, | 
 
 Unno*ticed by the liv*ing; | and no friend 
 
 Take note* of thy departure ? | All thai breathe 
 
 Will share thy destiny. | The gay will laugh 
 
 When thou ari gone ; | the solemn brood of care 
 
 Plod on*, | and each one, as before, | will chase 
 
 His favorite phan*tom — | yei all these | shall leave 
 
 Their mirth, and their employments, | and shall come. 
 
 And make their bed with thee. | 
 
 As the long train 
 Of ages glides away, | the sons of men', | 
 The youth in life's green spring*, | and he who goes 
 In the full strength of years', | ma'tron and maid*, | 
 
 a Sad abodes ; not sad'der-bodes. h But a handful ; not butter handful 
 
2G0 P R ACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 The bow'd with age,, j the infant j in the smiles 
 And beauty of its innocent age cut off,' | 
 Shall one by one be gather'^ to thy side, I 
 By those who, in their turn, | shall follow them. I 
 
 So live, ! thai when thy summons comes ( | to join 
 The innumerable caravan | thai moves 
 To the pale realms of shade, ; where each shall taAe 
 His chamber in the sileni halls of death, I 
 Thou go not, li/ce the quarry-slave at nighi v , | 
 Scourg'd to his duirgeon, | but, sustain V, and sooth'd 
 By an unfaltering trusi, approach thy grave, | 
 Li/ce one who wraps the drapery of Ms couch 
 Aboui 7iim, b | and lies down to pleasant dreams. | 
 
 SPEECH OP CICERO AGAINST VERRES. 
 
 The time is come, fathers, I when that which has 
 long been wished for, | towards allaying the envy youi 
 order has been subject to, ! and removing the imputa- 
 tions against trials, | is effectually put into your power, j 
 An opinion has long prevailed, 1 not only here at home, j 
 but likewise in for eign c countries, i both dangerous to 
 you, | and pernicious to the states — | that, in prosecu- 
 tions, ! men of wealth are always safe', | however clearly 
 convicted. I 
 
 There is now to be brought upon his trial, before 
 you, | to the confusion, I hope, I of the propagators of 
 this slanderous imputation, I one whose life, and ac- 
 tions i condemn him in the opinion of all impartial per- 
 sons ; | but who, according to his own reckoning, | and 
 declared dependence upon his riches, I is already ac- 
 quitted : I I mean Caius Verres. I 
 
 I demand justice of you, Fathers, | upon the robber 
 of the public treasvury, I the oppressor of Asia Minor, 
 and Pamphyhia, I the invader of the rights, and privi- 
 leges of Ro'mans, | the scourge, and curse of Sicily, j 
 
 ■ Cut off; not cut-toff'. b About him; not abow'tim. c F6r'rln. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 261 
 
 If that sentence is passed upon him, | which his crimes 
 deserve, I your authority, Fathers, | will be venerable, 
 and sa*cred in the eyes of the public ; | but, if his great 
 riches should bias you in his favor, ] I shall still gain 
 one* point, — | to make it apparent to all the world, | 
 that what was wanting in this case, | was not a crimi- 
 nal, | nor a prosecutor; | but justice, and adequate 
 punishment. | 
 
 To pass over the shameful irregularities of his youth, | 
 what does his ques'torship, I the first public employ- 
 ment he held, | what does it exhibit, I but one continued 
 scene of viHanies 1 | Cneius Carbo, I plundered of the 
 public money by his own treasurer, I a consul stripped, 
 and betrayed', | an army, deserted, and reduced to 
 want, | a province, robbed', | the civil, and religious 
 rights of a people vrolated. | 
 
 The employment he held in Asia Minor, and Pam- 
 phyfia, — I what did it produce but the ruin of those 
 countries, | in which houses, cities, and tern pies were 
 robbed* by him ? | What was his conduct in his pre x - 
 torship here at home ? | Let the plundered temples, 
 and public works neglected, | that he might embezzle 
 the money intended for carrying them on', I bear wit- 
 ness. | How did he discharge the office of a judge* ? | 
 Let those who suffered by his injustice, answer. | 
 
 But his pretorship in Srcily, | crowns all' his works 
 of wickedness, I and finishes a lasting monument to his 
 infamy. | The mischiefs, done by him in that unhappy 
 country, I during the three years of his iniquitous ad- 
 ministration, | are such, that many years*, I under the 
 wisest, and best' of pretors, | will not be sufficient to 
 restore things I to the condition in which he found 
 them; I for it is notorious,'! that, during the time of his 
 tyranny, | the Sicilians neither enjoyed the protection 
 of their own original laws ; I of the regulations made 
 for their benefit by the Roman senate, I upon theii 
 coming under the protection of the commonwealth ; j 
 nor of the natural, and unalienable rights of men. • 
 
262 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 His nod \ has decided all causes in Sicily | for these 
 three years. | And /vis decisions i have broken ail law 1 , I 
 all pre cedent, j all right. | The sums he has, by arbi- 
 trary taxes, and unheard-of impositions, j extorted from 
 the industrious poor, | are not to be computed. | The 
 most faithful allies of the commonwealth, 1 have been 
 treated as enemies. | Roman citizens, like slaves', 
 have been put to death with tortures. | The most 
 atrocious criminals I have been exempted, for money, | 
 from deserved punishments ; i and men, of the most 
 unexceptionable characters, | condemned, and banished, 
 unheard. | 
 
 The harbours, though sufficiently fortified, | and the 
 gates of strong towns', I have been opened to pirates, 
 and ravagers. | The soldiery, and sailors, | belonging 
 to a province under the protection of the commonwealth,! 
 have been starved to death* ; | whole fleets^, | to the 
 great detriment of the prov'ince, | suffered to perish. | 
 The ancient monuments i of either Sicilian, or Roman 
 greatness, I the statues of heroes, and princes, | have 
 been carried off 4 ; | and the temples stripped of the 
 images. | 
 
 Having, by his iniquitous sentences, | filled the 
 prisons with the most industrious, and deserving of the 
 people, | he then proceeded to order numbers of Roman 
 citizens j to be strangled in the jails* ; I so that the excla- 
 mation, | " I am a citizen of Rome v !" I which has often, 
 
 in the most distant regions, | and among the most bar- 
 es ' ' o 
 
 barous people, j been a protection, I was of no service 
 to them ; | but, on the contrary, \ brought a speedier, 
 and more severe punishment upon them. I 
 
 I ask now, Verres, I what thou hast to advance 
 against this charge? | Wilt thou pretend to deny' it?| 
 Wilt thou pretend that any thing false\ | that even any 
 thing aggravated, I has been urged against thee? I Had 
 an} princes ' or any state', i committed the same out- 
 rage against the privilege of Roman citizens, | should 
 we not think we had sufficient ground for demanding 
 satisfaction? I 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 263 
 
 What punishment ought, then, to be inflicted \ upon 
 a tyrannical, and wicked pretor, I who dared, at no 
 greater distance than Si cily, j within sight of the Italian 
 coast', | to put to the infamous death of crucifixion, | 
 that unfortunate, and innocent citizen, i Publius Gavins 
 Cosanus, j only for his having asserted his privilege of 
 citizenship, I and declared his intention of appealing to 
 the justice of his country, j against the cruel oppressor | 
 who had unjustly confined him in prison at Syracuse, j 
 whence he had just made his escape? | 
 
 The unhappy man, | arrested as he was going to em- 
 bark for his native country, | is brought before the 
 wicked pretor. | With eyes darting fury, I and a coun- 
 tenance distorted with cruelty, I he orders the helpless 
 victim of his rage to be stripped^, | and rods' to be 
 brought — | accusing him, j but without the least sha- 
 dow of evidence, I or even of suspicion, j of having come 
 to Sicily as a spy. | It was in vain that the unhappy 
 man cried out, | " I am a Roman citizen — | I have 
 served under Lucius Pre'tius I who is now at Panor- 
 mus, | and will attest my innocence." 
 
 The blood-thirsty pretor, I deaf to all he could urge 
 in his own defence, I ordered the infamous punishment 
 to be inflicted. I Thus, Fathers, I was an innocent Ro- 
 man citizen I publicly mangled with scourging; \ while 
 the only words he uttered, | amidst his cruel sufferings, 
 were, | "I am a Roman citizen !" I With these , he 
 hoped to defend himself I from violence, and infamy. | 
 But of so little service was this privilege to him, | that, 
 while he was thus asserting his citizenship, I the order 
 was given for his execu tion, — | for his execution upon 
 the cross* ! | 
 
 O liberty ! — I O sound once delightful to every Ro 
 man ear ! j O sacred privilege of Roman citizen- 
 ship ! — | once' sacred ! — | now tranrpled upon ! — j 
 But what then* ! I Is it come to this'? I Shall an infe- 
 rior magistrate, I a governor, | who holds his whole 
 power of the Roman people, | in a Roman province, j 
 
264 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 within sight of Italy, \ bind, scourge, torture with fire, 
 and red hot plates of iron, I and at last put to the infa- 
 mous death of the cross, | a Roman citizen 1 | Shall 
 neither the cries of innocence expiring in ag v ony, | nor 
 the tears of pitying spectators, nor the majesty of the 
 Roman commonwealth, | nor the fear of the justice of 
 his country, I restrain the licentious, and wanton cruelty 
 of a monster , | who, in confidence of his riches, | strikes 
 at the root of liberty, ' ant/ sets mankind at defrance ? 
 I conclude with expressing my hopes, I that your 
 wisdom, and justice, Fathers, i will not, by suffering the 
 atrocious, and unexampled insolence of Caius Verres | 
 to escape due punishment, I leave room to apprehend 
 the danger of a total subversion of authority, I and the 
 introduction of general anarchy, and confusion. J 
 
 CATO S SOLILOQUY. 
 
 (ADDISON.) 
 
 ►Scene — Cato sitting in a thoughtful posture, with Plato's book 
 on the Immortality of the Soul in his hand ; and a drawn sword 
 on the table by him. 
 
 It must' be so — I Plato, thou reasonesi well ! — | 
 
 Else whence this pleasing hope", I this fond desire', | 
 
 This longing after immortahity 1 \ 
 
 Or whence this secret dread, I and inward horror, | 
 
 Of failing into nought ? I why shrinks the soul | 
 
 Bac& on herself, I and star ties at destruction ? | 
 
 'T is the divin ity thai stirs within us ; I 
 
 'T is heaven itself | thai points out an hereafter, | 
 
 And intimates eteraiity to man. | 
 
 Eternity ! 1 thou pleas'ing, dreadvful thought ! ! 
 Through whai variety of untried be x ing, | 
 Through whai new scenes, and changes must we pass ! j 
 The wide', the unbounded prospect lies before me ; | 
 Bui shad'ows, clouds', and darkless resi* upon ii. | 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 265 
 
 Here will I hold . ) If there 's a power above us, | 
 
 And that there is | all nature cries aloud 
 
 Through all her works, i he must delight in virtue ; j 
 
 And that which he delights in, | must be happy. | 
 
 Bui when* ! | or where 1 ! — I this world was marfe for 
 
 Caesar. | 
 1 'm weary of conjectures — I this must end, them. | 
 
 [Laying his hand on his sword 
 
 Thus am I doub N ly arm'd; I my death, and life,, j 
 My bane', and antidote | are both before me : | 
 This in a moment brings me to an end' ; \ 
 Bui this informs me I shall never die*, i 
 
 The soul, secured in her existence, | smiles 
 
 x\t the drawn dagger, | and defies its poini. | 
 
 The stars shall fade away*, | the sun 7/imself 
 
 Grow dim with age*, I and nature sink in years x ; | 
 
 Bui thou shali flourish in immortal youth', | 
 
 Unhuri amidst the war of el'ements, | 
 
 The wrec& of mat'ter, | and the crush of worlds . i 
 
 HAMLETS SOLILOQUY. 
 (SHAKSPEARE.) 
 
 To be, — or noi' to be — | thai' is the question: | 
 Whether 't is nobler in the mind I to suffer 
 The slings, and arrows of outrageous fortune ; | 
 Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, | 
 And, by opposing, end* them 1 | To die' — to sleep* — 
 No more* — | and, by a sleep, | to say we end 
 The heart-ache, \ and the thousand natural shocks | 
 Thai flesh is heir to : | 't is a consummation 
 Devoutly to be wish'd. | 
 
 To die' — to sleep* — | 
 To sleep'/ I perchance to dreairr — | ay, there 's the rub ; 
 For, in thai sleep of death, | whai dreams may come, [ 
 When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, a 
 
 a Stir, bustle. 
 
266 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION 
 
 Musi give us pause v . j There 's the respect | 
 
 Thai makes calamity of so long life 4 : | 
 
 For who would bear the whips, and scorns of time^ | 
 
 The oppressor's wrong*, j the proud man's coirtumely, 6 
 
 The pangs of despised love*, the law's delays | 
 
 The insolence of office, | and the spurns/ 
 
 Thai patieni merii of the unworthy takes, j 
 
 When he /nmself mighi Ms quietus make | 
 
 With a bare bodvkin ? c | 
 
 Who would fardels'* bear, | 
 To groan, and sweai under a weary life, | 
 Bui that the dread of something after death | 
 (*Thai undiscover'd country | from whose bourn 8 
 No traveller returns*), 2 puzzles the wilL ; j 
 And makes us rather bear those ills we haves | 
 Than fly to others thai we know not of ? | 
 
 Thus conscience does maA*e cowards of us alb ; | 
 And thus the native hue of resolution, | 
 Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought ; | 
 And enterprises of greai pith, and moment, | 
 With this regard, I their currents turn awry*, I 
 And lose the name of action. I 
 
 (SHAKSPEARE.) 
 
 Ro'mans, coun'trymen, and lowers ! | hear me for 
 my cause 4 ; I and be sileni | thai you may 4 hear. I Be- 
 lieve me for mine hon*or f ; | and have respect unto 
 mine honor j thai you may 4 believe, j Censure me in 
 your wis 4 dom ; | and awa&e your sen ses I thai you may 
 the better judge. | 
 
 a Consideration. b K&n'tu-me-le, rudeness. c The ancient term 
 for a sma.l dagger. d Packs, burdens. e B6rn, boundary, limit. 
 Mine honor ; not mine-non'nur. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 267 
 
 If there be any in this assembly, | any dear friend oi 
 Caesar's, j to him I say j tha* Bru tus' love to Caesar, j 
 was no less than his. j If, then, tha* friend demand j 
 why Brutus rose against Caesar, I this is my aaswer : | 
 No* that I loved Caesar , ltss, a | bu* that I loved Rome ( 
 more. | Had you rather Caesar were living, j and die 
 all slaves', | than tha* Caesar were dead, | and live all 
 free'men ? | 
 
 As Caesar loved me, ! I wee^ for him ; j as Ae was 
 fortunate, I I rejoice 1 at it; j as Ae was valiant, I I hon- 
 or Aim ; I but, as Ae was ambitious, j I slew* Aim. | 
 There are tears' for Ais love*, I joy' for Ais fortune, | 
 hon'or for Ais val v or, J and death* for his ambition. | 
 
 Who is here so base I tha* [he] b would be a bond v - 
 man 1 | If any, | speak ; I for him have I offend ed. | 
 Who is here so rude i thai [he] would no* be a Rodman? | 
 If any, I speafo ; \ for hinr have I offended. | Who is here 
 so vile | thai [he] will no* love Ais coun try ? j If any, J 
 spea/r ; | for him' have I offended. | I pause for a 
 reply. | 
 
 None' ! I Then none^ have I offended, j I have done 
 no more to Caesar, | than you should do to Brutus. | 
 The question of Ais death | is enrolled in the Capitol ; j 
 his glory no* extenuated, | wherein Ae was worthy ; | 
 nor Ais offences enforced', | for which Ae suffered 
 death. | 
 
 Here comes Ais bod y, I mourned by Mar& Antony 
 who, though he had no hand in Ais death, I shall re- 
 ceive the benefi* of Ais dying, — j a place in the conr* 
 monwealth : I as which of you' shall not? | With this, 
 I depart ; I Tha*, as I slew my bes* lover for the good 
 of Rome, I I have the same dagger for my self \ I when 
 it shall please my country | to need* my death. | 
 
 "Ccesarless; not Cas'sar-less. h The words in brackets are not 
 in the original; they are introduced to make the language good 
 English. 
 
268 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Antony's oration over Cesar's body. 
 
 (shakspeare.) 
 Friends', Romans,, countrymen! I lend me your ears. 
 I come to bu ry Caesar, I not to praise* him. | 
 The evil that men do, I lives after them : | 
 The good \ is oft interred with their bones. : | 
 So let it be with Caesar. I The noble Brutus 
 Hath told you, | Caesar was ambitious. | 
 If it were so, j it was a grievous fault" ; | 
 And grievously hath Caesar amsw T er'd it. | 
 Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest, I 
 (For Brutus is an honorable man ; | 
 So are they all, I all honorable men) | 
 Come I | to spea& in Caesar's funeral. | 
 
 He was my friend, I faithful, and jus^ to me | 
 
 But Brutus , says, he was ambitious ; | 
 
 And Brutus is an homorable man. | 
 
 He hath brought many cap'tives home to Rome, | 
 
 Whose ransoms did the gen era] coffers fill : | 
 
 Did this in Caesar seem ambi'tious? | 
 
 When that the poor have cried, I Caesar hath wept, j 
 
 Ambition should be made of sterner stuff*. | 
 
 Yet Brutus says, he was x ambitious ; | 
 
 And Brutus is an honorable man. | 
 
 You all did see I that, on the Lupercal, a ] 
 
 I thrice presented Aim a kingly crown', | 
 
 Which he did thrice refuse. I Was this v ambition ? ■ 
 
 Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; J 
 
 And Brutus is an honorable man. | 
 
 I speak not to disprove wha£ Brutus spoke ; | 
 
 Bu£ here I am to speaA; what I do know. | 
 
 You all did love him once, I not without cause*, | 
 
 Whai cause withholds you then to mourir for Aim ? I 
 
 O judgment / j thou art fled to brutish beasts' ; | 
 
 a Lupercalia, solemn sacrifices, and plays, dedicated to Pan, kept 
 the 15th of February. — Cicero. 
 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 269 
 
 And men have lost their reavson ! i Bear- with me ; | 
 My heart is in the coffin there with Caspar ; ) 
 And I must pause till it come bac&> to me. j 
 
 But yesterday, I the word of Caesar , mighi 
 
 Have stood against the world' ; I now lies he there* ; [ 
 
 And none so poor a to do him rev*erence. | 
 
 masters ! | if I were disposed I to stir 
 Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, | 
 
 1 should do Brutus wrong\. \ and Cas'sius wrong, | 
 Who, you all know, | are honorable men. | 
 
 I will not do thenr wrong ; | I rather choose 
 
 To wrong the dead', | to wrong myself, and you', j 
 
 Than I will wrong such honorable men. | 
 
 Bui here's a parchment, | with the seal of Caesar, j 
 
 I found it in his clos^ei ; | 't is ^is 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 Ms sacred blood* ; | 
 
 Yea, beg a hair of him for menrory, | 
 
 And, dying, mention it within their willsv, | 
 
 Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy, 
 
 Unto their issue. | 
 
 If you have tears, | prepare to shed them now. j 
 
 You all do know this man^tle : I I remember 
 
 The firsi time ever Caesar put it on v ; | 
 
 'T was on a summer's eve ning, | in his ten^ ; I 
 
 Thai day he overcame the Ner vii b — | 
 
 Loo/r! | in this place, ran Cassius' dagger through: | 
 
 See whaZ a rent the envious Cas N ca , made : | 
 
 Through this, | the well-beloved Brutus , stabb'dv ; | 
 
 And as he pluck'd his cursed steel away, | 
 
 Mark how the blood of Caesar follow'd it ! | 
 
 This was the most unkindesi cut of all ; | 
 
 For when the noble Caesar saw him sta6, | 
 
 a The meanest man is now too high to do reverence to Caesar. — < 
 Johnson. / b Ner've-i. 
 
 18 
 
270 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Ingratitude, ! more strong than traitor's arms, , 
 Quite vairquish'd //ira. | 
 
 Then burs/ his mighty hearA , 
 And, in Ais mantle muffling up his face, | 
 E'en at the base of Pompey's statue, | 
 (Which all the while ran blood /) great Caesar fell. | 
 O what a fall was there', my countrymen ! | 
 Then I v , I and you\ | and alb of us, fell down*, | 
 Whilst bloody treason flourish'd 1 over us. | 
 
 now you weep; | and I perceive you feel 
 The din* of pity. I These are gracious drops. \ 
 Kind* souls ! | what / | weep you when you but behold 
 Our Caesar's vesture wounded ? j hook you here* ! | 
 Here is //imself , I marr'd, as you see, by traitors. | 
 
 Good* friends, | sweet" friends ! I \et me not stir you up 
 To such a sudden flood of mutiny — | 
 They that have done* this deed, j are honorable ! | 
 What private griefs they have, I alas ! I know no/, | 
 That made* them do it — | they are wise and hon orable ; j 
 And will, no doub/, with reasons answer you ! | 
 
 1 come not, friends, to steal away your hearts : | 
 I am no orator, as Brutus is ; | 
 
 But, as you know me all, J a plain, blunt man, I 
 
 Thai love my friend* ; | and that they know full welf, J 
 
 Thai gave me public leave to speak of him. j 
 
 For I have neither wit', nor words', nor worth*, j 
 Action, nor utterance, I nor power of speech 1 , J 
 To stir men's bloody ; | I only speak right on*. ] 
 I tell you that which you yourselves* do know* ; | 
 Show you sweet Caesar's wounds*, I poor, poor, dumb 
 
 mouthsv, | 
 And bid them speak for me. ! But, were I Brutus, 
 A.nd Brutus Antony, ! there were an Antony | 
 Would ruffle up your spirits, ! and put a tongue 
 In every wound of Caesar, I that should move 
 The stones* of Rome i to rise in mutiny. | 
 
 a That is, flourished the sword. — Steevens. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 271 
 
 WOMAN. 
 (R. H. TOWNSEND.) 
 
 Sylph of the blue, and beaming eye 2 | 
 
 The Muses' fondest wreaths are thine v — ~ ' 
 The youthful heart beats warm, and high, J 
 
 And joys to own thy power divine v ! | 
 Thou shines^ o'er the flowery path | 
 
 Of youth ; I and all is pleasure there ! I 
 Thou soothes^ man, I whene'er Ae hath | 
 
 An eye of gloonr — | a brow of care v . t 
 
 To youth, thou art the early morns | 
 
 With " light, and melody, and songv," 
 To gild his path' ; | each scene adorn. 
 
 And swiftly speed his time along. | 
 To man, thou art the gift of Heaven, | 
 
 A boon from regions bright above * ; | 
 His lot, how darb, \ had ne'er been giv'n I 
 
 To him the ligh* of woman's love, ! I 
 
 When o'er Ais dark'ning brow, | the storm [ 
 
 Is gath'ring in its power, and migh^', | 
 The radiant beam of woman's form', | 
 
 Shines through the cloud', and all is ligh^ ! j 
 When dire disease prepares her wrath ) 
 
 To pour in terror from above', | 
 How gleams upon his gloomy path', I 
 
 The glowing light of woman's lovev ! | 
 
 When all around is clear, and bright, | 
 
 And pleasure lends her fairest charm k ; J 
 And man, enraptur'd . with delight, | 
 
 Feels, as he views, Ais bosom warm , I 
 Why glows his breast with joy profuse', 
 
 And all Ais deeds, Ais rap'ture prove* 1 \ 
 It is, because the scene Ae views' | 
 
 Through the bright rays of woman's love v ! 
 
272 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 O woman ! | thine is still the power, | 
 
 Denier/ to all bu* only thee, | 
 To chase away the clouds thai low r er t | 
 
 To harass life's eventful sea^. | 
 Thou ligh* of manx ! | his only joy , | 
 
 Beneath a w r ide, and boundless sky\, | 
 Long shall thy praise his tongue , employ., 
 
 Sylph of the blue, and beaming eye v ! I 
 
 ODE ON THE PASSIONS. 
 (COLLINS.) 
 
 When Music, heavenly maid, was young, | 
 Ere ye* in early Greece v she sung, | 
 The Passions oft, to hear her shell, | 
 Throng'd around /?er magic cell, | 
 Exulting, | trembling, | raging, | faint v ing, | 
 Possess'd beyond the Muse's painting. | 
 By turns they fek the glowing mind | 
 Disturb'd v , I delight ed, | rais'd\, | refin'dv ; | 
 Till once, 't is said, when alh were fired, J 
 Fill'd with fury, | rap**, | inspir'd^, | 
 From the supporting myrtles round', I 
 They snatch'd her instruments of sound* ; j 
 And, as they oft had heard, apart, | 
 Swee* lessons of her forceful art, \ 
 Each (for Madness rul'd the hour) | 
 Would prove Ais own expressive power. | 
 
 Firs*, Fear, | his hand, its skill to try, | 
 
 Amid the chords, bewiLder'd, laid, \ 
 And back recoil'd, | he knew no* why', | 
 
 E'en at the sound himselr had made. | 
 Nex*, Anger rush'd v ; | his eyes on fire, | 
 
 In lightnings own'd his secret stings* ; j 
 In one rude clash, he struck the lyre', | 
 
 And swep*, with hurried hand, the strings^ 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 273 
 
 With woeful measures, wan Despair, | 
 Low sullen sounds Ais grief beguil'd* ; | 
 
 A solemn', strange', and mirrgl'd air : | 
 
 'Twas sac? by fits; i by starts, 'twas wild, j 
 
 But thou, O Hope ! with eyes so fair, | 
 What was thy v delighted measure 1 j 
 Still it whisper'd promis'd pleasure, | 
 And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail ! | 
 
 Still would her touch the strain prolongs ; | 
 
 And, from the rocks', | the woods', | the vale v , | 
 
 She call'd on echo still, through all the song\ : ) 
 And, where her sweetest theme she chose, | 
 A soft, responsive voice was heard at every closex ; | 
 
 And Hope, enchanted, | smil'd, and wav'd/ier golden hair.j 
 
 And Ion ger had she sung ; | hut, with a frown, | 
 
 Revenge , impatient, rose^ : | 
 He threw his blood-stain'd sword in thunder down — | 
 And with a withering look, | 
 The war denouncing trumpet took, | 
 And blew a bias* so loud, and dread, | 
 Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of wo*; 
 And ever, and anon, he bea* | 
 The doubling drum with furious hea* v .- | 
 And, though, sometimes, each dreary pause between, j 
 Dejected Pity, at his side, j 
 Her soul-subduing voice, applied ; | 
 Yet still he kept his wild, unalter'd mien, | 
 While each strain'd ball of sigh*, I seem'd bursting 
 from his head. | 
 
 Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought, were fix'd — j 
 
 Sad proof of thy distressful state ! j 
 Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd* ; | 
 
 And now i* courted Love x ; I now, raving, call'd on 
 Hate. | 
 
 With eyes, uprais'd, as one inspir'd, | 
 
 Pale Melancholy sa* retir'd^ ; j 
 
2T4 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 And, from her wild, sequester'd sea£, | 
 In notes by distance marie more sweei, | 
 
 Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul; 
 And, dashing soft from rocks around, } 
 Bubbling runnels join' d the soundv ; | 
 
 Through glades, and glooms, the mingl'd measure stole v 
 Or, o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay, | 
 Round a holy calm diffusing, | 
 Love of peace, and lonely musing, | 
 In hollow murmurs, died away. | 
 
 But, O ! how alter'd was its sprightlier tone, | 
 When Cheerfulness, | a nymph of healthiest hue, , 
 
 Her bow across 7*er shoulder flung, | 
 Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew, | 
 
 Blew an inspiring air, | thai dale and thicket rung x ,| 
 
 The hunter's calf, | to fawn and dryad known. I 
 The oak-crown'd sisters, and their chasfe-ey'd queen,] 
 Satyrs, and sylvan boys' were seen, | 
 Peeping from forth their alleys greeiL — | 
 Brown Exercise rejoic'd x to hear;| 
 And Spori leap'd up, and seiz'^Z his beechen spear. | 
 
 LasZ came JoyV ecstatic trial — | 
 He, with viny crow T n advancing, | 
 Firs£ to the lively pr/?e', Ais hand address'd; I 
 
 Bui soon he saw the brisk, awakening viol I 
 Whose sweei, entrancing voice he lov'd the bes^. | 
 They would 7?ave thought, who heard the strain, 
 They saw in Tempe's vale her native maids, | 
 Amidst the festal-sounding shades | 
 
 To some unwearied minstrel dan cing, | 
 
 While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings, | 
 
 Love fram'd with Mirth, a gay, fantastic round* : | 
 
 Loose were her tresses seen, I her zone, unbound ; | 
 
 And he, amidst the frolic play, I 
 
 As if he w T ould the charming air repay', | 
 
 Shoo& thousand odours from his dewy wings v . \ 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 2T5 
 
 SPEECH OF PATRICK HENRY. 
 
 Mr. Pres v iden£ — | It is natural to man to indulge 
 in the illusions of hope. I We are apt to shut our eyes 
 against a painful truth, ! and listen to the song of thai 
 syren 1 till she transforms us into beasts. I Is this the 
 part of wise men, I engaged in a grea£, and arduous 
 struggle for liberty? I Are we disposed to be of the 
 number of those | who, having eyes, see not, \ and having 
 ears, hear not I the things which so nearly concern their 
 temporal salva'tion? | For my part, I whatever an- 
 guish of spirit it may cost, | I am willing to know the 
 whole N truth — | to know the wors^, ! and to providev 
 for i*. | 
 
 I have hut one lamp by which my N feet are guided ; j 
 and that is the lamp of experience, j I know of no way 
 of judging of the future, | but by the past' ; | and, judg- 
 ing by the past, | I wish to know | what there has been 
 in the conduct of the British ministry j for the last ten 
 years' | to justify those hopes | with which gentlemen 
 have been pleased to solace themselves, and the housed j 
 Is it thai insidious smile | with which our petition has 
 been lately received' ? | Trust it not", sir — ■ | it will 
 prove a snare to your fee^ ; j suffer not yourselves to be 
 betrayed with a kiss. | 
 
 Ask yourselves | how this gracious reception of our 
 petition, | comports with those warlike preparations | 
 which cover our waters, | and darken our land. \ Are 
 fleets, and armies I necessary to a worA; of love, and 
 reconcilia'tion ? I Have we shown ourselves so unwil- 
 ling to he reconciled, | that force must be called in | to 
 win hack our love' ? | Lei us not deceive* ourselves, 
 sir : | these are the implements of war, ! and subjuga- 
 tion — | the last arguments I to which kings resort. | 
 
 I ask gentlemen, sir, | what means* this martial ar- 
 ray | if its purpose be not to force us to submission 1 j 
 Can gentlemen assign any other possible motive for it? [ 
 
2T6 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Has Great Britain" any enemy in this quarter of the 
 world i to call for all this accumulation of navies, and 
 armies ? I No*, sir, i she has none'. | They are mean* 
 for us* : | they can be meanl for no other. | They are 
 sen* over to bind, and rivet upon us | those chains 
 which the British ministry have been so long forging. J 
 And what have we to oppose' to them? j Shall we try 
 argument ? \ Sir, | we have' been trying that i for the 
 las/ ten years*. I Have we any thing new to offer upon 
 the subject ? ! Nothing. I We have held the subject 
 up i in every light of which it is capable ; | but it has 
 been all in vain. | 
 
 Shall we resort to entreaty, and humble supplica- 
 tion? | Whai terms shall we fine/, which have not 
 been already exhausted ? h | Let us not, I beseech you, 
 sir, | deceive ourselves longer. | Sir, I we have done 
 every thing that could' be done I to avert the storm 
 which is now coming on. | We have petitioned ; | we 
 have remonstrated ; | we have supplicated ; | we have 
 prostrated ourselves before the throne, I and have im- 
 plored its interposition I to arrest the tyrannical hands 
 of the ministry, and parliament | Oar petitions have 
 been sligh'ted; I our remonstrances i have produced 
 additional violence, and in'suk; | our supplications have 
 been disregard ed ; I and we have been spurned with 
 contempt, | from the hot of the throne. I 
 
 In vain, after these things, I may we indulge the fond 
 hope of peace, and reconciliation. — I There is no 
 longer any room^for hope. I If we wish to be free, \ if 
 we mean to preserve inviolate I those inestimable privi- 
 leges for which we have been so long contending, | if 
 we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle | in 
 which we have been so long engaged, I 'and which we 
 have pledged ourselves nev,er to abandon I until the 
 glorious object of our contest shall be obtained', 1 2 we 
 must fight ! I I repeat \t, sir, ! we must right ! I An 
 appeal to arms, | 'and to the God of Hos/s, j 2 is all that 
 is left us. j 
 
 "Erlt'^n; not Brif'n. h Eg2-h&st'fed ; not fegi-ikst'ld. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 27Y 
 
 They tell us, sir, ! tha£ we are wea^, — | unable to 
 cope with so formidable an adversary. I But when 
 shall we be stronger ? i Will it be the next weeb — | 
 or the next year" 1 | Will it be when we are totally 
 disarmed ; | and when a British guard shall be stationed 
 in every house* ? ! Shall we gather strength by irreso- 
 lution, and inac'tion? I Shall we acquire the means of 
 effectual resistance ! by lying supinely on our backs, ] 
 and hugging the delusive phantom of hope I until our 
 enemies shall have bound us hand, and foot' ? | Sir, | 
 we are no<* weaA; I if we ma&e a proper use of those 
 means | which the God of nature hath placed in our 
 power. | 
 
 4 Three millions of people, 1 3 armed in the holy cause 
 of liberty, | 2 and in such a country as tha£ which we 
 possess, | 4 are invincible | under any force which our 
 enemy can send against us. I 2 Besides, sir, I we shall 
 not fight our battles alone N : | 'there is a just God* | who 
 presides over the destinies of nations ; 1 2 and who w r ill 
 raise up friends' | to figttf our battles for us. I The bat- 
 tle, sir, i is not to the strong alone* ; I it is to the vig*i- 
 lanZ, | the ac'tive, | the brave. | Besides, sir, | we have 
 no election. | If we were base enough to desire* if, | it 
 is now too lute to retire from the contest. | There is 
 no retread j hut in submission, and slavery. | Our chains 
 are forged — | their clanking may be heard on the 
 plains of Boston. I The war is inevitable ; I and let it 
 come ! I I repeat it, sir — I let it come ! ! | 
 
 It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. | Gentle- 
 men may cry peace ! peace ! | but there is* no peace. | 
 The war is actually begun* ! I The next gale tha£ 
 sweeps from the north, | w r ill bring to our ears the 
 clash of resounding arms\ ! I Our brethren are already 
 in the field* ! | Why stand we here i*dle ? I Whaf is it 
 that gentlemen wish* 1 | Wha£ would they have* ? ! Is 
 life so dear, I or peace so sweet, ' as to be purchased at 
 the price of chains, and slavery?^ I I know not whaZ 
 course otlrers may ta/ce ; | hut, as for me, I give me 
 lib erty, | or give me death ! ] 
 
273 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 HYMN TO THE DEITY ON A REVIEW OF THE SEASONS 
 
 (THOMSON.) 
 
 These, as they change, | Almighty Father, | these 
 Are bu/ the varied God. I The rolling year 
 Is full* of thee, j Forth in the pleasing Spring | 
 Thy beauty walks, thy tenderness and love. | 
 Wide flush the fields 1 ; | the soft'ning air is balm ; ! 
 Echo the mountains round* ; j the forest smiles.. ; | 
 And ev'ry sense', and ev'ry heart* is joy. | 
 
 Then comes thy glo ry I in the Suurmer months, | 
 With light, and heat refulgent | Then thy sun | 
 Shoots full perfection through the swelling yean ; | 
 And ofc thy voice in dreadful thumder, speaks ; | 
 And oft at dawn', | deep noon', i or falling eve', | 
 By brooks, and groves, | in hollow-whisp'ring gales, j 
 
 Thy bounty shines in Autumn unconfin'd*, | 
 And spreads a common feast for all that live*. | 
 In Winter, aw*fui thou ! I with clouds, and storms 
 Around* thee thrown, I tempest o'er tempest roll'd x , | 
 Majestic darkness ! ! on the whirlwind's w T ing, | 
 Riding sublime, I thou h'idst the world adore'; j 
 And humblest Nature with thy northern blas^. | 
 
 Mysterious round / | what skill*, j what force divine , \ 
 Deep felt, in these, appear* ! I a simple train, | 
 Yet so delightful mix'd, i with such kind art, a | 
 Such beauty, and beneficence combin'd* ; | 
 Shade, unperceiv'd, so soft'ning into shade', | 
 And all so forming an harmonious whole', | 
 ThaZ, as they still succeed, | they rav'ish still. | 
 
 But, wand'ring oft, with brute unconscious gaze, | 
 Man marks not thee v , ; marks not the mighty hand, j 
 Thar, ever busy, | wheels the silent spheres., | 
 
 a Kind art ; not kine dart. b Sl'l&nt; not silunt. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 279 
 
 Works in the secret deep', \ shoots, steaming, thence, I 
 The fair profusion thai o'erspreads the springs j 
 Flings from the sun direct* the flaming day v , j 
 Feeds ev'ry creature, j hurls the tenrpesi forth ; | 
 And, as on earth this grateful change revolves, j 
 With transport, touches all the springs of life. | 
 
 Nature, attend / | join ev'ry living soul, | 
 
 Beneath the spacious temple of the sky v , | 
 
 In adoration, join, | and ardent raise 
 
 One general song ! | To him, ye vocal gales, | 
 
 Breathe soft'; | whose spirit in your freshness breathes :| 
 
 O talA: of him in solitary glooms v ! j 
 
 Where, o'er the rocA*, I the scarcely waving pine | 
 
 Fills the brown shade with a religious awe. c | 
 
 And ye whose bolder note is heard afar , | 
 
 Who shaAe the astonish'd worlds j lift high to heaven 
 
 The impetuous songs i and say from whom you rage, j 
 
 His praise, ye brooks x , attune," 3 | ye trembling rillsv, | 
 
 And let me catch it as I muse along. I 
 
 Ye headlong tor rents, j rapid, and profound ; | 
 
 Ye softer floods | thai lead the humid maze 
 
 Along the vale 1 , I and thou, majestic main 1 , | 
 
 A secret world of wonders in thyself, | 
 
 Sound his stupendous praise, | whose greater voice, j 
 
 Or bids you roar', j or bids your roarings falh | 
 
 Soft roll your iircense, |herbs/, and fruits', andflow'rs N , i 
 In mingled clouds to him | whose sun exalts' ; | 
 Whose breath perfumes^ you ; i and whose pencil 
 
 paints. | 
 Ye forests, bends ; | ye harvests, wave* to Aim ; | 
 Breathe your still song into the reaper's hear^, | 
 As home he goes beneath the jo)^ous moon*. | 
 
 a De-rect\ b Ar'd&nt ; not ardunt. c Religious awe ; not reli« 
 gious-saw. d Brooks attune ; not brooks'sur-tune. 
 
^80 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Ye that keep watch in heav'n', J as earth asleep 
 Unconscious lies, \ effuse your mildest beams,, j 
 Ye constellations? ! while your angels stride, | 
 Amid the spangled sky, i the silver lyre . i 
 Greai source of day v ! | best image here below, 
 Of thy Creator, I ever pouring wide, 
 From world to w r orld, I the vit^l ocean round*, | 
 On Nature write with ev'ry beam*, Ais praise, j 
 
 Ye thunders, roll' ; | be hush'd the prostrate world*, ] 
 
 While cloud to cloud returns* the solemn hymn. | 
 
 BleaJ out afresh, ye hills' ; I ye mossy rocks, 
 
 Retain* the sound ; | the broad responsive low, 
 
 Ye valleys, raise — | for the Grea* Shep*herd reigns, ; J 
 
 And Ais unsuffering kingdom ye* will come. | 
 
 Ye w T oodlands, a all, awak' ! | a boundless song 
 
 Burs* from the groves* ; I and, when the restless day, 
 
 Expiring, ! lays the warbling world asleep, J 
 
 Sweetest of birds*, | sw r ee* Philomela, | charm 
 
 The listening shades*, I and teach the nigh* 1 Ais praise, j 
 
 Ye chief, ! for whom the whole creation smiles*, | 
 At once the head*, the heart 1 , the tongue* of all, j 
 Crown' the grea* hymn. | In swarming cities vas£, J 
 Assembled men, I to the deep organ, b | join 
 The long-resounding voice*, I oft breaking clear, 
 At solemn pauses, | through the swelling bass* ; | 
 And, as each mingling flame increases each, | 
 In one united ardor, rise to heaven. | 
 Or, if you rather choose the rural shade, ( 
 And find a fane in ev'ry sacred grove, | 
 There let the shepherd's flute*, I the virgin's lay*, I 
 The prompting ser'aph, I and the poet's lyre*, | 
 Still sing the God of Seasons as they roll. | 
 
 For me, when I forge* the darling theme, | 
 Whether the blossom blows*, ! the summer ray 
 Russets the plain', I inspiring autumn gleams*, | 
 
 * Wftd'landi ; not wood'Iuns. b Deep organ ; not dee-por'gan 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 281 
 
 l Or winter rises in the black'ning eas^, | 
 
 2 Be my tongue mutes | my fancy painZ no more., 
 
 And, dead to joy, ] forged my heart to bea^ / | 
 
 Should fate command me to the farthest verge 
 Of the green earth v , a | to distant barb'rous climes N | 
 Rivers unknown to song., j where firsZ the sun 
 Gilds Indian mountains, | or Ais setting beam 
 Flames on the Atlantic isles\. | 'tis nought to me, | 
 Since God is ever pres.enZ, j ever fel£ v , | 
 In the void waste | as in the city full ; ] 
 And where he vital breathes, | there must be joy. | 
 
 When e'en at last the solemn hour shall come, | 
 
 And wing my mystic flight to future worlds*, | 
 
 I cheerful will obey. ; | there, with new pow'rs | 
 
 Will rising wonders sing^ : I I cannot go | 
 
 Where Universal Love smiles not around^ | 
 
 Sustaining all yon orbs, b | and all their suns. ; | 
 
 From seeming evil still educing good\ | 
 
 And better thence agaim, I and better sthT, | 
 
 In infinite progression. | ~But I lose 
 
 Myself in Jiim>, I in Ligh£ ineffable ! | 
 
 Come then, expressive Silence, | muse His praise. | 
 
 THE MARINER S DREAM. 
 
 (dimond.) 
 
 In slumbers of mid.nigh^, the sarlor-boy lay ; | 
 
 His hammock swung loose at the sport of the w T ind x ; ' 
 
 But, watch-worn, and weary, his cares flew away' ; | 
 And visions of happiness danc'd o'er his mind . | 
 
 He dream'd of his home., | of his dear native bowsers, | 
 And pleasures thaZ waited on life's' merry morn. ; | 
 
 While Memory stood sidewise, half cover'd with flowers,| 
 And restor'd ev'ry rose', | but secreted its thorn . j 
 
 4 Green earth ; not gree-nearth'. b Yon orbs ; not yon-norbs 
 23 
 
282 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Then Fan*cy, her magical pinions spread wide*, | 
 And bade the young dreamer in ecstasy rise* — | 
 
 Now far, far behind him, the green waters glide' ; | 
 And the cot of his forefathers, blesses his eyes v . | 
 
 The jessamine clambers in flower o'er the thatch* ; | 
 And the swallow sings s wee* from her nest in the wall-; 
 
 All trembling with transport, he raises the latch'; | 
 And the voices of lov'd 1 ones reply to his call, j 
 
 A father bends o'er him with looks of delight; | 
 
 His cheek is impearl'd with a mother's warm tear* ; | 
 
 And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss, unite' | 
 
 With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds dear v .| 
 
 The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast ; | 
 Joy quickens Ais pulse* — | all hardships seem o'er* ; | 
 
 And a murmur of happiness steals through his resi* — | 
 Kind Fate, thou hasi bless'd* me — II asAfor no more^.J 
 
 Ah! | whai is thai flame which now bursas on his eye J | 
 Ah ! | whai is thai sound which now larums his ear" 1 I 
 
 *T is the lightning's red glare, painting hell on the sky*! | 
 'Tis the crashing of thun v ders,| the groan of the sphere J 
 
 He springs from Ms hanrmock — | he flies to the decA: v — | 
 Amazement confronts him with images dire* — | 
 
 Wild winds, and mad waves drive the vessel a wrecb — | 
 The masis fly in splinters — | the shrouds are on fire ! j 
 
 Like mountains the billows tremendously swell*. — | 
 In vain the lost wretch calls on Mercy to save* ; | 
 
 Unseen hands of spirits, are ringing his knell* ; | 
 
 And the death-angel flaps his broad w T ing o'er the 
 wave ! | 
 
 O sailor-boy ! w t o to thy dream of delight / | 
 
 In darkness dissolves the gay frost-worA: of bliss 1 . | 
 
 Where now is the picture thai Fancy touch'd bright, ; 
 Thy parents' fond pressure, ! and love's honied kiss.? I 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 283 
 
 O saHor-boy ! sai'lor-boy ! | never again', | 
 
 Shall home', love', or kimdred, thy wishes repay* ; I 
 
 Unbless'd, and unhon our'd, | down deep in the main', j 
 Full many a score fathom, | thy frame shall decay;, j 
 
 No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee x , | 
 Or redeem form', or frame' from the merciless surge* ; , 
 
 But the white foam of waves, shall thy winding-sheet be',| 
 And winds, in the midnight of winter, thy dirge v ! | 
 
 On beds of green sea v -flowers, thy limbs shall be lai d ; | 
 Around thy white bones, the red coral shall grow ; , 
 
 Of thy fair yellow locks, threads of amber be made ; j 
 And ev'ry part suit to thy mansion below v . | 
 
 Days,, months', years', and ages shall circle away; | 
 And still the vast waters above x thee shall roll — | 
 
 Earth loses thy pattern for ever, and aye* : — | 
 O sai,lor-boy ! sailor-boy ! peace to thy soul ! | 
 
 GOD. 
 
 [From the Russian Anthology.] 
 (derzhavin.) 
 
 O Thou eter nal One ! 1 whose presence bright' j 
 All space doth occupy, | all motion guide*: | 
 Unehang'd through time's all-devastating flight; | 
 Thou omly God / | There is no God beside^ ! | 
 Being above alf beings ! | Miglrty One ! | 
 Whom none can comprehend, \ and none explore x ; | 
 Who fill'st existence with thyself alone* : | 
 Embracing alb — | supporting — | ruling o'er — | 
 Being whom we call God* — | and know no more v ! | 
 
 In its sublime research, I philosophy 
 May measure out the o cean-dee/? — | may count 
 The sands% | or the sun's rays' — | but, God / I for thee 
 There is no weight, nor measure : | none can mount 
 Up to thy mysteries. | Reason's brightest spar&, ) 
 
284 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Though kindled by thy light, I in vain would try 
 To trace thy counsels, i infinite, and dar/c, ; | 
 And thought is lost' I ere thought can soar so high v , j 
 E'en like past moments in eternity. | 
 
 Thou from primeval nothingness, | dids£ call' } 
 
 Firsi cha v os, I then exisvtence — | Lore?, on thee 
 
 Eternity had its foundation : — | all 
 
 Sprung forth from thee, : — | of lights I joy', | harmony, 
 
 Sole origin : I all life', | all beauty , thine, j 
 
 Thy word created alb, | and doth' create ; j 
 
 Thy splendour fills all space with rays divine. | 
 
 Thou art', | and weif, I and shak v be! I Gloo-ious! | 
 
 Grea^! | 
 Life'-giving, | life-sustaining Potentate 11 ! | 
 
 Thy chains the unmeasur'd u v niverse surround: | 
 
 Upheld 1 by thee, | by thee inspir'd with breath, : | 
 
 Thou the beginning with the end v has£ bound, | 
 
 And beautifully mingled life, and death ! I 
 
 As sparks moun£ upwards from the fiery blazes \ 
 
 So suns' are born ; | so worlds' spring forth from theev : | 
 
 And, as the spangles in the sunny rays I 
 
 Shine round the silver snow% | the pageantry b 
 
 Of heaven's bright army, | glitters in thy praise. c | 
 
 A million torches, lighted by thy hand, j 
 Wander unwearied through the blue abyss* : | 
 They own thy powder, I accomplish thy command', | 
 All gay with life x , I all eloquent with bliss^ | 
 
 * P6'tfen-tite ; not p5'tn-tate. b Pad'd2un-tr£. 
 
 c " The force of this simile," says Bowring, in his Specimens of 
 the Russian Poets, " can hardly be imagined by those who have 
 never witnessed the sun shining, with unclouded splendor, in a 
 cold of twenty or thirty degrees of Reaumur. A thousand, and ten 
 thousand sparkling stars of ice, brighter than the brightest diamond, 
 play on the surface of the frozen snow ; and the slightest breeze sets 
 myriads of icy atoms in motion, whose glancing light, and beauti 
 fnl rainbow hues, dazzle and weary the eye." 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 285 
 
 What shall we call 1 them ? | Piles of crystal light' 9 j 
 A glorious company of golden streams 1 , | 
 Lamps of celestial e'ther, | burning bright — | 
 Suns', lighting systems with their joyous beams, ? j 
 But thou to these art as the noon to nighi . | 
 
 Yes 1 , as a drop of water in the sea v , | 
 
 All this magnificence in thee is \ost x | 
 
 What are ten thousand worlds' compart to thee 1 ? | 
 
 And what am V then ? | Heaven's unnumber'd hos£, ; 
 
 Though multiplied by myr iads, I and array'd 
 
 In all the glory of sublimes* though* 1 , | 
 
 Is bu* an at om a in the balance.. I weigh'd 
 
 Against thy greatness — | is a cypher brought 
 
 Against infinity ! | What am V then ? | Nought / | 
 
 Nought/ | Bu* the effluence of thy ligh* divine, | 
 
 Pervading worlds, I hath reach'd my bo^som too ; | 
 
 Yes 1 ! in my spirit doth thy spirit shine, | 
 
 As shines the sunbeam in a drop of dew. I 
 
 Nought ! | bu* I live, and on hope's pinions fly | 
 
 Eager towards thy presence ; \ for in thee 
 
 I live 7 , I and breathe', | and dwell 1 ; I aspiring high', j 
 
 E'en to the throne of thy divinity. | 
 
 I am, O God/ | and surely thou must be ! I 
 
 Thou art 1 / | directing, guiding alh, | thou art' / 1 
 Direct my understanding, then, to thee, ; I 
 Control my spirit,. I guide my wandering heart; J 
 Though bu* an atom* midst immensity, | 
 Still I am something fashion'd by thy hand / | 
 I hold a middle rank 'twix* heaven, and earth 1 , J 
 On the last verge of mortal being stand', | 
 Close to the realms where airgels have their birth, | 
 Just on the boundaries of the spinit-land / 
 
 The chain of being is complete 1 in me, — J 
 In me is matter's las* gradation los^ ; I 
 
 *But an atom ; not but-ter-nat'tom. 
 19 
 
286 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 And the next step is spirit — | Deaty ! | 
 
 I can command the light ning, j and am dus^ / | 
 
 A monarch, | and a slave* ; I a worm', | a God / | 
 
 Whence came* I here ? j and how so marvellously 
 
 Constructed, and conceiv'd* ? \ unknown . | This clod 
 
 Lives surely through some higher energy ; | 
 
 For, from itself alone, | it could no* be ! | 
 
 Creator, yes v ! I thy wisdom, and thy word* 
 
 Created me ! I Thou source of life, and good* / | 
 
 Thou spirit of my spirit, i and my Lord* / | 
 
 Thy ligh^, ] thy love*, I in their bright plenitude, | 
 
 Fill'd me with an immortal soul I to spring 
 
 O'er the abyss of death, j and bade it wear 
 
 The garments of eternal day*, I and wing 
 
 Its heavenly flight | beyond this little sphere, | 
 
 E'en to its source* — I to thee* — | its Author there. 
 
 O thoughts ineffable ! | O visions bles£* / | 
 Though worthless, our conceptions all of thee' ; | 
 Yet shall thy shadow'd image fill our breast, | 
 And waft its homage to thy Deity. | 
 God, thus alone my lowly thoughts can soar* ; ] 
 Thus seek thy presence, I Being wise, and good / | 
 Midsf thy vast works admire', I obey', I adore* ; | 
 And, when the tongue is eloquent no more, | 
 The soul shall speak in tears of gratitude. | 
 
 WITHOUT GOD IN THE WORLD. 
 
 (REV. ROBERT HALL.) 
 
 The exclusion of a Supreme Being, | and of a super- 
 intending providence, a I tends directly to the destruc- 
 tion of moral taste. I It robs the universe of all finished, 
 and consummate ex cellence, | even in idea. | The ad- 
 miration of perfect wisdom, and goodness I for which 
 we are formed, I and which kindles such unspeakable 
 
 •Pr6v'e-d^ris; not provurdunce. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 287 
 
 rapture in the soul, I finding in the regions of scepti- 
 cism | nothing to which it corresponds, | droops, ana 
 languishes. | In a world which presents a fair spec- 
 tacle a of order, ana 7 beauty, I of a vast family, nourished, 
 ana 7 supported by an Almighty Parent — j in a world 
 which leads the devout mind, step by step, | to the con- 
 templation of the firs^ fair, and the firs* good, I the scep- 
 tic is encompassed with nothing hut obscurity, mean- 
 ness, and disorder. | 
 
 When we reflect on the manner in which the idea 
 of Deity is formed, | we must be convinced ) tha* such 
 an idea intimately present to the mind, | must have a 
 most powerful effect | in refining the moral taste. | Com- 
 posed of the richest elements, b |it embraces in the char- 
 acter of a beneficent Parent, | and Almighty Ruler, | 
 whatever is venerable in wisdom, I whatever is awful 
 in author ity, I whatever is touching in goodness. | 
 
 Human excellence is blended with many imperfec- 
 tions, | and seen under many limitations, j It is beheld 
 only in detached, and separate portions, I nor ever ap- 
 pears in any one character, whole, and entire. | So 
 that, when, in imitation of the Stoics, | we wish to form 
 out of these fragments, | the notion of a perfectly wise, 
 and good man, | we know it is a mere fiction of the 
 mind', I without any real being in w r hom it is embodied, 
 and realized. I In the belief of a Deity, | these concep- 
 tions are reduced to reahity — | the scattered rays of 
 an ideal excellence, are concentrated, | and become the 
 real attributes of thai Being \ w r ith whom we stand in 
 the nearest relation — | who sits supreme at the head 
 of the universe, 1 is armed w r ith infinite pow er, I and 
 pervades all nature with his presence. I 
 
 The efficacy of these sentiments, | in producing, and 
 augmenting a virtuous taste, I will indeed be propor- 
 tioned to the vividness w T ith which they are formed^, : 
 and the frequency with which they recun ; | ye* some 
 
 a Sp£k't&-kl. b Ere-m£nts; not elurmunts. c P&'r&nt. 
 

 288 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 benefit will not fail to resuU from them | even in their 
 low v es£ degree. | 
 
 The idea of the Supreme Being, ! has this' peculiar 
 property — | tha£, as it admits of no substitute, | so, 
 from the first moment it is impressed, j it is capable of 
 continual growth, and enlargement I God Aimself is 
 immirtable ; i but our conception of his character, | is 
 continually receiving fresh accessions, — | is continu- 
 ally growing more extended and refulgent, | by having 
 transferred upon it I new perceptions of beauty, and 
 good.ness ; I by attracting to itself, as a centre, | what- 
 ever bears the impress of dig'nity, order, or happiness. ' 
 It borrows splendor from all that is fair., I subordi- 
 nates to itself all that is great', I and sits enthroned on 
 the riches of the universe. | 
 
 THE THREE WARNINGS. 
 
 (MRS. THRALE.) 
 
 The tree of deepest roo/, is found | 
 Leas£ willing still to quit the ground, ; | 
 'T was therefore said by ancient sages, J 
 
 That love of life increas'd with years | 
 80 much, I tha£, in our latter stages, | 
 When pains grow shar/?, and sickness rages, | 
 
 The greatest love of life appears^. I 
 This grea? affection to believe, | 
 Which all confess, | but few perceive, I 
 If old assertions can't prevail, j 
 Be pleas'd to hear a modern ta!e v . J 
 
 When sports wenZ round, and all were gay, j 
 On neighbor Dodson's wedding-day, J 
 Death call'd aside the jocund groom j 
 With him, into another roonv ; j 
 And looking grave — I " You mus£," says he t | 
 "Qui* your sweet bride', J and come with me." 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 289 
 
 "With you'! I and qui* my Susan's side' ! \ 
 With you' ! " | 'the hapless husband cried, ; | 
 2 " Young as I am, 't is monstrous hard. / | 
 Beside, in truth, I 'm no* prepar'd^ ; j 
 My thoughts on otlver matters go ; | 
 This is my wecTdmg-day, you know/' | 
 
 Wha* more he urg'd, I have no* heard\ | 
 
 His reasons could no* well be stronger; | 
 So Death the poor delinquent spar'd., | 
 
 And left to live a little longer. | 
 Ye*, calling up a serious look — | 
 ( l His hour-glass trembled while he spo&e.) | 
 2 " Neighbor," he said, | "farewell. | No more i 
 Shall Death disturb your mirthful hour. ; j 
 And farther, I to avoid all blame | 
 Of cruelty upon my name, | 
 To give you time for preparation, J 
 And fit you for your future station, | 
 Three several war nings you shall have, | 
 Before you 're summon'd to the grave . | 
 Willing for once, I '11 qui* my prey, | 
 
 And gran* a kind reprieve., | 
 In hopes you '11 have no more to say N ; j 
 Bu*, when I call agaim this way, | 
 
 Well pleas'd the world will leave." | 
 To these conditions both consented, j 
 And parted perfectly contended. | 
 
 Wha* nex* the hero of our tale befell, | 
 How long he liv'd^ | how wise', I how welk, | 
 How roundly he pursued his course, | 
 And smok'd his pipe, I and strok'd his horse', j 
 
 The willing muse shall telL : I 
 He chaf fer'd then, | he bought, | he sold., | 
 Nor once perceiv'd^ his growing old', I 
 
 Nor though* of Death as near x ; ) 
 His friends no* false', I his wife no shrew, | 
 Many his gains', I his children few,, J 
 
290 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 He pass'd his hours in peace . j 
 Bui, while he view's? his wealth increase, | 
 While thus along Life's dusty road, | 
 The beaten trac/r contend he trod, \ 
 Old Time, | whose haste no mortal spares, | 
 Uncall'd', | unheeded, | unawares*, | 
 
 Brought on his eightieth year . | 
 And now, one nighi, | in musing mood, | 
 
 As all alone he sate, I 
 The unwelcome messenger of Fate, | 
 
 Once more before him stood. | 
 
 Half kill'd with anger, and surprise, | 
 "So soon return'd' !" I 'old Dodson cries,, | 
 2 " So soon, d'ye call it?" I 'Death replies, : ) 
 3 " Surely, my friend, | you 're bui in jesi v / a | 
 
 Since I was here before | 
 'T is six-and-thirty years' , ai Ieasi, b | 
 
 And you are now fourscore." | 
 " So much the worsen" | 'the clown rejoin'dx, J 
 2 " To spare the aged would be kind" : \ 
 However, see your search be le gal ; | 
 And your authority — I is 'i regal ? ! 
 Else you are come on a fool's' errand, | 
 With bui a secretary's warrant. | 
 Beside^ you promis'a 7 me Three Warnings } 
 Which I have look'd for nights, and mormings \ 
 Bui, for thai loss of time, and ease, | 
 I can recover danrages." | 
 
 " I know," cries Death, | " thai, at the besi\ J 
 
 I seldom am a wehcome guesi; | 
 
 Bui don'i be captious, friend, at leasi^ ; | 
 
 I little thoughi you'd still be able | 
 
 To stum/? aboui your farm', and sta.ble ; | 
 
 Your years have run to a greai Iengtlr ; | 
 
 I wish you joy, though, of your strengths !" | 
 
 * But in jest ; not button jest. b Years at least ; not years'at-least 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 291 
 
 " HoWy says the farmer, | " not so fas^ / | 
 I have been lame these four years pas£." | 
 " And no great wonder," I Death replies* : | 
 " However, you still keep your eyes' ; | 
 And sure, to see one's loves, and friends, | 
 For legs, and arms, would make amends." j 
 " Perhaps," says Dodson, " so it might*, | 
 But latterly, I 've lost my sight*." | 
 
 " This is a shocking tale, 't is true, | 
 
 But still there 's comfort left 1 for you : | 
 
 Each strives your sadness to amuse — j 
 
 I warrant you hear all the news." | 
 
 " There 's none'," cries he ; I " and, if there were, j 
 
 I 'm grown so deaf, I could not hear." I 
 
 "Nay v , then," | the spectre stern rejein'd*, t 
 
 " These are unjustifiable yearnings ; | 
 If you are Lame', and Deaf, and Blind', j 
 
 You 've had' your Three sufficient Warnings, | 
 So, come along , | no more* we '11 part ;" | 
 He saia', | and touch'd //,im with his dart. \ 
 And now, old Dodson turning pale, | 
 Yields to his fate* — \ so ends my tale v . | 
 
 THE CHAMELEON ; OR, PERTINACITY EXPOSED. 
 
 (MERRICK.) 
 
 Oft has it been my lot to mar/c j 
 A proud, conceited, talking spart, | 
 With eyes that hardly serv'd at most v , | 
 To guard their master 'gainst a post ( ; | 
 Yet round the world the blade has been, | 
 To see whatever could be seen* : | 
 Returning from his finish'd tour, | 
 Grown ten times perter than before* ; | 
 Whatever word you chance to drop, | 
 The travell'd fool your mouth will stop* .• \ 
 
292 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 "Sir, if my judgment you'll allow — | 
 I 've seen — | and sure I ought to know." ) 
 So, begs you 'd pay a due submission, j 
 And acquiesce in his decision. | 
 
 Two travellers of such a cast, | 
 As o'er Arabia's wilc/s they pass'e?, | 
 And on their way, in friendly chat, | 
 Now talkVi of this', and then of that', | 
 Discourse a while, 'mongsZ other matter, | 
 Of the Chameleon's fornr, j and nature, j 
 
 " A stranger animal," cries one. | 
 
 " Sure never livYZ beneath the sun* ! | 
 
 A lizard's body, | lean, and long,, | 
 
 A fish's head', I a serpent's tongue*, | 
 
 Its foo2 with triple claw* disjoint — j 
 
 And what a length of tail' behind/ | 
 
 How slow , its pace* ! | and then , its hue ( — | 
 
 Who ever saw so fine a blue x ?" | 
 
 " Hold* there," 1 the other quick replies*, j 
 " 'T is green' — I I saw it with these eyes v , | 
 As late with open mouth, it lay, | 
 And warm'd it in the sunny ray* ; I 
 StretchV at its ease\ the beast I view'J', | 
 And saw it eat the air for fooG? v ." I 
 
 " I 've seen it, friend, as w T elI as you v , j 
 And must again affirm it blue*. | 
 At leisure, I the beas£ surveyV/', | 
 Extended in the cooling shade/' | 
 
 " 'T is green', 't is green', I can assure* ye." * 
 "Green'!" | 'cries the other in a fury, — | 
 2 " Whys do you thin& I 've lost my eyes' ?" | 
 " 'T were no greaZ x loss," the friend replies,, ! 
 " For, if they always serve you thus', [ 
 You '11 find them but of little use ." I 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 293 
 
 So high at last the contest rose, | 
 From words they almost came to blowSv : | 
 When luckily came by, a third' — | 
 To him the question they referr'^ ; | 
 And begg'd he 'c? tell them, if Ae knew, | 
 Whether the thing was green, or blue . | 
 
 " Sirs," cries the umpire, | " cease your pother; ( 
 
 The creature 's neither one nor t' otker. | 
 
 I caught the animal last night, \ 
 
 And view'd it o'er by camdie-ligh* ; | 
 
 I mark'd it well 1 — | 't was blac/c as je^ — ; 
 
 You stare — j hut I have got it yet, | 
 
 And can produce' it." | " Pray then do v ; j 
 
 For I am sure the thing is blue*." | 
 
 " An d I 'll v engage I that when you 've seen j 
 
 The reptile, | you '11 pronounce Aim green." j 
 " Weil then, | at once to end the doubi," | 
 Replies the man, | " I '11 turn Aim outs : | 
 And, when before your eyes I 've set him, j 
 If you don't find him blacA, I I '11 ea^ Aim." | 
 He said, ; | then full before their sight, | 
 Product the beas^, | and lo ! — 't was white v ! j 
 
 Both stared ; | the man look'tZ wondrous wise — | 
 " My children," | 'the chameleon cries, j 
 (Then first the creature found a tongue) | 
 2 " You all are right, I and all are wrong* : | 
 When next you talk of what you view, ) 
 ThinA; others see as w T ell as you v : | 
 Nor wonder if you find thai none- , | 
 Prefers your eye-sighi to A is own " j 
 
294 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 THE INVOCATION. 
 
 [Written after the death of a sister-in-law.] 
 (MRS. HEMANS.) 
 
 Answer me, burning stars of nighi'/ | 
 
 Where hath the spirit gone, | 
 Thai, past the reach of human sighi, | 
 
 E'en as a breeze, hath flown*? | 
 And the stars answer'^/ me, — | "We roll 
 
 In lighf, and power on high* ; | 
 But, of the never-dying soul', | 
 
 Ask things that cannot die v !" | 
 
 O many-tonerf, and chainless wind" ! | 
 
 Thou art a wanderer free', | 
 Tell me if thou its place cansi fin^', | 
 
 Far over mouni, and sea* ? | 
 And the wind murmur'd in reply, — | 
 
 " The blue deep I have crosses | 
 And met its barks, an^ billows high v , | 
 
 But not what thou hasi \ost % /" | 
 
 Ye clouds thai gorgeously repose | 
 
 Around the setting sunv | 
 Answer ! | have ye a home for those | 
 
 Whose earthly race is run'? | 
 The bright clouds answer' d, — | " We depart, 
 
 We vanish from the sky* ; | 
 AsA; whai is deathless in thy heari v , | 
 
 For thai which canno* die^ !" | 
 
 SpeaA, then, thou voice of God within* ! I 
 
 Thou of the deep low tone v ! | 
 An swer me ! I through life's restless din', | 
 
 Where hath the spirii flown ? | 
 And the voice answerV, — | "Be thou still! 
 
 Enough to know is giv x 'n; j 
 Clouds, winds, and stars their task fulfil, — | 
 
 Thine is to trusi in Heav 'n !" | 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 295 
 
 HAPPY FKEEDOM OF THE MAN WHOM GRACE MAKES FREE. 
 
 (COWPER.) 
 
 He is the freeman, whom the trutlr makes free ; | 
 And all are slaves beside. I There 's not a chain | 
 That hellish foes, confederate for ^is harm, | 
 Can wind around Aim, I hut lie casts it off | 
 With as much ease as Samson Ais green withes. | 
 He looks abroad into the varied field 
 Of nature, | and, though poor, perhaps, j compared 
 With those whose mansions glitter in his sighi, | 
 Calls the delightful scenery all Ais own. | 
 
 His are the moun tains ; I and the vaMeys his ; j 
 
 And the resplendent riv ers : | his to enjoy | 
 
 With a propriety thai none can feel, | 
 
 Bui who, with filial confidence inspired, I 
 
 Can lift to heaven an unpresumptuous eye, | 
 
 And, smiling, say, — | " My Father made them all !" ; 
 
 Are they noi his by a peculiar righi\ | 
 And by an emphasis of in'teresi his, | 
 Whose eye they fill with tears of holy joys J 
 Whose heart with praise', | and whose exalted mind , 
 With worthy thoughts of thai unwearied love I 
 Thai plann'd, and buili, I and still upholds a world . 
 So clothed with beauty, for rebellious manJ | 
 
 Yes x — | ye may fill your ganners, | ye thai reap 
 
 The loaded soih, | and ye may waste much good 
 
 In senseless ruot ; \ bui ye will noi find 
 
 In feasi', I or in the chase x , I in song', or dance', j 
 
 A liberty liAe his, I who, unimpe'ach'd 
 
 Of usurpation, I and to no man's wrong, | 
 
 Appropriates nature as his Father's wor/c, | 
 
 And has a richer use of yours than you. | 
 
 He is indeed^ a freeman : I free by birtlv 
 
 Of no mean city, I plann'd or ere the hiils^ 
 
296 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION.. 
 
 Were bm\t, | the fountains o x pen'd, ' or the sea* j 
 With all his roaring multitude of waves. ( 
 
 His freedom is the same in ev v 'ry state ; | 
 And no condition of this changeful life, ( 
 So manifold in cares, | whose ev'ry day- 
 Brings its own evil with \t, I makes it less* ; | 
 For he has wings ] that neither sickness 1 , pain', 
 Nor pemury I can cripple, or confine* : j 
 No nook so narrow | but he spreads them there 
 With eases i and is at large* : | the oppressor holds 
 His body bound, | but knows not whai a range 
 His spirit taAes, | unconscious of a chain* -, | 
 And thai to bind him, j is a vain attempt, j 
 Whom God delights in, j and in whom he dwells . J 
 
 THE EXILE OF ERIN. 
 
 (CAMPBELL.) 
 
 There came to the beach, a poor exile of Erin ; [ 
 
 The dew on Ais thin ro&e, was heavy, and chill* ; | 
 For //is country he sigh'd w T hen at twilight repairing, ] 
 
 To wander alone by the wind-beaten hilL | 
 But the day-star attracted his eye's sad devotion ; | 
 For it rose on his own native isle of the ocean, | 
 Where once, in the fervor of youth's warm emotion, j 
 He sung the bold anthem of Erin go bragh. | 
 
 Sad is my fate ! (said the heart-broken stranger) | 
 The wild-deer, and wolf to a cover/ can flee ; | 
 
 But I have no refuge from famine, and dan*ger : j 
 A home, and a country remain not to me v — J 
 
 Never again in the green sunny bowers, | 
 
 Where my forefathers liv'd, I shall I spend the sweei 
 hours% | 
 
 Or cover my harp with the wild- woven flowers, | 
 And stride to the numbers of Erin go bragh ! j 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 297 
 
 Erin, my country ! | though sad, and forsaken, | 
 
 In dreams* I revisit thy sea-beaten shore ; j 
 But, alas ! in a far foreign land, I awaken, | 
 
 And sigh for the friends thru can meet me no more ( . | 
 O cruel fate ! | wilt thou never replace me j 
 In a mansion of peace I where no perils can chase' me? 1 
 Never again shall my brothers embrace* me, — | 
 They died to defend me, | or live to deplore v ! | 
 
 Where is my cabin-door, | fas£ by the wild, wood ? j 
 
 Sisters, and sire, did ye weep for its fall' ? | 
 Where is the mother that look'd on my childhood? ] 
 And where is the bosom-friend, dearer than all I j 
 O my sad soul ! long abandon'd by pleasure, | 
 Why did it dote on a fas^-fading treasure ! j 
 Tears, like the rain'-drops, may fall without measure; , 
 But rapture, and beauty they cannot recaU . j 
 
 Yet all its fond recollections suppressing, | 
 
 One dying wish my lone bosom shall draw, : | 
 Erin ! an exile bequeaths thee his blessing ! | 
 
 Land of my forefathers ! I Erin go bragh* ! j 
 Buried, and cold, when my heart stills her motion, | 
 Green be thy fields, sw r eetesZ isle of the o x cean ! j 
 And thy harp-striking bards sing aloud with devotion — j 
 Erin ma vournin ! — | Erin go bragh v 1* | 
 
 THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE, WHO FELL AT THE 
 BATTLE OF CORUNNA. 
 
 (WOLFE.) 
 
 NoZ a drum was heard, nor a funeral notes J 
 As his corse to the rampart we hunried ; I 
 
 NoZ a soldier discharged /?is farewell sho^ | 
 O'er the grave where our hero we buried. | 
 
 * Ireland my darling ! — Ireland for ever ! 
 
298 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 We buried Mm darkly at dead of night", I 
 The sods with our bayonets turning, I 
 
 By the struggling moonbeam's misty lighi, | 
 And the lantern dimly burning. | 
 
 No useless coffin enclos'd Ms breasi, | 
 
 Nor in sheei, nor in shroud, we bound 1 Mm ; j 
 But he lay like a warrior taking Ms rest, | 
 
 With Ms martial cloa/s around Aim. | 
 Few, and short were the prayers we said; | 
 
 And we spo/ce not a word of sorrow ; | 
 But we steadfastly gaz'd on the face of the dead; j 
 
 And we bitterly thought of the morrow. | 
 
 We thought, as we hallow'd Ms narrow bed, | 
 
 And smooth'd down Ms lonely pillow, | 
 Thai the foe, and the stranger would tread o'er fcis 
 head ; | 
 
 And we far away on the billow. | 
 Lightly they '11 talk of the spirit that 's gone, , 
 
 And o'er Ms cold ashes upbraid Aim ; | 
 But nothing he '11 reck, if they let him sleep on | 
 
 In the grave where a Briton has laid Mm. | 
 
 But half of our heavy task was done, | 
 
 When the cloc& told the hour for retiring ; | 
 And we knew by the distant, and random gun, | 
 
 Thai the foe was sullenly firing. | 
 Slowly, and sadly we laid Mm down | 
 
 From the field of Ms fame, fresh, and gory: | 
 We carv'd not a linev, — | we rais'd not a stone x , | 
 
 But left h'nn alone in Ms glory. | 
 
 THE HEAVENS AND THE EARTH SHOW THE GLORY AND 
 THE WISDOM OF THEIR CREATOR. THE EARTH HAP- 
 PILY ADAPTED TO THE NATURE OF MAN. 
 (goldsmith.) 
 
 The universe may be considered I as the palace in 
 which the Deity resides ; | and the earth, as one of its 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 299 
 
 apartments. | In this, all the meaner races of animated 
 nature I mechanically obey^ /zim; I and stand ready to 
 execute his commands without hesitation. | Man alone 
 is found refractory : | he is the only being, | endued 
 with a power of contradicting these mandates. | The 
 Deity was pleased to exert superior power I in creating 
 him a superior baling ; | a being endued with a choice 
 of good, and e N vil ; I and capable, in some measure, | of 
 co-operating with Ms own intentions. | Man, there- 
 fore, I may be considered as a limited creature, | en- 
 dued with powers, I imitative of those residing in the 
 Deity. I He is thrown into a world thai stands in need 
 of his help x ; I and he has been granted a power I of pro- 
 ducing harmony from partial confusion. | 
 
 If, therefore, we consider the earth | as allotted for 
 our habitation, | we shall find, thai much has been 
 given us to enjoy, I and much to amendv ; j thai we have 
 ample reasons for our gratitude, | and many for our in- 
 dustry. | In those great outlines of nature, I to which 
 ari eannoi reach, I and where our greatest efforts must 
 nave been ineffectual, | God himself has finished every 
 thing I with amazing grandeur, and beauty. I Our 
 beneficent Father \ has considered these parts of nature 
 as peculiarly /?is owm ; I as parts which no creature 
 could have skill, or strength to amend^ ; I and he has, 
 therefore, made them incapable of alteration, I or of 
 more perfect regularity. | The heavens, and the firma- 
 ment | show the wisdom, and the glory of the Work- 
 man. | Astronomers, who are best skilled in the sym- 
 metry of systems, | can find nothing there thai they can 
 alter for the better. | God made these perfeci, I be- 
 cause no subordinate being | could correci their defecis. 
 
 When, therefore, | we survey nature on this side, | 
 nothing can be more splendid, more correci, or amaz- 
 ing. | We there behold a Deity | residing in the midsi 
 of a universe, I infinitely extended everyway, ! animat- 
 ing all, I and cheering the vacuity with his presence . 
 We behold an immense, and shapeless mass of matter, 
 
300 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 formed into worlds by his power, I and dispersed ai in- 
 tervals, j to which even the imagination cannoi travel. I 
 In this greai theatre of his glory, I a thousand suns, 
 li&e our own, i animate their respective systems, | ap- 
 pearing, and vanishing at Divine command. | We be- 
 hold our own bright luminary, j fixed in the centre of 
 its system, I wheeling its planets in times proportioned 
 to their distances, 1 and at once dispensing light, heat, 
 and action. I The earth also is seen with its twofold 
 motion ; I producing by the one, the change of seasons ; | 
 and, by the other, the grateful vicissitudes of day, and 
 nigh£. | With whai silent magnificence is all this per- 
 formed* / J with whai seeming ease v ! j The works of 
 art are exerted with interrupted force ; | and their 
 noisy progress discovers the obstructions they receive* ; j 
 bui the earth, with a silent, steady rotation, | succes- 
 sively presents every part of its bosom to the sun" ; | at 
 once imbibing nourishment, and lighi | from that pareni 
 of vegetation, and fertility. | 
 
 Bui not only provisions of heat, and lighi v are thus 
 supplied* ; I the whole surface of the earth is covered 
 with a transparent at mosphere I thai turns with its 
 motion, | and guards it from external injury. I The 
 rays of the sun are thus broken into a genial warmth*; | 
 and, while the surface is assisted, | a gentle heat is pro- 
 duced in the bowels of the earth, | which contributes to 
 cover it with verdure. I Waters also are supplied in 
 healthful abundance, I to support life, and assist vegeta- 
 tion. | Mountains rise to diversify the prospect, I and 
 give a current to the stream. I Seas extend from one 
 continent to the other, | replenished with animals thai 
 may be turned to human support; | and also serving to 
 enrich the earth with a sufficiency of vapour. I Breezes 
 fly along the surface of the fields, I to promote health, 
 and vegetation, i The coolness of the evening invites 
 to rest' ; ) and the freshness of the morning renews for 
 labor. | 
 
 Such are tne delights of the habitation ] thai has been 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 301 
 
 assignee? to mari\ : I without any one of these, | he must 
 have been wretcrred; | and none of these | could //is 
 own industry have supplied. I Bui while, on the one 
 hand, | many of his wants are thus kindly furnished, | 
 there are, on the other, | numberless inconveniences to 
 excite his industry. ! This habitation, I though provided 
 with ail the conveniences of air, pasturage, and water, | 
 is bui a desert place, without human cultivation. I The 
 lowest an'imal finds more conveniences in the wilds of 
 nature, ! than Ae who boasts himself their lord. | The 
 whirlwind, the inundation, and all the asperities of the 
 air, | are peculiarly terrible to man, I who knows their 
 consequences, | and, at a distance, dreads their ap- 
 proach. | The earth itself, I where human art has noi 
 pervaded, I puts on a frightful, gloormy appearance. | 
 The forests are dar/n, and tamgled ; | the meadows are 
 overgrown with ran& weeds* ; | and the brooks stray 
 without a determined channel. I Nature, thai has been 
 kind to every lower order of beings, | seems to have 
 been neglectful with regard to hira : | to the savage 
 uncontriving man, | the earth is an abode of desolation, | 
 where /as shelter is insufficient, j and Ms food preca- 
 rious. | 
 
 A world, thus furnished with advantages on one side, | 
 and inconveniences on the other, | is the proper abode 
 of reason, | and the fittest to exercise the industry I of 
 a free, and a thinking creature. | These evils, which 
 art can remedy, | and prescience a guard againsi, I are 
 a proper call for the exertion of his faculties ; I and 
 they tend still more | to assimilate him to //is Creator. | 
 God beholds, with pleas ure, I thai being which he has 
 made, | converting the wretchedness of his natural situa- 
 tion | into a theatre of triumph ; I bringing all the head- 
 long tribes of nature I into subjection to his will ; | and 
 producing thai order, and uniformity upon earth, | 
 of wnich his own heavenly fabric is so brighi an ex- 
 ample. | 
 
 * Pr£'sh£-£ns. 
 20 
 
302 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 CHARACTER OF PITT. 
 
 ( KOBERTSOX.) 
 
 The secretary stood alone, : j modern degeneracy had 
 not reached him. I Original, and unaccommodating, 
 the features of //is character, had the hardihood of an- 
 tiquity, i His august mind over-awed majesty ; j and 
 one of his sovereigns 1 i thought royalty so impaired in 
 his presence, I thai he conspired to remove him I in order 
 to be relieved from his superiority. | No state chica- 
 nery, 13 | no narrow system of vicious politics, I no idle 
 contest for ministerial victories, I sunk him to the vul- 
 gar level of the grea^ ; | hut over-bearing, persuasive, 
 and impracticable, 1 his object was England, | his am- 
 bition was fame*. | 
 
 Without dividing, he destroyed party ; | without cor- 
 rupting, he made a venal age unanimous. | France 
 sunk beneath Mm. I With one hand he smote the house 
 of Bourbon, | and wielded in the other, the democracy 
 of England, j The sight of Ais mind was infinite; I and 
 his schemes were to affect, \ not England, | not the pre- 
 sent age only, | but Europe, and posterity. | Wonder- 
 ful were the means by which these schemes were ac- 
 complished — | always seasonable, I always adequate, j 
 the suggestions of an understanding j animated by ar- 
 dour, | and enlightened by prophecy. | 
 
 The ordinary feelings which maAe life amiable, and 
 indolent, | were unknown^ to him. I No domestic diffi- 
 culties, | no domestic weakness reached, him; \ but, 
 aloof from the sordid occurrences of life, | and unsul- 
 lied by its intercourse, | he came occasionally into our 
 system, | to counsel, and to decide. | 
 
 A character so exalted, | so strenuous, I so various, | 
 so authoritative, I astonished a corrupt age — I and the 
 treasury trembled a.t the name of Yitt I through all her 
 classes of venality. ] Corruption imagined, indeed, | 
 
 a S&v'er-lni. b Shc-k&'nur-r&. c Untractable. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 303 
 
 thaZ she had found defects' in this statesman, | and 
 talked much of the inconsistency of Ais glory, | and 
 much of the ruin of Ais victories; | but the history of 
 Ais country, | and the calamities of the enemy, ) an- 
 swered, and refuted Aer. | 
 
 Nor were Ais political abilities Ais only talents : | his 
 eloquence was an era in the senate, I peculiar, and 
 sponta lieous, | familiarly expressing gigantic sentiments,] 
 and instinctive wis*dom ; | not like the torrent of De- 
 mosthenes, | or the splendid conflagration of Tully ; | it 
 resembled sometimes the thunder, I and sometimes the 
 music of the spheres. | Li/re Murray, | he did not con- 
 duct the understanding | through the painful subtlety 
 of argumentation ; | nor was Ae, like Townshend, | for 
 ever on the racA: of exertion ; I but rather lightened 
 upon the subject, I and reached the point by the flash- 
 ings of the mind', | which, like those of Ais eye, | were 
 felt, but could not be followed. | 
 
 Upon the whole, | there was in this man | something 
 tha£ would create', | subvert, I or reform* ; | an under- 
 standing, | a spirit, I and an eloquence, I to summon 
 mankind to society, | or to break the bonds of slavery 
 asumder, — I something to rule the wilderness of free 
 minds I with unbounded authority; | something that 
 could establish, I or overwhelm* empire, | and stride a 
 blow in the world, | thaZ should resound through the 
 universe. | 
 
 clarence's dream. 
 
 (shakspeare.) 
 
 Scene — A Room in the Tower of London. 
 
 [Enter Clarence and Brackenbury.] 
 
 Brack. Why looks your grace so heavily to-day ? ] 
 Clar. O I have pass'd a miserable nigh^, | 
 
 So full of fearful dreams, I of ugly sights, | 
 
 Tha*, as I am a Christian faithful man, | 
 
304 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 I would noi spend another such a nighi, | 
 Though 't were to buy a world of happy days* : | 
 So full of dismal terror was the time v . | 
 
 Brack. Whai was* your dream, my lord' ? | I pray 
 you, tell* me. | 
 
 Clar. Methoughi that I had broken from the tow er, j 
 And had embark'd to cross to Burgundy; | 
 And, in my company, my brother Glos v ter, | 
 Who from my cabin, I tempted me to walk 
 Upon the hatches ; I thence we look'd toward England, J 
 And cited up a thousand heavy times, | 
 During the wars of York, and Lancaster, | 
 Thai had befallen us. I As we pac'd along 
 Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, | 
 Methoughi that Gloster stunrbled, I and, in falling, 
 Struck me | thai thought to stay him, | o'ver-board j 
 Into the tumbling billows of the main. | 
 O methoughi whai pain it was to drown*! | 
 Whai dreadful noise of water in mine earsM a l 
 Whai sights of ugly death within mine eyes* ! b I 
 Methoughi I saw a thousand fearful wrecks', | 
 A thousand men* that fishes gnaw'd* upon, | 
 Wedges of gold', | greai airchors, I heaps of pearl , ) 
 Inestimable stones*, I unvalued jew*els, | 
 All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea^. | 
 'Some lay in dead men's skulls. ; | 2 and, in those holes 
 Where eyes did once inhabit, | there were crepi, 
 (As 't were in scorn of eyes) I reflecting gems* | 
 Thai woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, | 
 And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by. | 
 
 Brack. Had you such leisure in the time of death, J 
 To gaze upon these secrets of the deep'? I 
 
 Clar. Methoughi I had* ; I and often did I strive 
 To yield the ghosi*; | but still the envious flood 
 Kepi in my soul, | and would not let it forth | 
 To seek the empty, vast, and wand'ring am, j 
 Bui smother'd it within my panting hulk, \ 
 Which almost bursi to belch it in the sea. I 
 
 a Mine ears ; not mine-nears. b Mine eyes ; not mine-nize. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 305 
 
 Brack Awak'd you not with this sore ag'ony ? i 
 Clar. O no , i my dream was lengthen^ after life* ; | 
 
 then began the tempest to my souh : I 
 
 1 pass'd, methoughi, the melancholy flood | 
 With thai grim ferryman which poets write of, | 
 Unto the kingdom of perpetual nighi. | 
 
 The firsi that there did greet my stranger soul, | 
 Was my great fa'ther-in-law, I renowned Warwick, ] 
 Who cried aloud, — I " Whai scourge for perjury | 
 Can this dark monarchy | afford false Clarence V \ 
 And so * he vanish'd. | Then came wand'ring by | 
 A shadow like an an gel, | with bright hair 
 Dabbled in bloody | and he shriek'd out aloud, — | 
 "Clarence is come, — j falser fleet mg, per jur'd Clarence! 
 That stabb'd me in the field by Tewks v bury ; — | 
 Seize on Mm, fu Vies, j take him to your torments !" | 
 With thai, methoughi a legion of foul fiends 
 Envrron'd me, | and howled in mine ears 
 Such hideous cries,) thai, with the very noise', | 
 I trembling wak'd*, | and, for a season after, | 
 Could noi believe bui that I was in helk, — | 
 Such terrible impression made my dreanu | 
 
 Brack. No marvel, lord, that it affrighted you — | 
 I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it. | 
 
 Clar. O Brackenbury, I have done these things | 
 Thai now give evidence againsi my soul, | 
 For Ed x ward's saAe ; I and, see how he requites me! — | 
 I pray thee, gentle keeper, I stay by^ me — | 
 My soul is heav*y, I and I fain would sleep v . ! 
 
 Brack. I wil 1 , my lord. | [clareuce reposes * imself on a c hair * 
 Sorrow breaks seasons, and repo\sing hours, | 
 Makes the nighi morn ing, | and the noon-tide nigh/\ I 
 Princes have but their titles for their glo x ries — | 
 An outward honor for an inward toil ; | 
 And, for unfeli imaginations, | 
 They often feel a world of restless caresv : I 
 So thai, between their titles, I and low name, J 
 There 's nothing differs I but the outward fame . , 
 
306 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 TO THE URSA MAJOR. 
 
 (h. ware, jun.) 
 
 With what a stately, and majestic step \ 
 
 That glorious constellation of the north | 
 
 Treads its eternal circle ! | going forth 
 
 Its princely way amongst the stars | in slow, 
 
 And silent brightness, j Mighty one, all-hail* ! J 
 
 1 joy to see thee, on thy glowing path, | 
 
 Walk like some stoui, and girded gran* — | stern, 
 
 Unwearied, res olute, | whose toiling foo* 
 
 Disdains to loiter on its destined way. ) 
 
 The other tribes forsake their midnight trac&, ) 
 
 And rest their weary orbs beneath the wave v ; | 
 
 *But thou dost never close thy burning eye, | 
 
 Nor stay thy steadfast step. I But om, 1 still om, | 
 
 While systems change, | and suns retire, I and worlds 
 
 Slumber, and wake, I thy ceaseless march proceeds. | 
 
 The near horizon tempos to vest in vain. | 
 
 Thou, faithful sentinel, | dos* never (\\iit 
 
 Thy long-appointed watch ; ; but, sleepless still, ] 
 
 Dost guard the fix'd ligh* of the universe, | 
 
 And bid the north for ever know its place. ] 
 
 Ages have witness'd thy devoted trus£, | 
 
 Unchang'd, unchanging. | When the sons of God | 
 
 Sen* forth that shou* of joy, | which rang thro' heaven, 
 
 And echoed from the outer spheres | thaZ bound 
 
 The illimitable universe, | thy voice 
 
 Join'd the high choTus ; | from thy radiant orbs | 
 
 The glad cry sounded, I swelling to his praise, | 
 
 Who thus had cast another sparkling gem, | 
 
 Little, but beautiful, | amid the crowd 
 
 Of splendors | that enrich his firmament J 
 
 As thou art now I so was* thou them, the same. | 
 
 Ages have roll'd their course ; I and time grown grey*; 
 The seas have chang'd their beds 1 ; | the eternal hills 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 307 
 
 Have stoop'd with age* ; I the solid continents 
 
 Have left their banks 1 ; | and man's imperial works — I 
 
 The toil, pride, strength of kingdoms, I which had flung 
 
 Their haughty honors in the face of heaven, | 
 
 As if immortal — | have been swept away v — J 
 
 Shatter'd, and mould'ring, I buried, and forgot. ] 
 
 But time has shed no dimness on thy front, | 
 
 Nor touch'd the firmness of thy tread*: j youth, strength, 
 
 And beauty still are thine — | as clear, as bright 1 , | 
 
 As when the Almighty Former sent thee forth, j 
 
 Beautiful offspring of his curious skill, | 
 
 To watch earth's northern beacon, | and proclaim 
 
 The eternal chorus of Eternal Love. I 
 
 I wonder as I gaze. | That stream of light, | 
 
 UndimnrV, unquench'd*, — i just as I see thee now 1 , — | 
 
 Has issued from those dazzling points, | thro' years 
 
 That go bacA- far into eternity. | 
 
 Exhaust'less a Hood ! | for ever spent, I renew'd x 
 
 For ever ! | Yea, and those refulgent b drops, | 
 
 Which now descend upon my lifted eye, | 
 
 Left their far fountain twice three years ago. [ 
 
 While those wing'd particles | whose speed outstrips 
 
 The flight of thought, j were on their way, I the earth 
 
 Compass'd its tedious circuit round, and round, j 
 
 And in the extremes of annual change, 1 beheld 
 
 Six autumns fade 1 , I six springs renew their bloom* : | 
 
 So far from earth those mighty orbs revolve 1 ! | 
 
 So vast the void through which their beams descend / | 
 
 Yea, glorious lamps of God, I he may have quench'd' 
 Your ancient flames, i and bid eternal night 1 
 Rest on your spheres* ; i and yet no tidings reach 
 This distant planet, j Messengers still come, | 
 Laden with your far fire, I and we may seem 
 To see your lights still burning; I while their blaze 1 
 But hides the blac/i wreck of extinguish'd realms 1 , | 
 Where anarchy, and darkness long have reign'd. | 
 
 * Egi-h&st'tes ; not kgi-zkst'lhs. b Re-ful'd26nt ; not re-fal'd&ftnt 
 
308 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Ye/ whai is this I which to the astonish'*/ mine? 
 Seems measureless, j and which the baffler/ though? 
 Confounds* ? | A spans I a poini', | in those domains 
 Which the keen eye can traverse. | Seven stars 
 Dwell in thai brilliant cluster; I and the sighi 
 Embraces ail ai once*; I yet each from each | 
 Recedes as far as each of them from earth 1 — j 
 And ev'ry star from ev'ry other burns 
 No less remote . | 
 
 From the profound of heaven, | 
 Untravell'4 e'en in thought, I keen, piercing rays 
 Dari through the void, | revealing to the sense I 
 Systems, and worlds unnumber'd. | Ta/ce the glass, 
 And search the skies. | The opening skies pour down 
 Upon your gaze, | thic/c showers of sparkling hm — | 
 Stars, crowded, | throng'd 1 , | in regions so remote, | 
 Thai their swift beams — | the swiftest things thai be x — | 
 Have travell'd centuries on their flight to earth. | 
 Earth, sun, and nearer constellations, I whai 
 Are ye v , I amid this infinite extend, I 
 x\nd multitude of God's most infinite works ! | 
 
 And these are suns* ! — | vast, central, living fires x , — j 
 Lords of dependent systems, — | kings of worlds* | 
 Thai waii as satellites upon their power, I 
 And flourish in their smite. | Awa&e my soul, | 
 And meditate the wonder ! I Countless suns 
 Blaze round thee, I leading forth their countless worlds*! ) 
 Worlds in whose bosoms living things rejoice, | 
 And drin& the bliss of being | from the founi 
 Of all-pervading Love. — | 
 
 Whai mind can know, | 
 Whai tongue can utter, all their multitudes ! | 
 Thus numberless in numberless abodes ! | 
 Known bui to thee, bless'd Father ! I Thine they are, J 
 Thy children, and thy cam ; ! and none o'erlook'd x 
 Of thee ! — I no, noi the humblesi soul | thai dwells 
 Upon the humblesi globe | which wheels its course 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 309 
 
 Amid the gian£ glories of the sky, | 
 hike the mean mote tha£ dances in the beam J 
 Amongst the mirror'd lamps j which fling 
 Their wasteful splendor from the palace wall, j 
 None, none escape the kindness of thy care*; j 
 All compass'd underneath thy spacious wings — J 
 Each fed, and guided by thy powerful hand . j 
 
 Tell me, ye splendid orbs, a — | as from your throne, | 
 Ye marZc the rolling provinces that own 
 Your sway, — j what beings fill those bright abodes.? | 
 How form'd* — | how gift ed — | wha£ their pow.ers — ] 
 
 their state x — | 
 Their hap piness — | their wisvdom 1 ] Do they bear 
 The stamp of human na'ture ? I Or has God 
 Peopled those purer realms | with lovelier forms, ] 
 And more celestial minds. ? | Does Innocence 
 Still wear her native, and untainted bloom' ? | 
 Or has Sin breath'd his deadly blight abroad, | 
 And sow'd corruption in those fairy bow.ers ? | 
 
 Has War trod o'er them with his foot of fire' ; | 
 
 And Slavery forg'd Ais chains' ; I and Wrath, and Hate, | 
 
 And sordid Selfishness, | and cruel hust, | 
 
 Leagued their base bands I to tread out light, and truth, ] 
 
 And scatter'd wo where Heaven had planted joy' ? J 
 
 Or are they ye^ all Par adise, I unfallen, 
 
 And uncorrup^ ? | existence b one long joy, | 
 
 Without disease upon the frame, I or sin 
 
 Upon the hear£, | or weariness of life. — j 
 
 Hope never quench'd\ I and age unknown', | 
 
 And death unfear'd x ; | while fresh, and fadeless youth J 
 
 Glows in the lighz from God's near throne of love x ? j 
 
 Open your lips', ye wonderful, and fair ! | 
 
 Speaks | speali ! I the mysteries of those living worlds 
 
 Unfold*/ | No lan'guage? I Everlasting ligh£, 
 
 • Splendid orbs ; not splendid dorbs. b Eg-£lst'ens; not hg-ilst'- 
 Cms. 
 
310 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 And everlasting silence ? I Yet the eye 
 May read, and understand, j The hand of God j 
 Has written legibly whai man may know, | 
 The glory of the Maker. | There it shines, 
 Inef fable, j unchangeable ; i and man, I 
 Bound to the surface of this pigmy glo&e, | 
 May know, and asA; no more, j 
 
 In other days, | 
 When death shall give the encumber'd spirit wings, * 
 Its range shall be extendi ; j it shall roam, 
 Perchance, j amongst those vasi, mysterious spheres,— 
 Shall pass from orb to orb, I and dwell in each v , | 
 Familiar with its children, — j learn their laws, | 
 And share their state*, ! and study, and adore | 
 The infinite varieties of bliss, 
 And beauty, I by the hand of Power Divine, | 
 Lavish'd on all its works. | 
 
 Eternity 
 Shall thus roll on | with ever fresh delight; | 
 No pause of pleasure, or improvement ; I w T orld 
 On world ) still opening to the instructed mind | 
 An unexhausted 1 universe, I and time 
 But adding to its gloTies ; I while the soul, | 
 Advancing ever to the Source of light, 
 And all perfection, I lives', adores', and reigns 1 , | 
 In cloudless knowledge, purity, and bliss x . | 
 
 PERPETUAL ADORATION. % 
 
 (MOORE.) 
 
 The turf shall be my fragrant shrines ; | 
 My temple, Lord, thai arch' of thine ; | 
 My censer's breath, the mountain airs*, | 
 And silent thoughts, my only prayers, j 
 
 My choir shall be the moonlight waves x , | 
 When murmuring homeward to their cavesv; 
 
 Un-6g2-h&st'6d ; not an-£g2-zast'6d. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 31] 
 
 Or when the stillness of the sea', | 
 
 E'en more^ than music breathes of thee,. ) 
 
 I '11 seek, by day, some glade unknowns | 
 All lighi, and silence, like thy throne* ; | 
 And the pale stars shall be, ai nigh/!', | 
 The only eyes thai watch my riie x . | 
 
 Thy heaven, on which 't is bliss to loo&', | 
 Shall be my pure, and shining booA;>, | 
 Where I shall read, in words of flames | 
 The glories of thy wondrous name . | 
 
 I '11 read thy anger in the rac&' | 
 
 Thai clouds awhile the day N -beam's trac&v;| 
 
 Thy mercy, in the azure hue' | 
 
 Of sunny bright ness, breaking through . | 
 
 There 's nothing bright, above', below*, | 
 From flowers thai bloom', to stars thai glow*, 
 Bui in its lighi my soul can see | 
 Some feature of thy Deity ! | 
 
 There 's nothing dar&, below, aboves | 
 Bui in its gloom I trace thy love* ; | 
 And meekly waii thai momeni, when | 
 Thy touch shall turn all brighi 1 again. | 
 
 SCENE FROM PIZARRO. 
 
 (kotzebue.) 
 Pizarro and Davilla in conversation, 
 
 [Enter Gomez.] 
 
 Piz. How now, Gomez ! | whai bring est thou ? I 
 Gom. On yonder hill, among the palm-trees, | we 
 have surprised an old cacique^: I escape by flight he 
 coula not, | and we seized him, and his attendant un- 
 
 • Kas-s£k', a prince, or nobleman, among the Indians. 
 
312 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 resisting ; ] yet his lips breathed nought but bitterness, 
 and scorn. | 
 
 Piz. Drag him before us. | 
 
 [Gomez leaves the tent, and returns, conducting Oro- 
 zembo, and attendants, in chains, guarded.; 
 
 What art thou, stranger 1 \ 
 
 Oro. First tell me which among you, ] is the captain 
 of this band of robbers. I 
 
 Piz. Ha> ! | 
 
 Dav. Madman ! | tear oui Ais tongue,* or else J 
 
 Oro. Thou 'li hear some truth. | 
 
 Dav. (showing ins poignard.) Shall I noi plunge this into 
 his heart' ? I 
 
 Oro. (to pizarro.) Does your army boasi many such 
 heroes as this' ? | 
 
 Piz. Audacious ! | This insolence has sealed thy 
 doom* : | die thou shali*, grey-headed ruffian. | Bui first 
 confess what thou knowesi. | 
 
 Oro. I know thai which thou hasi just assured* me 
 of — ) thai I shall die. | 
 
 Piz. Less audacity, perhaps, I mighi have preserved 
 thy life. | 
 
 Oro. My life is as a withered tree* : I it is not worth* 
 preserving. | 
 
 Piz. Hear me, old man. | Even now', we march 
 againsi the Peruvian army, j We know there is a 
 secrei path I thai leads to your strong-hold among the 
 rocks* : I guide us to thai*, | and name thy reward. | If 
 wealth be thy wish | 
 
 Oro. Ha! ha! ha! | 
 
 Piz. Dosi thou despise my offer ? | 
 
 Oro. Thee, and thy offer. | Wealth* ! I I have the 
 wealth of two dear gallani sons*; I I have stored in 
 heaven, the riches which repay good actions here' ; 
 and still my chiefesi treasure do I bear aboui* me. | 
 
 Piz. What is thai* ? I Inform* me. I 
 
 Oro. I will* ; | for it never can be thine^ — I the trea 
 sure of a pure, unsullied conscience, j 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 313 
 
 Piz. I believe there is no other Peruvian who dares 
 speak as thoir dost. | 
 
 Oro. Would I eouid believe there is no other Span- 
 iard who dares act as thou v dost. I 
 
 Gom. Obdurate Pagan ! | How numerous is your 
 army ? | 
 
 Oro. Count the leaves of yonder forest I 
 
 Dav. Which is the weakest part of your camp ? | 
 
 Oro. It has v no wea/c part ; I on every side 't is forti- 
 fied by justice. | 
 
 Piz. Where have you concealed your wives, and 
 children ? | 
 
 Oro. In the hearts of their husbands, and their fa- 
 thers. | 
 
 Piz. Knowes£ thou Alonzo ? | 
 
 Oro. Know him 1 I Alonzo ? | Know Aim ? | Our 
 nation's benefactor! I The guardian angel of Peruv! j 
 
 Piz. By wha£ has he merited that title ? | 
 
 Oro. By not resembling thee. | 
 
 Dav. Who is this RoHa, joined with Alonzo in com- 
 mand ? j 
 
 Oro. I will answer tha£ ; I for I love to hear, and to 
 repeal the hero's name. I Rolla, the kinsman of the 
 king, | is the idol of our army; I in war, a tiger, I chafed 
 by the hunter's spear ; | in peace, | more gentle than 
 the unweaned lamb. [ Cora was once betrothed* to 
 him ; | but finding that she preferred Alonzo, | he re- 
 signed his claims, | and, I fear, his peace v , | to friendship, 
 and to Cora's happiness ; I yet still he loves her with a 
 pure, and holy fire. | 
 
 Piz. Romamtic savage! | I shall mee^ this Rolla 
 soon'. | 
 
 Oro. Thou hadsJ better not. — | The terrors of Ais 
 noble eye would strike thee dead. | 
 
 Dav. Silence ! or trenrble ! | 
 
 Oro. Beardless robber ! | I never yet have trembled 
 before man' : j why should I tremble before thee v , | thou 
 less v than man ! | 
 
314 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Dav Another wor d, audacious heathen, and I stride. ; 
 
 Oro. Stri/ce x , Christian! I Then boas* among thy 
 fellows — | I too have murdered a Peruvian ! | 
 
 Dav. Ven geance seize* thee ! [stabs him 
 
 Piz. Hold* / | 
 
 Dav. CouldsZ thou longer have endured //is insults? | 
 
 Piz. And therefore should he die untortured ? \ 
 
 Oro. True. ! I Observe, young man', | your unthink- 
 ing rashness I has saved me from the rach ; j' and you 
 yourself have los£ the opportunity of a useful lesson : | 
 you mighl have seen with whaZ cruelty | vengeance 
 would have inflicted torments — I and with wha* pa- 
 tience | virtue would have borne them. | 
 
 [Orozembo is borne off, dying. 
 
 Piz. Away v ! — | Davilla, if thus rash a second 
 
 time | 
 
 Dav. Forgive the hasty indignation which | 
 
 Piz. No more v . I Unbind that trembling wretch : | 
 let /lira depart ; | 't is well he should report the mercy | 
 which we show to insolent defiance. | Hark'! | Our 
 
 guard, and guides approach. I [Soldiers march through tjie tents. 
 
 Follow me, friends ! ] Each shall have fas pos£ as- 
 signed* ; I and ere Peruvia's god shall sink beneath the 
 main, I the Spanish banners, bathed in blood, | shall 
 floaJ above the walls of vanquished Quito. a | 
 
 mariner's hymn. 
 
 (MRS. SOUTHEY.) 
 
 Launch thy ho.rk\ Mariner ! | 
 
 Christian, God speed* thee ! | 
 "Let loose the rud'der-bands — | 
 
 Good angels lead, thee ! | 
 Set thy sails wanly, | 
 
 Tenvpes/s w T ill come. ; I 
 Steer thy course steadily, | 
 
 Christian, steer homei ! I 
 
 ~ a Ke'tA 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 315 
 
 "Look to the weath er-bow, \ 
 
 Breakers are round thee; j 
 Let fall the plunvme* now, I 
 
 Shallows may ground* thee. | 
 Reef in the fore'-sail, there* ! | 
 
 Holt/ the helm* fast J I 
 So* — I let the vessel ware* — ] 
 
 There swep£ the blas£ v . ] 
 
 Wha£ of the nigh/!*, watclvman?| 
 
 What of the nigh^ ? | 
 'Cloud*y — I all quiet — | 
 
 No land' yet — | all 's right// | 
 Be wakeful, I be vig ilantf — | 
 
 Danger may be | 
 At an hour when all seemeth ) 
 
 Secu*res£ to thee. ) 
 
 How* ! I gains the lea& so fas^' ? | 
 
 Clean out the hold* — | 
 Hoisi up thy merchandise, | 
 
 Heave out thy gold* ; — I 
 There* — I let the ingots go^ — | 
 
 Now the ship rights* : | 
 Hurrah* ! | the harbor 's near* — j 
 
 Lo, the red lights* ! | 
 
 Slacken not sail yet' | 
 
 At inle£ or ishand ; | 
 Straight for the bea'con" steer, J 
 
 Straight for the highland; | 
 Crowd all thy camvass on*, j 
 
 Cut through the foam* — I 
 Christian! cast anchor now*—] 
 
 Heaven is thy home v ! | 
 
 a Be'kn. 
 
316 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD. 
 (GRAY.) 
 
 The curfew, tolls | the knell of parting day, ! | 
 The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea* ; | 
 
 The ploughman homeward plods his weary way', j 
 And leaves the world to darkness, and to me^. j 
 
 Now fades the glimm'ring landscape' 1 on the sigh£ v , ) 
 And all the air a solemn stillness holds', | 
 
 Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight', | 
 And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds* : | 
 
 Save, that from yonder ivy-mantled tower, | 
 The moping owl does to the moon complain J 
 
 Of such as, wand'ring near /*er secret bower, | 
 Molest her ancient, solitary reign. 
 
 Beneath those rugged elms' ; I that yew-tree's shades I 
 Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap', { 
 
 Each in Ms narrow cell for ever laid', | 
 The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep v . | 
 
 The breezy call of incense-breathing monr, | 
 
 The sw T allow, twitt'ring from the straw-buiU shed,, | 
 
 The cock's shrill cla rion, or the echoing horrr, | 
 No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed v . ] 
 
 For them no more the blazing hearth v shall burn, | 
 Or busy housewife ply her evening care* ; j 
 
 Nor children run to Yisp their sire's returir, | 
 Or climb his knees', the envied kiss v to share. | 
 
 Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield*; | 
 
 Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe x has bro&e^ ! 
 
 How jocund did they drive their team afield! | 
 
 How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stro&e v ! j 
 
 * L&nd'sk&p; not land'sklp. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 31? 
 
 Let not ambition moc/r their useful toil*, | 
 Their homely joys, and destiny obscure- ; } 
 
 Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile', | 
 The short, and simple annals of the poor . | 
 
 The boas£ of her aldry, I the pomp of pow er, | 
 
 And all that beauty, I all that wealth' , e'er gave , | 
 
 Awatf, ali/re, the inevitable houn — | 
 
 The paths of glory M lead but to the grave^. j 
 
 Nor you, ye prouo 7 , impure to these the fault,, | 
 If mem'ry o'er their tomb no trophies raise'. } 
 
 Where, through the long-drawn aisle, and fretted vault', j 
 The pealing anthem swells the note of praise^. | 
 
 Can storied urn, or animated bust', | 
 
 Back to its mansion call the fleeting breaths ? | 
 
 Can honor's voice provoke the silent dus^, j 
 Or flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death/? j 
 
 Perhaps in this neglected spot, is laid' | 
 
 Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire v ; j 
 
 Hands that the rod of em pi re might have sway'dv, j 
 Or waA'd to ecstasy the living lyre^. | 
 
 "But knowledge to their eyes her ample page', | 
 Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll ; | 
 
 Chill penury repress'^ their noble rage', | 
 And froze the genial current of the souK | 
 
 Full many a gem of purest ray serene-', | 
 
 The dark, unfathom'd caves of o v cean , bearv ; ] 
 
 Full many a flower , is born to blush unseen 1 , | 
 And waste its sweetness on the desert air . a | 
 
 Some village Hampden that, with dauntless breast, j 
 The little tyrant of his fields' withstoodv ; | 
 
 Some mute, inglorious Milton, here may rest' ; | 
 Some Crom 1 well, guiltless of his country's bloo<i v . J 
 
 a Desert air ; not dez-zer-tair. 
 21 
 
318 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 The applause of listening senates to command-, ( 
 The threats of pain, and ruin to despises j 
 
 To scatter plenty o'er a smiling [and 1 , 
 
 And read their hist'ry in a nation's eyes', j 
 
 Their lot forbade, — I nor circumscrib'd alone' J 
 
 Their growing virtues ; j but, their crimes' confin'd , J 
 
 Forbade to wade through slaughter to a thrones | 
 And shut the gates of mercy on mankind; J 
 
 The struggling pangs of conscious truth* to hide*, | 
 To quench the blushes of ingenuous shames | 
 
 Or heap the shrine of luxury, and pride', | 
 With incense kindled at the muse's flame v . | 
 
 Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife', 1 
 ( l Their sober wishes never learn'd* to stray,) 
 
 a Along the cool, sequester'd vale of life', | 
 
 They kepi the noiseless tenor of their way v . | 
 
 Yet e'en these bones, from insuk to protect, j 
 Some frail memorial still', erected nigh', | 
 
 With uncouth rhymes, and shapeless sculpture deck'd', j 
 Implores the passing tribute of a sigh . | 
 
 Their names', their years', spell 'd by the unletter'd muse',| 
 The place of fame, and elegy, supply, ; | 
 
 And many a holy text around she strews', | 
 Thai teach the rustic moralist to die . | 
 
 For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey', | 
 
 This pleasing, anxious being e'er resign'd', | 
 
 Left the warm precincis of the cheerful day, | 
 Nor cast one longing, lingering took behind ? I 
 
 On some fond breasi the parting soul relies^; | 
 Some pious drops the closing eye requires, ; | 
 
 E'en from the tomb N ( the voice of nature cries', | 
 E'en in our ash es live their wonted fires l 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 319 
 
 For thee who, mindful of the unhonor'd dead', i 
 Dost in these lines their artless tale relate', ] 
 
 If, chance, by lonely contemplation led 1 , | 
 Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate', | 
 
 Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, | 
 " Oft have we seen Aim at the peep of dawn', | 
 
 Brushing, with hasty step, the dews away', | 
 To meet the sun upon the upland lawn . | 
 
 There, at the hot of yonder nodding beech' | 
 Tha£ wreathes its old fantastic roots so high', | 
 
 His listless length at noontide would he stretch', j 
 And pore upon the brook that bubbles by v . | 
 
 Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn', | 
 Mutt'ring his wayward fancies, he would rove x ; \ 
 
 Now droop'ing, wo'ful, wan,, I like one forlorn', I 
 Or craz'd with cares | or cross'd in hopeless love^ 
 
 One morn I miss'd* him on the accustom'd hilh, | 
 Along the heath', | and near his fav'rite treev ; | 
 
 Another came ; | nor yet beside the rill', j 
 
 Nor up the lawn', | nor at the wood^ was he v . | 
 
 The next, with dirges due, in sad array', | 
 
 Slow through the church-yard patlr, we saw him 
 borne* — | 
 
 Approach, and read' ('for thou cans£ read') 2 the lays | 
 'Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn ." 
 
 THE EPITAPH. 
 
 Here rests his head upon the lap of earth', | 
 A youth to Fortune, and to Fame, unknown* ; 
 
 Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth', j 
 And Melancholy mark'd him for Aer own v . j 
 
320 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Large was his bounty, and his soul, sincere x — | 
 Heaven did a recompense as largely send — | 
 
 He gave to Mis'ry all he had v , a tear; | 
 He gain'd from Heav'n | ("t was all he wish'd v ) | 2 a 
 friend^. | 
 
 No farther seek his merits to disclose', | 
 Or draw his frailties from their dread abode x , j 
 
 ('There they alike in trembling hope repose^) | 
 2 The bosom of his Father, and his God . I 
 
 DOUGLAS S ACCOUNT OF HIMSELF. 
 
 (home.) 
 
 My name is Norval ; j on the Grampian hills | 
 
 My father feeds his flocks* ; j a- frugal swain I 
 
 Whose constant cares | were to increase his store', | 
 
 And keep his only son, myself, at home* : | 
 
 For I had heard of bat'tles, | and I long'd 
 
 To follow to the field some warlike lord v ; | 
 
 And heaven soon granted \\ha.t my sire denied / | 
 
 This moon, which rose last nigh£, round as my shield, ] 
 Had not yet fill'd her horns, | when by her light, \ 
 A band of fierce barbarians from the hills, I 
 Rush'd like a torrent down upon the vales I 
 Sweeping our flocks, and herds, j The shepherds fled 
 For safety, and for succor. | I, alone v , | 
 With bended bow, and quiver full of arrows, | 
 Hover'd about the enemy, I and mark'd 
 The road he tooft* ; | then hasted to my friends 1 | 
 Whom, with a troo/? of fifty chosen men, | 
 I met advancing. | The pursuit L led, | 
 Till we o'ertoo^' the spoil-encumber'd foe^. | 
 
 We fought, and conquer'd. | Ere a sword was drawn, | 
 An arrow from my bow had pierc'd their chief | 
 Who wore, that day, the arms which now h wear . | 
 Returning home in triumph, I I disdain'd^ 
 The shepherd's slothful life* ; i and, having heard j 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 321 
 
 That our good king had summon'^ Ms bold peers | 
 To lead their warriors to the Carron side, | 
 I left my father's house*, | and took with me | 
 A chosen servant I to conduct my steps* — | 
 'Yon trembling coward who forsook his master. 1 
 ^Journeying with this intend | I pass'd these towers, | 
 And, heaven-directed, I came this day to do | 
 The happy deed thai gilds my humble name. | 
 
 THE GRAVE OF FRANKLIN. 
 
 (miss c. h. waterman.) 
 
 No chisell'd urn is rear'd to thee*; | 
 No sculptur'd scroll enrolls its page | 
 
 To tell the children of the free', } 
 
 Where rests the patriot, and the sage v . | 
 
 Far in the city of the dead', | 
 
 A corner holds thy sacred clay* ; | 
 
 And pilgrim feei, by reverence led', | 
 
 Have worn a path thai marks the way;. ) 
 
 There, round thy lone, and simple grave', | 
 Encroaching on its marble gray, | 
 
 Wild plantain weeds, and tall grass wave, J 
 And sunbeams pour their shadeless ray v . | 
 
 Level with eartlr, thy letter'd stone' — | 
 And hidden oft by winter's snow* — | 
 
 Its modest record tells alone' ] 
 
 Whose dusi it is thai sleeps below v .* | 
 
 Thai name 's enough* — ] thai honor 'd name' | 
 
 No aid from eulogy requires* : | 
 'T is blended with thy country's fame*, j 
 
 And flashes round Aer lightning spires^. | 
 
 * The body of Franklin lies in Christ-Church burying-ground 
 corner of Mulberry and Fifth street, Philadelphia. The inscription 
 upon his tomb-stone is as follows: 
 
 BENJAMIN ) 
 
 And > FRANKLIN 
 DEBORAH ) 
 1790 
 
322 
 
 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 State-Hoitse, Philadelphia.* 
 
 DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. 
 
 (Jefferson.) 
 
 When, in the course of human events, | it becomeg 
 necessary for one people | to dissolve the political bands 
 which have connected them with another, I and to as- 
 sume among the powers of the earth i the separate and 
 equal station I to which the laws of nature and of na- 
 ture's God entitle them, | a decent respect to the opin- 
 ions of mankind i requires that they should declare the 
 causes I which impel* them to the separation. | 
 
 We hold these truths 1 to be self-ev v iden£ : I tha£ all 
 men are created e^qual ; I thai they are endowed by their 
 Creator | with certain inalienable ' rights* ; I tha£ among 
 these | are life', liberty, and the pursuit of happiness ; ] 
 thaZ to secure these rights, I governments are insti- 
 
 * The Declaration of Independence was publicly read from the 
 Bteps of the State-House, July 4th, 1776. 
 
 » Truths ; not tmTHi. b In-il'yfen-4-bl. c Guv'urn-mfents. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 323 
 
 tuted among mem, I deriving their jus£ powers j from 
 the consent of the governed ; that whenever am form 
 of government ; becomes destructive of these ends., it 
 is the righz of the people I to alter or abohish it, an^ 
 to institute ne\v n government, I laying its foundation on 
 such principles, I and organizing its powers in such 
 form, | as to them shall seem most likely I to effect their 
 safety and happiness. I Prudence, indeed, will dic- 
 tate j that governments long established | should not be 
 changed for ligh^ and transient causes ; | and accord- 
 ingly all experience hath shown | that mankind are more 
 disposed to suffer | while evils are sufFerable, | than to 
 right themselves I by abolishing the forms to which 
 they are accustomed. I But when a long train of 
 abuses and usurpations '• I pursuing invariably the same 
 object, i evinces a design' : to reduce them under abso- 
 lute despotism, | it is their rights | it is their du'ty i to 
 throw off v such government, ! and to provide new guards 
 for their future security. I Such has been the patient 
 sufferance of these colonies f \ and such is now the 
 necessity j w T hich constrains them to alter their former 
 systems of gov v ernmen£. I The history of the present 
 king of Grea^ Britain | is a history of repeated injuries 
 and usurpations, 6 I all having in direct objec* I the esta- 
 blishment of an absolute tyranny over these states. | 
 To prove this, | let facts be submitted to a candid 
 world. | 
 
 He has refused his assent to laws | the most whole- 
 some and necessary for the public good, j 
 
 He has forbidden his governors to pass laws I of im- 
 mediate and pressing importance, ' unless suspended in 
 their operation! till his assent should be obtained;; 
 and, when so suspended, | he has utterly neglected to 
 attend^ to them, j 
 
 He has refused to pass other laws ! for the accommo- 
 dation of large distric/s of people, | unless those people • 
 
 b Yi-zur-pi'shuni. c De-sin'. d K61'6-nei. 
 
324 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 would relinquish the right of representation in the 
 legislature," a right inestimable to them, | and formi- 
 dable to tyrants only, j 
 
 He has called together legislative bodies i at places 
 unirsual, | uncom fortable, ! and distant from the deposi- 
 tory of their public records, | for the sole purpose | of 
 fatiguing them into compliance with //is measures. I 
 
 He has dissolved representative houses repeatedly | 
 for opposing with manly firmness \ his invasions on the 
 rights of the people. | 
 
 He has refused for a long time after such dissolu- 
 tions i to cause others to be elecred, i whereby the legis- 
 lative powers, | incapable of annihilation, I have re- 
 turned to the people at large for their exercise, I the 
 state remaining, in the mean time, | exposed to all the 
 dangers of invasion from w^ithou^ | and convulsions 
 within. | 
 
 He has endeavoured to prevent the population of 
 these states; | for that purpose i obstructing the laws 
 for naturalization' 1 of foreigners, refusing to pass others J 
 to encourage their migrations hither, I and raising the 
 conditions I of new appropriations of lands. | 
 
 He has obstructed the administration of justice | by 
 refusing his assent to law T s j for establishing judiciary 6 
 powers. | 
 
 He has made judges dependent on his will alone v | 
 for the tenure of their offices, I and the amount, and 
 payment of their salaries. | 
 
 He has erected a multitude of new offices, I and sent 
 hither swarms of new officers | to harass f our people 
 and eat out their substance, j 
 
 He has kept among us in times of peace' I standing 
 armies j w'ithou^ the consent of our legislatures, j 
 
 He has affected to render the military | independent 
 of, | and superior to the civ v il power, j 
 
 He has combined with others | to subject us to a 
 
 »L6dS'is-l&-tshftr. b De-p&2'e-tftr-e. c An-ni-he-li'shun. d Ndt« 
 tshu-ral-e-ii'shtm. e mu-dlsh'a-re. f Har'ras. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 325 
 
 jurisdiction | foreign a to our constitu tions I and unac- 
 knowledged by our laws 1 , I giving //is assent I to their 
 ac^s of pretended legislation i for quartering large bo- 
 dies of armed troops* among us ; | for protecting them 
 by a mocA; tri al I from punishment I for any murders 
 which they should commit j on the inhabitants of these 
 states^; | for cutting off our trade" with all parts of the 
 workA ; | for imposing tax es on us without our consent; I 
 for depriving us in many cases | of the benefits of trial 
 by jury; | for transporting us beyond seas' I to be tried 
 for pretend ed offences ; | for abolishing the free system 
 of English laws i in a neighboring province, | establish- 
 ing therein I an arbitrary government, j and enlarging 
 its boundaries, j so as to render it at once an example j 
 and fit instrument ! for introducing the same absolute 
 rule into these cohonies ; I for taking away our char ters,| 
 abolishing our most valuable laws', | and altering fun- 
 damentally i the forms of our governments ; | for sus- 
 pending our own legislatures, I and declaring them- 
 selves^ invested with power to legislate for us | in all 
 cases whatsoever. | 
 
 He has abdicated government here I by declaring us 
 out of his protection I and waging war against us. J 
 
 He has plundered our seas N , I ravaged our coasts', | 
 burn£ our towns*, I and destroyed the lives of our 
 people. | 
 
 He is at this time* I transporting large armies of fo- 
 reign mer cenaries | to complete the works of death', | 
 desola'tion, and tyranny I already begum | with circum- 
 stances of cruelty and perfidy | scarcely paralleled in 
 the most barbarous ages I and totally unworthy the 
 head of a civalized nation. | 
 
 He has constrained our fellow-citizens j taken captive 
 on the high seas I to bear arms against their coumtry, , 
 to become the executioners of their friends and breth • 
 ren, | or to fall themselves by their hands. | 
 
 He has excited domestic insurrections among us, ' 
 
 a F&r'rln. 
 
326 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 and has endeavored to bring j on the inhabitants of 
 our frontiers | the merciless Indian savages, I whose 
 known rule of warfare | is an undistinguished destruc- 
 tion | of all a'ges, sex'es, and conditions, j 
 
 In every stage of these oppressions I we have peti 
 tioned for redress in the most humble termsv : j our re« 
 peated petitions | have been answered only by repeated 
 injuries. | 
 
 A prince whose character is thus marked I by every 
 a.ct which may define a tyrant | is unfit to be the ruler 
 of a free people. | 
 
 Nor have we been wanting in attentions to our Brit- 
 ish brethren. | We have warned them from time to 
 time | of attempts by their legislature ! to extend an un- 
 warrantable jurisdiction over us. I We have reminded 
 them of the circumstances | of our emigration and set v - 
 tlemen^ here: | w T e have appealed to their native jus- 
 tice and magnanimity, I and we have conjured them 
 by the ties of our common kindred, I to disavow'* 1 these 
 usurpations I which would inevitably interrupt our 
 connexion and correspondence. 1 They too have been 
 deaf to the voice of justice and of consanguinity. | We 
 must therefore acquiesce in the necessity I which de- 
 nounces our separation ! I and hold them as we hold 
 the rest" of mankind, Lenemies in war, | in peace friends. | 
 
 We therefore I the representatives of the United 
 States of America ] in General Congress assembled, | 
 'appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world I for the 
 rectitude of our intentions, | 2 do in the name, | and by 
 the authority of the good people of these colonies, | so- 
 lemnly publish and declare*, | that these united colonies 
 are, j and of righ£ oughz' to be, I free and independent 
 states* ; I tha< they are absolved from all allegiance to 
 the British crown 1 , ! and that all political connexion | 
 between them and the state of Great Britain I is, and 
 oughi' to be, | totally dissolved* ; | and tha£ as free and 
 
 Dis-a-vou. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 327 
 
 independent states, I they have full power to levy war, | 
 conclude peace', | contract alliances, | establish corn'- 
 merce, I and to do all other acts and things | which 
 independent states may of righ^ do. | 
 
 And for the support of this declaration, I ! with a firm 
 reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, I 2 we 
 mutually pledge to each other I our lives', | our for- 
 tunes, | ana? our sacred hon or. | 
 
 THE JOURNEY OF A DAY, A PICTURE OF HUMAN LIFE. 
 
 (DR. JOHNSON.) 
 
 Obidah, the son of Abensina, I left the caravansera 
 early in the morning, | and pursued /ns journey through 
 the plains of Indostan.v | He was fresh, mid vigorous 
 with res£* ; I he was animated with hope' ; | he was in- 
 cited by desire x ; | he walked swiftly forward over the 
 va'lleys, | and saw the hills gradually rising before* Aim. | 
 
 As he passed along, I his ears were delighted with 
 the morning song of the bird of par*adise ; 1 he was 
 fanned by the last flutters of the sinking breeze x , | and 
 sprinkled with dew from groves of spices. I He some- 
 times contemplated the towering height of the oa/r, | 
 monarc/i of the hills* ; | and sometimes caught the gentle 
 fragrance of the prinrrose, I eldest daughter of the 
 spring* : I all his senses were gratified, | and all care 
 was banished from his heart . | 
 
 Thus he went on, I till the sun approached his me- 
 ridian, | and the increased heat preyed upon his 
 strength* ; | he then looked round abou^ /lira I for some 
 more commodious path. | He saw, on his right hand, 
 a grove x I that seemed to wave its shades as a sign of 
 invita*tion ; I he entered it, I and found the coolness, and 
 verdure irresistibly pleasant. | 
 
 He did not, however, | forged whither he was travel- 
 ling^ | but found a narrow way, bordered with flowers, ] 
 
 » Tr&v'il-llnff. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 which appeared to have the same direction with the 
 main road ; I and was pleased, | thai by this happy 
 experiment, | he had found means to unite pleasure with 
 bu v siness, a j and to gain the rewards of diligence I with- 
 out suffering its fatigues. J 
 
 He, therefore, still continued to walk for a time, | 
 without the leasi remission of his ardor, | except thai 
 he was sometimes tempted to stop | by the music of the 
 birds | which the heai had assembled in the shade* ; | 
 and sometimes amused /nmself | w T ith plucking the 
 flowers | thai covered the banks on either side*, | or the 
 fruii that hung upon the branches. | 
 
 At lasi, the green path began to decline from its flrsi 
 tendency, I and to wind among hills, and thickets, j 
 cooled with fountains, and murmuring with waterfalls. J 
 Here Obidah paused* for a time,, I and began to con- 
 sider | whether it w T ere longer safe | to forsake the known, 
 and common track* ; I bui remembering thai the heai 
 was now in its greatest violence, I and that the plain 
 was dusty, and uneven, | he resolved to pursue the new 4 
 path | which he supposed only to make a few meanders, | 
 in compliance w<ith the varieties of the ground, | and to 
 end at last in the common road. | 
 
 Having thus calmed his solicitude, I he renewed fas 
 pace v , | though he suspected thai he was noi gaining 
 ground. I This uneasiness of Ais mind, I inclined him 
 to lay hold on every new objeci, | and give way to 
 every sensation i thai mighi soothe, or diveri him. | He 
 listened to every £ch N o; I he mounted every hill for a 
 fresh pros peci ; \ he turned aside to every cascade* ; j 
 and pleased himself | with tracing the course of a gentle 
 riv er | thai rolled among the trees, I and watered a 
 large region I with innumerable circumvolutions. | 
 
 In these amusements, ! the hours passed away unac- 
 counted ; | his deviations had perplexed Ais menrory, | 
 and he knew noi towards whai poini to trav el. | He 
 
 * B!l'n£s. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 329 
 
 stood pensive, and confused, | afraid to go forward, | 
 iest Ae should go wrongs | jet conscious that the time 
 of loitering was now pas£ . I While he was thus tor- 
 tured with uncertainty, | the sky was overspread with 
 clouds, ; j the day vanished from before* him ; I and a 
 sudden tempest gathered round Ais head . | 
 
 He was now roused by Ais danger, | to a quick, and 
 painful remembrance of Ais folly; | he now saw how 
 happiness is lost, | when ease* is consulted ; j he lament- 
 ed the unmanly impatience | tha^ prompted Aim to seek 
 shelter in the grove* ; I and despised the petty curiosity | 
 that led Aim on from trifle to trifle. I While Ae was 
 thus reflecting, I the air grew black*er, | and a clap of 
 thunder I broke Ais meditation. | 
 
 He now resolved to do wha£ jet remained in Ais 
 power, | to tread bacA the ground which Ae had passed, | 
 and try to find some issue I where the wood might 
 open into the plain. | He prostrated Aimself on the 
 ground, | and recommended Ais life to the Lord of Na- 
 ture. | He rose with confidence, and tranquillity, | and 
 pressed on with resolution. | The beasts of the desert 
 were in motion, I and on every hand I were heard the 
 mingled howls of rage', and fear', — | and ravage, and 
 expiration. | All the horrors of darkness, and solitude, 
 surrounded Aim : | the winds roared in the woods, 1 and 
 the torrents tumbled from the hills, j 
 
 Thus forlorn, and distressed, | he wandered through 
 the wild, | without knowing whither Ae was go*ing, | or 
 whether Ae was every moment I drawing nearer to 
 safety, or to destruction. | At length, not fear, I but 
 labor , began to overcome. Aim ; I his breath grew 
 short, and Ais knees trerabled ; | and Ae was on the 
 po'mt of lying down in resignation to Ais fate*, | when 
 Ae beheld, through the brambles, I the glimmer of a 
 taper. | 
 
 He advanced towards the ligh^*; | and finding that it 
 proceeded from the cottage of a hermi/, I he called 
 humbly at the door, j and obtained admission. I The 
 
330, PRACTICAL ELOCUTION, 
 
 old man set before him | such provisions as he had col 
 lected for Aimself , j on which Qbidah fed with eager 
 ness, and gratitude. | 
 
 When the repast was over, | " Tell me," said the 
 hermj?, | "by wha? r.hance thou has* been brought 
 hithver? j I have been now twenty years x | an inhabit- 
 ant of the wil'derness, | in which I never saw a man 
 before." ) Obidah then related the occurrences of /*is 
 journey, | withou? any concealment, or palliation. | 
 
 " Son," said the hermit, I " le? the errors, and follies, J 
 the dangers, and escape of this day, ! sin& deep into thy 
 heart. | Remember, my son, I tha? human life 1 is the 
 journey of a day. I We rise in the morning of youth, | 
 full of vigour, and full of expectation ; | we se? forward 
 with spiri?, and hope^, | with gaiety, and with diHgence,| 
 and travel on awhile j in the direct road of piety, | to- 
 wards the mansions of res?, j 
 
 " In a short time, we remit our fervor, | and endea- 
 vour to find some mitigation of our duty, | and some 
 more easy means of obtaining the same end. I We then 
 relax our vigor, | and resolve no longer to be terrified 
 with crimes at a distance; I but rely upon our own 
 constancy, ' and venture to approach | what we resolve 
 never to touch. | We thus enter the bowers of ease, | 
 and repose in the shades of security. | 
 "Here the hear? softens, | and vigilance subsides;; | we 
 are then willing to inquire I whether another advance 
 canno? be made, I and whether we may not, at leas?, | 
 turn our eyes v upon the gardens of pleasure. | We 
 approach them with scruple, and hesitation ; | we en'ter 
 them, I bu? enter timorous, and trembling ; i and always 
 hope to pass through them I withou? losing the road of 
 virtue, | which, for a while, we keep in our sigh?*, | and 
 to which we purpose to return. | Bu? temptation suc- 
 ceeds v temptation, | and one compliance, prepares us 
 for anotlrer: | we in time lose the happiness of inno- 
 cence, | and solace our disquie? with sensual gratifica- 
 tions. I 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 331 
 
 " By degrees, | we lei fall the remembrance of our 
 original intension, I and quii the only adequate object 
 of rational desire. I We entangle ourselves in busi- 
 ness," | immerge ourselves in luxury, i and rove through 
 the labyrinths b of inconstancy; | till the darkness of 
 old age v , begins to invade* us, | and disease, and anxiety 
 obstruct our way. ] We then look back upon our lives 
 with horror, I with sor row, I with repentance ; I and 
 wish, | but too often vainly wish, | thai we had not for- 
 lken the ways of virtue. I 
 
 " Happy are they, my son, | who shall learn from 
 by example, | not to despair* ; c | but shall remember, j 
 that, though the day is pasi, I and their strength is 
 wasted, I there yet remains one* effort to be made : ) 
 thai reformation is never hopeless, I nor sincere endea- 
 vors ever unassisted; | thai the wanderer may at 
 length return, | after all his errors ; I and thai he who 
 implores strength, and courage from above, I shall find 
 danger, and difficulty give way before* him. I Go now, 
 my son, to thy repose* ; I commii thyself to the care of 
 Omnipotence ; I and when the morning calls again to 
 toil, | begin anew thy journey, and thy life.' , | 
 
 NIGHT THOUGHTS. 
 
 (young.) 
 
 The bell strikes one v . I We take no noie of time | 
 
 Bui from its loss* : I to give ii then a tongue | 
 
 Is wise* in man. | As if, an an*gel d spo/ce, | 
 
 1 feel the solemn sound . | If heard arighi, | 
 
 It is the knell of my departed hours v . | 
 
 Where are v they? I With the years beyond the flood*. ( 
 
 It is the signal thai demands despatch*: I 
 
 How much is to be done* ! I My hopes, and fears 
 
 Stari up alarm'd*, | and o'er life's narrow verge 
 
 *Bli'nhs. b Lab-b£r-rin*/i. c D^-spir'. d As if an angel; not 
 az-zif-fan-an gel. 
 
382 PRAC'ilCAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 hook down' — | on wha^ ? \ A fathomless abyss*, | 
 
 A dread etei\nity ! I how surely mine v ! | 
 
 And can eternity belong to me', I 
 
 Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour' ? | 
 
 How poor*, | how rich*, | how abject, | how august; 
 How com plicate, ! how won derful is man ! I 
 How passing w r onder he I who made* h\m such ! I 
 Who center'd in our make such strange extremes* ! | 
 From diff'ren^ natures, marvellously" mix'd, | 
 Connexion exquisite of distant worlds' ! j 
 Distinguish'^/ linA: in being's endless chain ! ' 
 Midw r ay from nothing to the De*ity ! | 
 A beam etherial, sullied, and absorpJ* / 1 
 Though sullied, and dishonor 'd, | still divine* ! I 
 Dim miniature b of greatness absolute! I 
 An heir of glo ry ! i a frail child of dus£* / | 
 Helpless immortal ! I insect in finite ! I 
 A worm* ! I a God* / — 1 1 tremble at myself, | 
 And in myself am los^. | 
 
 At home, a stranger, | 
 Thought wanders up, and down, c | surpris'd v , I aghast 
 And wond'ring at her own . | How reason reels* ! | 
 O what a miracle to man is man*, | 
 Triumphantly distress'd* / [ what joy v ! 1 what dread* / 
 Alternately transported, and alarm'd* / | 
 Wha£ can preserve* my life? | or what destroy*? | 
 An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave* ; [ 
 Legions of angels can'£ confine* me there. | 
 
 THE LAND THAT WE LIVE IN. 
 
 (C. W. THOMSON.) 
 
 The land that we live^ in — I the land that we live' in, 
 O ! where is the heart does not thinA: \t more fair', | 
 
 Than the brightest of scenes to which nature has given 
 Her clearest of sun and her purest of air ? | 
 
 * Mar'v61-lu.s-l£. b Mln'£-tftr. c Up and down ; not up^jfon-down. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 333 
 
 Italia may boas£ of her evergreen bow v ers, | 
 
 Her sky without clouds and her rose-scented breeze 
 And Persia may vaun£ of her gardens and Howlers, J 
 
 Bu£ there is one spot which is better than these , — 
 'Tis the land tha* we live x in — I the land that we live' in, 
 
 O ! where is the heart does not thin/c \t more fair', | 
 Than the brightest of scenes to which nature has given! 
 
 Her clearest of sun and her purest of air . | 
 
 Romantic and wild are proud Scotia's mountains, | 
 
 And fair are the plains of imperial France 1 — | 
 And Grana'da may tell of her groves and her fountains,! 
 
 And mingle the mirth of the song and the dancev — 
 The climes of the Eas£ may exhibit their treasures, | 
 
 Their palm-trees may bloom and their waters may 
 fall* — I 
 And music may wa/te to enliven their pleas ures, I 
 
 But there is one spot which is dearer than all, — j 
 'Tis the land that weli ve*in — I the landtha^ we live' in, I 
 
 O ! where is the heart does not thin/« \t more fair', I 
 Than the brightest of scenes to which nature has given 
 
 Her clearest of sun and her purest of air. 1 I 
 
 wolsey's soliloquy. 
 
 (SHAKSPEARE.) 
 
 Farewell, 1 a long farewell, | to all my greatness ! I 
 This is the state of man, : I to-day he puts forth 
 The tender leaves of hope" ; i to-morrow, blossoms, i 
 And bears his blushing honors thic/r upon //im. : I 
 The third day, comes a fros*', I a killing fros^ ; I 
 And, — when he thinks, | good, easy man, | full sureh 
 His greatness is a ripening, — | nips /*is roo^, | 
 knd then he falls, I as h do. | 
 
 I have ventur'd, | 
 Like little wanton boys that swim on blad ders, j 
 This* many summers, | in a sea of glory ; \ 
 
 * Thus it stands in Shakspeare. 
 22 
 
334 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Bui far beyond my depth* : ! my high-blown pride ) 
 At length broke umder me ; i and now has left me, J 
 Weary, and old with service, ! to the mercy 
 Of a rude stream, | thai musi for ever hide* me. I 
 
 Vain porn;?, and glory of this work/, I I haie v ye; j 
 I feel my hear/ new o-pen'd ; ; O how wretched 
 Is thai poor man I thai hangs on princes' favors ! j 
 There is,* betwixi thai smile //e would aspire to, j 
 Thai sweei aspeei of princes, I and their ruin, | 
 More pangs, and fears j than wars, or wo*men have* ; 
 And when he falls, | he falls li£e Lucifer, | 
 Never to hope again . | 
 
 WOLSEY S FAREWELL ADDRESS TO CROMWELL. 
 
 (SHAKSPEARE.) 
 
 Cromwell, I did not thin/i to shed a tear 1 
 
 In all my miseries ; I but thou hasi forc'd me, ] 
 
 Oui of thy honesi truth, \ to play the woman. | 
 
 Let's dry* our eyes* ; I and thus far hear me,Crom,welh | 
 
 And, — 'when I am forgotten, as I shall be, | 
 
 And sleep in dull, cold marble, | where no mention 
 
 Of me more musi be heard of, — 1 2 say, T taughi thee, j 
 
 Say, Wolsey, — ! thai once trod the ways of glory, 1 
 
 And sounded all the depths, and shoals of honor, — | 
 
 Found thee a way, i out of his wreck, \ to rise* in, ; | 
 
 A sure, and safe* one, I though thy master miss'd it. | 
 
 Mark bui my fall, I and thai thai ru m'd me. I 
 Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition; I 
 By thai sin fell the an gels, I how can man then, | 
 The image of his Maker, i hope to win* by'i- ? \ 
 Love thyself lasi*; ! cherish those hearts thai haie* thee; 
 Corruption wins noi more than honesty. I 
 Still in thy righi hand carry gentle peace, | 
 To silence envious tongues. I 
 
 * Thus it stands in Shakspeare. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 335 
 
 Be jus*% an d fear no* x ; j 
 Le* all the ends, thou aim's* a*, be thy country's, | 
 Thy G xl's', and truths ; | then if thou fall's*, oh Crom- 
 well, I 
 Thou fall's* a blessed martyr. I O Cromwell, I 
 Had I serv'ri my God \ with half the zeal 
 I serv'd my king, | he would no* in mine age | 
 Have lef* me naked to mine enemies. I 
 
 REPLY TO WALPOLE. 
 (PITT.*) 
 
 The atrocious crime of being a young man, | which 
 the honorable gentleman has, | with such spiri* and 
 decency, charged upon me, I I shall neither attemp* to 
 palliate, nor deny*; | bu* conten* myself with wishing | 
 tha* I may be one of those | whose follies cease with 
 their youtlr, ) and no* of tha* number ) who are igno- 
 ran* in spi*e of experience. | 
 
 Whether youth can be imputed to a x ny man as a 
 reproach, I I will no* assume the province of determin- 
 ing: | bu* surely age may become justly contemptible, | 
 if the opportunities which it brings | have passed away 
 without improvement, | and vice appears to prevail | 
 when the passions have subsided. 1 
 
 * This illustrious father of English Oratory, having expressed 
 himself, in the House of Commons, with his accustomed energy, in 
 opposition to one of the measures then in agitation, his speech pro- 
 duced an answer from Mr. Walpole, who, in the course of it, said, 
 " Formidable sounds, and furious declamation, confident assertions, 
 and lofty periods, may affect the young and inexperienced ; and, 
 perhaps, the honorable gentleman may have contracted his habits 
 of oratory by conversing more with those of his own age, than with 
 such as have had more opportunities of acquiring knowledge, and 
 more successful methods of communicating their sentiments." And 
 he made use of some expressions, such as vehemence of gesture, 
 theatrical emotion, &c., applying them to Mr. Pitt's manner of 
 speaking. As soon as Mr. Walpole sat down, Mr. Pitt got up 
 and replied as above. 
 
336 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 The wretch who, after having seen the consequences 
 of a thousand errors, | continues still to blunder, | and 
 whose age has only added obstinacy to stupidity, | is 
 surely the object of either abhorrence or contempt*, i 
 and deserves noi thai his grey head' | should secure 
 him from insult. | 
 
 Much more is he to be abhorred, | who, as he has 
 advanced in age I has receded from virtue, I and be- 
 comes more wicked with less temptation : | who prosti- 
 tutes Aimself for money which he cannot enjoys I and 
 spends the remains of h is life I in the ruin of his coun- 
 try. | 
 
 But youth is noi my only crime. I I have been 
 accused of acting a theatrical pari. I A theatrical 
 pari | may either imply some peculiarities of gesture, | 
 or a dissimulation of my real sentiments, I and an adop- 
 tion of the opinions and language of another man. | 
 
 In the firsi sense, | the charge is too trifling to be 
 confuted, | and deserves only to be mentioned | to be 
 despised. | I am ai liberty, I \ike every otlver man, j to 
 use my own Ian guage ; I and though I may, perhaps, 
 have some ambition ; | yei to please this gentleman, ) I 
 shall noi lay myself under any restraint, J or very 
 solicitously | copy his diction, or his mienv, | however 
 matured by age, I or modelled by experience. | 
 
 If any man shall, I by charging me with theatrical 
 behavior, | imply thai I utter any sentiments bui my 
 own, | I shall treai him as a calunrniator | and a vil- 
 lain : | nor shall any protection | shelter him from the 
 treatmeni which he deserves. | I shall, on such an 
 occasion, I withoui scnrple, i trample upon all those 
 forms | w T ith which wealth and dignity entrench them- 
 selves : | nor shall any thing bui age I restrain my re- 
 senivmeni ; | age which always brings one privilege : | 
 thai of being insoleni and supercilious I withoui punish- 
 ment. | 
 
 Bui with regard to those whom I have offended, I I 
 am of opinion | thai if I Aad acted a borrowed pari, 1 1 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 33T 
 
 should have avoided their censure. | The hea* that 
 offended them I is the ardor of conviction, I and thai 
 zeal for the service of my country | which neither hope 
 nor fear 1 shall influence me to suppress. I 
 
 I will no* si* unconcerned I while my liberty is 
 invaded, | nor looA; in silence upon public robbery. | I 
 will exert my endeavors, a* whatever hazard, | to 
 repel the aggressor, | and drag the thief to justice, | 
 wha* power soever may protect the villany, j and who- 
 ever may partake of the plunder. | 
 
 GENIUS. 
 
 (akenside.) 
 
 From heaven my strains begin ; | from heaven descends 
 
 The flame of genius to the human breast, I 
 
 And love, and beauty, and poetic joy, 
 
 And inspiration. | Ere the radiant sun 
 
 Sprang from the eas*, | or 'mid the vaul* of nigh* | 
 
 The moon suspended her serener lamp ; I 
 
 Ere mountains, woods, or streams adorn'd the glo&e, | 
 
 Or Wisdom taught the sons of men /*er lore ; | 
 
 Then lived the Almighty One ; I then, deep retired, 
 
 In his unfathom'd essence, | view'd the forms, | 
 
 The forms eternal of created things ; | 
 
 The radian* sun, ! the moon's nocturnal lamp, | 
 
 The mountains, woods, and streams, | the rolling glo&e, | 
 
 And Wisdom's mien celestial. | 
 
 From the firs* 
 Of days, I on them 7*is love divine he fix'd, | 
 His admiration : I till, in time complete, | 
 Wha* he admired and loved, | his vit«l smile 
 Unfolded into being. 1 Hence the breath 
 Of life informing each organic frame, | 
 Hence the green earth, and wild resounding waves ; | 
 Hence ligh* and shade alternate ; | warmth and cold, ) 
 And clear autumnal skies, and vernal showers, | 
 And all the fair variety of things, i 
 
338 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Bui not alike to every mortal eye I 
 
 Is this greai scene unveil'd. | For, since the claims 
 
 Of social life, 1 to different labors urge 
 
 The active powers of man, I with wise intend | 
 
 The hand of Nature on peculiar minds | 
 
 Imprints a different bias, i and to each 
 
 Decrees its province in the common toil. | 
 
 To some she taught the fabric of the sphere, | 
 
 The changeful moon, i the circuit of the stars, | 
 
 The golden zones of heaven : I to some she gave 
 
 To weigh the moment of eternal things, I 
 
 Of time, and space, and Fate's unbroken chain, | 
 
 And will's quick impulse ; | others by the hand J 
 
 She led o'er vales and mountains, | to explore 
 
 Whai healing virtue I swells the tender veins 
 
 Of herbs and flowers ; | or what the beams of morn 
 
 Draw forth, | distilling from the clifted rind 
 
 In balmy tears. I 
 
 But some to higher hopes 
 Were destin'd ; ] some within a finer moult? 
 She wrought, I and temper'd with a purer flame : | 
 To these the Sire Omnipotent I unfolds 
 The worW's harmonious volume, I there to read 
 The transcript of /mnself. j On every pari I 
 They trace the bright impressions of /as hand; | 
 In earth or air, I the meadow's purple stores, | 
 The moon's mild radiance, I or the virgin's form, | 
 Blooming with rosy smiles, I they see portray'd 
 Thai uncreated beauty | which delights 
 The Mind Supreme, j They also feel /?.er charms, 
 Enamor'd; I they partake the eternal joy. | 
 
 GREATNESS. 
 
 (akenside.) 
 
 Say, why was man so eminently raised | 
 Amid the vasi creation ? I why ordain'd 
 Thro' life and death | to dari his piercing eye, 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 339 
 
 With thought beyond the lirnii of his frame, | 
 Bui thai the Omnipotent mighi send Aim forth, j 
 In sighi of mortal and immortal powers, I 
 As on a boundless theatre, | to run 
 The greai career of justice : | to exali 
 His generous aim to all diviner deeds; I 
 To chase each partial purpose from his breast ; | 
 And thro' the misis of passion and of sense, | 
 And thro' the tossing tide of chance and pain, | 
 To hold //is course unfaltering, I while the voice 
 Of Truth and Virtue, I up the steep ascend 
 Of Nature, I calls him to //is high reward, | 
 The applauding smile of Heaven? | 
 
 Else wherefore burns 
 In mortal bosom this unquenched hope, I 
 Thai breathes from day to day sublimer things, j 
 And mocks possession I I Wherefore darts the mind, I 
 With such resistless ardor | to embrace 
 Majestic forms, | impatient to be free ; j 
 Spurning the gross control of wilful might ; \ 
 Proud of the strong contention of her toils ; | 
 Proud to be daring ? I Who but rather turns 
 To Heaven's broad fire his unconstrained view, I 
 Than to the glimmering of a waxen flame ? I 
 Who thai, from Alpine heights, | his laboring eye 
 Shoots round the wide horizon, I to survey 
 Nil us or Ganges rolling his bright wave I 
 Thro' mountains, plains, | thro' empires blac/c with shade,! 
 And continents of sand, I will turn his gaze | 
 To mark the windings of a scanty rill I 
 Thai murmurs ai his feet ? I 
 
 The high-born soul ) 
 Disdains to resi her heaven aspiring wing | 
 Beneath its native quarry. | Tired of earth 
 And this diurnal scene, | she springs aloft 
 Thro' fields of air ; I pursues the flying storm ; | 
 Rides on the volley'd lightning thro' the heavens ; 1 
 Or, yoked with whirlwinds and the northern blasi, | 
 
840 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Sweeps the long trac£ of day. | Then high she soars 
 
 The blue profound, j and hovering round the sun, j 
 
 Beholds him pouring the redundant stream 
 
 Of lighi; j beholds his unrelenting sway | 
 
 Bend the reluctant planets to absolve 
 
 The fated rounds of time. | Thence far effused ] 
 
 She darts her swiftness up the long career 
 
 Of devious comets : ; thro' its burning signs 
 
 Exulting i measures the perennial wheel 
 
 Of Nature, I and looks bac& on all the stars, | 
 
 Whose blended light, I as with a milky zone, | 
 
 Inves/s the orient I 
 
 Now amazed she views 
 The empyreal waste, I where happy spirits hold, | 
 Beyond this concave heaven, i their calm abode; I 
 And fields of radiance, \ whose unfading ligh* I 
 Has travell'd the profound six thousand years, | 
 Nor yet arrives in siglu of mortal things. | 
 E'en on the barriers of the world untired | 
 She meditates the eternal depth below, | 
 Till, half recoiling, | down the headlong steep 
 She plunges; ! soon o'erwhelm'd and swallowed up I 
 In thai immense of being. | 
 
 There her hopes 
 Ttest at the fatal goal : | for, from the birth 
 Of mortal man, I the sovereign Maker said, | 
 That not in humble nor in brief delight, I 
 NoZ in the fading echoes of renown, | 
 Power's purple robes, I nor Pleasure's flowery lap, | 
 The soul should find enjoyment ; I but, from these 
 Turning disdainful to an equal good, | 
 Thro' all the ascend of things enlarge her view, J 
 Till every bound at length should disappear, | 
 And infinite perfection close the scene. J 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 341 
 
 PAPER. 
 
 [a conversational pleasantry.] 
 (franklin.) 
 
 Some wi* of old — | such wits of old there were, I 
 Whose hints show'd meaning, I whose allusions care, 
 By one brave stro/ce, | to mark all human kind, j 
 Call'd clear blan/c paper ev'ry infant mind; | 
 Where, still, as opening sense her dictates wrote, I 
 Fair Virtue out a seal, j or Vice, a blo£. | 
 The though* was happy, pertinent, and true ; | 
 Methinks a genius might the plan pursue. | 
 
 I (can you pardon my presumption ?), | I, 
 No wit, no genius, | ye*, for once, will try. | 
 Various the paper, various wan*s produce ; | 
 The wan/s of fashion I elegance, I and use. | 
 Men are as various ; | and if righ* I scan, I 
 Each sor* of paper i represents some man. j 
 
 Pray note the fop, I half powder and half lace ; | 
 Nice, as a band-box were his dwelling place ; j 
 He 's the gil*-paper, | which apar* you store, I 
 And lock from vulgar hands in the scrutoire. a 
 
 Mechanics, farmers, servants, and so forth, | 
 Are copy-paper, I of inferior worth ; j 
 Less priz'd, I more useful, | for your desk decreed ; \ 
 Free to all pens, | and promp* at ev'ry need. | 
 
 The wretch, whom avarice bids to pinch and spare 
 Starve, chea£, and pilfer, to enrich an heir, | 
 Is coarse brown paper, I such as pedlars choose j 
 To wrap up wares, | which better men will use. ' 
 
 Take nex* the miser's contrast, | who destroys | 
 Health, fame, and fortune, in a round of joys ; 
 
 ■ SScrutoire, a case of drawers for writings. 
 
342 PRACTICAL ELOCJTION. 
 
 Will any paper match Aim? J Yes, throughout; \ 
 He 's a true sinking paper, | pasi all doubi. | 
 
 The retail politician's anxious thought I 
 
 Deems this side always righi, | and thai starA nought ; 
 
 lie foams with censure ; I with applause Ae raves ; | 
 
 A du/>e to rumors, | and a tool of knaves ; I 
 
 He '11 xva.nl no type his weakness to proclaim, j 
 
 While such a thing as foolscap has a name. I 
 
 The hasty gentleman, whose blood runs high, | 
 W^ho picks a quarrel if you step awry, | 
 Who can'i a jest, a hintf, or look, endure ; I 
 Whai is he 1 I Whai ? j Touch-paper to be sure, | 
 
 Whai are our poets, i take them as they fall, j 
 Good, I bad, ! rich, | poor, i much read, I not read at all ? 
 Them and their works in the same class you '11 find ; } 
 They are the mere waste-paper of mankind. | 
 
 Observe the maiden, I innocently sweei ; I 
 She 's fair white paper, i an unsullied sheei; { 
 On which the happy man whom fate ordains, | 
 May write Ais name, I and take her for Ais pains. | 
 
 One instance more, I and only one, I '11 bring : | 
 'T is the great man who scorns a little thing ; | 
 Whose thoughts, whose deeds, whose maxims are Ais 
 
 own, I 
 Form'd on the feelings of Ais heart alone : | 
 True, genuine, royal-paper is his breast; | 
 Of all the kinds most precious, j purest, I best. \ 
 
 MOSES SMITING THE ROCK. 
 
 (w. A. VAN VRANKEN.) 
 
 On the parch'd plains | the tribes of Israel lay, 
 Fatigued' and sad, I to raging thirst a prey : | 
 In thai lone region, I in thai deseri drear, | 
 No streamlet's murmur stole upon the ear ; I 
 No brooA pellucid glanc'd its lighi along, j 
 To cheer the vision of thai fainting throng. | 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 343 
 
 Nought me? the eye | save Horeb's rock tha? frown'd, j 
 In gloomy grandeur, on the scene around, j 
 
 At its broad base, I behold the patriarch stand, | 
 
 And with his rod, a? the Divine command, | 
 
 Smi?e its dar/f fron? ; | o'er awed by Power Supreme, i 
 
 Its riven breas? expell'd a copious stream ; | 
 
 The new-born waters pour'd their torrents wide, | 
 
 And foam'd, and thunder'd, down its craggy side. \ 
 
 At the glad sound each Hebrew mother there | 
 
 Her infan? clasp'd, | and look'd to Heaven a prayer : ' 
 
 Joy thrill'd all hearts ; | for lo ! the sunbeams play, J 
 
 In radian? glory, on the flashing spray | 
 
 Tha? dash'd its crystals o'er the rocky pile, | 
 
 A beauteous emblem of Jehovah's smile. | 
 
 TIME. 
 (W. A. VAN VRANKEN.) 
 
 My silent and mysterious flight | 
 Reveals each morn the glorious ligh? 1 
 
 Tha? gilds the passing year; | 
 I never stop to res? my wing: | 
 Triumphant on the bias? I spring — | 
 
 My plumage, darA; and sere. I 
 
 Onward I speed my fligh? sublime ; ] 
 Before me withers manhood's prime, | 
 
 While pillar, dome, and tower, | 
 And massy piles, and temples grand, | 
 Lie crush'd beneath my iron hand — | 
 
 Resistless is my power. | 
 
 Remorseless boaster, hold / | thy wings ] 
 May sweep aside earth's mightiest th ; ngs, ' 
 
 Mere creatures of an hour : | 
 Thou cans? no? reach the Heavenly bloom, | 
 Celestial tin?s, and rich perfume, I 
 
 Of virtue's lovely flower. I 
 
344 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 TO THE AMERICAN FLAG. 
 
 (drake and halleck.) 
 
 When freedom from her mountain heigfit ! 
 
 Unfurl'd her standard to the air, J 
 She tore the azure robe of night, I 
 
 And set the stars of glory there ! | 
 She mingled with its gorgeous dyes | 
 The milky baldric of the skies, | 
 And striped its pure celestial white, | 
 With streakings from the morning HghU 
 Then, from his mansion in the sun, | 
 She called her eagle-bearer down, | 
 And gave into his mighty hand | 
 The symbol of Aer chosen land / | 
 
 Majestic monarch of the cloud / | 
 
 Who rear's* aloft thy regal form, ] 
 To hear the tempest trumping loud, | 
 
 And see the lightning lances driven, | 
 When strides the warrior of the storm, | 
 
 And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven! I 
 Child of the sun ! | to thee 't is given | 
 
 To guard the banner of the free — I 
 To hover in the sulphur smoke, | 
 To ward away the battle-strode, | 
 And bid its blendings shine afar, | 
 Li&e rainbows on the cloud of war, I 
 
 The harbinger of victory ! | 
 
 Flag of the brave ! ! thy folds shall fly, J 
 The sign of hope and triumph high ! | 
 When speaks the signal-trumpets tone, ! 
 And the long line comes gleaming on ; | 
 Ere ye* the life-blood, warm and we*, | 
 Has dimm'd the glistening bayonet — ! 
 Each soldier's eye shall brightly turn, j 
 To where thy meteor glories burn, I 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 345 
 
 And as fas springing steps advance, I 
 Catch war and vengeance from the glance ! | 
 And when the cannon's mouthings loud, j 
 Heave in wild wreaths the battle-shroud, j 
 And gory sabres rise and fall, I 
 Like shoot? of flame on midnight pall ! 1 
 There shall thy victor glances glow, | 
 
 And cowering foes shall fall beneath | 
 Each gallant arm tha/^ strikes below J 
 
 That lovely messenger of death ! | 
 
 Flag- of the seas !| on ocean's wave, | 
 Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave. | 
 When death, careering on the gale, | 
 Sweeps darkly round the swelling sail, I 
 And frighted waves rush wildly back J 
 Before the broadside's reeling rack ; | 
 The dying wanderer of the sea | 
 Shall look at once to heaven and thee, | 
 And smile to see thy splendors fly, I 
 In triumph o'er the closing eye. J 
 
 Flag of the free heart's only home, I 
 
 By angel hands to valor given ! I 
 Thy stars have lit the welkin dome | 
 
 And all thy hues were born in heaven ; | 
 For ever float that standard sheet ! ) 
 
 Where breathes the foe but falls before us, | 
 With freedom's soil beneath our feet, | 
 
 And freedom's banner streaming o'er us ! | 
 
 MOTIVES TO THE PRACTICE OF GENTLENESS. 
 
 (blair.) 
 
 To promote the virtue of gentleness, | we oughz to 
 view our character with an impartial eye; I and to 
 learn, from our own failings, | to give that indulgence 
 which in our turn we claim. | It is pride which fills 
 the world with so much harshness and severity. | In 
 
346 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 the fulness of self-estimation, ! we forged wha£ we are. > 
 We claim attentions to which we are not entitled. \ 
 We are rigorous to offences, i as if we had never offend- 
 ed ; | unfeeling to distress, | as if we knew not what it 
 was to suffer. I From those airy regions of pride and 
 folly, | let us descend to our proper level. I Let us 
 survey the natural equality | on which Providence has 
 placed man with man, | and reflect on the infirmities 
 common to all. I If the reflection on natural equality 
 and mutual offences, I be insufficient to prompt hu- 
 manity, i let us at leasZ remember wha£ we are in the 
 sight of our Creator. I Have we none of that forbear- 
 ance to give one another, | which we all so earnestly 
 entreat from heaven I I Can we look for clemency or 
 gentleness from our Judge, | when we are so backward 
 to show it to our own brethren ? | 
 
 Let us also accustom ourselt-es | to reflect on the 
 small moment of those things i which are the usual in- 
 centives to violence and contention. I In the ruffled 
 and angry hour, | we view every appearance through 
 a false medium. | The mos* inconsiderable point of 
 interest or honor, ] swells into a momentous object ; | 
 and the slightest attach seems to threaten immediate 
 ruin. I Bu£ after passion or pride has subsided, | we 
 look around in vain for the mighty mischiefs we dread- 
 ed. I The fabric which our disturbed imagination haa 
 reared, | totally disappears. I Bu£ though the cause of 
 contention has dwindled away, I its consequences re- 
 main, i We have alienated a friend ; | we have em- 
 bittered an enemy ; I we have sown the seeds of future 
 suspicion, malevolence, or disgust. — I Let us suspend 
 our violence for a moment, I when causes of discord 
 occur. I Let us anticipate tha£ period of coolness, | 
 which, of itself, will soon arrive. | Let us reflect how 
 little we have any prospect of gaining by fierce con 
 tention; I hut how much of the true happiness of life ( 
 we are certain of throwing aw T ay. | Easily, and from 
 the smallest chinft, | the bitter waters of strife are le* 
 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 347 
 
 forth ; ] bui their course cannot be foreseen ; j and he 
 seldom fails of suffering mosi from their poisonous 
 effect I who first allows them to flow. J 
 
 ON THE IMPORTANCE OP ORDER IN THE DISTRIBUTION 
 
 OP OUR TIME. 
 (blair.) 
 
 Time we ought to consider | as a sacred trusi com- 
 mitted to us by God ; I of which we are now the de- 
 positaries, I and are to render an account at the lasi. 
 Thai portion of ii which he has allotted to us, | is in- 
 tended partly for the concerns of this world, | partly 
 for those of the nexi. | Let each of these occupy, | in 
 the distribution of our time, I thai space which pro- 
 perly belongs to it. 1 Lei not the hours of hospitality 
 and pleasure, I interfere with the discharge of our neces- 
 sary affairs ; ! and let not whai we call necessary affairs, j 
 encroach upon the time which is due to devotion. | To 
 every thing there is a season, | and a time for every 
 purpose under heaven. I If we delay till to-morrow, 
 whai ought to be done to-day, | we overcharge the 
 morrow with a burden which belongs not to it. | We 
 load the wheels of time, I and prevent them from carry- 
 ing us along smoothly. I He who every morning plans 
 the transactions of the day, ! and follows out thai plan, | 
 carries on a thread | which will guide him through the 
 labyrinth of the mosi busy life. | The orderly arrange- 
 ment of his time is Me a ray of lighi, I which darts 
 itself through all his affairs. I Bui, where no plan is 
 laid, | where the disposal of time I is surrendered mere- 
 ly to the chance of incidents, | all things lie huddled 
 together in one chaos, | which admits neither of distri- 
 bution nor review. | 
 
 The firsi requisiie for introducing order into the 
 managemeni of time, I is, to be impressed with a jusi 
 sense of its value. I Let us consider well how much 
 depends lpon ii, I and how fasi it flies away, j The 
 
348 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 bu\k of men are in nothing more capricious and incon 
 sisteni, I than in their appreciation of time. | When 
 they think of ii as the measure of their continuance 
 on earth, | they highly prize it, I anr/ with the greatest 
 anxiety seek to lengthen ii out. I Bui when they view 
 it in separate parcels, j they appear to hold ii in con- 
 tempt, I and squander ii with inconsiderate profusion. | 
 While they complain thai life is short, i they are often 
 wishing its different periods at an end. J Covetous of 
 every other possession, | of time only they are prodi- 
 gal. | They allow every idle man to be master of this 
 property, | and make every frivolous occupation wel- 
 come | thai can help them to consume it. j Among 
 those who are so careless of time, | it is not to be 
 expected I thai order should be observed in its distribu- 
 tion. I Bui, by this fatal negleci, j how many materi- 
 als of severe and lasting regrei I are they laying up in 
 store for themselves ! | The time which they suffer to 
 pass away in the midsi of confusion, | bitter repentance 
 seeks afterwards in vain to recall. | Whai was omit- 
 ted to be done at its proper momeni, I arises to be the 
 tormeni of some future season. I Manhood is dis- 
 graced by the consequences of neglected youth. I Old 
 age, | oppressed by cares thai belonged to a former 
 period, I labors under a burden noi its own. | At the 
 close of life, I the dying man beholds w T ith anguish thai 
 his days are finishing, | when //is preparation for 
 eternity is hardly commenced. I Such are the effecis 
 of a disorderly waste of time, I through noi attending 
 to its value. | Every thing in the life of such persons 
 is misplaced. I Nothing is performed arighi, i from noi 
 being performed in due season. I 
 
 Bui he who is orderly in the distribution of //is time, | 
 takes the proper method of escaping those manifold 
 evils. | He is justly said to redeem the time. | By 
 proper management, he prolongs ii. I He lives much 
 in little space ; I more in a few years, than others do in 
 many. | He c in live to God and his own soul, I and 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 349 
 
 at the same time, | attend to all the lawful interests of 
 the preseni work/. I He looks bac/c on the pasi, | and 
 provides for the future. | He catches and arrests the 
 hours as they fly. | They are marked down for useful 
 purposes, | and their memory remains. | Whereas those 
 hours fieei by the man of confusion like a shadow, j 
 His days and years are either blanks, | of which he 
 has no remembrance, | or they are filled up with so 
 confused and irregular a succession of unfinished trans- 
 actions, | thai though he remembers he has been busy, j 
 yet he can give no account of the business which has 
 employed Aim. | 
 
 INDUSTRY NECESSARY TO THE ATTAINMENT OF 
 ELOQUENCE. 
 
 (ware.) 
 
 The history of the world is full of testimony | to 
 prove how much depends upon industry; I not an emi- 
 nent orator has lived hut is an example of it. I Yet, 
 in contradiction to all this, | the almost universal feel- 
 ing appears to be, | thai industry can effect nothing, 
 thai eminence is the resuli of accideni, I and thai every 
 one musi be conteni I to remain jusi whai he may hap- 
 pen to be. | Thus multitudes, who come forward as 
 teachers and guides, I suffer themselves to be satisfied 
 with the mosi mdiffereni attainmenis, I and a miserable 
 mediocrity, I withoui so much as inquiring how they 
 may rise higher, | much less making any attempi to 
 rise. | 
 
 For any other ari they would have served an ap- 
 prenticeship, | and would be ashamed to practise ii in 
 public before they had learned it. I If any one would 
 sing, | he attends a master, | and is drilled in the very 
 elementary principles ; ! and only after the mosi labori- 
 ous process, I dares to exercise Ais voice in public. | 
 This he does, I though he has scarce any thing to learn 
 bui the mechanical execution I of whai lies in sensible 
 23 
 
350 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 forms before the eye. [ Bui the extempore speaker, | 
 who is to invent as well as to utter, I to carry on an 
 operation of the mint/ | as well as to produce sound, | 
 enters upon the work without preparatory discipline, j 
 and then wonders thai he fails ! | 
 
 If he were learning to play on the flute for public 
 exhibition, I whai hours and days would Ae spend in 
 giving facility to his fingers, I and attaining the power 
 of the sweetesi and mosi expressive execution ! \ Jf he 
 were devoting himself to the organ, I whai months and 
 years would he labor, | thai he mighi know its com- 
 pass, | and be master of its keys, I and be able to draw 
 oui, at will, | all its various combinations of harmoni- 
 ous sound, | and its full richness and delicacy of expres- 
 sion ! | And yei he will fancy thai the grandest, I the 
 mosi various and mosi expressive of all instruments, | 
 which the infini/e Creator has fashioned I by the union 
 of an intellectual soul with the powers of speech, | may 
 be played upon without study or practice ; I he comes 
 to \t a mere uninstructed tyro, I and thinks to manage 
 all its stops, | and command the w r hole compass of its 
 varied and comprehensive power ! I He finds /zimself 
 a bungler in the attempt I is mortified at his failure, | 
 and settles it in his mind for ever, thai the attempt is 
 vain. | 
 
 Success in every art, I whatever may be the natural 
 talent, I is always the reward of industry and pains. 
 Bui the instances are many, I of men of the fines* 
 natural genius, | whose beginning has promised much, 
 but who have degenerated wretchedly as they ad- 
 vanced, | because they trusted to their gifts, | and made 
 no efforts to improve. | Thai there have never been 
 other men I of equal endowments with Demosthenes 
 and Cicero, | none would venture to suppose ; I but w r ho 
 have so devoted themselves to their art, | or become 
 equal in excellence? I If those great men had been 
 contend, like others, | to continue as they began, i and 
 had never made their persevering efforts for improve- 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 351 
 
 meni, | whai would their countries have benefited from 
 their genius, I or the world have known of their fame ? ■ 
 They would have been losi in the undistinguished 
 crowd i thai sunA- to oblivion around them. | 
 
 THE DESTRUCTION OF SENACHERIB, 
 
 (byron.) 
 
 The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, | 
 And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold ; I 
 And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, | 
 When the blue wave rolis nightly on deep Galilee. | 
 
 hike the leaves of the forest when summer is green, | 
 Thai host with their banners at sunsei were seen : | 
 hike the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown, I 
 Thai hosi on the morrow lay wither'd and strown. j 
 
 For the angel of death spread his wings on the blasi, J 
 And breath'd in the face of the foe as he pass'd ; j 
 And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill, | 
 And their hearts but once heav'd, and for ever were 
 still! | 
 
 And there lay the steed with his nostrils all wide, | 
 Bui through them there roll'd noi the breath of his 
 
 pride ; | 
 And the foam of his gasping lay whiie on the turf, | 
 And cold as the spray on the rocA-beati.ng surf. | 
 
 And there lay the rider, distorted and pale, 1 
 With the dew on his brow and the rusi on his mail • ' 
 And the tents were all sileni, the banners alone, | 
 The lances unlifted, the trumpei unblown. | 
 
 And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, | 
 And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal ; I 
 And the mighi of the Gentile, unsmoie by the sword, | 
 Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord / ) 
 
352 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 LOCHINVAR.* 
 (SCOTT.) 
 
 O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west, ] 
 Through all the wide border his steed was the best ; ' 
 And save his good broadsword, he weapon had none, , 
 He rode all unarm'd, I and he rode all alone. I 
 So faithful in love, I and so dauntless in war, | 
 There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. | 
 
 He staid not for brake, I and he stopped not for stone, | 
 He swam the Eske river | where ford there was none ; j 
 But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, I 
 The bride had consented, j the gal'lant came late : | 
 For a laggard in love, | and a dastard in war, | 
 Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. | 
 
 So, boldly he entered the Netherby hall, | 
 
 Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and 
 
 all: | 
 Then spoke the bride's father, I his hand on his sword, I 
 (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,) ) 
 " O come ye in peace here, j or come ye in war, | 
 Or to dance at our bridal, [ young lord Lochinvar ?" | 
 
 " I long woo'd your daughter, 1 my suit you denied ; ) 
 Love swells like the Sohvay, I but ebbs like its tide ; j I 
 And now am I come, I with this lost love of mine, I 
 To lead but one measure, I drink one cup of wine. I 
 There are maidens in Scotland, I more lovely by far, I 
 That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar." | 
 
 * The ballad of Lochinvar is in a very slight degree founded on 
 a ballad called "Katharine Janfarie," which may be found in the 
 " Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border."' 
 
 t See the novel of Redgauntlet, for a detailed picture of some of 
 the extraordinary phenomena of the spring-tides in the Solway 
 Fritn. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 353 
 
 The bride kiss'd the goblet ; I the knight took it up, I 
 He quaff'd off the wine, | and he threw down the cup. | 
 She look'd down to blush, I and she look'd up to sigh, J 
 With a smile on her lips, | and a tear in her eye. | 
 He took her soft hand, i ere her mother could bar, — | 
 " Now tread we a measure I" | said young Lochinvar. I 
 
 So stately his form, I and so lovely her face, I 
 That never a hall such a galliard a did grace: | 
 While her mother did fret, | and her father did fume, | 
 And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet ana 
 
 plume ; | 
 And the bride-maidens whisper'd, | " 'T were better by 
 
 far] 
 To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochin- 
 var." | 
 
 One touch to her hand, | and one word in her ear, | 
 When they reach'd the hall-door, | and the charger 
 
 stood near ; I 
 So light to the croup the fair lady he swung, | 
 So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! | 
 " She is won ! I we are gone, I over bank, bush and 
 
 scaur ; b | 
 They '11 have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young 
 
 Lochinvar. | 
 
 There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby 
 
 clan ; | 
 Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, ] they rode and 
 
 they ran : I 
 There was racing, and chasing, on Cannobie Lee, ) 
 But. the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. j 
 So daring in love, I and so dauntless in war, ) 
 Have ye e'er heard of gal'lant, like young Lochinv ar ! ! 
 
 * Gal'yard. b Skar, a craggy, stony hill ; a cliff, cleft, or divi- 
 sion, or separation in a bank, hill, or any thing else. 
 
354 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 CASABIANCA.* 
 
 (MRS. HEMANS.) 
 
 The boy stood on the burning deck, | 
 
 Whence all bu* him had fled ; | 
 The flame tha* li* the battle's wreck, \ 
 
 Shone round Aim o'er the dead. | 
 
 Ye* beautiful and bright he stood, | 
 
 As born to rule the storm ; | 
 A creature of heroic blood, | 
 
 A proud, though child-li&e form. 1 
 
 The flames roll'd on — I he would no* go, ' 
 
 Without his father's word;| 
 Tha* father, fain* in death below, j 
 
 His voice no longer heard. | 
 
 He call'd aloud — | " Say, father, say | 
 
 If ye* my tas& is done ?" I 
 He knew no* tha* the chieftain lay | 
 
 Unconscious of his son. | 
 
 " Spea&, father !" | once again he cried, | 
 
 " If I may ye* be gone !" | 
 And bu* the booming shots replied, J 
 
 And fas* the flames roll'd on. | 
 
 Upon his brow he fel* their breath, | 
 
 And in h\s waving hair ; I 
 And look'd from tha* lone pos* of death, 1 
 
 In still, ye* brave despair. I 
 
 *Younsf Casabianca, a boy about thirteen years old, son to the 
 idmiral of the Orient, remained at his post (in the battle of the 
 Nile,) after the ship had taken fire, and all the guns had been 
 abandoned ; and perished in the explosion of the vessel, when the 
 flames had reached the powder. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 355 
 
 AmJ shouted hut once more , aloud, | 
 
 " My father ! must I stay V 9 \ 
 While o'er Aim fa si, through sail and shroud, { 
 
 The wreathing fires made way. | 
 
 They wrapi the ship in splendor wild, j 
 
 They caughi the flag on high, | 
 And stream'd above the gallani child, | 
 
 hike banners in the sky. | 
 
 There came a bursi of thunder sound — j 
 The boy — | oh ! where was he ? | 
 
 Ask of the winds thai far around | 
 With fragments strew'd the sea ! | 
 
 With masi, and helm, and pennon fair, | 
 Thai well had borne their pari — | 
 
 Bui the noblesi thing thai perish'd there, j 
 Was thai young faithful heari. | 
 
 MEETING OF SATAN, SIN, AND DEATH. 
 
 (milton.) 
 
 Meanwhile the adversary of God and man, | 
 Satan, I with thoughts inflam'd of highesi design, j 
 Puts on swift win^s, | and towards the gates of Hell j 
 Explores his solitary flighi ; I sometimes 
 He scours the righi hand coast, | sometimes the lefi ; j 
 Now shaves with level wing the deep, I then soars 
 Up to the fiery concave I towering high. | 
 
 As when far off ai sea a fleei descried | 
 
 Hangs in the clouds, I by equinoctial winds j 
 
 Close sailing from Bengala, I or the isles 
 
 Of Ternaie and Tidore, | whence merchants bring 
 
 Their spicy drugs ; I they, on the trading flood, | 
 
 Through the wide Ethiopian to the Cape, I 
 
 Ply, | stemming nightly toward the pole : | so seemW 
 
 Far off the flying fiend. I 
 
356 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 At last appear 
 Hell bounds, I high, reaching to the horrid roof, | 
 And thrice three fold the gates : | three folds were 
 
 brass, I 
 Three iron, I three of adamantine rocA: 
 Impenetrable, I impaled with circling fire, | 
 Yet unconsum'd. I Before the gates | there sa/, 
 On either side. | a formidable shape; I 
 The one seem'd woman to the wais£, and fair; | 
 Bu^ ended foul in many a scaly fold \ 
 Voluminous and vas£, ! a serpent, arm'd 
 With mort.r/1 sting; i about Iter middle round | 
 A cry of hell-hounds, never ceasing, bark'd | 
 With wide Cerberean mouths ! full loud, and rung 
 A hideous peal ! | 
 
 Far less abhorr'd than these | 
 Vex'd Scylla, a | bathing in the sea j that parts 
 Calabria 13 j from the hoarse Trinacrian c shore ; I 
 Nor uglier follow the night ha^-, j when, call'd 
 In secret, I riding through the air, she comes, | 
 Lured with the smell of infant blood, | to dance 
 With Lapland witches, I while the laboring moon | 
 Eclipses at their charms. | 
 
 The other shape, | 
 If shape it mighJ be call'd | thaZ shape had none | 
 Distinguishable in member, join£, or limb; | 
 Or substance migh? be call'd I that shadow seem'd; j 
 For each seem'd either; I blac& it stood as night, 1 
 Fierce as ten furies, I terrible as Hell, | 
 And shoo& a dreadful dart ; 1 what seem'd his head 1 
 The likeness of a kingly crown had on. 1 
 
 a Scylla, a fabled monster, of whom mention is made in the 
 Odyssey. She is said to have twelve feet, and six long necks, with 
 terrnic head, and three rows of close-set teeth, on each. 
 b Calabria, the part of Italy occupied by the ancient Calabri. 
 " Trinacriv, one of the ancient names of Sicily. 
 
 a 
 b 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 357 
 
 Satan was now at hand ; I and from his seat 
 The monster, moving, I onward came as fasi, | 
 With horrid strides ; \ Hell trembled as he strode. I 
 The undaunted fiend | whai this mighi be admired, | 
 Admired, | noi fear'd : I God and his Son excepi I 
 Created thing I naught valued he, | nor shunn'd ; j 
 And with disdainful look I thus first began : I 
 
 o 
 
 " Whence and whai ari thou, | execrable shape ! | 
 Thai dar'si, j though grim and terrible, | advance 
 Thy miscreated froni ) athwart my way 
 To yonder gates ? j through them I mean to pass, | 
 Thai be assured, I withoui leave ask'd of thee, j 
 Retire, I or taste thy folly ; j and learn by proof, | 
 Hell-born ! | not to contend with spirits of Heaven !" | 
 
 To whom the goblin, full of wrath, replied, | 
 " Art thou thai traitor angel, I ari thou he 
 Who firsi broke peace in heaven, I and faith, | till then 
 Unbroken, I and in proud rebellious arms | 
 Brew after him the third pari of Heaven's sons, | 
 Conjured againsi the Highesi, | for which both thou 
 And they, I ouicasi from God, I are here condemn'd | 
 To wasie eternal days in woe and pain 1 \ 
 
 And reckonesi thou thyself with spirits of Heaven, | 
 Hell-doom'd / | and breath'si defiance here and scorn, 
 Where I reign king, I and, to enrage thee more, | 
 Thy king, and lord ? | Bac/c to thy punishmeni, | 
 False fugitive ! I and to thy speed add wings, | 
 Lesi w T ith a whip of scorpions | I pursue 
 Thy lingering, I or with one stro/ce of this dari ! 
 Strange horror seize thee, ' and pangs unfeli before.'' | 
 
 So spake the grisly terror, ! and in shape, I 
 So speaking and so threat'ning, ! grew tenfold 
 More dreadful and deform. I On the other side, S 
 Incens'd with indignation, | Satan stood 
 Unterrified, \ and like a comei burn'd, i 
 
358 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Thai fires the length of Ophiucus n huge i 
 In the arctic sky, i and from Ais horrid hair 1 
 Shakes pestilence and war. | 
 
 Each at the head | 
 LevelPd his deadly aim ; | their fatal hands | 
 No second strode intend ; | and such a frown 
 Each cast at the other, ! as when two black clouds \ 
 With heaven's artillery fraught, [ come rattling on 
 Over the Caspian, I then stand froni to fronZ | 
 Hovering a space, | till winds the signal blow | 
 To join their dark encounter in mid air : | 
 
 So iYown'd the mighty combatants, I that hell 
 
 Grew darker at their frown ; I so match'd they stood; 
 
 For never but once more | was either like 
 
 To meet so great a foe. | And now greaZ deeds 
 
 H?td been achiev'd, | whereof b all Hell had rung, | 
 
 Had not the snaky sorceress | that sat 
 
 Fast by Hell-gate, I and kepi the fatal key, | 
 
 Risen, | and with hideous outcry rush'd between. | 
 
 WOMAN. 
 (CAMPBELL.) 
 
 In joyous youth, what soul hath never known I 
 Though?, feeling, taste, harmonious to its own 1 \ 
 Who hath not paused while Beauty's pensive eye 
 Ask'd from his heart the homage of a sigh? 1 
 Who hath not own'd, with rapture-smitten frame, 
 The power of grace, | the magic of a name 1 \ 
 
 There be, perhaps, who barren hearts avow, | 
 Cold as the rocks on Torneo's hoary brow ; | 
 There be, whose loveless wisdom never fail'd, I 
 In self-adoring pride securely mail'd ; — I 
 
 Ophiucus, a constellation. b WMr-of. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 359 
 
 But, triumph no?, ye peace-enamour'd few ! j 
 Fire, Nature, Genius, never dwelt with you ! ] 
 For you no fancy consecrates the scene I 
 Where rapture utter'd vows, ant? wep? between : 
 *T is yours, unmoved, to sever and to mee? ; | 
 No pledge is sacred, | and no home is sweet ! \ 
 
 Who that would ask a hear? to illness wee?, I 
 The waveless calm, | the slumber of the dead ? i 
 No ; I the wild bliss of nature needs alloy, | 
 And fear and sorrow fan the fire of joy ! | 
 And say, without our hopes, without our fears, | 
 Without the home tha? plighted love endears, | 
 Without the smile from partial beauty won, I 
 O ! what were man ? — | a world without a sun » i 
 
 Till Hymen brought /*is love-delighted hour, | 
 
 There dwel? no joy in Eden's rosy bower ! I 
 
 In vain the viewless seraph lingering there, I 
 
 At starry midnigh? charm'd the silen? air; | 
 
 In vain the wild-bird carol'd on the steep, | 
 
 To hail the sun, slow-wheeling from the deep ; I 
 
 In vain, to soothe the solitary shade, I 
 
 Aerial notes in mingling measure play'd ; | 
 
 The summer wind tha? shoo& the spangled tree, I 
 
 The whispering wave, the murmur of the bee ; — i 
 
 Still slowly pass'd the melancholy day, | 
 
 And still the stranger wis? not where to stray : | 
 
 The world was sad! | the garden was a wild/ | 
 
 And man, the hermi?, sigh'd — | till woman smil'd / 1 
 
 SINCERITY. 
 
 (tillotson.) 
 
 Truth and sincerity | have all the advantages of ap 
 pearance, and many more. | If the show of any thing 
 be good, | I am sure the reality is better ; | for why 
 
3G0 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 does any man dissemble,* | or seem to be that which 
 he is not, — | but because he thinks it good | to have 
 the qualities he pretends to 1 I Now the best way for 
 a man to seem to be any thing, J is to be in reality 
 what he would seem to be : I besides, — ] it is often as 
 troublesome to support the pretence of a good quality, J 
 as to have it: | and, if a man have it not, \ it is most 
 likely he will be discovered to want it ; I and, then, all 
 his labor to seem to have it, is \ost. | There is some- 
 thing unnatural in painting, | which a skilful eye | will 
 easily discern 6 from native beauty and complexion. | 
 
 Therefore, if any man think it convenient to seem 
 good, | let him be so indeed ; i and then his goodness 
 will appear to every one's satisfaction. ) Particularly, 
 as to the affairs of this world, i integrity hath many 
 advantages I over all the artificial modes of dissimula- 
 tion and deceit. | It is much the plainer and easier, — | 
 much the safer, and more secure way of dealing in the 
 world; | it has less of trouble and difficulty, | of entan- 
 glement and perplexity, | of danger and hazard in it. | 
 
 The arts of deceit and cunning I continually grow 
 weaker, and less serviceable I to those that practise 
 them ; I whereas integrity gains strength by use ; | and 
 the more and longer any man practiseth it I the greater 
 service it does ^im; I by confirming his reputation,! 
 and encouraging those with whom he hath to do, | te 
 repose the greatest confidence in him ; I which is an 
 unspeakable advantage in business | and the affairs of 
 life. | 
 
 But insincerity is very troublesome to manage. I A 
 hypocrite hath so many things to attend to, | as make 
 his life a very perplexed and intricate thing. | A liar 
 hath need of a good memory, I lest he contradict at one 
 time, I wha£ he said at another; | but truth is always 
 consistent, I and needs nothing to help it out ; I it is 
 always near at hand, I and sits upon our lips ; | whereas 
 
 •Dls-s6m'bl. b DiM£rn'. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 361 
 
 a lit? is troublesome, I and needs a great many more to 
 make it good. | 
 
 In a word, I whatsoever convenience may be thought 
 to be in falsehood and dissimulation, | it is soon over ; ( 
 bui the inconvenience of ii is perpetual ; I because ii 
 brings a man j under an everlasting jealousy and sus- 
 picion ; i so thai he is not believed when he speaks the 
 truth ; | nor trusted when, perhaps, he means honestly, j 
 When a man hath once forfeited the reputation of his 
 integrity, — I nothing will then serve his turn ; | neither 
 truth nor falsehood. | 
 
 Indeed, if a man were only to deal in the world for 
 a day, | and should never have occasion to converse 
 more with mankind, I it were then no great matter | (as 
 far as respecis the affairs of this world) | if he spent 
 his reputation all at once ; | or ventured it at one 
 throw. | Bui if he be to continue in the world, | and 
 would have the advantage of reputation whilst he is 
 in ii, I let him make use of truth and sincerity | in all 
 his words and actions ; | for nothing but this will hold 
 out to the end. | All other arts may fail-; I but truth 
 and integrity | will carry a man through, | and bear 
 Aim out to the lasi. I 
 
 THE UNION OF THE STATES. 
 
 (WEBSTER,) 
 
 From an Address delivered at Washington City, on the Centennial Anniversarj 
 of the Birth of Washington. 
 
 There was in the breasi of Washington I one senti 
 ment deeply feli, | so constantly uppermost, | thai no 
 proper occasion I escaped withoui its utterance.—; 
 From the letter which he signed in behalf of the con- 
 vention, | when the constitution was seni oui to the 
 people, j to the momeni when he put his hand to thai 
 last paper, I in which he addressed his countrymen, t 
 the union was the greai objeci of his thoughts. | 
 
 In thai flrsi letter, | he tells them thai to him, j and 
 
362 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 his brethren of the convention, | union is the greatest 
 interest of every true American ; | and in that las* 
 paper j he conjures them to regard that unity of go- 
 vernment, I which constitutes them one people, j as the 
 very palladium a of their prosperity and safety, | and 
 the security of liberty itself, i He regarded the union 
 of these states, ; not so much one of our blessings, \ as 
 the great treasure-house which contained them all. | 
 
 Here, in his judgment, j was the great magazine of 
 all our means of prosperity ; I here, as he thought, j and 
 as every true American still thinks, I are deposited all 
 our animating prospec/s, | all our solid hopes for future 
 greatness. | He has taught us to maintain this govern- 
 ment, | not by seeking to enlarge its powers on the one 
 hand, | nor by surrendering them on the other ; hut by 
 an administration of them, J at once firm and moder- 
 ate, | adapted for objects truly national, | and carried 
 on in a spirit of justice and equity. | 
 
 The extreme solicitude for the preservation of the 
 union, 1 at all times manifested by /am, I shows not only 
 the opinion he entertained of its usefulness, | hut his 
 clear perception of those causes | which were likely to 
 spring up to endanger it, | and which, | if once they 
 should overthrow the present system, ! would leave 
 little hope of any future beneficial reunion. | 
 
 Of all the presumptions indulged by presumptuous 
 man, | that is one of the rashes^, I which looks for re- 
 peated and favourable opportunities, j for the deliberate 
 establishment of a united government, | over distinct 
 and widely extended communities, i Such a thing ha«* 
 happened once in human affairs, | and but once : j the 
 event stands out, as a prominent exception to all ordi- 
 nary history ; | and, unless we suppose ourselves run- 
 ning into an age of miracles, | we may not expect its 
 repetition. | 
 
 a Pal-li'-de-um, [Lat.] a statue of Pallas, pretended to be the 
 guardian of Troy ; thence any security or protection. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 863 
 
 Washington, therefore, I could regard, I and did re- 
 gard, j nothing as of paramount political interest, | hut 
 the integrity of the union itself. | With a united go- 
 vernment, | well administered, | he saw we had nothing 
 to fear ; | and without it, j nothing to hope. | The 
 sentiment is just, \ and its momentous truth should 
 solemnly impress the whole country. | 
 
 If we mighi regard our country I as personated in 
 the spirit of Washington ; I if we mighi consider Aim 
 as representing her, | in her past renown, | her present 
 prosperity, j and her future career, I and as in that cha- 
 racter demanding of us all, I to account for our con- 
 duct, as political men, I or as private citizens, | how 
 should he answer him, I who has ventured to talk of 
 disunion and dismemberment ? b J Or, how should he 
 answer him, | who dwells perpetually on local inter- 
 ests, | and fans every kindling flame of local prejudice ? J 
 How should he answer him, I who would array state 
 against state, I interest against interest, | and party 
 against party, | careless of the continuance of that 
 unity of government \ which constitutes us one people? \ 
 
 Gentlemen, | the political prosperity which this coun- 
 try has attained, I and which it now enjoys, | it has ac- 
 quirer/ mainly through the instrumentality of the pre- 
 sent government | While this agent continues, ] the 
 capacity of attaining to still higher degrees of pros- 
 perity I exists also. I We have, while this lasts, \ a 
 political life, capable of beneficial exertion, | with 
 power to resist or overcome misfortunes, | to sustain us 
 against the ordinary accidents of human affairs, | and 
 to promote, by active efforts, | every public interest | 
 
 Bui dismemberment I strikes at the very being which 
 preserves these faculties ; , it would lay its rude and 
 ruthless hand | on this great agent itself. I It would 
 sweep away, not only what we possess, I hut all power 
 of regaining lost, | or acquiring new possessions. I It 
 
 b D2i-m2 m'b&r- m&nt. ° P6i-4&sh'&ni. 
 
364 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 would leave the country, I not only bereft of its pros- 
 perity and happiness, | but without limbs, or organs, or 
 faculties, I by which to exert itself, hereafter, | in the 
 pursuit of that prosperity and happiness, j 
 
 Other misfortunes may be borne, | or their effects 
 overcome. | If disastrous war sweep our commerce 
 from the ocean, I another generation may renew it ; | if 
 it exhaust our treasury, j future industry may replenish 
 it ; | if it desola/e and Jay waste our fields, | still, under 
 a new cultivation, \ they will grow green again, I and 
 ripen to future harvests. I It were hut a trifle, j even 
 if the walls of yonder Capitol were to crumble, I if its 
 lofty pillars should fall, | and its gorgeous decorations 
 be all covered by the dust of the valley. | 
 
 All these mightf be rebuild. I But who shall recon- 
 struct the fabric of demolished government I Who 
 shall rear again I the well proportioned columns' 1 of 
 constitutional liberty? I Who shall frame together the 
 skilful architecture I which unites national sovereignty | 
 with state rights, | individual security, and public pros- 
 perity ? | 
 
 No, gentlemen, I if these columns fall, ) they will be 
 raised not again. I Li&e the Colise'um b and the Par- 
 thenon, | they will be destined to a mournful, ! a melan- 
 choly immortality. I Bitterer tears, however, will flow 
 over them, ! than were ever shed over the monuments 
 of Roman or Grecian art ; \ for they will be the rem- 
 nants of a more glorious edifice I than Greece or Rome 
 ever saw — | the edifice of constitutional American 
 liberty. I 
 
 Bu£, gentlemen, | let us hope for better things. | Let 
 us trust in that Gracious Being, I w 7 ho has hitherto held 
 our country I as in the holl jw of his hand. | Let us 
 trust to the virtue and the intelligence of the people, | 
 
 *K6I']am£. L Colise'um, an amphitheatre at Rome, in which 
 the people assembled to witness the combats of gladiators and wild 
 beasts. It is said to be capable of containing 60,000 spectators. 
 e Parthenon, 3 celebrated temple at Athens, sacred to Minerva. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 3G5 
 
 and to the efficacy of religious obligation. I Let us 
 trus* to the influence of Washington's example. \ Let 
 us hope that tha* fear of Heaven, I which expels all 
 other fear, I and that regard to duty, i which transcends 
 all other regard, I may influence public men and pri- 
 vate citizens,! and lead our country still onward in Aer 
 happy career. | 
 
 Full of these gratifying anticipations and hopes, I \et 
 us look forward to the end of that century I which is 
 now commenced. | A hundred years hence, I other dis- 
 ciples of Washington | will celebrate his birth, | with 
 no less of sincere admiration I than we now commemo- 
 rate it. I When they shall meet, | as we now meet, j to 
 do themselves and him that honor, | so surely as they 
 shall see the blue summits of his native mountains , 
 rise in the horizon; I so surely as they shall behold the 
 river | on whose banks he lived, j and on whose banks 
 ^e res^s, | still flowing to the sea; I so surely may they 
 see, I as we now see, 1 the flag of the union floating on 
 the top of the Capitol ; I and then, as now, | may the 
 sun in his course I visit no land more free, I more happy, | 
 more lovely, | than this our own country. | 
 
 RECEPTION OF COLUMBUS ON HIS RETURN TO SPAIN. 
 (WASHINGTON IRVING.) 
 
 The fame of his discovery | had resounded through- 
 out the nation, I and as //is route I lay through several 
 of the finest I and most populous provinces of Spain, j 
 his journey appeared like the progress of a sovereign. 
 Wherever he passed, I the surrounding country poured 
 forth its inhabitants, I who lined the road and thronged 
 the villages. I In the large towns, I the streets, win- 
 dows, and balconies, | were filled with eager specta- 
 tors, I who rent the air with acclamations. I 
 
 His journey was continually impeded I by the multi- 
 tude I pressing to gain a sigh* of him, I and of the In- 
 dians, I who were regarded with as much admiration • 
 24 
 
3G6 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 as if they had been natives of another plane*. | It was 
 impossible to satisfy the craving curiosity which as- 
 sailed /nmseif ana //is attendants, j at every stage, \ 
 with innumerable questions: j popular rumor, as usual, | 
 had exaggerated the truth, and had fillet/ the newly- 
 found country with all kinds of wonders. | 
 
 It was abou* the middle of April, j that Columbus 
 arrived at Barcelona, I where every preparation had 
 been made I to give him. a solemn and magnificent re- 
 ception. | The beauty and serenity of the weather, | 
 in that genial season and favoured climate, I contributed 
 to give splendor to this memorable ceremony. | As 
 he drew near the place, | many of the more youthful 
 courtiers, I and hidal'gos a of gallant bearing, I together 
 with a vasi concourse of the populace, | came forth to 
 mee* and welcome Aim. I 
 
 His entrance into this noble city ! has been compared 
 to one of those triumphs, I which the Romans were ac- 
 customed to decree to conquerors. I First were para- 
 ded the Indians, I painted according to their savage 
 fashion, | and decorated with tropical feathers, I and 
 with their national ornaments of gold ; | after these 
 were borne various kinds of live parrots, | together 
 with stuffed birds and animals of unknown species, | 
 and rare plants, supposed to be of precious qualities : j 
 while great care was taken to ma/ce a conspicuous dis- 
 play of Indian coronets, i bracelets, I and other decora- 
 tions of gold, | which migfa give an idea of the wealth 
 of the newly-discovered regions. | After these follow- 
 ed Columbus, on horseback, I surrounded by a brilliant 
 cavalcade of Spanish chivalry. | 
 
 The streets were almost impassable from the count- 
 less multitude; I the windows and balconies were 
 crowded with the fair; I the very roofs were covered 
 with spectators. | It seemed, as if the public eye could 
 not be sated | with gazing on these trophies of an un« 
 
 ■ Hidal'go, (Spanish) a noble man or woman. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 367 
 
 known world, | or on the remarkable man by whom it 
 had been discovered. \ There was a sublimity in this 
 event, | thai mingled a solemn feeling with the public 
 joy. | It was looked upon as a vast and signal dispen- 
 sation of Providence, I in reward for the piety of the 
 monarchs ; | and the majestic and venerable appearance 
 of the discoverer, I so different from the youth and 
 buoyancy a | thai are generally expected from roving 
 enterprise, I seemed in harmony with the grandeur and 
 dignity of his achievement I 
 
 To receive Aim with suitable pomjo and distinction, | 
 the sovereigns had ordered their throne to be placed 
 in public, | under a rich canopy of brocade 13 of gold, ) 
 in a vast and splendid saloon. | Here the king and 
 queen awaited Ais arrival, | seated in state with the 
 prince Juan beside them, I and attended by the digni- 
 taries of their couri, j and the principal nobility of 
 Castile, | Valentia, | Catalonia, I and Arragon, I all im- 
 patient to behold the man, I who had conferred so in- 
 calculable a benefit upon the nation. | 
 
 At length Columbus entered the hall, I surrounded 
 by a brilliant crowd of cavaliers, I among whom, says 
 Las Casas, | he was conspicuous for his stately and 
 commanding person, | which, with Ais countenance 
 rendered venerable by his gray hairs, I gave Aim the 
 augusZ appearance of a senator of Rome. | A modest 
 smile lighted up Ais features, | showing that he enjoyed 
 the state and glory in which he came ; | and certainly 
 nothing could be more deeply moving, | to a mind in- 
 flamed by noble ambition, | and conscious of having 
 greatly deserved, | than were these testimonials | of the 
 admiration and gratitude of a nation, | or rather of a 
 world. | 
 
 As Columbus approached, | the sovereigns rose, | as 
 if receiving a person of the highest rank. J Bending 
 /lis knees, | he requested to kiss their hands ; | but there 
 
 * Bbb'in-sL b Br6-ldd\ 
 
368 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 was some hesitation on the part of their majesties | to 
 permit this act of vassalage. | Raising him in the 
 mosi gracious manner, | they ordered him to seai Aim- 
 self in their presence ; | a rare honor in this proud 
 and punctilious court. | 
 
 At the request of their majesties, | Columbus now 
 gave an account of the mosi striking events of his voy- 
 age, | and a description of the islands which he had 
 discovered. I He displayed the specimens he had 
 brought | of unknown birds and other animals ; I of rare 
 plants, of medicinal and aromatic virtue ; I of native 
 gold, | in dusi, | in crude masses, | or labored into bar- 
 baric ornaments ; I and, above all, I the natives of these 
 countries, | who were objects of intense and inexhaust- 
 ible interest ; I since there is nothing to man I so curi- 
 ous as the varieties of his own species. I All these he 
 pronounced mere harbingers of greater discoveries I he 
 had yei to make, I which would add realms of incalcu- 
 lable wealth to the dominions of their majesties, | and 
 whole nations of proselytes to the true faith. | 
 
 The words of Columbus I were listened to with pro- 
 found emotion by the sovereigns. | When he had 
 finished, I they sunk on their knees, I and raising their 
 clasped hands to heaven, I their eyes filled with tears 
 of joy and gratitude, I they poured forth thanks and 
 praises to God for so greai a providence ; | all present 
 followed their example ; ! a deep and solemn enthusiasm 
 pervaded thai splendid assembly, | and prevented all 
 common acclamations of triumph. I 
 
 The anthem of Te Deum laudamus , a 1 chanted by 
 the choir of the royal chapel, ) with the melodious ac- 
 companiments of the instruments, | rose up from the 
 midsi, | in a full body of sacred harmony, I bearing up, 
 as it were, j the feelings and thoughts of the auditors 
 to heaven, | ' so thai,' says the venerable Las Casas, i 
 1 it seemed as if in thai hour they communicated with 
 
 a We praise thee, God. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 369 
 
 celestial delights.' j Such was the solemn and pious 
 manner | in which the brilliant court of Spain, I ceSe- 
 Drated this sublime even£; | offering up a grateful tri- 
 bute of melody and praise ; | and giving glory to God 
 for the discovery of another world. | 
 
 When Columbus retiree/ from the royal presence, | 
 he was attended to /lis residence by all the court, j and 
 followed by the shouting populace. | For many days 
 he was the object of universal curiosity, j and wherever 
 he appeared, j he was surrounded by an admiring mul- 
 titude. I 
 
 ADAMS AND JEFFERSON. 
 (WIRT.) 
 
 In the structure of their characters ; | in the course 
 of their action ; I in the striking coincidences which 
 marked their high career ; | in the lives and in the 
 deaths of these illustrious men, | and in tha£ voice of 
 admiration and gratitude | which has since burs£, with 
 one accord, | from the twelve millions of freemen who 
 people these states, | there is a moral sublimity which 
 overwhelms the mind, | and hushes all its powers into 
 silent amazement | 
 
 The European, who should have heard the sound | 
 without apprehending the cause, I would be ap£ to in- 
 quire, — | 'Wha£ is the meaning of all this ?| what 
 have these men done | to elicit this unanimous and 
 splendid acclamation? | Why has the whole Ameri- 
 can nation risen up, as one man, 1 to do them honor, | 
 and offer to them this enthusiastic homage of the 
 heart ? | Were they mighty warriors, I and was the 
 peal tha£ we have heard, the shou£ of victory ? | 
 
 Were they grea£ commanders, I returning from their 
 distant conquests, | surrounded with the spoils of war, i 
 and was this the sound of their triumphal procession ? | 
 Were they covered with martial glory in any form, j 
 and was this ' the noisy wave of the multitude, i roiling 
 30 * z 
 
370 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 back at their approach?' | Nothing of all this: | No; I 
 they were peaceful and aged patriots, | who, having 
 served their country together, | through their long and 
 useful lives, | had now sunA: together to the tomb. ] 
 
 They had not fought battles ; ] but they had formed 
 and moved the great machinery, | of which battles 
 were only a small, I and, comparatively, trivial conse- 
 quence. | They had not commanded armies ; j but 
 they had commanded the master springs of the nation, | 
 on which all its great political, as well as military 
 movements, depended. I By the wisdom and energy 
 of their counsels, i and by the potent mastery of their 
 spirits, | they had contributed preeminently to produce 
 a mighty revolution, | which has changed the aspect 
 of the world. | 
 
 A revolution which, in one-half of tha* world, | has 
 already restored man to his < long lost liberty ;' I and 
 government to its only legitimate object, | the happi- 
 ness of the people : | and, on the other hemisphere, | 
 has thrown a Wght so strong, | that even the darkness 
 of despotism is beginning to recede. | 
 
 Compared with the solid glory of an achievement 
 like this, | whaZ are battles, I and what the pomp of 
 war, | but the poor and fleeting pageants of a theatre ? j 
 WhaZ were the selfish and petty strides of Alexander, | 
 to conquer a little section of a savage world, | com- 
 pared with this generous, this magnificent advance | 
 towards the emancipation of the entire world / I 
 
 And this, be it remembered, 1 has been the frui* of 
 intellectual exertion ! i the triumph of mind/ | Whatf 
 a proud testimony I does it bear to the character of our 
 nation, I that it is able to make a proper estimate 1 of 
 services like these ! That while, in other countries, J 
 the senseless mob fall down in stupid admiration, | be- 
 fore the bloody wheels of the conqueror — I even of 
 the conqueror by accident — j in this, our people rise, 
 with one accord, 1 to pay their homage to intellect and 
 virtue ! 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 371 
 
 WhaJ a cheering pledge does it give I of the stability 
 of our institutions, I that while abroad, I the yet be- 
 nighted multitude I are prostrating themselves before 
 the idols, | which their own hands have fashioned into 
 kings, | here, in this land of the free, I our people are 
 everywhere starting up, with one impulse, I to follow 
 with their acclamations | the ascending spirits of the 
 great fathers of the republic / | 
 
 This is a spectacle | of which we may be permitted 
 to be proud. | It honors our country no less than the 
 illustrious dead. I And could these great patriots 
 spea& to us from the tomb, | they would tell us that 
 they have more pleasure in the testimony, | which 
 these honours bear to the character of their country, | 
 than in thaZ, which they bear to their individual ser- 
 vices. | 
 
 They now see as they were seen, while in the body, 1 
 and know the nature of the feeling from which these 
 honors flow. I It is love for love. | It is the grati- 
 tude of an enlightened nation | to the noblest order of 
 benefactors. I It is the only glory worth the aspira- 
 tion of a generous spirit | Who would not prefer this 
 living tomb in the hearts of Ais countrymen, I to the 
 proudest mausoleum that the genius of sculpture could 
 erecZ / 1 
 
 Jefferson and Adams were great men by nature. | 
 No£ great and eccentric minds, | 'shot madly from 
 their spheres,' | to affright the world and scatter pesti- 
 lence in their course, | but minds whose strong and 
 steady lights, I restrained within their proper orbits | 
 by the happy poise of their characters, I came to cheer 
 and gladden a world | that had been buried for ages in 
 political mght. | 
 
 They were heaven-called avengers of degraded man. | 
 They came to lift him to" the station for which God had 
 formed 7am, | and to put to flight those idiot supersti- 
 tions, | with which tyrants had contrived to inthral his 
 reason and his liberty. | And that Being, who had 
 
372 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 sen* them upon this mission, ' had fitted them, pre- 
 eminently, for Ais glorious vvorA. I He filled their 
 hearts with a love of country i which burned strong 
 within them, even in death. | He gave them a power 
 of understanding i which no sophistry could baffle, ! no 
 art elude ; ; and a moral heroism which no dangers 
 could appal. ) 
 
 Careless of themselves, 1 reckless of all personal con- 
 sequences, trampling under foot thai petty ambition 
 of office and honor, | which constitutes the master- 
 passion of little minds, I they ben* all their mighty 
 powers | to the task for which they had been dele- 
 gated — | the freedom of their beloved country, | and 
 the restoration of fallen man. I They fel* that they 
 were apostles of human liberty; I and well did they 
 fulfil their high commission. I They rested not till 
 they had accomplished their work at home, ! and given 
 such an impulse to the grea* ocean of mind, \ that they 
 saw the w r aves rolling on the farthes* shore, j before 
 they were called to their reward. | And then left the 
 w r orld, hand in hand, I exulting, as they rose, in the 
 success of their labors, I 
 
 AN ADDRESS TO A YOUNG STUDENT. 
 
 (KNOX.) 
 
 Your parents have w r atched over your helpless in- 
 fancy, | and conducted you, w T ith many a pang, I to an 
 age a* which your mind is capable of manly improve- 
 ment. | Their solicitude still continues, | and no trou- 
 ble nor expense is spared, | in giving you all the in- 
 structions and accomplishments j which may enable 
 you to ac* your par* in life, | as a man of polished 
 sense and confirmed virtue. I 
 
 You have, then, | already contracted a great deb* of 
 gratitude to them. I You can pay it by no other 
 method, I bu* by using properly I the advantages which 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 373 
 
 their goodness has afforded you. | If your own en- 
 deavors are deficient, | it is in vain ihat you have 
 tutors, | books, I ana? all the external apparatus of lite- 
 rary pursuits. | You must love learning, | if you would 
 possess it. | In order to love it, | you must feel its 
 delights ; j in order to feel its delights, I you must apply 
 to it, | however irksome at firs£, | closely, constantly, 
 and for a considerable time. I 
 
 If you have resolution enough to do this, I you can- 
 noZ but love learning ; I for the mind always loves tha£ j 
 to which it has been so long, | steadily, I and voluntarily 
 attached. | Habits are formed, | which render what 
 was at first disagreeable, j not only pleasant, hut neces- 
 sary. | Pleasant indeed, | are all the paths which lead 
 to polite and elegant literature. I Yours then is surely 
 a lot particularly happy. I Your education is of such 
 a sort, | that its principal scope I is to prepare you to 
 receive a refined pleasure during your life. | 
 
 Elegance, or delicacy of taste, | is one of the first 
 objects of classical discipline ; | and it is this fine qual- 
 ity | which opens a new world to the scholar's view. | 
 Elegance of taste | has a connexion with many virtues, | 
 and all of them virtues of the most amiable kind. I It 
 tends to render you at once good and agreeable ; | you 
 must therefore be an enemy to your own enjoyment, | 
 if you enter on the discipline ) which leads to the at- 
 tainment of a classical and liberal education, | with 
 reluctance. | Value duly the opportunities you enjoy, | 
 and which are denied to thousands of your fellow-crea- 
 tures. | 
 
 By laying in a store of useful knowledge, | adorning 
 your mind with elegant literature, | improving and 
 establishing your conduct by virtuous principles, | you 
 cannot fail of being a comfort to those friends who 
 have supported you, | of being happy within yourself, ' 
 and of being well received by mankind. | Honor 
 and success in life will probably attend you. J Under 
 all circumstances | you will have an eternal source of 
 
374 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 consolation and entertainment I of which no sublunary 
 vicissitude can deprive you. I 
 
 Time will show how much wiser has been your 
 choice | than tha£ of your idle companions, i who would 
 gladly have drawn you into their association, | or 
 rather into their conspiracy, I as it has been called, | 
 against good manners, | ana 7 against all that is honor- 
 able and useful. I While you appear in society | as a 
 respectable ana 7 valuable member of \t, \ they will, per- 
 haps, i have sacrificed at the shrine of vanity, I pride, 
 ana 7 extravagance, I and false pleasure, | their health 
 ana 7 their sense, | their fortune ana 7 their characters. J 
 
 ACCOUNT CURRENT. 
 
 (anonymous.) 
 
 Woman, Dr. 
 
 Oh, the woe that woman brings ! I 
 Source of sorrow, grief ana 7 pain ! | 
 
 All our evils have their springs, | 
 In the firs£ of female train. | 
 
 Eve by eating led poor Adam | 
 
 Out of Eden, and astray ; | 
 Look for sorrow still where Madam, | 
 
 Pert ana 7 proud, directs the way. | 
 
 Courtship is a slavish pleasure, | 
 Soothing a coquettish train; I 
 
 Wedded — what the mighty treasure?! 
 Doom'd to drag a golden chain. | 
 
 Noisy clac& and constant brawling, I 
 Discord and domestic strife ; | 
 
 Empty cupboard, I children bawling, / 
 Scolding woman made a wife. | 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 315 
 
 Gaudy dress and haughty carriage, j 
 Love's fond balance fled and gone ; | 
 
 These, the bitter fruits of marriage ! j 
 He that 's wise will live alone ! | 
 
 Contra, Cr. 
 Oh ! wha£ joys from woman spring, ] 
 
 Source of bliss and purest peace, | 
 Eden could not comfort bring, I 
 
 Till fair woman show'd her face. I 
 
 When she came, | good honesZ Adam I 
 Clasp'd the gift with open arms, | 
 
 He left Eden for his madam, | 
 
 So our parent prized ^er charms. | 
 
 Courtship thrills the soul with pleasure ; | 
 Virtue's blush on beauty's chee& ; | 
 
 Happy prelude to a treasure I 
 
 Kings have left their crowns to seek ! | 
 
 Lovely looks and constant courting, | 
 
 Sweet'ning all the toils of life ; | 
 Cheerful children, harmless sporting, I 
 
 Lovely woman made a wife ! j 
 
 Modest dress and gentle carriage, | 
 
 Love triumphant on his throne ; | 
 These the blissful fruits of marriage — ) 
 
 None hut fools would live alone. 1 
 
 SCHEMES OP LIFE OFTEN ILLUSORY. 
 
 (DR. JOHNSON.) 
 
 Omar, the son of Hassan, | had passed seventy-five 
 years in honor and prosperity. | The favor of three 
 successive califs a | had filled his house with gold and 
 
 a Ka'llf, a title assumed by the successors of Mahomet among the 
 Saracens 
 
316 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 silver ; ] and whenever he appeared, | the benedictions 
 of the people proclaimed his passage. | 
 
 Terrestrial happiness is of short continuance. | 
 The brightness of the flame is wasting its fuel; | the 
 fragrant flower is passing away in its own odors. i 
 The vigor of Omar began to fail ; | the curls of beauty 
 fell from his head ; | strength departed from his lianas ; ! 
 and agility from his feet. | He gave back to the calif 
 the keys of trusf, I and the seals of secresy : | and 
 sought no other pleasure for the remains of life, I than 
 the converse of the wise, | and the gratitude of the 
 good. | 
 
 The powers of his mind were yet unimpaired. | 
 His chamber was filled by visitants, | eager to catch 
 the dictates of experience, I and officious to pay the 
 tribute of admiration. I Caled, the son of the viceroy 
 of Egyp£, | entered every day early, and retired late. | 
 He was beautiful and eloquent ; | Omar admired fas 
 wit, | and loved his docility. | " Tell me," said Caled, | 
 " thou to whose voice nations have listened, I and whose 
 wisdom is known to the extremities of Asia, | tell me 
 how I may resemble Omar the prudent I The arts by 
 which thou hast gained power and preserved it, I are 
 to thee no longer necessary or useful ; | impart to me 
 the secret of thy conduct, I and teach me the plan I 
 upon which thy wisdom has builz thy fortune." | 
 
 " Young man," said Omar, I " it is of little use to 
 form plans of life. | When I took my first survey 
 of the world, | in my twentieth year, | having consider- 
 ed the various conditions of mankind, | in the hour of 
 solitude I said thus to myself, | leaning against a cedar, 
 which spread its branches over my head, I " Seventy 
 years are allowed to man ; 1 1 have jet fifty remain- 
 ing. | 
 
 " Ten years I will allot to the attainment of 
 knowledge, I and ten I will pass in foreign countries ; | 
 I shall be learned, I and therefore shall be honored ; 
 every city will shoul at my arrival, | and every stu- 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 377 
 
 dent will solicit my friendship. | Twenty years thus 
 passed, | will store my mind with images, | which 1 
 shall be busy, through the rest of my life, I in combin- 
 ing and comparing. | I shall revel in inexhaustible 
 accumulations of intellectual riches ; I I shall find new 
 pleasures for every moment ; | and shall never more be 
 weary of myself. | 
 
 " I will noi, however, | deviate too far from the 
 beaten tracA; of life; I but will try whai can be found 
 in female delicacy. | I will marry a wife beautiful as 
 the Houries, a I and wise as Zobeide : b | with her I will 
 live twenty years within the suburbs of Bagdad, | in 
 every pleasure thai wealth can purchase, and fancy 
 can invent | 
 
 " I will then retire to a rural dwelling, I pass my 
 days in obscurity and contemplation, | and lie silently 
 down on the bed of death. I Through my life it shall 
 be my settled resolution, | that I will never depend 
 upon the smile of princes ; | thai I will never stand ex- 
 posed to the artifices of courts ; i I will never pani for 
 public honors, | nor disturb my quiet with the affairs 
 of state." | Such was my scheme of life, | which I 
 impressed indelibly upon my memory. | 
 
 " The firsi pari of my ensuing time | was to be 
 speni in search of knowledge, | and I know noi how I 
 was diverted from my design. | I had no visible im- 
 pediments withoui, | nor any ungovernable passions 
 within. | I regarded knowledge as the highesi hon- 
 or, | and the mosi engaging pleasure ; I yei day stole 
 upon day, | and month glided after month, I till I found 
 thai seven years of the firsi ten had vanished, | and 
 lefi nothing behind them. | 
 
 " I now posiponed my purpose of travelling ; I for 
 why should I go abroad, | while so much remained to 
 be learned at home ? | I immured myself for four 
 
 a Ho'reJ, the girls of Mahomet's Paradise. b Z6-bi'de, wife of 
 the Calif, a fictitious character. (See Arabian Nights Entertain- 
 ments. 
 
3?8 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 years, j and studied the laws of the empire. } The 
 fame of my skill reached the judges ; I I was fount/ 
 able to spea& upon doubtful questions ; | and was com- 
 manded to stand at the footstool of the calif. | I was 
 heard with attention ; | I was consulted with confi- 
 dence ; | and the love of praise fastened on my heart. | 
 
 " I still wished to see distant countries ; | listened 
 with rapture to the relations of travellers ; | and re- 
 solved some time to as/c my dismission, | thai I mighi 
 feasz my soul with novelty : | but my presence was 
 always necessary ; 1 and the stream of business hurried 
 me along. I Sometimes I was afraid lest I should be 
 charged with ingratitude: I but I still proposed to 
 travel, I and therefore would not confine myself by 
 marriage. | 
 
 " In my fiftieth year, 1 1 began to suspect thai the 
 time of travelling was past ; j and thought it best to 
 lay hold on the felicity yet in my power, ! and indulge 
 myself in domestic pleasures. I But at fifty | no man 
 easily finds a woman j beautiful as the Houries, and 
 wise as Zobeide. | I inquired and rejected, | consult- 
 ed and deliberated, I till the sixty-second year made 
 me ashamed of wishing to marry. I I had now no- 
 thing left but retirement ; | and for retirement I never 
 found a time, | till disease forced me from public em- 
 ployment | 
 
 " Such was my scheme, I and such has been its con- 
 sequence. | With an insatiable thirsi for knowledge, | 
 I trifled away the years of improvement ; I with a rest- 
 less desire of seeing different countries, | I have always 
 resided in the same city ; I with the highest expectation 
 of connubial felicity, | I have lived unmarried ; | and 
 with unalterable resolutions of contemplative retire- 
 ment, I I am going to die within the walls of Bag- 
 da*." I 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 319 
 
 EXTRACT FROM A .SUPPOSED SPEECH OF JOHN ADAMS IN 
 
 SUPPORT OF AMERICAN INDEPENDENCE. 
 
 (DANIEL WEBSTER.) 
 
 Sink or swim, | live or die, I survive or perish, | I give 
 my hand, and my hear/, to this vote. | It is true, in- 
 deed, | thai in the beginning, I we aimed not at Inde- 
 pendence. | Bui there's a Divinity which shapes our 
 ends. | The injustice of England has driven us to 
 arms ; I and blinded to her own interest for our good, | 
 she has obstinately persisted, | till Independence is now 
 within our grasp. | We have but to reach forth to it, 
 and it is ours, j Why then should we defer the Decla- 
 ration ? | Is any man so weak | as now to hope for a 
 reconciliation with England? | Do we mean to sub- 
 mit to the measures of parliament, ) Boston pori-bill 
 and all? I I know we do not mean to submit, j We 
 never shall submit | 
 
 The war, then, must go on. | We must fight ii 
 through. | And if the war must go on, | why put off 
 longer the Declaration of Independence? I Thai mea- 
 sure will strengthen us. I It w r ill give us character 
 abroad. | The nations will then treat with us, | which 
 they never can do I while we acknowledge ourselves 
 subjects, in arms againsi our sovereign. I Nay, I main- 
 tain thai England Aerself, I will sooner treai for peace 
 with us|on the footing of Independence, I than conseni, 
 by repealing her acis, ! to acknowledge thai her whole 
 conduci towards us | has been a course of injustice and 
 oppression. | 
 
 Sir, |the Declaration will inspire the people with in- 
 creased courage. | Instead of a long and bloody war 
 for restoration of privileges, I for redress of grievances, I 
 for chartered immunities, I held under a British king, | 
 sei before them the glorious object of entire Indepen- 
 dence, I and ii will breathe into them anew the breath 
 of life. I Read this Declaration ai the head of the 
 
380 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 army : j every sword will be drawn from its scabbard, 
 and the solemn vow uttered, to maintain it, j or to 
 perish on the bed of honor. | Publish it from the pul 
 pi/ ; i religion will approve it, \ and the love of religious 
 liberty will cling round it, I resolved to stand with iz,| 
 or fall with it. \ Send it to the public halls; ! proclaim 
 it there; i let them hear iZ,|who heard the firs/ roar of 
 the enemy's cannon ; | let them see i/,jwho saw their 
 brothers and their sons [ fall on the field of Bunker 
 Hill, I and in the streets of Lexington and Concord, i 
 and the very walls will cry out in its support. | 
 
 Sir, before God,| I believe the hour is come. I My 
 judgment approves this measure, ! and my whole hear? 
 is in it. | All thaZ I have, I and all thaZ I am, I and all 
 that I hope, in this life, I I am now ready here to stake 
 upon it; \ and I leave off as I began, | thaZ live or die, | 
 survive or perish, j I am for the Declaration. I It is 
 my living sentimenZ, I and by the blessing of God | it 
 shall be my dying sentimenZ ; | Independence now ; \ 
 and Independence for ever. I 
 
 KNOWLEDGE. 
 (DE WITT CLINTON.) 
 
 Pleasure is a shadow : | wealth is vanity : | and power 
 is a pageanZ : | buZ knowledge is ecstatic in enjoy- 
 menZ — I perennial in fame, I unlimited in space, I and 
 infinite in duration. I In the performance of its sacred 
 offices, I iz fears no danger — I spares no expense — I 
 omits no exertion. | It scales the mountain — i looks 
 into the volcano — | dives into the ocean — I perforates 
 the earth — I win^s its flishz into the skies — I encir- 
 cles the glo&e — ! explores sea and land — I contem- 
 plates the distanZ — I examines the minuZe — I compre- 
 hends the greaZ — I ascends to the sublime. — I No 
 place too remoZe for its grasp — | no heavens too ex- 
 alted for its touch. | 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 881 
 
 EXTRACT FROM A SPEECH OF ROBERT EMMET, ESQ,, 
 BEFORE LORD NORBURY, ON AN ENDICTMENT FOR HIGH 
 TREASON. 
 
 What have I to s&y, why sentence of death should 
 not be pronounced on me according to law ? I have 
 nothing to say that can alter your predetermination, 
 nor that will become me to say with any view to the 
 mitigation of that sentence which you are here to pro- 
 nounce, and which I must abide by. But I have that 
 to say which interests me more than life, and which 
 you have labored (as was necessarily your office to do, 
 in the present circumstances of this oppressed country) 
 to destroy. I have much to say why my reputation 
 should be rescued from the load of false accusation 
 and calumny which has been heaped upon it. 
 
 I do not imagine, seated where you are, your minds 
 can be so free from impurity as to receive the least 
 impression from what I am going to utter. I have no 
 hopes that I can anchor my character in the breast of 
 a court constituted and trammelled as this is. I only 
 wish, and it is the utmost I expect, that your lordships 
 may suffer it to float down your memories, untainted 
 by the foul breath of prejudice, until it finds some 
 more hospitable harbor to shelter it from the storms 
 by which it is at present buffeted. Were I only to 
 suffer death, after being adjudged guilty by your 
 tribunal, I should bow in silence, and meet the fate 
 that awaits me without a murmur ; but the sentence 
 of the law, which delivers my body to the executioner, 
 will, through the ministry of that law, labor, in its 
 own vindication, to consign my character to obloquy — 
 for there must be guilt somewhere ; whether in the 
 sentence of the court, or in the catastrophe, posterity 
 must determine. 
 
 My lord, it may be a part of the system of angry 
 justice to bow a man's mind by humiliation to the pur- 
 posed ignominy of the scaffold ; but worse to me than 
 the purposed s/iarae, or the scaffold's terrors, would 
 25 
 
382 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 be the shame of such foul and unfounded imputations 
 as have been laid against me in this court. You, my 
 lord, are a judge ; I am the supposed culprit — I am a 
 man ; you are a man also. Bj r a revolution of power, 
 we might change places, though we never could change 
 characters. If I stand at the bar of this court, and 
 dare not vindicate my character, what a farce is your 
 justice ! If /stand at this bar, and dare not vindicate 
 -my character how dare you calumniate it ! Does the 
 sentence of death, which your unhallowed policy inflicts 
 upon my body, also condemn my tongue to silence, and 
 my reputation to reproach ? Your executioner may 
 abridge the period of nry existence ; but, while I exist, 
 I shall not forbear to vindicate my character and 
 motives from your aspersions ; and, as a man to whom 
 fame is dearer than life, I will make the last use of that 
 life in doing justice to that reputation which is to live 
 after me, and which is the only legacy I can leave to 
 those I honor and love, and for whom I am proud to 
 perish. As men, we must appear, on the great day, at 
 one common tribunal ; and it will then remain for the 
 Searcher of all hearts to show a collective universe, 
 who was engaged in the most virtuous actions, or 
 actuated by the purest motives — my country's op- 
 pressors, or myself. 
 
 I am charged with being an emissary of France. 
 An emissary of France ! And for what end ? It is 
 alleged that I wished to sell the independence of my 
 country ! And for what end ! Was this the object of 
 my ambition ! And is this the mode by which a tri- 
 bunal of justice reconciles contradictions? ]S T o ; lam 
 no emissary. My ambition was to hold a place among 
 the deliverers of my country — not in power, not in profit, 
 but, in the gloiy of the achievement. Sell my country's 
 independence to France ! and for what ? A change of 
 masters ? No ; but for ambition. 
 
 Oh, my country ! had it been personal ambition that 
 influenced me — had it been the soul of my actions, 
 could I not, by my education and fortune, by the rank 
 and consideration of my family, have placed myself 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 383 
 
 amongst the proudest of your oppressors ? My country 
 was my idol. To it I sacrificed every selfish, every 
 endearing sentiment ; and for it I now offer up my life. 
 No, my lord, I acted as an Irishman, determined on 
 delivering my country from the yoke of a foreign and 
 unrelenting tyranny, and from the more galling yoke 
 of a domestic faction, its joint partner and perpetrator 
 in parricide, whose rewards are the ignominy of exist- 
 ing with an exterior of splendor, and a consciousness 
 of depravity. 
 
 It was the wish of my heart to extricate my country 
 from this doubly riveted despotism. I wished to place 
 her independence beyond the reach of any power on 
 earth. I wished to exalt her to that proud station of 
 the world which Providence had destined her to fill. 
 
 I have been charged with so great importance, in the 
 efforts to emancipate my country, as to be considered 
 the key-stone of the combination of Irishmen, or, as 
 your lordship expressed it, " the life and blood of the 
 conspiracy." You do me honor overmuch— you have 
 given to the subaltern all the credit of a superior. There 
 are men engaged in this conspiracy who are not only 
 superior to me, but even to your own conceptions of 
 yourself, my lord — men before the splendor of whose 
 genius and virtues I should bow with respectful defer- 
 ence, and who would think themselves dishonored to 
 be called your friends — who would not disgrace them- 
 selves by shaking your blood-stained hand — [Here he 
 was interrupted.'] 
 
 What, my lord, shall you tell me, on the passage to 
 that scaffold which that tyranny, of which you are 
 only the intermediary executioner, has erected for my 
 murder, that I am accountable for all the blood that 
 has been, and will be, shed in this struggle of the op- 
 pressed against the oppressor — shall you tell me this, 
 and must I be so very a slave as not to repel it ? — I, 
 who fear not to approach the omnipotent Judge, to 
 answer for the conduct of my whole life — am I to be 
 appalled and falsified by a mere remnant of mortality 
 here ? — by you, too, who, if it were possible to collect 
 
384 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 all the innocent blood that yon have shed, in } t out un- 
 hallowed ministry, in one great reservoir, 3 r our lord- 
 ship might swim in it? — [Here the judge interfered.'] 
 
 Let no man dare, when I am dead, to. charge me 
 with dishonor : let no man attaint nry memory, by 
 believing that I could engage in any cause but that of 
 my country's liberty and independence ; or that I could 
 become the pliant minion of power in the oppression 
 or the miseries of my countrymen. The proclamation 
 of the provisional government speaks my views; from 
 which no inference can be tortured to countenance 
 barbarity or debasement at home, or subjection, or 
 humiliation, or treachery from abroad. I would not 
 have submitted to a foreign invader, for the same 
 reason that I would resist the domestic opjjressor. In 
 the dignity of freedom, I would have fought upon 
 the threshold of my country, and its enemy should 
 enter only by passing over my lifeless corpse. And 
 am I, who lived but for my country, who have subjected 
 myself to the dangers of the jealous and watchful op- 
 pressor, and now to the bondage of the grave, only to 
 give my countrymen their rights, and my country her 
 independence, to be loaded with calumny, and not suf- 
 fered to resent and repel it ? No ; God forbid ! 
 
 My lords, you seem impatient for the sacrifice. The 
 blood for which you thirst, is not congealed by the 
 artificial terrors which surround your victim : it cir- 
 culates warmly and unruffled through the channels 
 which God created for noble purposes, but which you 
 are bent to destroy for purposes so grievous, that they 
 cry to Heaven. 
 
 Be yet patient. I have but a few words more to say. 
 I am going to my cold and silent grave : my lamp of 
 life is nearly extinguished: my race is run; the grave 
 opens to receive me ; and I sink into its bosom. I have 
 but one request to ask at my departure from this world : 
 it is the charity of its silence. Let no man write my 
 epitaph ; for, as n"o man who knows my motives, dares 
 now vindicate them, let not prejudice nor ignorance 
 asperse them. Let them and me repose in obscurity, and 
 

 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 385 
 
 my tomb remain uninscribed, until other times and other 
 men can do justice to my character. When mj- country 
 takes her place among the nations of the earth, then, 
 
 and not till them, let my epitaph be written. 1 have 
 
 done. 
 
 THE QUARREL OF BRUTUS AND CASSIUS. 
 (SHAKSPEARE.) 
 
 Cassius. 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 of. 
 
 Brutus. You wronged yourself, to write in such a 
 case. 
 
 Cas. In such a time as this, it is not meet 
 That every nice offence should bear its comment. 
 
 Bru. Yet 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. 
 
 Gas. I an itching palm ? 
 You know that you are Brutus that speak this, 
 Or, by the gods, this speech were else 3^our last. 
 
 Bru. The name of Cassius honors this corruption, 
 And chastisement doth therefore hide its head. 
 
 Gas. Chastisement ! 
 
 Bru. Remember March, the Ides of March remem- 
 ber! 
 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 in all this world, 
 But for supporting robbers ; shall we now, 
 Contaminate our lingers with base bribes ? 
 And seli the might}' space of our large honors, 
 For so much trash as may be grasped thus ? 
 
386 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, 
 Than such a Roman. 
 
 Cas. Brutus, bay not me, 
 I'll not endure it ; you forget yourself 
 To hedge me in ; I am a soldier, I, 
 Older in practice, abler than yourself 
 To make conditions. 
 
 Bru. Go to ; you're not, Cassius. 
 
 Cas. I am. 
 
 Bru. I say, you are not. 
 
 Cas. Urge me no more, I shall forget myself; 
 Have mind upon your health, tempt me no farther. 
 
 Bru. Away, slight man ! 
 
 Cas. Is't possible ? 
 
 Bru. Hear me, for I will speak. 
 Must I give way and room to your rash choler ? 
 Shall I be frighted when a madman stares ? 
 
 Cas. }*e gods! } T e gods! must I endure all this? 
 
 Bru. All this ? aye, more ; fret, till your proud heart 
 break ; 
 Go, show } T our slaves how choleric you are, 
 And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge ? 
 Must I observe you ? Must I stand and crouch 
 Under j-our test} 7 humor ? By the gods 
 You shall digest the venom of your spleen, 
 Though it do split you ; for, from this day forth, 
 I'll use } t ou for my mirth, yea, for my laughter, 
 "When you are waspish. 
 
 Cas. Is it come to this? 
 
 Bru. You say you are a better soldier : 
 Let it appear so ; make your vaunting true, 
 And it shall please me well ; for mine own part, 
 I shall be glad to learn of noble men. 
 
 Cas. You wrong me every way, you wrong me, 
 Brutus ; 
 I said an elder soldier, not a better : 
 Did I say better ? 
 
 Bru. If j^ou did, I care not. 
 
 Cas. When Cesar lived, he durst not thus have 
 moved me. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 38T 
 
 JBru. Peace, peace ; you durst not so have tempted 
 him. 
 
 Cas. I durst not ! 
 
 Bru. No. 
 
 Cas. What ? durst not tempt him ? 
 
 Bru. For your life, you durst not. 
 
 Gas. 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, Cassins, 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; 
 For I can raise no money by vile means ; 
 Ye Gods ! 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 ! 
 
 Gas. I denied you not. 
 
 Bru. You did. 
 
 Gas. 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 3^011 practice them on me. 
 
 Cas. You love me not. 
 
 Bru. I do not like your faults. 
 
 Gas. A friendly eye could never see such faults. 
 
 Bru. A flatterer's eye would not, though they do 
 appear 
 As huge as high Olympus. 
 
388 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come. 
 Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius. 
 For Cassias is aweary of the world : 
 Hated by one be loves ; braved by his brother; 
 Checked like a bondman ; all his faults observed, 
 Set in a note-book, learned and conned by rote, 
 To cast into my teeth. 0, I could weep 
 My spirit from mine eyes. There is my dagger, 
 And here my naked breast; within, a heart 
 Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold: 
 If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth; 
 I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart ; 
 Strike as thou didst at Cesar ; for I know, 
 When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him 
 
 better 
 Than ever thou lovedst Cassius. 
 
 Bru. Sheathe 3'our dagger : 
 Be angry when you will, it shall have scope ; 
 Do what you will, dishonor shall be humor. 
 Cassius, 3 t ou are 3 T oked with a lamb, 
 That carries anger as the flint bears fire ; 
 Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark, 
 And straight is cold again. 
 
 Cas. Hath Cassius lived 
 To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, 
 When grief or blood ill-tempered vexeth him ? 
 
 Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill-tempered too. 
 
 Cas. Do you confess so much ? Give me 3 T ourhand. 
 
 Bru. And my heart too. 
 
 Cas. Brutus ! 
 
 Bru. What's the matter ? 
 
 Cas. Have you not love enough to bear with me, 
 When that rash humor which my mother gave me, 
 Makes me forgetful ? 
 
 Bru, Yes, Cassius ; and from henceforth, 
 When 3'ou are over-earnest with 3'our Brutus, 
 He'll think 3'our mother chides, and leave you so. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 389 
 
 THE HOUR OF PRAYER. 
 
 (mrs. hemans.) 
 
 Child, amidst the flowers at play, 
 While the red light fades away ; 
 Mother, with thine earnest eye, 
 Ever following silently ; 
 Father, by the breeze at eve 
 Call'd thy harvest-work to leave ; — 
 Pray ! — Ere yet the dark hours be, 
 Lift the heart, and bend the knee. 
 
 Traveler, in the stranger's land, 
 Far from thine own household band ; 
 Mourner, haunted by the tone 
 Of a voice from this world gone; 
 Captive, in whose narrow cell 
 Sunshine hath not leave to dwell ; 
 Sailor, on the darkening sea ; — 
 Lift the heart, and bend the knee. 
 
 Warrior, that from battle won, 
 Breathest now at set of sun ; 
 Woman, o'er the lowly slain, 
 Weeping on his burial plain ; 
 Ye that triumph, ye that sigh, 
 Kindred by one holy tie ; 
 Heaven's first star alike ye see, 
 Lift the heart, and bend the knee. 
 
390 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION 
 
 THE BATTLE OF IVRY * 
 
 (macaulay.) 
 
 Henry the Fourth, on his accession to the French throne, 
 was opposed by a large part of his subjects, under the Duke 
 of Mayenne, with the assistance of Spain and Savoy, and, 
 from the union of these several nations, their army was called 
 the " army of the league." In March, 1590, he gained a deci- 
 sive victory over that party, at Ivry. a small town in France. 
 Before the battle, he said to his troops. '■ My children, if you 
 lose sight of your colors, rally to my white plume. — you will 
 always find it in the path to honor and glory." His conduct 
 was answerable to his promise. Nothing could resist his im- 
 petuous valor, and the leaguers underwent a total and bloody 
 defeat. In the midst of the rout, Henry followed, crying, 
 " Save the French !" and his clemency added a number of the 
 enemy to his own army. 
 
 Now gloiyto 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 corn-fields green and sunny vines, 
 
 pleasant land of France ! 
 And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of 
 
 the waters, 
 Again let rapture light the eye 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 ! 
 
 * Pronounced E-vree. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 391 
 
 Oh ! how our hearts were beating, when at the dawn 
 
 of day, 
 We saw the army of the League drawn out in long 
 
 arrajr ; 
 With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel peers, 
 And Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish 
 
 spears ! 
 There, rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of 
 
 our land ! 
 And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in 
 
 his hand ! 
 And, as we looked on them, we thought of Seine's em- 
 purpled flood, 
 And good Coligni's* hoary hair, all dabbled with his 
 
 blood ; 
 And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate 
 
 of war, 
 To fight for his own holy name, and Henry of Navarre. 
 
 The king is 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, and fall full well he 
 
 may, 
 For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray, 
 Press where you see my white plume shine, amid the 
 
 ranks of war, 
 And be your oriflamme,")* to-day, thehelmet of Navarre." 
 
 * Coligni, (pronounced Co-leen-yee,) a venerable old man, 
 was one of the victims in the massacre of St. Bartholomew. 
 f Oriflamme, (pronounced or-ree-flam,) the French standard. 
 
392 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Hurrah ! the foes are moving ! Hark to the mingled 
 
 din 
 Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring 
 
 culverin ! 
 The fiery duke is pricking fast across Saint Andre's 
 
 plain, 
 With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne. 
 Now, by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of 
 
 France, 
 Charge for the golden lilies,* 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 snow- 
 white crest ; 
 And in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a 
 
 guiding star, 
 Amidst the thickest carnage, blazed the helmet of 
 
 Navarre. 
 
 Now, God be praised ! the day is ours ! Mayenne hath 
 
 turned his rein, — 
 D'Aumalesf hath cried for quarter; the Flemish count 
 
 is slain • 
 Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a 
 
 Biscay gale ; 
 The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags, and 
 
 cloven mail. 
 And then we thought on vengeance, and all along our 
 
 van, 
 " Remember Saint Bartholomew, "J was passed from 
 
 man to man ; 
 
 * Golden lilies were embroidered upon the French flag. 
 
 f Pronounced Do-mal. 
 
 % On the evening of St. Bartholomew's day, in the year 
 1572, an indiscriminate massacre of the Protestants through- 
 out France, took place, by order of Charles IX., then king of 
 France. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 393 
 
 But out spake gentle Henry, then, " No Frenchman is 
 
 my foe ; 
 Down, down with every foreigner ; but let your brethren 
 
 go." 
 Oh ! was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war, 
 As our sovereign lord, King Henry, the soldier of 
 
 Navarre I 
 
 Ho ! maidens of Yienna ! Ho ! matrons of Lucerne ! 
 Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never 
 
 shall return. 
 Ho ! Philip, send, for charity, thy Mexican pistoles, 
 That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor 
 
 spearmen's souls ! 
 Ho ! gallant nobles of the league, look that your arms 
 
 be bright ! 
 Ho! burghers of Saint Genevieve, keep watch and 
 
 ward to-night ! 
 For our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God hath 
 
 raised the slave, 
 And mocked the counsel of the wise and the valor of 
 
 the brave. 
 Then glory to His holy name, from whom all glories 
 
 are ! 
 And honor to our soverign lord, King Henry of Na- 
 varre. 
 
 THE FRENCHMAN AND THE RATS. 
 
 A Frenchman once, who was a merry wight, 
 Passing to town from Dover in the night, 
 Near the roadside an ale-house chanced to spy : 
 And being rather tired as well as dry, 
 Resolved to enter ; but first he took a peep, 
 In hopes a supper he might get, and cheap. 
 He enters : " Hallo ! Garcon, if you please, 
 Bring me a little bit of bread and cheese. 
 And hallo ! Garcon, a pot of porter too !" he said, 
 " Vich I shall take, and den myself to bed." 
 
394 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 His supper done, some scraps of cheese were left, 
 Which our poor Frenchman, thinking it no theft, 
 Into his pocket put ; then slowly crept 
 To wished-for bed ; but not a wink he slept — 
 For, on the floor, some sacks of flour were laid, 
 To which the rats a nightly visit paid. 
 
 Our hero now undressed, popped out the light, 
 Put on his cap and bade the world good-night ; 
 But first his breeches, which contained the fare, 
 Under his pillow he had placed with care. 
 
 Sans ceremonie, soon the rats all ran, 
 And on the flour-sacks greedily began ; 
 At which they gorged themselves ; then smelling round, 
 Under the pillow soon the cheese they found ; 
 And while at this they regaling sat, 
 Their happy jaws disturbed the Frenchman's nap ; 
 Who, half awake, cries out, "Hallo! hallo! 
 Tat is dat nibbel at my pillow^ so ? 
 Ah ! 'tis one big huge rat ! 
 Vat de diable is it he nibble, nibble at?" 
 
 In vain our little hero sought repose ; 
 Sometimes the vermin galloped o'er his nose ; 
 And such the pranks the}' kept up all the night, 
 That he, on end antipodes upright, 
 Bawling aloud, called stoutly for a light, 
 " Hallo ! Maison ! Garcon, I say ! 
 Bring me the bill for vat I have to pa}*- !" 
 The bill was brought, and to his great surprise, 
 Ten shillings was the charge, he scarce believes his eyes : 
 With eager haste, he runs it o'er, 
 And every time he viewed it thought it more. 
 " Vy zounds, and zounds !" he cries, " I sail no pay; 
 Vat charge ten shelangs for vat I have mange ? 
 A leetal sup of porter, dis vile bed, 
 Vare all de rats do run about my head V 
 " Plague on those rats !" the landlord muttered out ; 
 " I wish, upon my word, that I could make 'em scout : 
 I'll pay him well that can." " Vat's dat you say ?" 
 " I'll pay him well that can." " Attend to me, I pray: 
 Vil you dis charge forego, vat I am at, 
 If from your house I drive away de rat ?" 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 395 
 
 "With all my heart," the jolly host replies, 
 
 " Ecoutez done, ami;" the Frenchman cries. 
 
 "First, den — Regardez, if 3^011 please, 
 
 Bring to dis spot a leetle bread and cheese : 
 
 Eh bien ! a pot of portar too ; 
 
 And den invite de rats to sup vid yon : 
 
 And after — no matter dey be villing — 
 
 For vat dey eat, you charge dem just ten shelang : 
 
 And I am sure, ven dey behold de score, 
 
 Dey '11 quit your house, and never come no more." 
 
 THE PARTING OF MARMION AND DOUGLAS. 
 
 (WALTER SCOTT.) 
 
 Not far advanced was morning day, 
 When Marmion did his troop array, 
 
 To Surrey's camp to ride ; 
 He had safe conduct for his band, 
 Beneath the royal seal and hand, 
 
 And Douglas gave a guide. 
 
 The train from out the castle drew, 
 
 But Marmion stopped to bid adieu : 
 
 " Though something I might 'plain," he said, 
 
 " Of cold respect to stranger guest, 
 
 Sent hither by the king's behest, 
 While in Tantallon's towers I staid, 
 
 Part we in friendship from your land, 
 And, noble Earl, receive my hand.'' 1 
 But Douglas round him drew his cloke, 
 
 Folded his arms, and thus he spoke : — 
 " My manors, halls, and towers shall still 
 Be open at my sovereign's will, 
 
 To each one whom he lists, howe'er 
 Unmeet to be the owner's peer. 
 My castles are my king's alone, 
 
 From turret to foundation stone ; — 
 The hand of Douglass is his own ; 
 And never shall, in friendly grasp, 
 
 The hand of such as Marmion clasp." 
 
396 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire, 
 And shook his very frame for ire, 
 
 And " This to me," he said, 
 " And 'twere not for thy hoary beard, 
 Such hand as Marmion's had not spared 
 
 To cleave the Douglas' head ! 
 And first, I tell thee, haughty peer, 
 He who does England's message here, 
 
 Although the meanest in her state, 
 May well, proud Angus, be thy mate: 
 And Douglas, more I tell thee here, 
 
 Even in thx pitch of pride, 
 Here, in thy hold, thy vassals near, 
 I tell thee, thoitrt defied ! 
 
 And if thou said'st I am not peer 
 To any lord in Scotland here, 
 Lowland, or Highland, far, or near, 
 
 Lord Angus, thou — hast — lied/" 
 
 On the Earl's cheek, the flush of rage 
 O'ercame the ashen hue of age : 
 
 Fierce he broke forth ; " And dar'st thou then 
 To beard the lion in his den, 
 The Douglas in his hall ? 
 
 And hop'st thou thence unscathed to go ? 
 No, by St. Bryde, of Bothwell, no ! 
 Up drawbridge, grooms, — what, warder, 
 
 Let the portcullis fall," 
 Lord Marmion turned, — well was his need, — 
 And dashed the rowels in his steed, 
 
 Like arrow through the arch-way sprung ; 
 The ponderous gate behind him rung : 
 To pass there was such scanty room, 
 
 The bars, descending, grazed his plume. 
 
 The steed along the draw-bridge flies, 
 Just as it trembled on the rise : 
 2sot lighter does the swallow skim 
 Along the smooth lake's level brim : 
 And when lord Marmion reached his band 
 He halts, and turns with clinched hand, 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 391 
 
 And shont of loud defiance pours, 
 
 And shook his gauntlet at the towers. 
 
 " Horse ! horse /" the Douglas cried, " and chase /" 
 
 But soon he reined his fury's pace : 
 
 "A royal messenger he came, 
 
 Though most unworthy of the name ; 
 
 Saint Mary mend my fiery mood ! 
 
 Old age ne'er cools the Douglas' blood, 
 
 I thought to slay him where he stood. 
 
 'Tis pity of him too," he cried ; 
 
 " Bold he can speak, and fairly ride ; 
 
 I warrant him a warrior tried." 
 
 With this, his mandate he recalls, 
 
 And slowly seeks his castle walls. 
 
 PAUL'S DEFENSE BEFORE KING AGRIPPA. 
 
 Then said Agrippa unto Paul : " Thou art permit- 
 ted to speak for thyself." Then Paul stretched forth 
 his hand and answered for himself. 
 
 I think myself happy, king Agrippa, because 1 shall 
 answer for myself, this day, before thee, touching all the 
 things whereof I am accused of the Jews ; especially, 
 because I know thee to be expert in all customs and 
 questions which are among the Jews : wherefore I be- 
 seech thee to hear me patiently. My manner of life 
 from my youth, which was at the first among mine own 
 nation at Jerusalem, know all the Jews; who knew 
 me from the beginning, if they would testify, that, af- 
 ter the most straitest sect of our religion, I lived a 
 Pharasee. 
 
 And now, I stand and am judged for the hope of 
 the promise made of God unto our fathers : unto which 
 promise our twelve tribes, instant!} 1 - serving God day 
 and night, hope to come. Por which hope's sake king 
 Agrippa. I am accused of the Jews. Why should it 
 be thought a thing incredible with you, that God 
 should raise the dead ? I verily thought with myself, 
 that I ought to do many things contrary to the name 
 26 
 
398 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 of Jesus of Nazareth. Which things T also did in 
 Jerusalem : and many of the saints did I shut up in 
 prison, having received authority from the chief-priests, 
 and when they were put to death, I gave my voice 
 against them. 
 
 And I punished them oft in every synagogue, and 
 compelled them to blaspheme; and being exceedingly 
 mad against them, I persecuted them, even unto strange 
 cities. Whereupon, as I went to Damascus, with au- 
 thority and commission from the chief-priests, at mid- 
 day, king, I saw in the way a light from heaven, 
 above the brightness of the sun, shining round about 
 me and them which journeyed with me. And when we 
 were all fallen to the earth, I heard a voice speaking 
 unto me, and saying in the Hebrew tongue, Saul, Saul, 
 wiry persecutest thou me ? it is hard for thee to kick 
 against the goads. And I said, Who art thou Lord ? 
 
 And he said, I am Jesus, whom thou persecutest. 
 But rise and stand upon thy T feet: for I have appeared 
 unto thee for this purpose, to make thee a minister and 
 a witness both of these things which thou hast seen, and 
 of those things in the which I will appear unto thee ; 
 delivering thee from the people and from the Gentiles, 
 unto whom now I send thee, to open their eyes, and to 
 turn them from darkness to light, and from the power 
 of Satan unto God; that they may receive forgiveness 
 of sins, and inheritance among them which are sancti- 
 fied, b\* faith that Is in me. 
 
 Whereupon, king Agrippa, I was not disobedient 
 unto the heavenly vision; but showed first unto them 
 of Damascus, and at Jerusalem, and throughout all the 
 coasts of Judea, and then to the Gentiles, that they 
 should repent and turn to God, and do works meet for 
 repentance. For these causes the Jews caught me in 
 the temple, and went about to kill me. Having, there- 
 fore, obtained help of God, I continue unto this day, 
 witnessing both to small and great, saying none other 
 things than those which the prophets and Moses did 
 say should come ; that Christ should suffer, aDd that 
 he should be the first that should rise from the dead, and 
 should show light unto the people, and to the Gentiles 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 399 
 
 And as he thus spake for himself, Festus said with 
 a loud voice, " Paul, thou art beside thyself, much 
 learning hath made thee mad." But he said, " I am not 
 mad, most noble Festus, but speak forth the words of 
 truth and soberness. For the king knoweth of these 
 things, before whom I speak freely ; for I am per- 
 suaded that none of these things are hidden from him ; 
 for this thing was not done in a corner. King Agrippa, 
 believest thou the prophets ? I know that thou be- 
 lievest." 
 
 Then Agrippa said unto Paul ; " Almost thou per- 
 suadest me to be a Christian." And Paul said, "I 
 would to God that not only thou, but also all that hear 
 me this day, were both almost, and altogether such as 1 
 am, except these bonds." 
 
 BERNARDO DEL CARPIO. 
 
 (mrs. hemans.) 
 
 The celebrated Spanish champion, Bernardo del Carpio, 
 having made many ineffectual efforts to procure the release of 
 his father, the Count Saldana, who had been imprisoned by 
 King Alfonso of Asturias, almost from the time of Bernardo's 
 birth, at last took up arms in despair. The war which he 
 maintained proved so destructive, that the men of the land 
 gathered round the king, and united in demanding Saldana's 
 liberty. Alfonso accordingly offered Bernardo immediate pos- 
 session of his father's person, in exchange for his castle at 
 Carpio. Bernardo, without hesitation, gave up his stronghold, 
 with all his captives, and being assured that his father was 
 then on his way from prison, rode forth with the king to meet 
 him. " And when he saw his father approaching, he ex- 
 claimed," says the ancient chronicle. " Oh ! Cod, is the Count 
 Saldana indeed coming?" " Look where he is," replied the 
 cruel king, " and now go and greet him, whom you have 
 so long desired to see." — The remainder of the story will be 
 found related in the ballad. The chronicles and romances 
 leave us nearly in the dark as to Bernardo's future history 
 after this event, with the exception of the final interview in 
 which he renounced his allegiance to the kingr. 
 
400 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 The warrior bowed his crested head, and tamed his 
 
 heart of fire, 
 And sued the haughty king to free his long-imprisoned 
 
 sire ; 
 " I bring thee here my fortress-keys, I bring my captive 
 
 train, 
 I pledge thee faith, my liege, my lord ! — Oh ! break my 
 
 father's chain I" 
 
 "Rise, rise ! even now thy father comes, a ransomed 
 
 man this day : 
 Mount thy good horse ; and thou and I will meet him 
 
 on his way." — 
 Then lightly rose that loyal son, and bounded on his 
 
 steed, 
 And urged, as if with lance in rest, the charger's foamy 
 
 speed. 
 
 And lo ! from far, as on they pressed, there came a 
 
 glittering band, 
 With one that 'midst them stately rode, as a leader in 
 
 the land ; 
 — "Now haste, Bernardo, haste! for there, in very 
 
 truth, is he, 
 The father whom thy faithful heart hath yearned so 
 
 long to see." 
 
 His dark e3'e flashed, — his proud breast heaved, — his 
 
 cheek's hue came and went, — 
 He reached that gray-haired chieftain's side, and there 
 
 dismounting bent, 
 A lowly knee to earth he bent, his father's hand he 
 
 took — 
 What was there in its touch that all his fiery spirit 
 
 shook ? 
 
 That hand was cold, — a frozen thing, — it dropped from 
 
 his like lead, — 
 He looked up to the face above, — the face was of the 
 
 dead. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 401 
 
 A plume waved o'er the noble brow, — the brow was 
 
 fixed and white ; — 
 He met at last his father's eyes, — but in them was no 
 
 sight ! 
 
 Up from the ground he sprang and gazed ; — but who 
 
 could paint that gaze ! 
 They hushed their very hearts, that saw its horror and 
 
 amaze : — 
 They might have chained him, as before that stony form 
 
 he stood ; 
 For the power was stricken from his arm, and from his 
 
 lip the blood. 
 
 " Father !" at length he murmured low, and wept like 
 childhood then — 
 
 Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears of war- 
 like men ! 
 
 He thought on all his glorious hopes, and all his young 
 renown, — 
 
 He flung his falchion from his side, and in the dust sat 
 down. 
 
 Then covering with his steel-gloved hands his darkly 
 
 mournful brow, 
 "No more, there is no more," he said, "to lift the 
 
 sword for now, — 
 My king is false, my hope betrayed ! My father — oh ! 
 
 the worth, 
 The glory, and the loveliness, are passed away from 
 
 earth ! 
 
 " I thought to stand where banners waved, my sire ! 
 
 beside thee yet ! — 
 I would that there our kindred blood on Spain's free 
 
 soil had met ! — 
 Thou wouldst have known my spirit, then ; — for thee 
 
 my fields were won ; 
 And thou hast perished in thy chains, as though thou 
 
 hadst no son !" 
 
402 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Then starting from the ground once more, he seized 
 
 the monarch's rein, 
 Amidst the pale and wildered looks of all the courtier 
 
 train ; 
 And with a fierce, o'ermastering grasp, the rearing 
 
 war-horse led, 
 And sternly set them face to face, — the king before the 
 
 dead : — 
 
 " Came I not forth upon thy pledge, my father's hand 
 
 to kiss ? 
 — Be still, and gaze thou on, false king ! and tell me 
 
 what is this ? 
 The voice, the glance, the heart I sought, — give answer, 
 
 where are they ? 
 — If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, send life 
 
 through this cold clay ! 
 
 " Into these glassy eyes put light, — be still ! keep down 
 
 thine ire, — 
 Bid these white lips a blessing speak, — this earth is not 
 
 my sire : — 
 Give me back him for whom I strove, for whom my 
 
 blood was shed, — 
 Thou canst not ? — and a king ! — his dust be mountains 
 
 on thy head !" 
 
 He loosed the steed, — his slack hand fell ; — upon the 
 
 silent face 
 He cast one long, deep, troubled look, then turned from 
 
 that sad place : 
 His hope was crushed, his after-fate untold in martial 
 
 strain : — 
 His banner led the spears no more, amidst the hills of 
 
 Spain. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 403 
 
 Alexander's feast. 
 
 'Twas — at the royal feast, for Persia won, 
 By Philip's warlike son — 
 
 Aloft in awful state, the godlike hero sat 
 On his imperial throne. 
 
 His valiant peers — were placed around, 
 Their brows, with roses and with myrtles bound 
 So should desert, in arms be crowned. 
 The lovely Thais, by his side, 
 Sat, like a blooming Eastern bride, 
 In flower of youth and beauty's pride — 
 Happy, happy, happy pair ! 
 None but the brave, none but the brave, 
 None but the brave — deserve the fair. 
 
 Timotheus, placed on high, 
 
 Amid the tuneful choir, 
 
 With flying fingers — touched the lyre ; 
 The trembling notes ascend the sky, 
 
 And heavenly joys inspire. 
 The song — began from Jove, 
 Who left his blissful seats above ; 
 Such is the power — of mighty love. 
 A dragon's fiery form belied the god : 
 Sublime, on radiant spheres he rode, 
 
 When he to fair Olympia pressed, 
 And stamped an image of himself, a sovereign of the 
 
 world. 
 The listening crowd — admire the lofty sound : 
 A present deity ! they shout around ; 
 A present deity ! the vaulted roofs rebound. 
 
 With ravished ears, the monarch hears ; 
 
 Assumes the god, affects to nod, 
 And seems to shake the spheres. 
 
 The praise of Bacchus, then, the sweet musician sung, 
 Of Bacchus, ever fair, and ever young. 
 
404 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 The jolly god in triumph comes ! 
 Sound the trumpets, beat the drums: 
 
 Flushed with a purple grace, 
 
 He shows his honest face. 
 Now, give the hautboj*s breath — he comes ! he comes ! 
 Bacchus, ever fair and young, 
 Drinking J0}*s did first ordain. 
 
 Bacchus' blessings are a treasure ; 
 
 Drinking is the soldier's pleasure ; 
 
 Rich the treasure ; sweet the pleasure ; 
 Sweet is pleasure after pain. 
 
 Soothed with the sound, the king grew vain; 
 Fought his battles o'er again ; 
 And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew 
 the slain. 
 The master saw the madness rise ; 
 His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes; 
 And, while he heaven and earth defied, 
 Changed his hand, and checked his pride. — 
 
 He chose a mournful muse, soft pit} r to infuse, 
 He sung Darius, great and good, 
 
 By too severe a fate, fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen, 
 Fallen from his high estate, 
 And weltering in his blood. 
 Deserted, in his utmost need, 
 B}^ those, his former bounty fed, 
 On the bare earth — exposed he lies, 
 With not a friend — to close his eyes. — 
 
 With downcast look — the joyous victor sat, 
 Revolving, in his altered soul, 
 
 The various turns of fate below, 
 And now and then, a sigh he stole, 
 And tears — began to now. 
 
 The master smiled to see, 
 
 That love — was in the next degree : 
 
 'Twas but a kindred sound to move ; 
 
 For pity — melts the mind to love, 
 
 Softly sweet in Lydian measures, 
 Soon, he soothes his soul to pleasures ; 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 405 
 
 War, he sung, is toil and trouble; 
 
 Honor, but an empt} 7 bubble ; 
 
 Never ending, still beginning, 
 Fighting still, and still destroying. 
 
 If the world be worth thy winning, 
 Think, oh ! think it worth enjoying ! 
 
 Lovely Thais sits beside thee ; 
 
 Take the good the gods provide thee. — 
 
 The many rend the skies with loud applause ; 
 So love was crowned, but music — won the cause. 
 The prince, unable to conceal his pain, 
 
 Gazed on the fair, who caused his care, 
 And sighed and looked ; sighed and looked ; 
 Sighed and looked; and sighed again : 
 At length, with love, and wine, at once oppressed, 
 The vanquished victor — sunk — upon her breast. 
 
 Now, strike the golden lyre again ; 
 A louder yet, and yet a louder strain : 
 Break his bands of sleep asunder, 
 And rouse him like a rattling peal of thunder. 
 Hark ! hark ! — the horrid sound 
 
 Hath raised up his head, as awaked from the 
 dead, 
 And amazed he stares aronnd. 
 Revenge, revenge ! Timotheus cries — 
 See the furies arise ! See the snakes that they rear, 
 
 How they hiss in the air, 
 And the sparkles that flash from their eyes ! 
 Behold a ghastly band, each a torch in his hand ! 
 These are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain, 
 And, unburied, remain inglorious on the plain. 
 Give the vengeance due to the valiant crew. 
 Behold, how they toss their torches on high ! 
 How they point to the Persian abodes, 
 And glittering temples of their hostile gods ! 
 The princes applaud, with a furious joy ; 
 And the king seizes a flambeau with zeal to destroy : 
 
 Thais led the way, to light him on his prey ; 
 And, like another Helen — fired another Troy. 
 
406 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Thus, long ago, ere heaving bellows learned to blow, 
 
 While organs yet were mute ; 
 Tiraotheus, to his breathing flute and sounding l} T re, 
 Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire. 
 
 At last, divine Cecilia came, 
 
 Invcntress of the vocal frame. 
 The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, 
 
 Enlarged the former narrow bounds, 
 
 And added length — to solemn sounds, 
 With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before. 
 Let old Timotheus }'ield the prize, 
 
 Or both — divide the crown; 
 He — raised a mortal — to the skies ; 
 
 She — drew an angel down. 
 
 THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS. 
 (HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.) 
 
 Somewhat back from the village street 
 Stands the old-fashioned country-seat. 
 Across its antique portico 
 Tall poplar-trees their shadows throw ; 
 And from its station in the hall 
 An ancient timepiece says to all, — 
 " Forever — never ! 
 Never — forever !" 
 
 Half-way up the stairs it stands. 
 And points and beckons with its hands 
 From its case of massive oak, 
 Like a monk, who, under his cloak, 
 Crosses himself, and sighs, alas! 
 With sorrowful voice to all who pass, — 
 " Forever — never ! 
 Never — forever !" 
 
 By day its voice is low and light ; 
 But in the silent dead of night, 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 407 
 
 Distinct as a passing footstep's fall, 
 It echoes along the vacant hall, 
 Along the ceiling, along the floor, 
 And seems to say at each chamber door, — 
 " Forever — never ! 
 Never — forever I" 
 
 Through days of sorrow and of mirth, 
 Through days of death and days of birth, 
 Through every swift vicissitude 
 Of changeful time, unchanged it has stood, 
 And as if, like God, it all things saw, 
 It calmly repeats those words of awe, — 
 " Forever — never ! 
 Never — forever !" 
 
 In that mansion used to be 
 Free-hearted Hospitality : 
 His great fires up the chimney roared ; 
 The stranger feasted at his board ; 
 But, like the skeleton at the feast, 
 That warning timepiece never ceased, — 
 " Forever — never ! 
 Never — forever I" 
 
 There groups of merry children played, 
 There j^ouths and maidens dreaming strayed ; 
 O precious hours ! golden prime, 
 And affluence of love and time ! 
 Even as a miser counts his gold, 
 Those hours the ancient timepiece told, — 
 " Forever — never ! 
 Never — forever !" 
 
 From that chamber, clothed in white, 
 The bride came forth on her wedding night ; 
 There, in that silent room below, 
 The dead lay in his shroud of snow ; 
 
408 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 And in the hush that followed the pra} 7 er, 
 Was heard the old clock on the stair, — ■ 
 " Forever — never! 
 Never — forever I" 
 
 All are scattered now and fled, 
 Some are married, some are dead ; 
 And when I ask, with throbs of pain, 
 " Ah ! when shall they all meet again?" 
 As in the days long since gone by, 
 The ancient timepiece makes reply, — 
 " Forever — never ! 
 Never — forever I" 
 
 Never here, forever there, 
 Where all parting, pain, and care, 
 And death, and time shall disappear, — 
 Forever there, but never here I 
 The horologe of Eternity 
 Sa}-eth this incessantly, — 
 
 " Forever — never ! 
 Never — forever !" 
 
 THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. 
 
 (LONGFELLOW.) 
 
 Under a spreading chestnut tree, 
 The village smithy stands ; 
 
 The smith, a mighty man is he, 
 With large and sinewy hands ; 
 
 And the muscles of his brawny arms, 
 Are strong, as iron bands. 
 
 His hair is crisp, and black, and long ; 
 
 His face — is like the tan ; 
 His brow — is wet with honest sweat ; 
 
 He earns — whate'er he can, 
 And looks the whole world in the face, 
 
 For he owes not any man. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 409 
 
 Week out, week in, from morn till night, 
 
 You can hear his bellows blow ; 
 You hear him swing his heavy sledge, 
 
 With measured beat and slow, 
 Like a sexton, ringing the old kirk chimes, 
 
 When the evening sun is low. 
 
 And children, coming home from school, 
 
 Look in at the open door ; 
 They love to see a flaming forge, 
 
 And hear the bellows roar, 
 And catch the burning sparks, that fly 
 
 Like chaff — from a threshing-floor. 
 
 He goes, on Sunday, to the church, 
 
 And sits among his boys ; 
 He hears the parson — pray and preach, 
 
 He hears his daughter's voice, 
 Singing — in the village choir, 
 
 And it makes his heart rejoice. 
 
 It sounds to him, like her mother's voice, 
 
 Singing — in paradise ! 
 He needs must think of her once more, 
 
 How in the grave she lies ; 
 And with his hard — rough hand he wipes 
 
 A tear from out his eyes. 
 
 Toiling — rejoicing — sorrowing — 
 
 Onward — through life he goes : 
 Each morning — sees some task begin, 
 
 Each evening — sees it close ; 
 Something attempted — something done, 
 
 Has earned a night's repose. 
 
 Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, 
 
 For the lesson thou hast taught I 
 Thus — at the flaming forge of Life, 
 
 Our fortunes must be wrought ; 
 Thus, on its sounding anvil shaped, 
 
 Each burning deed, and thought. 
 
410 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 SPARTACUS TO THE GLADIATORS AT CAPUA. 
 
 (ELIJAH KELLOGG.) 
 
 It had been a day of triumph in Capua. Lentnlus, 
 returning with victorious eagles, had amused the popu- 
 lace, with the sports of the amphitheatre, to an extent 
 hitherto unknown even in that luxurious city. The 
 shouts of reverly bad died away ; the roar of the lion 
 had ceased ; the last loiterer had retired from the ban- 
 quet ; and the lights in the palace of the victor were 
 extinguished. 
 
 The moon, piercing the tissue of fleecy clouds, sil- 
 vered the dew-drops on the corslet of the Roman sen- 
 tinel, and tipped the dark waters of the Yulturnus 
 with a wav} T , tremulous light. Xo sound was heard, save 
 the last sob of some retiring wave, telling its story to 
 the smooth pebbles of the beach ; and then all was still 
 as the breast when the spirit has departed. 
 
 In the deep recesses of the amphitheatre, a band of 
 gladiators were assembled, — their muscles still knotted 
 with the agony of conflict, the foam upon their lips, the 
 scowl of battle } T et lingering on their brows, — when 
 Spartacus, starting forth from amid the throng, thus 
 addressed them : 
 
 " Ye call me chief, and ye do well to call him chief, 
 who, for twelve long years, has met upon the arena 
 every shape of man or beast the broad empire of Rome 
 could furnish, and who never 3-et lowered his arm. If 
 there be one among you who can say that ever, in 
 public fight or private brawl, my actions did belie my 
 tongue, let him stand forth, and say it. If there be 
 three in all }~our company dare face me on the bloody 
 sands, let them come on. 
 
 "And j^et, I was not alwa3 T s thus, — a hired butcher, 
 a savage chief of still more savage men ! My ancestors 
 came from old Sparta, and settled among the vine-clad 
 rocks and citron groves of Syrasella. My early life 
 ran quiet as the brooks by which I sported : and when, 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 411 
 
 at noon, I gathered the sheep beneath the shade, and 
 played upon the shepherd's flute, there was a friend, 
 the son of a neighbor, to join me in the pastime. We 
 led our flocks to the same pasture, and partook to- 
 gether our rustic meal, 
 
 " One evening, after the sheep were folded, and we 
 were all seated beneath the myrtle which shaded our 
 cottage, my grandsire, an old man, was telling of 
 Marathon and Leuctra, and how, in ancient times, a 
 little band of Spartans, in a defile of the mountains, 
 had withstood a whole army. I did not then know 
 what war was ; but my cheeks burned, I knew not why, 
 and I clasped the knees of that venerable man, till my 
 mother, parting the hair from off my forehead, kissed 
 my throbbing temples, and bade me go to rest, and 
 think no more of those old tales and savage wars. 
 
 "That very night, the Romans landed on our coast. 
 I saw the breast that had nourished me trampled by the 
 hoof of the war-horse ; the bleeding body of my father 
 flung amidst the blazing rafters of our dwelling! To- 
 day I killed a man in the arena ; and when I broke his 
 helmet-clasps, behold ! he was my friend. He knew 
 me, — smiled faintly, — gasped, — and died; — the same 
 sweet smile upon his lips that I had marked, when, in 
 adventurous boyhood, we scaled some lofty cliff to 
 pluck the first ripe grapes, and bear them home in 
 childish triumph. T 
 
 "I told the pretor that the dead man had been my 
 friend, generous and brave ; and I begged that I might 
 bear away the body, to burn it on a funeral pile, and 
 mourn over its ashes. Ay ! upon my knees, amid the 
 dust and blood of the arena, I begged that poor boon, 
 while all the assembled maids and matrons, and the 
 holy virgins they call Yestals, and the rabble, shouted 
 in derision, deeming it rare sport, forsooth, to see 
 Rome's fiercest gladiator turn pale and tremble at the 
 sight of that piece of bleeding clay ! And the pretor 
 drew back as I were pollution, and sternly said, — ' Let 
 the carrion rot ; there are no noble men but Romans 1' 
 
412 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 And so, fellow-gladiators, must jou, and so must I, die 
 like dogs. 
 
 "0 Rome! Rome! thou has been a tender nurse to 
 me ! Ay, thou hast given, to that poor, gentle, timid 
 shepherd lad, who never knew a harsher tone than a 
 flute-note, muscles of iron and a heart of flint : taught 
 him to drive the sword through plaited mail and inks 
 of rugged brass, and warm it in the marrow of his foe! 
 ■ — to gaze into the glaring e} T e-balls of the fierce Numi- 
 dian lion, even as a bo} T upon a laughing girl ! And 
 he shall pay thee back, till the 3'ellow Tiber is red as 
 frothing wine, and in its deepest ooze tlry life-blood 
 .lies curdled ! 
 
 ^ " Ye stand here now like giants, as ye are ! The 
 strength of brass is in your toughened sinews ; but to- 
 morrow some Roman Adonis, breathing sweet perfume 
 from his curly locks, shall with his lily fingers pat your 
 red brawn, and bet his sesterces upon } T our blood ! 
 Hark ! hear ye \ r on lion roaring in his den ? 'Tis 
 three days since he tasted flesh; but to-morrow he shall 
 break his fast upon yours, — and a dainty meal for him 
 ye will be ! 
 
 " If ye are brutes, then stand here like fat oxen, 
 waiting for the butcher's knife : if ye are men, — follow 
 me ! strike down yon guard, gain the mountain passes, 
 and there do blood}- work, as did 3 r our sires at Old 
 Thermopjdae ! Is Sparta dead ? Is the old Grecian 
 spirit frozen in your veins, that you do crouch and 
 cower like a belabored hound beneath his master's lash ? 
 O comrades! warriors! Thracians ! — if we must fight, 
 let us fight for ourselves ; if we must slaughter, let us 
 slaughter our oppressors ; if we must die, let us die 
 under the open sky, by the bright waters, in noble, 
 honorable battle !" / 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 413 
 
 THE CHESTNUT HORSE. 
 
 An Eaton stripling, training for the law, 
 A dunce at S^yntax, but a dab at taw, 
 One happy Christmas, laid upon the shelf 
 His cap and gown, and stores of learned pelf, 
 With all the deathless bards of Greece and Rome, 
 To spend a fortnight at his uncle's home. 
 Return'd, and past the usual how-dy'e-does, 
 Inquiries of old friends, and college news : 
 " Well, Tom, the road ; what saw you worth discerning ? 
 How's all at College, Tom ? — what is 't you're learn- 
 ing ?" 
 " Learning! — 0, logic, logic ! — not the shallow rules 
 Of Locke and Bacon — antiquated fools ! 
 But wits' and wranglers' logic ; for d 'ye see, 
 I'll prove as clear, — as clear as A, B, C, 
 That an eel pie 's a pigeon ; to deny it, 
 Is to say black 's not black." — 
 
 "Come, let's try it!" 
 " Well, sir ; an eel pie is a pie of fish." "Agreed." 
 " Fish pie may be a jack pie." " Well, well, proceed." 
 " A jack pie is a John pie — and, 'tis done ! 
 For every John pie must be a pie-John." — {pigeon.) 
 " Bravo ! bravo !" Sir Peter cries ; " logic forever ! 
 That beats my grandmother, and she was clever ; 
 But now I think on 't, 't would be mighty hard 
 If merit such as thine met no reward ; 
 To show how much I logic love in course, 
 I'll make thee master of a chestnut horse." 
 "A horse !" quoth Tom, " blood, pedigree, and paces 1 
 0, what a dash I'll cut at Epsom races !" 
 
 Tom dreamt all night of boots and leather breeches, 
 Of hunting-caps, and leaping rails and ditches ; 
 Rose the next morn an hour before the lark, 
 And dragg'd his uncle, fasting, to the park ; 
 Bridle in hand, each vale he scours, of course, 
 To find out something like a chestnut horse ; 
 27 
 
414 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 But no such animal the meadows cropt, 
 Till under a large tree Sir Peter stopt, 
 Caught at a branch, and shook it, when down fell 
 A fine horse chestnut, in its prickly shell. 
 
 " There, Tom, take that."—" Well, sir, and what be- 
 
 side ?" 
 "Why, since you're booted, saddle it and ride." 
 " Ride ! what, a chestnut, sir ?" — " Of course, 
 For I can prove that chestnut is a horse ; 
 Not from the doubtful, fusty, musty rules 
 Of Locke and Bacon, antiquated fools, 
 Nor old Malebranch, blind pilot into knowledge, 
 But by the laws of wit and Eton college ; 
 As you have prov'd, and which I don't deny, 
 That a pie John 's the same as a John pie, 
 The matter follows, as a thing of course, 
 That a horse-chestnut is a chestnut horse." 
 
 THE NATURE OF TRUE ELOQUENCE. 
 (DANIEL WEBSTER.) 
 
 When public bodies are to be addressed on momen- 
 tous occasions, when great interests are at stake, and 
 strong passions excited, nothing is valuable in speech 
 further than it is connected with high intellectual and 
 moral endowments. Clearness, force, and earnestness, 
 are the qualities which produce conviction. 
 
 True eloquence, indeed, does not consist in speech. 
 It cannot be brought from far. Labor and learning 
 may toil for it, but they will toil in vain. Words and 
 phrases may be marshaled in every way, but they can- 
 not compass it. It must exist in the man, in the sub- 
 ject and in the occasion. 
 
 Affected passion, intense expression, the pomp of 
 declamation, all may aspire after it : they cannot reach 
 it. It comes, if it come at all, like the out-breaking of 
 a fountain from the earth, or the bursting forth of vol- 
 canic fires, with spontaneous, original, native force. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 415 
 
 The graces taught in the schools, the costly orna- 
 ments and studied contrivances of speech, shock and 
 disgust men, when their own lives, and the fate of their 
 wives, their children, and their country, hang on the 
 decision of the hour. Then, words have lost their 
 power, rhetoric is vain, and all elaborate oratory con- 
 temptible. Even genius itself then feels rebuked and 
 subdued, as in the presence of higher qualities. 
 
 Then, patriotism is eloquent ; then, self-devotion is 
 eloquent. The clear conception, out-running the de- 
 ductions of logic, the high purpose, the firm resolve, 
 the dauntless spirit, speaking on the tongue, beaming 
 from the eye, informing every feature, and urging the 
 whole man onward, right onward, to his object — this, 
 this is eloquence ; or, rather it is something greater 
 and higher than all eloquence — it is action, noble, sub- 
 lime, godlike action. 
 
 warren's address. 
 
 (rev. john pierpont.) 
 
 Stand ! the ground's your own, my braves- 
 Will ye give it up to slaves ? 
 Will ye look for greener graves ? 
 
 Hope ye mercy still ? 
 What's the mercy despots feel ? 
 Hear it in that battle peal ! 
 Read it on yon bristling steel ! 
 
 Ask it, ye who will. 
 
 Fear ye foes who kill for hire ? 
 Will ye to your homes retire ? 
 Look behind you ! they're a-fire ! 
 
 And before you, see 
 Who have done it ! From the vale 
 On they come ! and will ye quail ? — 
 Leaden rain and iron hail 
 
 Let their welcome be ! 
 
416 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 In the God of battles trust ! 
 Die we may — and die we must ; 
 But, oh, where can dust to dust 
 
 Be consigned so well, 
 As where heaven its dews shall shed 
 On the martyred patriot's bed, 
 And the rocks shall raise their head, 
 
 Of his deeds to tell? 
 
 BELSHAZZAR. 
 
 (b. w. peocter.) 
 
 Belshazzar is king ! Belshazzar is lord ! 
 
 And a thousand dark nobles all bend at his board ; 
 
 Fruits glisten, flowers blossom, meats steam, and a 
 
 flood 
 Of the wine that man loveth runs redder than blood; 
 Wild dancers are there, and a riot of mirth, 
 And the beauty that maddens the passions of earth : 
 And the crowds all shout, till the vast roofs ring — 
 "All praise to Belshazzar, Belshazzar the king!" 
 
 " Bring forth," cries the monarch, "the vessels of gold 
 Which my father tore down from the temples of old ; 
 Bring forth, and we'll drink, while the trumpets are 
 
 blown, 
 To the gods of bright silver, of gold, and of stone ; 
 Bring forth !" and before him the vessels all shine, 
 And he bows unto Baal, and he drinks the dark wine ; 
 While the trumpets bray, and the cymbals ring, — 
 "Praise, praise to Belshazzar, Belshazzar the king!" 
 
 Now what cometh — look, look! — without menace, or 
 
 call? 
 Who writes with the lightning's bright hand on the 
 
 wall? 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 41Y 
 
 What pierceth the king like the point of a dart ? 
 What drives the bold blood from his cheek to his 
 
 heart ? 
 " Chaldeans ! Magicians ! the letters expound !" 
 They are read — and Belshazzar is dead on the ground ! 
 Hark ! The Persian is come on a conqueror's wing ; 
 And a Mede's on the throne of Belshazzar the king ! 
 
 gambler's wife. 
 
 (COATES.) 
 
 Dark is the night ! How dark ! No light : No fire ! 
 Cold, on the hearth, the last faint sparks expire ! 
 Shivering, she watches, by the cradle side, 
 For him, who pledged her love — last year a bride ! 
 
 "Hark! 'Tis his footstep ! No !— 'tis past !— 'tis gone 1" 
 Tick ! — Tick ! — " How wearily the time crawls on ! 
 Why should he leave me thus ? — He once was kind ! 
 And I believed 'twould last ! — How mad ! — How blind ! 
 
 " Rest thee, my babe ! — Rest on ! — 'Tis hunger's cry ! 
 Sleep ! — For there is no food ! — The font is dry ! 
 Famine and cold their wearying work have done. 
 My heart must break! And thou!" The clock strikes 
 one. 
 
 11 Hush ! 'tis the dice-box ! Yes ! he's there ! he's there ! 
 For this ! — for this he leaves me to despair ! 
 Leaves love ! leaves truth ! his wife ! his child ! for what ? 
 The wanton's smile — the villain — and the sot ! 
 
 " Yet I'll not curse him. No ! 'tis all in vain ! 
 'Tis long to wait, but sure he'll come again ! 
 And I could starve, and bless him, but for you, 
 My child!— Ms child! Oh, fiend!" The clock strikes 
 two. 
 
418 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 11 Hark ! How the sign-board creaks ! The blast howls 
 
 by- 
 
 Moan ! moan ! A dirge swells through the cloudy sky 1 
 Ha ! 'tis his knock ! he conies ! — he comes once more !" 
 'Tis but the lattice flaps ! Thy hope is o'er ! 
 
 " Can he desert us thus ? He knows I stay, 
 Night after night, in loneliness, to pray 
 For his return — and yet he sees no tear ! 
 No ! no ! It cannot be ! He will be here ! 
 
 " Nestle more closely, dear one, to my heart ! 
 Thou'rt cold ! Thou'rt freezing ! But we will not part! 
 Husband ! — I die! — Father ! — It is not he ! 
 Oh, God ! protect my child !" The clock strikes three. 
 
 They're gone, they're gone ! the glimmering spark hath 
 
 fled!— 
 The wife, and child, are number'd with the dead. 
 On the cold earth, outstretched in solemn rest, 
 The babe lay, frozen on its mother's breast : 
 The gambler came at last — but all was o'er — 
 Dread silence reigned around : — the clock struck four ! 
 
 THE PAUPER'S DEATH-BED 
 
 (CAROLINE BOWLES SOUTHEY.) 
 
 Tread softly, — bow the head, — 
 In reverent silence bow ; 
 
 No passing-bell doth toll, — 
 
 Yet an immortal soul 
 Is passing now. 
 
 Stranger, however great, 
 
 With holy reverence bow ; — 
 There's one in that poor shed, — 
 One by that paltry bed, — 
 Greater than thou. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 419 
 
 Beneath that beggar's roof, 
 
 Lo ! death doth keep his state ; 
 Enter, — no crowds attend ; 
 Enter, — no guards defend 
 
 This palace gate. 
 
 That pavement, damp and cold, 
 No smiling courtiers tread ; 
 
 One silent woman stands, 
 
 Lifting with meagre hands, 
 A dying head. 
 
 No mingling voices sound, — 
 
 An infant wail alone ; 
 A sob suppressed, — again 
 That short, deep gasp, and then 
 
 The parting groan. 
 
 Oh, change ! — oh, wondrous change !- 
 Burst are the prison bars, — 
 
 This moment, there, so low, 
 
 So agonized, and now 
 Beyond the stars ! 
 
 Oh, change ! — stupendous change ! 
 
 There lies the soulless clod ; 
 The sun eternal breaks, — 
 The new immortal wakes, — 
 
 Wakes with his God ! 
 
 CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE. 
 
 (ALFRED TENNYSON.) 
 
 Half a league, half a league, 
 Half a league onward, 
 All in the valley of Death 
 Rode the six hundred. 
 
420 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 11 Forward the Light Brigade ! 
 Charge for the guns! 1 ' he said: 
 Into the valley of Death 
 Rode the six hundred. 
 
 " Forward, the Light Brigade 1" 
 Was there a man dismayed ? 
 Not though the soldier knew 
 Some one had blundered : 
 Theirs not to make reply, 
 Theirs not to reason why, 
 Theirs but to do and die, — 
 Into the valle}^ of Death 
 Rode the six hundred. 
 
 Cannon to right of them, 
 Cannon to left of them, 
 Cannon in front of them, 
 Yolleyed and thundered ; 
 Stormed at with shot and shell, 
 Boldly the}' rode and well ; 
 Into the jaws of Death, 
 Into the mouth of Hell 
 Rode the six hundred. 
 
 Flashed all their sabres bare, 
 Flashed as they turned in air, 
 Sabreing the gunners there, 
 Charging an army, while 
 All the world wondered : 
 Plunged in the battery-smoke, 
 Right through the line they broke ; 
 Cossack and Russian 
 Reeled from the sabre-stroke, 
 Shattered and sundered : — 
 Then they rode back — but not, 
 Not the six hundred. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 421 
 
 Cannon to right of them, 
 Cannon to left of them, 
 Cannon behind them 
 Volleyed and thundered ; 
 Stormed at with shot and shell, 
 While horse and hero fell, 
 They that had fought so well 
 Came through the jaws of Death, 
 Back from the mouth of Hell, 
 All that was left of them — 
 Left of six hundred. 
 
 When can their glory fade ? 
 Oh, the w r ild charge they made ! 
 All the world wondered. 
 Honor the charge they made ! 
 Honor the Light Brigade, 
 Noble Six Hundred! 
 
 MILTON ON HIS LOSS OF SIGHT. 
 
 I am old and blind ! . 
 Men point at me as smitten by God's frown ; 
 Afflicted and deserted of my kind, 
 
 Yet I am not cast down. 
 
 I am weak, yet strong ; 
 I murmur not, that I no longer see ; 
 Poor, old, and helpless, I the more belong, 
 
 Father Supreme ! to thee. 
 
 merciful One ! 
 When men are farthest, then Thou are most near, 
 When friends pass by, my weaknesses to shun, 
 
 Thy chariot I hear. 
 
 Thy glorious face 
 Is leaning toward me, and its holy light 
 Shines in upon my lonely dwelling-place — 
 
 And there is no more night. 
 
422 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 On my bended knee, 
 I recognize Thy purpose, clearly shown ; 
 My vision Thou hast dimmed, that I may see 
 
 Thyself, Thyself alone. 
 
 I have naught to fear ; 
 This darkness is the shadow of Thy wing ; 
 Beneath it I am almost sacred — here 
 
 Can come no evil thing. 
 
 ! I seem to stand 
 Trembling, where foot of mortal ne'er hath been, 
 Wrapped in the radiance from Tlry sinless land, 
 
 Which eye hath never seen. 
 
 Visions come and go 
 Shapes of resplendent beauty round me throng; 
 From angel lips I seem to hear the flow 
 
 Of soft and holy song. 
 
 It is nothing now, 
 When heaven is opening on m} T sightless eyes — 
 When airs from Paradise refresh my brow; 
 
 That earth in darkness lies. 
 
 In a purer clime, 
 My being fills with rapture — waves of thought 
 Roll in upon my spirit — strains sublime 
 
 Break over me unsought. 
 
 Give me now my lyre ! 
 I feel the stirrings of a gift divine ; 
 Within my bosom glows unearthly fire 
 
 Lit by no skill of mine. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 423 
 
 VULTURE AND INFANT. 
 (anon.) 
 
 I've been among the mighty Alps, and wandered thro' 
 
 their vales, 
 And heard the honest mountaineers — rel te their dismal 
 
 tales, 
 As round the cotters' blazing hearth, when their daily 
 
 work was o'er, 
 They spake of those, who disappeared, and ne'er were 
 
 heard of more. 
 
 And there, I, from a shepherd, heard a narrative of 
 
 fear, 
 A tale — to rend a mortal heart, which mothers— might 
 
 not hear; 
 The tears — were standiug in his eyes, his voice — was 
 
 tremulous ; 
 But wiping all those tears away, he told his story thus : 
 
 " It is among these barren cliffs — the ravenous vulture 
 
 dwells, 
 Who never fattens on the prey, which from afar he 
 
 smells ; 
 But, patient, watching hour on hour, upon a lofty rock, 
 He singles out some truant lamb, a victim, from the 
 
 flock. 
 
 One cloudless Sabbath summer morn, the sun was rising 
 
 high, 
 When, from my children on the green, I heard a fearful 
 
 cry, 
 As if some awful deed were done, a shriek of grief, and 
 
 pain, 
 A cry, I humbly trust in God, I ne'er may hear again. 
 
 I hurried out to learn the cause ; but, overwhelmed 
 
 with fright, 
 The children never ceased to shriek ; and, from my 
 
 frenzied sight, 
 
424 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 I missed the youngest of my babes, the darling of my 
 
 care ; 
 But something caught my searching eyes, slow sailing 
 
 thro' the air. 
 
 Oh! what an awful spectacle — to meet a father's 
 
 eye — 
 His infant — made a vulture's prey, with terror to 
 
 descry ; 
 And know, with agonizing heart, and with a maniac 
 
 rave, 
 That earthly power — could not avail — that innocent to 
 
 save ! 
 
 My infant — stretched his little hands — imploringly to 
 
 me, 
 And struggled with the ravenous bird, all vainly to get 
 
 free : 
 At intervals, I heard his cries, as loud he shrieked and 
 
 screamed ! 
 Until, upon the azure sky, a lessening spot he seemed. 
 
 The vulture — flapped his sail-like wings, though heavily 
 
 he flew ; 
 A mote, upon the sun's broad face, he seemed unto my 
 
 view ; 
 But once, I thought I saw him stoop, as if he would 
 
 alight, — 
 'Twas only a delusive thought, for all had vanished 
 
 quite. 
 
 All search was vain, and years had passed ; that child 
 
 was ne'er forgot, 
 When once a daring hunter climbed unto a lofty spot, 
 From thence, upon a rugged crag — the chamois never 
 
 reached, 
 He saw — an infant's fleshless bones — the elements had 
 
 bleached ! 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 425 
 
 I clambered up that rugged cliff — I could not stay- 
 away, — 
 
 I knew they were my infant's bones — thus hastening to 
 decay ; 
 
 A tattered garment — yet remained, though torn to many 
 a shred : 
 
 The crimson cap — he wore that morn — was still upon 
 his head." 
 
 That dreary spot — is pointed out to travelers, passing 
 
 by, 
 
 Who often stand, and musing, gaze, nor go without a 
 
 sigh ; 
 And as /journeyed, the next morn, along my sunny 
 
 way, 
 The precipice was shown to me, whereon the infant lay. 
 
 OTHELLO'S APOLOGY. 
 
 Most potent, grave, and reverend seigniors 
 My very noble and approv'd good masters : 
 That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter, 
 It is most true ; true, I have married her : 
 The very head and front of my offending 
 Hath this extent ; no more. 
 
 Rude am I in speech, 
 And little blessed with the set phrase of peace : 
 For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith, 
 Till now some nine moons wasted, they have us'd 
 Their dearest action in the tented field ; 
 And little of this great world can I speak, 
 More than pertains to feats of broils and battle; 
 And therefore, little shall I grace my cause, 
 In speaking of myself. Yet, by your patience, 
 I will, a round, unvarnish'd tale deliver, 
 Of my whole course of love ; what drugs, what charms, 
 What conjuration, and what mighty magic, 
 (For such proceedings I am charg'd withal) 
 I won his daughter with. 
 
426 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Her father lov'd me ; oft invited me ; 
 
 Still questioned me the story of my life, 
 
 From year to year : the battles, sieges, fortunes, 
 
 That I had past. 
 
 I ran it through, e'en from my boyish days, 
 
 To the very moment, that he bade me tell it. 
 
 Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances : 
 
 Of moving accidents by flood, and field: 
 
 Of hairbreadth 'scapes, in the imminent deadly breach; 
 
 Of being taken b}^ the insolent foe, 
 
 And sold to slavery ; of m} T redemption thence, 
 
 And with it all my travel's history. 
 
 All these to hear, 
 Would Desdemona seriously incline ; 
 But still the house affairs would draw her thence. 
 Which ever as she could with haste despatch, 
 She'd come again, and with a greedy ear, 
 Devour up my discourse. Which, I observing, 
 Took once a pliant hour, and found good means 
 To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart, 
 That I would all my pilgrimage dilate ; 
 Whereof by parcels, she had something heard, 
 But not distinctly. 
 
 I did consent ; 
 And often did beguile her of her tears, 
 When I did speak of some distressful stroke, 
 That mj' youth suffer'd. My story being done, 
 She gave me for my pains a world of sighs. 
 She swore in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange, 
 'Twas pitiful; 'twas wondrous pitiful; 
 She wish'd she had not heard it ; yet she wish'd 
 That heaven — had made her such a man. 
 
 She thank'd me, 
 And bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her, 
 I should but teach him how to tell my story, 
 And that would woo her. On his hint I spake ; 
 She lov'd me, for the dangers I had pass'd ; 
 And I lov'd her, that she did pity them. 
 This is the only witchcraft, which I've used. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. £%% 
 
 PARRHASIUS AND CAPTIVE. 
 
 (WILLIS.) 
 
 " Parrhasius, a painter of Athens, amongst those Olynthian 
 captives Philip of Macedon brought home to sell, bought one 
 very old man ; and when he had him at his house, put him 
 to death with extreme torture and torment, the better by his 
 example to express the pains and passions of his Prometheus, 
 whom he was then about to paint." 
 
 There stood an unsold captive in the mart, 
 A gray-haired and majestical old man, 
 Chained to a pillar. It was almost night, 
 And the last seller from his place had gone 
 And not a sound was heard but of a dog 
 Crunching beneath the stall a refuse bone, 
 Or the dull echo from the pavement rung, 
 As the faint captive changed his weary feet. 
 
 'Twas evening, and the half-descended sun 
 Tipped with a golden fire the many domes 
 Of Athens, and a yellow atmosphere 
 Lay rich and dusky in the shaded street 
 Through which the captive gazed. 
 
 The golden light into the painter's room 
 Streamed richly, and the hidden colors stole 
 From the dark pictures radiantly forth, 
 And in the soft and dewy atmosphere, 
 Like forms and landscapes, magical they lay. 
 Parrhasius stood gazing forgetfully, 
 Upon his canvas. There Prometheus lay 
 Chained to the cold rocks of Mount Caucasus — 
 The vulture at his vitals, and the links 
 Of the lame Lemnian festering in his flesh; 
 And, as the painter's mind felt through the dim, 
 Rapt m3'Stery, and plucked the shadows forth 
 With its far-reaching fancy, and with form 
 
428 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 And color clad them, his fine earnest eye, 
 Flashed with a passionate fire, and the quick curl 
 Of his thin nostril, and his quivering lip 
 Were like the winged God's breathing from his flight. 
 
 " Bring me the captive now ! 
 My hands feel skillful, and the shadows lift 
 From my waked spirit airily and swift 
 And I could paint the bow 
 Upon the bended heavens — around me play 
 Colors of such divinity to-day. 
 
 Ha ! bind him on his back ! 
 Look ! — as Prometheus in my picture here ! 
 Quick — or he faints ! stand with the cordial near ! 
 
 Now bend him to the rack ! 
 Press down the poison'd links into his flesh ! 
 And tear agape that healing wound afresh! 
 
 So — let him writhe ! How long 
 Will he live thus ? Quick, my good pencil now ! 
 What a fine agony works upon his brow ! 
 
 Ha ! gray-haired, and so strong ! 
 How fearfully he stifles that short moan ! 
 Gods ! if I could but paint a dying groan ! 
 
 " Pity thee ! So I do ! 
 I pity the dumb victim at the altar — 
 But does the rob'd priest for his pity falter? 
 
 I'd rack thee though I knew 
 A thousand lives were perishing in thine — 
 What were ten thousand to a fame like mine ? 
 
 Yet there's a deathless name! 
 A spirit that the smothering vaule shall spurn, 
 And like a steadfast planet mount and burn — 
 
 And though its crown of flame 
 Consumed my brain to ashes as it shone, 
 By all the fiery stars ! I'd bind it on ! 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 429 
 
 Ay — though it bid me rifle 
 My heart's last fount for its insatiate thirst — 
 Though every life-strung nerve be maddened first : 
 
 Though it should bid me stifle 
 The j^earning in my throat for nr^ sweet child, 
 And taunt its mother till my brain went wild — . 
 
 All — I would do it alU=- 
 Sooner than die, like a dull worm to rot — 
 Thrust foully into earth to be forgot ! 
 
 O heavens — but I appal 
 Your heart, old man ! forgive — ha ! on your lives 
 Let him not faint ? — rack him till he revives ! 
 
 Vain — vain — give o'er ! His eye 
 Glazes apace. He does not feel }^ou now — 
 Stand back ! I'll paint the death-dew on his brow ! 
 
 Gods ! if he do not die 
 But for one moment — one — till I eclipse 
 Conception with the scorn of those calm lips ! 
 
 Shivering ! Hark ! he mutters 
 Brokenly now — that was a difficult breath — 
 Another ? Wilt thou never come, oh, Death ! 
 
 Look ! how his temples flutter ! 
 Is his heart still ? Aha ! lift up his head ! 
 He shudders, gasps, Jove help him ! so, he's dead, 
 
 THE MANIAC; MAD-HOUSE. 
 
 Stay, jailer, stay — and hear my woe ! 
 
 She is not mad — who kneels to thee ; 
 For what I'm now — too well I know, 
 
 For what I was — and what should be. 
 I'll rave no more — in proud despair ; 
 
 My language shall be mild— though sad: 
 But yet I'll firmly — truly swear, 
 
 I am not mad — I am not mad. 
 28 
 
430 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 My t}^rant husband — forged the tale, 
 
 Which chains me— in this dismal cell ; 
 My fate unknown — my friends bewail ; 
 
 Oh ! jailer, haste — that fate to tell ; 
 Oh ! haste — my father's heart to cheer : 
 
 His heart, at once — 'twill grieve, and glad, 
 To know, though kept a captive here, 
 
 I am not mad ; — I am not mad. 
 
 He smiles — in scorn, and turns — the key ; 
 
 He quits the grate ; I knelt in vain ; 
 His glimmeriug lamp, still, still I see — 
 
 'Tis gone, and all is gloom again. 
 Cold — bitter cold ! — No warmth ! no light ! 
 
 Life, — all thy comforts once I had ; 
 Yet here I'm chained, — this freezing night, 
 
 Although not mad ; no, no, not mad. 
 
 *Tis sure some dream, — some vision vain ; 
 
 What ! I — the child of rank — and wealth. 
 Am / the wretch — who clanks this chain, 
 
 Bereft of freedom, — friends and health ? 
 Ah ! while I dwell on blessings fled, 
 
 Which never more — my heart must glad, 
 How aches my heart, — how burns my head j 
 
 But 'tis not mad ; — no 'tis not mad. 
 
 Hast thou, my child — forgot ere this, 
 
 A mother's face — a mother's tongue ? 
 She'll ne'er forget your parting kiss, 
 
 Nor round her neck — how fast you clung ; 
 Nor how with me — you sued to stay ; 
 
 Nor how that suit — your sire forbade ; 
 Nor how — I'll drive such thoughts away ; 
 
 Thej^'ll make me mad ; — the3 T 'll make me mad 
 
 His rosy lips, — how sweet they smiled ! 
 
 His mild blue eyes, how bright they shone ! 
 None— ever bore a lovelier child : 
 
 And art thou now forever — gone ? 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 431 
 
 And must I never see thee more, 
 
 My pretty, pretty, pretty lad ? 
 I will be free ! unbar the door ? 
 
 I am not mad ; — I am not mad. 
 
 Oh ! hark ! what mean those yells, and cries ? 
 
 His chain — some furious madman breaks ; 
 He comes, — I see his glaring eyes ; 
 
 Now, now — my dungeon-grate he shakes. 
 Help ! help ! — He's gone ! Oh ! fearful wo, 
 
 Such screams to hear, such sights to see ! 
 My brain, my brain — I know, I know, 
 
 I am not mad, but soon shall be. 
 
 Yes, soon ; — for, lo you ! — while I speak — 
 
 Mark how yon Demon's eye-balls glare ! 
 He sees me ; now, with dreadful shriek, 
 
 He whirls a serpent — high in air. 
 Horror ! — the reptile — strikes his tooth — 
 
 Deep in my heart, so crushed and sad ; 
 Ay, laugh, ye fiends ; I feel the truth; 
 
 Your task is done !-— J'm mad ! Pm mad ! 
 
 THE MOTHER PERISHING IN A SNOW-STORM. 
 
 "In the year 1821, a Mrs. Blake perished in a snow-storm 
 in the night-time, while travelling over a spur of the Green 
 Mountains in Vermont. She had an infant with her, which 
 was found alive and well in the morning, being carefully 
 wrapped in the mother's clothing." 
 
 The cold winds — swept the mountain's height, 
 And pathless — was the dreary wild, 
 
 And, 'mid the cheerless hours of night, 
 A mother wancler'd — with her child : 
 
 As through the drifting snow she press'd, 
 
 The babe — was sleeping — on her breast. 
 
432 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 And colder still the winds did blow, 
 And darker hours of night came on, 
 
 And deeper grew the diftiug snow : 
 
 Her limbs — were chilVd, her strength — was gone 
 
 11 Oh, God!" she cried, in accents wild, 
 
 "If /must perish, save m}^ child!" 
 
 She stripd'd her mantle from her breast, 
 And bared her bosom to the storm, 
 
 And round the child — she wrapped the vest, 
 And smiled — to think her babe was warm. 
 
 With one cold kiss — one tear she shed, 
 
 And sunk — upon her snowy bed. 
 
 At dawn — a traveller passed by, 
 And saw her — 'neath a snowy vail ; 
 
 The frost of death — was in her eye, 
 
 Her cheek was cold, and hard, and pale; 
 
 He moved the robe from off the child, 
 
 The babe look'd up — and sweetly smiled! 
 
 TO ROSABELLE. 
 
 (PHILIP LAWRENCE.) 
 
 Ah ! can I now in words impart, 
 
 What hopes and fears my mind assail, 
 The tortures of a wounded heart, 
 
 No tongue can tell the tender tale ; 
 I think of her who first did gain 
 
 My love ; its fondness none can tell ; 
 'Tis you alone can ease my pain, 
 
 My sweet, my lovely Kosabelle. 
 
 My waking thought, my nightly dream, 
 
 With thy loved image will not part ; 
 And when alone, 'tis ofttimes seen 
 
 In the recesses of my heart. 
 Love dwells in thy soul-beaming qjqb, 
 
 Pure as it came from heaven above ; 
 I only breathe impassioned sighs, 
 
 While gazing on those orbs of love. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 433 
 
 And now, clear girl, if yet ungiven, 
 
 A precious gift to me impart, 
 A gift I'll value next to heaven, 
 
 The tribute of thy pure warm heart. 
 An angel's charms in thee appear, 
 
 Thy smiles can every care dispel ; 
 To me thou art surpassing dear, 
 
 My sweet, my lovely Rosabelle. 
 
 SOFTLY MURMUR. 
 (PHILIP LAWKENCE.) 
 
 Softly murmur, gentle breezes, 
 
 Waft my thoughts to her I love, 
 Lightly lift her flowing ringlets, 
 
 O'er her tender bosom rove : 
 Tell her that her image ever 
 
 In my breast has made its home, 
 That my heart will never waver, 
 
 But will beat for her alone. 
 
 Softly murmur, gentle waters, 
 
 Flowing down the mossy glade ; 
 Bringing perfume to the flowers ; 
 
 Giving lightness to the shade : 
 Bringing fragrance to the forest, 
 
 In the pleasant hours of e'en ; 
 To the fields a robe of beauty, 
 
 To the leaves a brighter green. 
 
 Softly murmur, gentle voices, 
 
 Soothing care and healing woe, 
 Bringing to the chasten'd spirit 
 
 Hopes, forgotten long ago. 
 Bringing comfort to the dying ; 
 
 To the weary, giving rest ; 
 Like the whispering of angels, 
 
 In the mansions of the blest. 
 
434 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 THE PATRIOT'S SONG. 
 (PHILIP LAWRENCE.) 
 
 When vile Secession rears its dastard form, 
 Tramples on peace and then invokes the storm, 
 Rise, fellow-men, and with indignant brow, 
 Unfurl your standard and return its blow. 
 
 Strike for your noble land ! 
 
 Avenge your countiy's wrongs ! 
 
 Come from the hills where Freedom sits enthroned. 
 Come from the plains where Liberty has roamed, 
 Come from the sea, the river, and the land, 
 And join your brothers in the " Patriot's Band." 
 
 Strike for your noble land ! 
 
 Avenge your country's wrongs ! 
 
 Strike for the land of beauty and of worth, 
 Strike for your land, the glory of the earth ; 
 Strike for the land of liberty this day, 
 And victory shall round your banners play. 
 
 Strike for your noble land ! 
 
 Avenge your country's wrongs I 
 
 "LITTLE JIM." 
 
 The cottage was a thatched one, the outside old and 
 
 mean, 
 Yet every thing within that cot was wond'rous neat 
 
 and clean ; 
 The night was dark and stormy, the wind was howling 
 
 wild, 
 A patient mother watched beside the death-bed of her 
 
 child— 
 A little worn-out creature — his once bright eyes grown 
 
 dim ; 
 It was the collier's wife and child — they called him 
 
 " Little Jim." 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 435 
 
 And oh, to see the briny tears fast hurrying down her 
 cheek, 
 
 As she offered up a praj^er of thought — she was afraid 
 to speak, 
 
 Lest the night 'waken one she loved far better than her 
 life, 
 
 For she had all a mother's heart, had that poor collier's 
 wife-— 
 
 With hands uplifted, see ! she kneels beside the suf- 
 ferer's bed 
 
 And prays that he will spare her boy, and take herself 
 instead. 
 
 She gets her answer from her child — soft fall these 
 
 words for him : 
 " Mother, the angels thev do smile, and beckon ' Little 
 
 Jim.' 
 I have no pain, dear mother, now, but oh ! I am so 
 
 dry — 
 Just moisten poor Jim's lips again, and, mother, don't 
 
 ye cry." 
 With gentle, trembling haste she held a tea-cup to his 
 
 lips; 
 He smiled to thank her as he took three little tiny 
 
 sips — 
 "Tell father, when he comes home from work, I said 
 
 good-night to him ; 
 And, mother, now I'll go to sleep." Alas ! poor " Little 
 
 Jim." 
 
 She saw that he was dying — the child she loved so 
 
 dear, 
 Had uttered the last words that she might ever hope 
 
 to hear, 
 The cottage door is opened — the collier's step is 
 
 heard — 
 The father and the mother meet, but neither spake a 
 
 word. 
 He felt that all was over — he knew his child was 
 
 dead, 
 
436 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 He took the candle in his hand and walked toward the 
 
 bed ; 
 His quivering lips give token of the grief he'd fain 
 
 conceal — 
 And see ! his wife has joined him — the stricken couple 
 
 kneel ; 
 With hearts bowed down with sadness they humbly 
 
 ask of Him 
 In heaven once more to meet again their own poor 
 
 " Little Jim." 
 
 HORATIUS. 
 
 (macaulay.) 
 
 " Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, 
 
 With all the speed ye may ; 
 I, with two more to help me, 
 
 Will hold the foe in play. 
 In yon strait path a thousand 
 
 May well be stopped by three. 
 Now, who will stand on either hand, 
 
 And keep the bridge with me ?" 
 
 Then out spake Spurius Lartius, 
 
 A Ramnian proud was he : 
 11 Lo, I will stand on thy right hand, 
 
 And keep the bridge with thee." 
 And out spake strong Herminius, 
 
 Of Titian blood was he: 
 " I will abide on thy left side, 
 
 And keep the bridge with thee." 
 
 "Horatius," quoth the Consul, 
 
 "As thou sayest, so let it be." 
 And straight against that great array 
 
 Forth went the dauntless Three. 
 For Romans in Rome's quarrel 
 
 Spared neither land nor gold, 
 Nor son, nor wife, nor limb, nor life, 
 
 In the brave days of old. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 437 
 
 Now, while the Three were tightening 
 
 Their harness on their backs, 
 The Consul was the foremost man 
 
 To take in hand an axe ; 
 And Fathers mixed with Commons, 
 
 Seized hatchet, bar, and crow, 
 iLnd smote upon the planks above, 
 
 And loosed the props below. 
 
 Meanwhile the Tuscan army, 
 
 Right glorious to behold, 
 Came flashing back the noonday light, 
 Rank behind rank, like surges bright 
 
 Of a broad sea of gold. 
 Four hundred trumpets sounded 
 
 A peal of warlike glee, 
 As that great host, with measured tread, 
 And spears advanced, and ensigns spread, 
 Rolled slowly toward the bridge's head, 
 
 Where stood the dauntless Three. 
 
 The Three stood calm and silent, 
 
 And looked upon the foes, 
 And a great shout of laughter 
 
 From all the vanguard rose : 
 And forth, three chiefs came spurring 
 
 Before that mighty mass ; 
 To earth they sprang, their swords they drew 
 And lifted high their shields, and flew 
 
 To win the narrow pass. 
 
 But all Etruria's noblest 
 
 Felt their hearts sink to see 
 On the earth the bloody corpses, 
 
 In the path the dauntless Three : 
 And, from the ghastly entrance 
 
 Where those bold Romans stood, 
 All shrank, like boys who unaware, 
 Ranging the woods to start a hare, 
 Come to the mouth of the dark lair 
 Where, growling low, a fierce old bear 
 
 Lies amidst bones and blood. 
 
438 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 But meanwhile axe and lever 
 
 Have manfully been plied, 
 And now the bridge hangs tottering 
 
 Above the boiling tide. 
 " Come back, come back, Horatius !" 
 
 Loud cried the Fathers all. 
 " Back, Lartius ! back, Herminius ! 
 
 Back, ere the ruin fall !" 
 
 Back darted Spurius Lartius ; 
 
 Herminius darted back : 
 And, as they passed, beneath their feet 
 
 They felt the timbers crack. 
 But when they turned their faces, 
 
 And on the farther shore 
 Saw brave Horatius stand alone, 
 
 They would have crossed once more. 
 
 But with a crash like thunder 
 
 Fell eveiy loosened beam, 
 And, like a dam, the mighty wreck 
 
 Lay right athwart the stream 
 And a long shout of triumph 
 
 Rose from the walls of Rome, 
 As to the highest turret-tops 
 
 Was splashed the 3 r ellow foam. 
 
 And like a horse unbroken 
 
 When first he feels the rein, 
 The furious river struggled hard, 
 
 And tossed his tawny mane ; 
 And burst the curb, and bounded, 
 
 Rejoicing to be free ; 
 And whirling down, in fierce career, 
 Battlement, and plank, and pier, 
 
 Rushed headlong to the sea. 
 
 Alone stood brave Horatius, 
 But constant still in mind ; 
 
 Thrice thirty thousand foes before, 
 And the broad flood behind. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 439 
 
 " Down with him !" cried false Sextus, 
 
 With a smile on his pale face. 
 " Now yield thee," cried Lars Porsena 
 
 "Now yield thee to our grace." 
 
 Round turned he, as not deigning 
 
 Those craven ranks to see ; 
 Naught spake he to Lars Porsena, 
 
 To Sextus naught spake he ; 
 But he saw on Palatinus 
 
 The white porch of his home ; 
 And he spake to the noble river 
 
 That rolls by the towers of Rome. 
 
 "Oh, Tiber! father Tiber! 
 
 To whom the Romans pray, 
 A Roman's life, a Roman's arms, 
 
 Take thou in charge this day!" 
 So he spake, and speaking sheathed 
 
 The good sword by his side, 
 And, with his harness on his back, 
 
 Plunged headlong in the tide. 
 
 No sound of joy or sorrow 
 
 Was heard from either bank ; 
 But friends and foes, in dumb surprise, 
 
 With parted lips and straining eyes, 
 Stood gazing where he sank ; 
 
 And when above the surges 
 They saw his crest appear, 
 
 All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry, 
 And even the ranks of Tuscany 
 
 Could scarce forbear to cheer. 
 
 But fiercely ran the current, 
 
 Swollen high by months of rain : 
 And fast his blood was flowing ; 
 
 And he was sore in pain, 
 And heavy with his armor, 
 
 And spent with changing blows ; 
 
440 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 And oft the} 7 thought him sinking, 
 But still again he rose. 
 
 Never, I ween, did swimmer, 
 
 In such an evil case, 
 Struggle through such a raging flood 
 
 Safe to the landing-place: 
 But his limbs were borne up bravely 
 
 By the brave heart within, 
 And our good father Tiber 
 
 Bare bravely up his chin. 
 
 11 Curse on him I" quoth false Sextus, 
 
 " Will not the villain drown ? 
 But for this stay, ere close of day 
 
 We should have sacked the town I" 
 " Heaven help him !" quoth Lars Porsena, 
 
 " And bring him safe to shore ; 
 For such a gallant feat of arms 
 
 Was never seen before." 
 
 And now he feels the bottom ; 
 
 Now on dry earth he stands, 
 Now round him throng the Fathers 
 
 To press his gory hands ; 
 And now with shouts and clapping, 
 
 And noise of weeping loud, 
 He enters through the River-gate, 
 
 Borne by the joyous crowd 
 
 ANNABEL LEE. 
 (EDGAR A. POE.) 
 
 It was many and many a year ago, 
 
 In a kingdom by the sea, 
 That a maiden there lived, whom you may know 
 
 By the name of Annabel Lee ; 
 And this maiden she lived with no other thought 
 
 Than to love, and be loved by me. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 441 
 
 I was a child and she was a child, 
 
 In this kingdom by the sea ; 
 But we loved with a love that was more than love, 
 
 I and my Annabel Lee — 
 With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven 
 
 Coveted her and me. 
 
 And this was the reason that, long ago, 
 
 In this kingdom by the sea, 
 A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling 
 
 My beautiful Annabel Lee ; 
 So that her high-born kinsmen came 
 
 And bore her away from me, 
 To shut her up in a sepulchre 
 
 In this kingdom by the sea. 
 
 The angels, not half so happy in heaven, 
 
 Went envying her and me, 
 Yes ! that was the reason (as all men know, 
 
 In this kingdom by the sea) 
 That the wind came out of the cloud by night, 
 
 Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. 
 
 But our love it was stronger by far than the love 
 
 Of those who were older than we, 
 
 Of many far wiser than we ; 
 And neither the angels in heaven above, 
 
 Nor the demons down under the sea, 
 Can ever dissever my soul from the soul 
 
 Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. 
 
 For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams 
 
 Of the beautiful Annabel Lee, 
 A.nd the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes 
 
 Of the beautiful Annabel Lee ; 
 And so all the night-time, I lie down by the side 
 Of nry darling — my darling — my life and my bride, 
 In the sepulchre there by the sea, 
 In her tomb by the sounding sea. 
 
442 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 BUGLE SONG. 
 
 (texxysox.) 
 
 The splendor falls on castle avails 
 
 And snowy summits old and story ; 
 The long light shakes across the lakes, 
 And the wild cataract leaps in glory. 
 Blow, bugle, blow; set the wild echoes flying: 
 Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, djing, dying. 
 
 hark, hear ! how thin and clear, 
 
 And thinner, clearer, further going ; 
 sweet and far, from cliff and scar, 
 The horns of Elfland faintly blowing ! 
 Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying : 
 Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. 
 
 love, they die in yon rich sky, 
 
 They faint on hill or field or river : 
 Our echoes roll from soul to soul, 
 And grow forever and forever. 
 Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, 
 And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. 
 
 INVOCATION TO THE NEW YEAR. 
 (TENNYSON.) 
 
 Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, 
 The frying cloud, the frosty light ; 
 The year is dying in the night ; 
 
 Bins: out, wild bells, and let him die. 
 
 Ring out the old, ring in the new, 
 Ring, happy bells, across the snow : 
 The year is going, let him go ; 
 
 Ring out the false, ring in the true. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 443 
 
 King out the grief that saps the mind, 
 For those that here we see no more ; 
 Ring out the feud of rich and poor, 
 
 Ring in redress to all mankind. 
 
 Ring out a slowly dying cause, 
 
 And ancient forms of party strife ; 
 
 Ring in the nobler modes of life, 
 With sweeter manners, purer laws. 
 
 Ring out the want, the care, the sin, 
 The faithless coldness of the times ; 
 Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes, 
 
 But ring the fuller minstrel in. 
 
 Ring out false pride in place and blood, 
 
 The civic slander and the spite ; 
 
 Ring in the love of truth and right, 
 Ring in the common love of good. 
 
 Ring out old shapes of foul disease, 
 Ring out the narrowing lust of gold ; 
 Ring out the thousand wars of old, 
 
 Ring in the thousand years of peace. 
 
 Ring in the valiant man and free, 
 The larger heart, the kindlier hand ; 
 Ring out the darkness of the land, 
 
 Ring in the Christ that is to be. 
 
 THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. 
 
 (THOMAS HOOD.) 
 
 'Twas in the prime of summer time, 
 
 An evening calm and cool, 
 And four-and -twenty happy boys 
 
 Came bounding out of school : 
 There were some that ran and some that leapt, 
 
 Like troutlets in a pool. 
 
444 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Away they sped, with gamesome minds, 
 
 And souls untouched b}^ sin ; 
 To a level mead they came, and there 
 
 They drave the wickets in: 
 Pleasantly shone the setting sun 
 
 Over the town of Lynn. 
 
 Like sportive deer they coursed about, 
 
 And shouted as they ran, — 
 Turning to mirth all things of earth, 
 
 As only boj'hood can ; 
 But the IJsher sat remote from all, 
 
 A melancholy man ! 
 
 His hat was off, his vest apart, 
 To catch heaven's blessed breeze ; 
 
 For a burning thought was in his brow, 
 And his bosom ill at ease : 
 
 So he lean'd his head on his hands, and read 
 The book between his knees ! 
 
 Leaf after leaf he turn'd it o'er, 
 
 Nor ever glanced aside, 
 For the peace of his soul he read that book 
 
 In the golden eventide : 
 Much stud} 7- had made him very lean, 
 
 And pale, and leaden-eyed. 
 
 At last he shut the ponderous tome, 
 
 With a fast and fervent grasp 
 He strain 'd the dusky covers close, 
 
 And fix'd the brazen hasp : 
 " Oh, God ! could I so close my mind, 
 
 And clasp it with a clasp !" 
 
 Then leaping on his feet upright, 
 
 Some moody turns he took, — 
 Now up the mead, then down the mead, 
 
 And past a shady nook, — 
 And, lo! he saw a little boy 
 
 That pored upon a book ! 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 445 
 
 " My gentle lad, what is't you read — 
 
 Romance or fairy fable ? 
 Or is it some historic page, 
 
 Of kings and crowns unstable ?" 
 The young boy gave an upward glance, — 
 
 " It is ' The Death of Abel. ' » 
 
 The Usher took six hasty strides, 
 
 As smit with sudden pain, — 
 Six hasty strides beyond the place, 
 
 Then slowly back again ; 
 And down he sat beside the lad, 
 
 And talk'd with him of Cain ; 
 
 And, long since then, of bloody men 
 
 Whose deeds tradition saves ; 
 Of lonely folk cut off unseen, 
 
 And hid in sudden graves ; 
 Of horrid stabs, in groves forlorn, 
 
 And murders done in caves ; 
 
 And how the sprites of injured men 
 
 Shriek upward from the sod, — 
 Ay, how the ghostly hand will point 
 
 To show the burial clod ; 
 And unknown facts of guilty acts 
 
 Are seen in dreams from God ; 
 
 He told how murderers walked the earth 
 
 Beneath the curse of Cain, — 
 With crimson clouds before their eyes, 
 
 And flames about their brain : 
 For blood has left upon their souls 
 
 Its everlasting stain ! 
 
 "And well," quoth he, " I know, for truth, 
 
 Their pangs must be extreme, — 
 Woe, woe, unutterable woe, — 
 
 Who spill life's sacred stream ! 
 For why ? Methought, last night, I wrought 
 
 A murder in a dream ! 
 29 
 
446 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 " One that had never done me wrong — 
 A feeble man and old ; 
 
 I led him to a lonely field, — 
 
 The moon shone clear and cold : 
 'Now here,' said I, ' this man shall die, 
 And I will have his gold !' 
 
 " Two sudden blows with ragged stick, 
 And one with a hqavy stone, 
 
 One hurried gash with a hasty knife, — 
 And then the deed was done : 
 
 There was nothing lying at my foot 
 But lifeless flesh and bone ! 
 
 II Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone, 
 
 That could not do me ill; 
 And yet I fear'd him all the more, 
 
 For lying there so still : 
 There was a manhood in his look, 
 
 That murder could not kill ! 
 
 "And, lo ! the universal air 
 
 Seem'd lit with ghastbf flame : — 
 
 Ten thousand thousand dreadful e3 T es 
 Were looking down in blame: 
 
 I took the dead man by his hand, 
 And call'd upon his name ! 
 
 II 0, God ! it made me quake to see 
 
 Such sense within the slain ! 
 But when I touch'd the lifeless clay, 
 
 The blood gush'd out amain ! 
 For every clot, a burning spot 
 Was scorching in my brain ! 
 
 " My head was like an ardent coal, 
 
 My heart as solid ice ; 
 M} T wretched, wretched soul, I knew, 
 
 Was at the Devil's price : 
 A dozen times I groan 'd ; the dead 
 
 Had never groan 'd but twice! 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 447 
 
 "And now, from forth the frowning sky, 
 From the Heaven's topmost height, 
 
 I heard a voice — the awful voice 
 Of the blood-avenging sprite : — 
 
 ' Thou guilty man ! take up thy dead 
 And hide it from my sight !' 
 
 11 1 took the dreary body up, 
 
 And cast it in a stream, — 
 A sluggish water black as ink, 
 
 The depth was so extreme : — 
 My gentle Boy, remember this 
 
 Is nothing but a dream! 
 
 " Down went the corse with a hollow plunge, 
 
 And vanish'd in the pool ; 
 Anon I cleansed my blood}?- hands, 
 
 And wash'd my forehead cool, 
 And sat among the urchins young, 
 
 That evening in the school. 
 
 " Oh, Heaven ! to think of their white souls, 
 
 And mine so black and grim ! 
 I could not share in childish prayer, 
 
 Nor join in Evening Hymn : 
 Like a Devil of the Pit I seem'd, 
 
 'Mid holy cherubim ! 
 
 "And peace went with them, one and all, 
 
 And each calm pillow spread ; 
 But Guilt was my grim Chamberlain 
 
 That lighted me to bed ; 
 And drew my midnight curtains round, 
 
 With fingers bloody red ! 
 
 "All night I lay in agony, 
 
 In anguish dark and deep, 
 My fever 'd eyes I dared not close, 
 
 But stared aghast at Sleep : 
 For Sin has render'd unto her 
 
 The keys of Hell to keep ! 
 
448 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION, 
 
 "All night I lay in agony, 
 
 From weary chime to chime, 
 With one besetting horrid hint, 
 
 That rack'd me all the time : 
 A mighty yearning, like the first 
 
 Fierce impulse unto crime ! 
 
 " One stern tj-rannic thought, that made 
 
 All otner thoughts its slave; 
 Stronger and stronger every pulse 
 
 Did that temptation crave, — 
 Still urging me to go and see 
 
 The Dead Man in his grave ! 
 
 11 Heavily I rose up, as soon 
 
 As light was in the sky, 
 And sought the black accursed pool 
 
 With a wild misgiving eye ; 
 And I saw the Dead in the river bed, 
 
 For the faithless stream was dry. 
 
 " Merrily rose the lark, and shook 
 
 The dew-drop from its wing ; 
 But I never mark'd its morning flight, 
 
 DO™ 
 
 I never heard it sing : 
 For I was stooping once again 
 Under the horrid thing. 
 
 "With breathless speed, like a soul in chass, 
 
 I took him up and ran ; — 
 There was no time to dig a grave 
 
 Before the day began : 
 In a lonesome wood, with heaps of leaves, 
 
 I hid the murcler'd man ! 
 
 "And all that day I read in school, 
 But my thought was other where ; 
 
 As soon as the mid-day task was done, 
 In secret I was there : 
 
 And a mighty wind had swept the leaves, 
 And still the corse was bare 1 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 449 
 
 " Then down I cast me on my face 
 
 And first began to weep, 
 For I knew my secret then was one 
 
 That earth refused to keep : 
 Or land or sea, though he should be 
 
 Ten thousand fathoms deep. 
 
 11 So wills the fierce avenging Sprite, 
 
 Till blood for blood atones ! 
 Ay, though he's buried in a cave, 
 
 And trodden down with stones, 
 And years have rotted off his flesh 
 
 The world shall see his bones ! 
 
 11 Oh, God ! that horrid, horrid dream 
 
 Besets me now awake ! 
 Again — again, with dizzy brain, 
 
 The human life I take ; 
 And my right red hand grows raging hot, 
 Like Cranmer's at the stake, 
 
 "And still no peace for the restless clay, 
 
 Will wave or mould allow ; 
 The horrid thing pursues my soul, — 
 
 It stands before me now I" 
 The fearful Boy look'd up, and saw 
 
 Huge drops upon his brow. 
 
 That very night, while gentle sleep 
 
 The urchin eyelids kiss'd, 
 Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn, 
 
 Through the cold and heavy mist ; 
 And Eugene Aram walk'd between, 
 
 With gyves upon his wrist. 
 
450 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 THE HIGH TIDE ON THE COAST OF LINCOLNSHIRE. (1571.) 
 (jean ingelow.) 
 
 The old mayor climbed the belfry tower, 
 The ringers rang by two, by three; 
 
 " Pull, if 3 r e never pulled before ; 
 
 Good ringers, pull } r our best," quoth he. 
 
 " Play uppe, play uppe, O Boston bells ! 
 
 Ply all your changes, all your swells, 
 Play uppe ' The Brides of Enderby.' " 
 
 Men say it was a stolen tyde — 
 
 The Lord that sent it, He knows all ; 
 
 But in nryne ears doth still abide 
 The message that the bells let fall : 
 
 And there was nought of strange, beside 
 
 The flight of mews and peewits pied 
 
 By millions crouched on the old sea-wall. 
 
 I sat and spun within the doore, 
 
 My thread brake off, I raised myne eyes ; 
 
 The level sun, like ruddy ore, 
 La} r sinking in the barren skies, 
 
 And dark against day's golden death 
 
 She moved where Lindis wandereth, 
 
 My Sonne's faire wife, Elizabeth. 
 
 " Cusha ! Cusha ! Cusha !" calling, 
 Ere the early dews were falling, 
 Farre away I heard her song. 
 " Cusha ! Cusha !" all along; 
 Where the reedy Lindis floweth, 
 
 Floweth, floweth, 
 From the meads where melick groweth 
 Faintly came her milking song — 
 
 " Cusha ! Cusha ! Cusha !" calling, 
 " For the dews will soone be falling ; 
 Leave your meadow grasses mellow, 
 Mellow, mellow; 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 451 
 
 Quit j^oiir cowslips, cowslips yellow ; 
 
 Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot, 
 
 Quit the stalks of parsley hollow, 
 
 Hollow, hollow ; 
 Come uppe Jetty, rise and follow, 
 From the clovers lift }~our head ; 
 Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot, 
 Come uppe Jetty, rise and follow, 
 Jetty, to the milking shed." 
 
 If it be long, ay, long ago, 
 
 When I beginne to think howe long, 
 
 Againe I hear the Lindis flow, 
 
 Swift as an arrowe, sharp and strong; 
 
 And all the aire, it seemeth mee. 
 
 Bin full of floating bells (sayth shee), 
 
 That ring the tune of Enderby. 
 
 Alle fresh the level pasture lay, 
 
 And not a shadowe mote be seene, 
 Save where full fyve good miles away 
 
 The steeple towered from out the greene ; 
 And lo ! the great bell farre and. wide 
 Was heard in all the country side 
 That Saturday at eventide. 
 
 The swanherds where there sedges are 
 Moved on in sunset's golden breath, 
 
 The shepherde lads I heard afarre, 
 And my Sonne's wife, Elizabeth ; 
 
 Till floating o'er the grassy sea 
 
 Came downe that kindly message free, 
 
 The "Brides of Mavis Enderby." 
 
 Then some looked uppe into the sky, 
 
 And all along where Lindis flows 
 To where the goodly vessels lie, 
 
 And where the lordly steeple shows, 
 They sayde, " And why should this thing be ? 
 What danger lowers by land or sea ? 
 They ring the tune of Enderby! 
 
452 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 " For evil news from Mablethorpe, 
 
 Of pyrate galleys warping downe ; 
 For shippes ashore be}'ond the seorpe, 
 
 They have not spared to wake the towne 
 But while the west bin red to see, 
 And storms be none, and pvrates flee, 
 Why ring ' The Brides of Enderby V » 
 
 I looked without, and lo ! my sonne 
 
 Came riding down with might and main : 
 He raised a shout as he drew on, 
 
 Till all the welkin rang again, 
 " Elizabeth ! Elizabeth !" 
 (A sweeter woman ne'er drew breath 
 Than my Sonne's wife, Elizabeth.) 
 
 " The old sea wall (he cried) is downe, 
 The rising tide comes on apace, 
 
 And boats, adrift in yonder towne 
 Go sailing uppe the market-place." 
 
 He shook as one that looks on death : 
 
 " God save you, mother !" strait he saith; 
 
 "Where is my wife, Elizabeth?" 
 
 II Good sonne, where Lindis winds away, 
 With her two bairns I marked her long ; 
 
 And ere yon bells beganne to play 
 Afar I heard her milking song." 
 He looked across the grassy lea, 
 To right, to left, " Ho Enderby !" 
 They rang " The Brides of Enderby!" 
 
 With that he cried and beat his breast ; 
 
 For, lo ! along the river's bed 
 A mighty e3*gre reared his crest, 
 
 And uppe the Lindis raging sped. 
 It swept with thunderous noises loud ; 
 Shaped like a curling snow-white cloud, 
 Or like a demon in a shroud. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 453 
 
 And rearing Lindis backward pressed, 
 Shook all her trembling bankes amaine, 
 
 Then madly at the eygre's breast 
 
 Flung uppe her weltering walls again. 
 
 Then bankes came downe with ruin and rout — . 
 
 Then beaten foam flew round about — 
 
 Then all the mighty floods were out. 
 
 So farre, so fast the eygre drave, 
 
 The heart had hardly time to beat, 
 Before a shallow seething wave 
 
 Sobbed in the grasses at oure feet, 
 The feet had hardly time to flee 
 Before it brake against the knee, 
 And all the world was in the sea. 
 
 Upon the roofe we sat that night, 
 The noise of bells went sweeping by ; 
 
 I marked the loftjr beacon light 
 
 Stream from the church tower, red and high — 
 
 A lurid mark and dread to see ; 
 
 And awesome bells they were to mee, 
 
 That in the dark rang " Enclerby." 
 
 They rang the sailor lads to guide 
 
 From roofe to roofe who fearless rowed ; 
 
 And I — my sonne was at mj r side, 
 And yet the ruddy beacon glowed ; 
 
 And yet he moaned beneath his breath, 
 
 " O come in life, or come in death ! 
 
 lost! my love, Elizabeth." 
 
 And did'st thou visit him no more? 
 
 Thou did'st, thou did'st, my daughter deare ; 
 The waters laid thee at his doore, 
 
 Ere yet the early dawn was clear, 
 Thy pretty bairns in fast embrace, 
 The lifted sun shone on th} 7 face, 
 Downe drifted to thy dwelling-place. 
 
454 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 That flow strewed wrecks about the grass, 
 
 That ebbe swept out the flocks to sea ; 
 A fatal ebbe and flow, alas ! 
 
 To manye more than niyne and me : 
 But each will mourn his own (she saith), 
 And sweeter woman ne'er drew breath 
 Than my Sonne's wife, Elizabeth. 
 
 I shall never hear her more 
 
 By the reedy Lindis shore, 
 
 " Cusha ! Cusha ! Cusha !" calling, 
 
 Ere the early dews be falling ; 
 
 I shall never hear her song, 
 
 ''Cusha! Cusha!" all along 
 
 Where the sunny Lindis floweth, 
 
 Goeth, floweth ; 
 From the meads where melick groweth, 
 When the water winding down, 
 Onward floweth to the town. 
 
 I shall never see her more 
 
 Where the reeds and rushes quiver, 
 
 Shiver, quiver ; 
 Stand beside the sobbing river, 
 Sobbing, throbbing, in its falling 
 To the sandy lonesome shore ; 
 I shall never hear her calling, 
 " Leave your meadow grasses mellow, 
 
 Mellow, mellow; 
 Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow ; 
 Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot; 
 Quit your pipes of parsley hollow, 
 
 Hollow, hollow; 
 Come uppe Lightfoot, rise and follow ; 
 
 Lightfoot, Whitefoot, 
 From 3 T our clovers lift the head ; 
 Come uppe Jetty, follow, follow, 
 Jetty, to the milking-shed." 
 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 455 
 
 THE SONG OF THE SHIRT. 
 (THOMAS HOOD.) 
 
 With fingers weary and worn, 
 With eyelids heavy and red, 
 A woman sat in unwomanly rags, 
 . Plying her needle and thread — 
 Stitch ! stitch ! stitch ! 
 In poverty, hunger, and dirt, 
 
 And still with a voice of dolorous pitch 
 She sang the " Song of the Shirt !" 
 
 " Work ! work ! work ! 
 
 While the cock is crowing aloof! 
 
 And work — work — work, 
 Till the stars shine through the roof! 
 It's Oh ! to be a slave 
 
 Along with the barbarous Turk, 
 When woman has never a soul to save 
 
 If this is Christian work ! 
 
 " Work — work — work 
 
 Till the brain begins to swim ; 
 
 Work — work — work 
 Till the eyes are heavy and dim ! 
 Seam, and gusset, and band, 
 
 Band, and gusset, and seam, 
 Till over the buttons I fall asleep, 
 
 And sew them on in a dream ! 
 
 " Oh, men, with sisters dear! 
 
 Oh, men, with mothers and wives ! 
 It is not linen you're wearing out, 
 
 But human creatures' lives ! 
 Stitch — stitch — stitch, 
 In poverty, hunger, and dirt, 
 
 Sewing at once, with a double thread, 
 A shroud as well as a shirt. 
 
456 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 " But why do I talk of Death ? 
 
 That phantom of grisly bone, 
 I hardly fear his terrible shape, 
 
 It seems so like my own — 
 
 It seems so like my own, 
 
 Because of the fasts I keep ; 
 Oh, God ! that bread should be so dear, 
 
 And flesh and blood so cheap ! 
 
 " Work — work— ^work ! 
 
 My labor never flags ; 
 And whac are its wages ? A bed of straw, 
 
 A crust of bread — and rags. 
 That shatter'd roof — and this naked floor — 
 
 A table — a broken chair — . 
 And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank 
 
 For sometimes falling there ! 
 
 11 Work — work — work ! 
 From weary chime to chime, 
 
 Work — work — work — 
 As prisoners work for crime ! 
 
 Band, and gusset, and seam, 
 
 Seam, and gusset, and band, 
 Till the heart is sick, and the brain benumb 'd, 
 
 As well as the weary hand. 
 
 11 Work — work — work, 
 In the dull December light, 
 
 And work — work— work, 
 When the weather is warm and bright — 
 While underneath the eaves 
 
 The brooding swallows cling, 
 As if to show me their sunny backs 
 
 And twit me with the spring. 
 
 " Oh ! but to breathe the breath 
 
 Of the cowslip and primrose sweet— 
 
 With the sky above my head, 
 And the grass beneath my feet, 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 45? 
 
 For only one short hour. 
 
 To feel as I used to feel, 
 Before I knew the woes of want 
 
 And the walk that costs a meal ! 
 
 " Oh ! but for one short hour ! 
 
 A respite however brief ! 
 No blessed leisure for Love or Hope, 
 
 But only time for Grief? 
 A little weeping would ease my heart, 
 
 But in their briny bed 
 My tears must stop, for every drop 
 
 Hinders needle and thread!" 
 
 With fingers weary and worn, 
 
 With ej^elids heavy and red, 
 A woman sat in unwomanly rags, 
 
 Plying her needle and thread — 
 Stitch ! stitch ! stitch ! 
 
 In poverty, hunger, and dirt, 
 And still with a voice of dolorous pitch, 
 Would that its tone could reach the Rich ! 
 
 She san<? this " Song of the Shirt !" 
 
 EVELYN HOPE. 
 
 (ROBERT BROWNING.) 
 
 Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead ! 
 
 Sit and watch by her side an hour. 
 That is her book-shelf, this her bed ; 
 
 She plucked that piece of geranium flower, 
 Beginning to die too, in the glass. 
 
 Little has yet been changed, I think : 
 The shutters are shut, no light may pass 
 
 Save two long rays through the hinge's chink. 
 
 Sixteen years old when she died ! 
 
 Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name ; 
 It was not her time to love ; beside, 
 
 Her life had many a hope and aim, 
 
458 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Duties enough, and little cares, 
 
 And now was quiet, now astir, 
 Till God's hand beckoned unawares, — 
 
 And the sweet white brow is all of her. 
 
 Is it too late then, Evelyn Hope ? 
 
 What, your soul was pure and true, 
 The good stars met in } r our horoscope, 
 
 Made you of spirit, fire and dew, — 
 And just because I was thrice as old, 
 
 And our paths in the world diverged so wide, 
 Each was nought to each, must I be told ? 
 
 We were fellow-mortals, nought beside ? 
 
 No, indeed ! for God above 
 
 Is great to grant, as mighty to make, 
 And creates the love to reward the love : 
 
 I claim you still, for my own love's sake ! 
 Delayed it may be for more lives yet, 
 
 Through worlds I shall traverse, not a few : 
 Much is to learn and much to forget 
 
 Ere the time be come for taking 3-011. 
 
 But the time will come, — at last it will, 
 
 When, Evetyn Hope, what meant, I shall say, 
 In the lower earth, in the years long still, 
 
 That body and soul so pure and gay ? 
 Why your hair was amber, I shall divine, 
 
 And your mouth of your own geranium's red — 
 And what you would do with me, in fine, 
 
 In the new life come in the old one's stead. 
 
 I have lived, I shall say, so much since then, 
 
 Given up myself so many times, 
 Gained me the gains of various men, 
 
 Ransacked the ages, spoiled the climes ; 
 Yet one thing, one, in my soul's full scope, 
 
 Either I missed or itself massed me — 
 And I want and find you, Evelyn Hope! 
 
 What is the issue ? let us see ! 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 459 
 
 I loved you, Evelyn, all the while ! 
 
 My heart seemed full as it could hold — 
 There was place and to spare for the frank young smile 
 
 And the red young mouth, and the hair's young gold. 
 So, hush, — I will give you this leaf to keep — 
 
 See, I shut it inside the sweet, cold hand 
 There, that is our secret ! go to sleep ; 
 
 You will wake, and remember, and understand. 
 
 ABOU BEN ADHEM. 
 (LEIGH HUNT.) 
 
 " Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase !) 
 Awoke one night from a sweet dream of peace, 
 And saw, within the moonlight in his room, 
 Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom, 
 An angel, writing in a book of gold. 
 Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, 
 And to the Presence in the room he said, 
 1 What writest thou V The vision raised its head, 
 And, with a look made all of sweet accord, 
 Answered — ' The names of those who love the Lord.' 
 ' And is mine one ?' said Abou ; ' Nay, not so,' 
 Replied the angel. — Abou spoke more low, 
 But cheerily still ; and said, ' I pray thee, then, 
 Write me as one that loves his fellow- men.' 
 
 " The angel wrote, and vanish 'd. The next night 
 It came again, with a great wakening light, 
 And showed the names whom love of God had bless'd- 
 And, lo ! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest." 
 
 THE NATION'S DEAD. 
 
 Four hundred thousand men 
 
 The brave — the good — the true, 
 In tangled wood, in mountain glen, 
 On battle plain, in prison pen, 
 Lie dead for me and you ! 
 
460 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Four hundred thousand of the brave 
 Have made our ransomed soil their grave, 
 For me and you ! 
 Good friend, for me and you ! 
 
 In many a fevered swamp, 
 
 By many a black bayou, 
 In many a cold and frozen camp, 
 The weary sentinel ceased his tramp, 
 
 And died for me and you ! 
 From Western plain to ocean tide 
 Are stretched the graves of those who died 
 For me and you ! 
 
 Good friend, for me and you ! 
 
 On many a bloody plain 
 
 Their readj T swords the}' drew, 
 
 And poured their life-blood, like the rain, 
 
 A home — a heritage to gain, 
 To gain for me and you ! 
 
 Our brothers mustered by our side ; 
 
 They marched, they fought, and bravely died 
 For me and you ! 
 
 Good friend, for me and you ! 
 
 Up many a fortress wall 
 
 They charged — those boys in blue — 
 'Mid surging smoke, the volley'd ball ; 
 The bravest were the first to fall ! 
 
 To fall for me and you ! 
 These noble men — the nation's pride — 
 Four hundred thousand men have died 
 For me and you ! 
 
 Good friend, for me and you ! 
 
 In treason's prison-hold 
 
 Their martyr spirits grew 
 To stature like the saints of old, 
 While amid agonies untold, 
 
 They starved for me and you ! 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 461 
 
 The good, the patient and the tried, 
 Four hundred thousand men have died 
 For me and you ! 
 Good friend, for me and }^ou ! 
 
 A debt we ne'er can pay 
 
 To them is justly due, 
 And to the nation's latest day 
 Our children's children still shall say, 
 
 "They died for me and you!" 
 Four hundred thousand of the brave 
 Made this, our ransomed soil, their grave 
 For me and you ! 
 
 Good friend, for me and you ! 
 
 A PSALM FROM LIFE. 
 (LONGFELLOW.) 
 
 Tell me not, in mournful numbers, 
 " Life is but an empt}^ dream !" 
 
 For the soul is dead that slumbers, 
 And things are not what thej r seem, 
 
 Life is real ! life is earnest! 
 
 And the grave is not its goal ; 
 "Dust thou art, to dust returnest," 
 
 Was not spoken of the soul. 
 
 Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, 
 Is our destined end or way ; 
 
 But to act, that each to-morrow, 
 Find us farther than to-day. 
 
 Art is long, and Time is fleeting, 
 
 And our hearts, though stout and brave 
 
 Still, like muffled drums, are beating, 
 Funeral marches to the grave. 
 30 
 
462 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 In the -world's broad field of battle ; 
 
 In the bivouac of Life, 
 Be not like dumb, driven cattle ! 
 
 Be a hero in the strife ! 
 
 Trust no Futnre, howe'er pleasant ! 
 
 Let the dead Past bury its dead ! 
 Act, — act in the living Present ! 
 
 Heart within, and God o'erhead. 
 
 Lives of great men all remind us 
 We can make our lives sublime, 
 
 And, departing, leave behind us 
 Footprints on the sands of time ; 
 
 Footprints, that perhaps another, 
 Sailing o'er life's solemn main, 
 
 A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, 
 Seeing, shall take heart again. 
 
 Let us, then, be up and doing, 
 "With a heart for any fate ; 
 
 Still achieving, still pursuing, 
 Learn to labor and to wait. 
 
 DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL. 
 (ALEXANDER POPE.) 
 
 Vital spark of heavenly flame, 
 Quit, oh quit this mortal frame ; 
 Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying— 
 Oh, the pain, the bliss of dying ! 
 Cease, fond Nature, cease thy strife, 
 And let me languish into life. 
 
 Hark ! they whisper ; angels say, 
 Sister spirit, come away ! 
 What is this absorbs me quite ? 
 Steals my senses, shuts my sight, 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 463 
 
 Drowns my spirit, draws my breath ? 
 Tell me, my soul, can this be death ? 
 
 The world recedes ; it disappears ! 
 Heaven opens on my eyes ! my ears 
 
 With sounds seraphic ring : 
 Lend, lend your wings ! I mount ! I fly, 
 grave ! where is thy victory ? 
 
 death ! where is thy sting ? 
 
 VAT YOU PLEASE. 
 
 (WM. B. FOWLE.) 
 
 Two Frenchmen, who had just come over, 
 
 Half starved but always gay 
 
 (No weasels ere were thinner,) 
 Trudged up to town from Dover, 
 
 Their slender store exhausted on the way, 
 
 Extremely puzzled how to get a dinner. 
 From morn till noon, from noon till dewy eve, 
 
 Our Frenchmen wandered on their expedition ; 
 Great was their need, and sorely did they grieve, 
 
 Stomach and pocket in the same condition. 
 At length by mutual consent they parted, 
 And different ways on the same errand started. 
 
 Towards night, one Frenchman at a tavern door 
 
 Stopped, entered, all the preparation saw ; 
 
 The ready waiter at his elbow stands, — 
 
 " Sir, will you favor me with your commands, 
 
 Roast goose or ducks, sir, choose you that or these ?" — 
 
 " Bare, you are very kine, sare, vat you please." 
 
 It was a glorious treat, pie, pudding, cheese and meat ; 
 At last the Frenchman, having eaten his fill, 
 Prepared to go, when, — " Here, sir, is your bill I" — 
 " 0, you are Bill — Veil, Mr. Bill, good-day /" — 
 " My name is Tom, sir — you've this bill to pay." — 
 
464 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 " Pay, pay, ma foi ! 
 I call for notting, save, pardonnez moif 
 You show to me the pooden, goose and sheeze, 
 You ask me vat I eat — / tell you vat you please." 
 The waiter, softened by his queer grimace, 
 Could not help laughing in the Frenchman's face, 
 And generously tore the bill in two, 
 Forgave the hungry trick, and let him go. 
 
 Our Frenchman's appetite subdued, 
 
 Away he chaseed in a merry mood, 
 
 And, turning round the corner of a street, 
 
 His hungry countryman perchanced to meet, 
 
 When, with a grin, 
 
 He told how he had taken John Bull in. 
 
 Fired with the tale, the other licks his chops, 
 
 Makes his congee, and seeks this shop of shops 
 
 Entering, he seats himself as if at ease, — 
 
 " What will you have, sir?" — " Vat you please. 17 
 
 The waiter saw the joke, and shyly took 
 
 A whip, and with a very gracious look 
 
 Sought instantly the Frenchman's seat, 
 
 " What will you have, sir ?" venturing to repeat ; — 
 
 Our Frenchman, feeling sure of goose and cheese. 
 
 With bow and smile, quick answers — ? u Vat you please I" 
 
 But scarcely had he let the sentence slip, 
 
 When round his shoulders twines the pliant whip. 
 
 " Sare ! save ! ah misericorde ! parbleu ! 
 dear, monsieur, what for you strike me ? huh! 
 Vat for is dis /" — " Ah, don't you know ? 
 That 's Vat I please exactly ; now, sir, go ! 
 Tour friend, although I paid well for his funning, 
 Deserves the goose he gained, sir, by his cunning ; 
 But you, monsieur, without my dinner tasting, 
 Are goose enough, — and only want a basting." 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 465 
 
 THE ANGELS OF BUENA VISTA. 
 (j. G. WHITTIER.) 
 
 A letter-writer from Mexico states that, at the terrible fight 
 of Buena Yista, Mexican women were seen hovering near the 
 field -of death, for the purpose of giving aid and succor to 
 the wounded. One poor woman was found surrounded by 
 the maimed and suffering of both armies, ministering to the 
 wants of Americans as well as Mexicans with impartial ten- 
 derness. 
 
 Speak and tell us, our Xiinena, looking northward far 
 
 away. 
 O'er the camp of the invaders, o'er the Mexican array, 
 Who is losing ? who is winning ? are they far, or come 
 
 they near ? 
 Look abroad, and tell us, sister, whither rolls the storm 
 
 we hear. 
 
 " Jesu, pity ! how it thickens ! now retreat and now 
 
 advance ! 
 Right against the blazing cannon shiver Puebla's 
 
 charging lines ! 
 Down they go, the brave young riders ; horse and foot 
 
 together fall ; 
 Like the ploughshare in its furrow, through them 
 
 ploughs the northern ball." 
 
 11 my heart's love ! my dear one ! lay thy poor head 
 
 on my knee ; 
 Dost thou know the lips that kiss thee ? Canst thou 
 
 hear me, canst thou see ? 
 my husband, brave and gentle ! my Bernal, look 
 
 once more 
 On the blessed Cross before thee ! Mercy ! mercy ! all 
 
 is o'er !" 
 
 Dry thy tears, my poor Ximena; lay thy dear one 
 
 down to rest ; 
 Let his hands be meekly folded ; lay the Cross upon 
 
 his breast ; 
 
466 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Let Lis dirge be sung hereafter, and his funeral masses 
 
 said ; 
 To-day, thou poor bereaved one, the living ask thy aid. 
 
 Close beside her faintly moaning, fair and young, a 
 
 soldier lay, 
 Torn with shot and pierced with lances, bleeding slow 
 
 his life away ; 
 But, as tenderly before hirn then the lorn Xhnena knelt, 
 She saw the northern hostile Eagle shining on his 
 
 pistol-belt. 
 
 With a stifled cry of horror straight she turned away 
 her head ; 
 
 With a sad and bitter feeling looked she back upon her 
 dead ; 
 
 But she heard the youth's low moaning, and his strug- 
 gling breath of pain. 
 
 And she raised the cooling water to his parching lips 
 again. 
 
 " A bitter curse upon them, boy, who to battle led thee 
 
 forth, 
 From some gentle, saddened mother, weeping lonely 
 
 in the North !" 
 Spake the mournful Mexic woman, as she laid him with 
 
 her dead, 
 And turned to soothe the living still, and bind the 
 
 wounds which bled. 
 
 Look forth once more, Ximena! " Like a cloud before 
 
 the wind 
 Rolls the battle down the mountains, leaving blood and 
 
 death behind : 
 Ah ! they plead in vain for mercy ; in the dust the 
 
 wounded strive ; 
 Hide your faces, holy angels ! 0, thou Christ of God, 
 
 forgive 1" 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 46T 
 
 Sink, Night, among thy mountains ! let the cool, 
 
 gray shadows fall ; 
 Dying brothers, fighting demons, — drop thy curtain 
 
 over all ! 
 Through the thickening winter twilight, wide apart the 
 
 battle rolled, 
 In its sheath the sabre rested, and the cannon's lips 
 
 grew cold. 
 
 But the noble Mexic women still their holy task pur- 
 sued, 
 
 Through that long, dark night of sorrow, worn and 
 faint, and lacking food ; 
 
 Over weak and suffering brothers with a tender care 
 they hung, 
 
 And the dying foeman blessed them in a strange and 
 northern tongue. 
 
 Not wholly lost, Father ! is this evil world of ours ; 
 Upward, through its blood and ashes, spring afresh its 
 
 Eden flowers ; 
 From its smoking hell of battle, Love and Pity send 
 
 their prayer, 
 And still Thy white-winged angels hover dimly in our 
 
 air! 
 
 BEAUTIFUL SNOW. 
 (WATSON.) 
 
 0, the snow, the beautiful snow, 
 Filling the sky and the earth below ; 
 Over the house-tops, over the street, 
 Over the heads of the people you meet ; 
 Dancing, flirting, skimming along, 
 Beautiful snow ! it can do nothing wrong ; 
 Flying to kiss a fair lady's cheek, 
 Clinging to lips in a frolicsome freak, — 
 Beautiful snow, from the heavens above, 
 Pure as an angel, and fickle as love ! 
 
468 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 O, the snow, the beautiful snow! 
 
 How the flakes gather and laugh as the}' go! 
 
 Whirling about in its maddening fun, 
 
 It plays in its glee with every one. 
 
 Chasing, laughing, hurrying b}^ 
 
 It lights up the face, and it sparkles the eye ; 
 
 And even the dogs, with a bark and a bound, 
 
 Snap at the crystals that eddy around. 
 
 The town is alive, and its heart in a glow 
 
 To welcome the coming of beautiful snow. 
 
 How the wild crowd goes swa3 T ing along, 
 Hailing each other with humor and song ! 
 How the gay sledges, like meteors flash by, 
 Bright for a moment, then lost to the eye ! 
 Ringing, swinging, dashing they go, 
 Over the crest of the beautiful snow ; 
 Snow so pure when it falls from the sky, 
 To be trampled in mud by the crowd rushing by ; 
 To be trampled and tracked by thousands of feet, 
 Till it blends with the filth in the horrible street. 
 
 Once I was pure as the snow, — but I fell ; 
 Fell, like the snow-flakes from heaven — to hell ; 
 Fell, to be tramped as the filth of the street ; 
 Fell, to be scoffed, to be spit on, and beat. 
 Pleading, cursing, dreading to die, 
 Selling my- soul to whoever would by, — 
 Dealing in shame for a morsel of bread, 
 Hating the living, and fearing the dead. 
 Merciful G od ! have I fallen so low ? 
 And yet I was once like the beautiful snow ! 
 
 How strange it should be that this beautiful snow 
 
 Should fall on a sinner with nowhere to go! 
 
 How strange it would be, when the night comes again, 
 
 If the snow and the ice struck my desperate brain I 
 
 Fainting, freezing, dying — alone! 
 
 Too wicked for praj^er, too weak for my moan 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 469 
 
 To be heard in the crash of the crazy town, 
 
 Gone mad in their joy at the snow's coming down ; — 
 
 To lie and to die in my terrible woe, 
 
 With a bed and a shroud of the beautiful snow ! 
 
 OVER THE RIVER. 
 
 Over the river they beckon to me, 
 
 Loved ones who crossed to the other side ; 
 The gleam of their snowy robes I see, 
 
 But their voices are drowned by the rushing tide. 
 There's one with ringlets of sunny gold, 
 
 And ej^es the reflection of heaven's own blue j 
 He crossed in the twilight gray and cold, 
 
 And the pale mist hid him from mortal view. 
 We saw not the angels that met him there, — 
 
 The gate of the city we could not see ; 
 Over the river, over the river, 
 
 My brother stands, waiting to welcome me. 
 
 Over the river the boatman pale 
 
 Carried another, the household pet ; 
 Her brown curls waved in the gentle gale,— 
 
 Darling Minnie ! I see her yet ! 
 She closed on her bosom her dimpled hands, 
 
 And fearlessly entered the phantom bark ; 
 We watched it glide from the silver sands, 
 
 And all our sunshine grew strangely dark. 
 We know she is safe on the further side, 
 
 Where all the ransomed and angels be ; 
 Over the river, the mystic river, 
 
 My childhood's idol is waiting for me. 
 
 For none return from those quiet shores, 
 
 Who cross with the boatman cold and pale ; 
 We hear the dip of the golden oars, 
 
 And catch a glimpse of the snowy sail ; 
 And lo ! they have passed from our yearning hearts, 
 
 They cross the stream and are gone for aye. 
 We may not sunder the vail apart 
 
 That hides from our vision the gates of day ; 
 
470 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 We only know that their barks no more 
 Sail with us o'er life's stormy sea ; 
 
 Yet somewhere, I know, on the unseen shore, 
 They watch, and beckon, and wait for me. 
 
 And I sit and think when the sunset's gold 
 
 Is flashing on river, and hill, and shore, 
 I shall one day stand by the waters cold 
 
 And list to the sound of the boatman's oar. 
 I shall watch for a gleam of the flapping sail ; 
 
 I shall hear the boat as it gains the strand ; 
 I shall pass from sight with the boatman pale 
 
 To the better shore of the spirit-land. 
 I shall know the loved who have gone before, 
 
 And joyfully sweet will the meeting be, 
 When over the river, the peaceful river, 
 
 The angel of death shall carry me. 
 
 NOTHING TO WEAR. 
 
 (butler.) 
 
 Miss Flora McFlimse} r , of Madison Square, 
 
 Has made three separate journeys to Paris ; 
 And her father assures me, each time she was there, 
 
 That she and her friend, Mrs. Harris, 
 Spent six consecutive weeks, without stopping, 
 In one continuous round of shopping ; 
 Shopping alone and shopping together, 
 At all hours of the da} r , and in all sorts of weather, 
 For all manner of things that a woman can put 
 On the crown of her head, or the sole of her foot, 
 Or wrap round her shoulders, or fit round her waist; 
 Or that can be sewed on, or pinned on, or laced, 
 Or tied on with a string, or stitched on with a bow, 
 In front or behind, above or below ; 
 Dresses for home, and the street, and the hall, 
 Dresses for winter, spring, summer, and fall ; — 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 411 
 
 And yet, though scarce three months have passed since 
 
 the day 
 All this merchandise went in twelve carts up Broadway, 
 This same Miss McFlimsey, of Madison Square, 
 When asked to a ball was in utter despair, 
 Because she had nothing whatever to wear ! 
 Bat the fair Flora's case is by no means surprising; 
 
 I find there exists the greatest distress 
 In our female community, solely arising 
 
 From this unsupplied destitution of dress ; 
 Whose unfortunate victims are filling the air 
 With the pitiful wail of " Nothing to wear !" 
 
 ladies, dear ladies, the next sunny day 
 Please trundle youv hoops just out of Broadway, 
 To the alleys and lanes where misfortune and guilt 
 Their children have gathered, their hovels have built ; 
 Where hunger and vice, like twin beasts of prey 
 
 Have hunted their victims to gloom and despair ; 
 Raise the rich, dainty dress, and the fine broidered 
 
 skirt, 
 Pick your delicate way through the dampness and dirt, 
 
 Grope through the dark dens, climb the rickety stair 
 To the garret, where wretches, the young and the old, 
 Half starved and half naked, lie crouched from the 
 
 cold ; 
 See those skeleton limbs, those frost-bitten feet, 
 All bleeding and bruised by the stones of the street, 
 Then home to your wardrobes, and say, if you dare, — 
 Spoiled children of fashion, — you've nothing to wear ! 
 
 And O, if perchance there should be a sphere, 
 Where all is made right which so puzzles us here ; 
 Where the glare, and the glitter, and tinsel of time 
 Fade and die in the light of that region sublime ; 
 Where the soul, disenchanted of flesh and of sense, 
 Unscreened by its trappings, and shows, and pretence, 
 Must be clothed for the life and the service above, 
 With purity, truth, faith, meekness, and love ; 
 O, daughters of earth ! foolish virgins, beware ! 
 Lest, in that upper realm, — you have nothing to wear I 
 
472 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 SKIPPER IRESON'S RIDE. 
 (j. G. WHITTIER.) 
 
 Of all the rides since the birth of time, 
 
 Told in story, or sung in rhyme, — 
 
 On Apnleius's Golden Ass, 
 
 Or one-eyed Calendar's horse of brass, 
 
 Witch astride of a human back, 
 
 Islam's prophet on Al-Borak, — 
 
 The strangest ride that ever was sped 
 
 Was Ireson's out of Marblehead! 
 
 Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, 
 Tarred and feathered, and carried in a cart 
 By the women of Marblehead ! 
 
 Body of turkey, head of owl, 
 
 Wings a-droop, like a rained-on fowl, 
 
 Feathered and ruffled in every part, 
 
 Captain Ireson stood in the cart. 
 
 Scores of women, old and young, 
 
 Strong of muscle, and glib of tongue, 
 
 Pushed and pulled up the rocky lane, 
 
 Shouting and singing in shrill refrain : 
 
 " Here's Flud Oirson, for his horrd horrt, 
 Torr'd an' futhered, an' corr'd in a corrt, 
 By the women o' Morble'ead !" 
 
 Wrinkled scolds with hands on hips, 
 
 Girls in bloom of cheek and lips, 
 
 Wild-eyed, free-limbed, such as chase 
 
 Bacchus round some antique vase, 
 
 Brief of skirt, with ankles bare, 
 
 Loose of kerchief, and loose of hair, 
 
 With conch-shells blowing and fish-horns' twang, 
 
 Over and over the Moenads sang: 
 
 " Here's Flud Oirson, for his horrd horrt, 
 Torr'd an' futher'd, an' corr'd in a corrt, 
 By the women o' Morble'ead I" 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 473 
 
 Small pity for him ! — He sailed away 
 From a leaking ship in Chaleur Bay, — 
 Sailed away from a sinking wreck, 
 With his own town's people on her deck ! 
 " Lay by ! lay by !" they called to him. 
 Back he answered, " Sink or swim ! 
 Brag of your catch of fish again !" 
 And off he sailed through the fog and rain ! 
 Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, 
 Tarred and feathered, and carried in a cart, 
 By the women of Marblehead ! 
 
 Fathoms deep in dark Chaleur 
 
 That wreck shall lie forevermore. 
 
 Mother and sister, wife and maid, 
 
 Looked from the rocks of Marblehead 
 
 Over the moaning and rainy sea, 
 
 Looked for the coming that might not be ! 
 
 What did the winds and sea-birds say 
 
 Of the cruel captain that sailed away ? 
 
 Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, 
 Tarred and feathered, and carried in a cart, 
 By the women of Marblehead ! 
 
 Through the street, on either side, 
 
 Up flew windows, doors swung wide ; 
 
 Sharp-tongued spinsters, old wives gray, 
 
 Treble lent the fish-horns' bray. 
 
 Sea-worn grandsires,. cripple bound, 
 
 Hulks of old sailors, run aground, 
 
 Shook head and fist, and hat and cane, 
 
 And cracked with curses the hoarse refrain : 
 
 " Here's Flud Oirson, for his horrd hoort, 
 Torr'd an' futher'd, an' corr'd in a corrt, 
 By the women o' Morble'ead !" 
 
 Sweetly along the Salem road, 
 
 Bloom of orchard and lilac showed. 
 
 Little the wicked skipper knew 
 
 Of the fields so green, and the sky so blue. 
 
4Y4 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Riding there in his sorry trim, 
 
 Like an Indian idol, glum and grim, 
 
 Scarcely he seemed the sound to hear 
 
 Of voices shouting far and near : 
 
 " Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd hoort, 
 Torr'd an' futher'd, an' corr'cT in a corrt, 
 By the women o' Morble'ead !" 
 
 "Hear me, neighbors !" at last he cried, — 
 
 " What to me is this noisy ride ? 
 
 What is the shame that clothes the skin 
 
 To the nameless horror that lives within ? 
 
 Waking or sleeping, I see a wreck 
 
 And hear a cr} T from a reeling deck ! 
 
 Hate me and curse me, — I only dread 
 
 The hand of God and the face of the dead !" 
 
 Said old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, 
 Tarred and feathered, and carried in a cart, 
 By the women of Marblehead ! 
 
 Then the wife of the skipper lost at sea 
 Said, " God has touched him ! why should we V 1 
 Said an old wife mourning her only son, 
 " Cut the rogue's tether and let him run !" 
 So, with soft relentings and rude excuse, 
 Half scorn, half pity, they cut him loose, 
 And gave him a cloak to hide him in, 
 And left him alone with his shame and sin. 
 
 Poor Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, 
 Tarred and feathered, and carried in a cart, 
 By the women of Marblehead. 
 
 WHAT I LIVE FOR. 
 
 (g. linn^us banks.) 
 
 I live for those who love me, 
 
 Whose hearts are kind and true, — 
 
 For the heaven that smiles above me, 
 And awaits nry spirit too ; 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 415 
 
 For all human ties that bind me, — 
 For the task by God assigned me, — ■ 
 For the bright hope left behind me, 
 And the good that I can do. 
 
 I live to learn their story, 
 
 Who've suffered for my sake ; 
 To emulate their glory, 
 
 And follow in their wake. 
 Bards, patriots, martyrs, sages, 
 The noble of all ages, 
 Whose deeds crowd history's pages, 
 
 And time's great volume make. 
 
 I live to hold communion 
 
 With all that is divine ; 
 To feel there is a union 
 
 'Twixt Nature's heart and mine ; 
 To profit by affliction, 
 Reap truth from fields of fiction, 
 Grow wiser from conviction, 
 
 And fulfil each grand design. 
 
 I live to hail that season, 
 
 By gifted minds foretold, 
 When men shall live \>y reason, 
 
 And not alone by gold, — 
 When man to man united, 
 And every wrong thing righted, 
 The whole world shall be lighted 
 
 As Eden was of old. 
 
 I live for those who love me, 
 For those who know me true, — 
 
 For the heaven that smiles above me, 
 And awaits my spirit too, — 
 
 For the cause that lacks assistance, 
 
 For the wrong that needs resistance, 
 
 For the future in the distance, 
 And the good that I can do. 
 
4T6 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 WHAT MIGHT BE DONE. 
 (CHARLES MACKAY.) 
 
 What might be done if men were wise ! 
 
 What glorious deeds, my suffering brother, 
 Would they unite, 
 In love and right, 
 And cease their scorn of one another ! 
 
 Oppression's heart might be imbued 
 
 With kindling drops of loving kindness, 
 
 And Knowledge pour, 
 
 From shore to shore, 
 Light on the eyes of mental blindness. 
 
 All Slavery, Warfare, Lies, and Wrong, 
 
 All Yice and Crime, might die together; 
 And wine and corn 
 To each man born 
 Be free as warmth in summer weather. 
 
 The meanest wretch that ever trod, 
 
 The deepest sunk in guilt and sorrow, 
 Might stand erect 
 In self-respect, 
 And share the teeming world to-morrow. 
 
 What might be done ? This might be done, 
 And more than this, my suffering brother,— 
 
 More than the tongue 
 
 E'er said or sung, 
 If men were wise and loved each other. 
 
 THE WIFE'S APPEAL. 
 
 (grace greenwood.) 
 
 I'm thinking, Charles, 'tis just a year, 
 
 Or will be, very soon, 
 Since you first told me of your love, 
 
 One glorious day in June. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 477 
 
 The birds caught up our notes of love 
 
 In a song not half so sweet, 
 And earth's green carpet, violet flowered, 
 
 It scarcely felt our feet. 
 
 But, apropos of carpets, Charles, 
 
 I looked at some to-day, 
 Which you will purchase, won't you, dear, 
 
 Before our next soiree ? 
 
 And then, remember you, how, lost 
 
 In love's delicious dream, 
 We long stood silently beside 
 
 A gentle, gliding stream ? 
 
 'Twas Nature's mirror ; when your gaze 
 
 No longer I could bear, 
 I modestly cast down my eyes, 
 
 Yet but to meet it there. 
 
 And, apropos of mirrors, love, 
 
 The dear gift of your mother 
 Is quite old-fashioned, and to-day 
 
 I ordered home another. 
 
 Ah, well do I remember, Charles, 
 
 When first your arm stole round me ; 
 
 You little dreamed how long your soul 
 In golden chains had bound me. 
 
 But apropos of chains, my own, 
 
 At Banks's store last week, 
 I found the sweetest one, so rich, 
 
 So tasteful, and unique ! 
 
 The workmanship is most superb, 
 
 The gold most fine and pure ; 
 I quite long, Charles, to see that chain 
 
 Suspend your miniature ! 
 
 31 
 
478 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 I heard sad news when you were out, — 
 My nerves are much affected ; — 
 
 You know the navy officer 
 I once for 3-ou rejected ? 
 
 Driven to despair Irv your success, 
 Made desperate by n^ scorn, 
 
 He went to sea, aud has been lost 
 In passing round Cape Horn. 
 
 Ah, apropos of capes, my love, 
 
 I saw one in Broadway, 
 Of lace, as fine as though 'twas wove 
 
 Of moonbeams, by a fay. 
 
 You'll purchase the exquisite thing, 
 'Twill suit your taste completely ; 
 
 Above the heart that loves you, Charles, 
 'Twill rise and fall so sweetly. 
 
 THE CURSE OF REGULUS. 
 
 The palaces and domes of Carthage were burning 
 with the splendors of noon, and the blue waves of her 
 harbor were rolling and gleaming in the gorgeous sun- 
 light. An attentive, ear could catch a low murmur, 
 sounding from the centre of the city, which seemed 
 like the moaning of the wind before a tempest. And 
 well it might. The whole people of Carthage, startled, 
 astounded by the report that Regulus had returned, 
 were pouring, a mighty tide, into the great square 
 before the Senate House. There were mothers in that 
 throng, whose captive sons were groaning in Roman 
 fetters ; maidens, whose lovers were dying in the dis- 
 tant dungeons of Rome ; gray-haired men and matrons, 
 whom Roman steel had made childless ; men, who were 
 seeing their country's life crushed out by Roman 
 power ; and with wild voices, cursing and groaning, the 
 vast throng gave vent to the rage, the hate, the an- 
 guish of long years. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 4^9 
 
 Calm and unmoved as the marble walls around him, 
 stood Regulus, the Roman ! He stretched his arm 
 over the surging crowd with a gesture as proudly im- 
 perious, as though he stood at the head of his own 
 gleaming cohorts. Before that silent command the 
 tumult ceased — the half-uttered execration died upon 
 the lip — so intense was the silence that the clank of 
 the captive's brazen manacles smote sharp on every 
 ear, as he thus addressed them : 
 
 " Ye doubtless thought, judging of Roman virtue by 
 your own, that I would break my plighted faith, rather 
 than by returning, and leaving }^our sons and brothers 
 to rot in Roman dungeons, to meet your vengeance. 
 Well, I could give reasons for this return, foolish and 
 inexplicable as it seems to you ; I could speak of 
 yearnings after immortality — of those eternal princi- 
 ples in whose pure light a patriot's death is glorious, a 
 thing to be desired ; but, b}^ great Jove ! I should de- 
 base myself to dwell on such high themes to you. If 
 the bright blood which feeds my heart were like the 
 slimy ooze that stagnates in your veins, I should have 
 remained at Rome, saved my life and broken my oath. 
 If, then, 3^011 ask, why I have come back, to let you 
 work your will on this poor body which I esteem but 
 as the rags that cover it, — enough reply for you, it is 
 because I am a Roman ! As such, here in your very 
 capital I defy you ! What I have done, ye never can 
 undo ; what ye may do, I care not. Since first my 
 young arm knew how to wield a Roman sword, have I 
 not routed your armies, burned your towns, and 
 dragged your generals at my chariot wheels ? And do 
 ye now expect to see me cower and whine with dread 
 of Carthaginian vengeance ? Compared to that fierce 
 mental strife which my heart has just passed through 
 at Rome, the piercing of this flesh, the rending of 
 these sinews, would be but sport to me. 
 
 " Venerable senators, with trembling voices and out- 
 stretched hands, besought me to return no more to 
 Carthage. The generous people, with loud wailing, 
 and wildly-tossing gestures, bade me stay. The voice 
 
480 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 of a beloved mother, — her withered hands beating her 
 breast, her gray hairs streaming in the wind, tears 
 flowing down her furrowed cheeks — praying me not to 
 leave her in her lonely and helpless old age, is still 
 sounding in my ears. Compared to anguish like this, 
 the paltry torments you have in store is as the murmur 
 of the meadow brook to the wild tumult of the moun- 
 tain storm. Go ! bring your threatened tortures ! The 
 woes I see impending over this fated city will be 
 enough to sweeten death, though every nerve should 
 tingle with its agony. I die — but mine shall be the 
 triumph; yours the untold desolation. For every drop 
 of blood that falls from my veins, your own shall pour 
 in torrents ! Wo, unto thee, Carthage ! I see thy 
 homes and temples all in flames, thy citizens in terror, 
 thy women wailing for the dead. Proud ciW ! thou art 
 doomed ! the curse of Jove, a living, lasting curse is 
 on thee ! The hungry waves shall lick the golden gates 
 of thy rich palaces, and every brook run crimson to the 
 sea. Rome, with bloody hand, shall sweep thy heart- 
 strings, and all thy homes shall howl in wild response 
 of anguish to her touch. Proud mistress of the sea, 
 disrobed, uncrowned and scourged — thus again do I 
 devote thee to the infernal gods ! 
 
 Now, bring forth your tortures! Slaves! while ye 
 tear this quivering flesh, remember how often Regulus 
 has beaten your armies and humbled your pride. Cut 
 as he would have carved you ! Burn deep as his curse I 
 
 THE LAUNCHING OF THE SHIP. 
 (LONGFELLOW.) 
 
 All is finished ! and at length 
 
 Has come the bridal day 
 Of beauty and of strength. 
 To-day the vessel shall be launched ! 
 With fleecy clouds the sky is blanched, 
 
 And o'er the bay, 
 Slowly, in all his splendor dight, 
 The great sun rises to beholcl the sight. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 481 
 
 The ocean old, 
 Centuries old, 
 Strong as youth, and as uncontrolled, 
 
 Paces restless to and fro, 
 Up and down the sands of gold. 
 
 His beating heart is not at rest ; 
 And far and wide, 
 With ceaseless flow, 
 His beard of snow 
 
 Heaves with the heaving of his breast. 
 
 He waits impatient for his bride. 
 
 There she stands, 
 
 With her foot upon the sands, 
 
 Decked with flags and streamers gay, 
 
 In honor of her marriage day, 
 
 Her snow-white signals fluttering, blending, 
 
 Round her like a vail descending, 
 
 Ready to be 
 
 The bride of the gray, old sea. 
 
 Then the Master 
 
 With a gesture of command, 
 
 Waved his hand : 
 
 And at the word, 
 
 Loud and sudden there was heard, 
 
 All around them and below, 
 
 The sound of hammers, blow on blow, 
 
 Knocking away the shores and spurs. 
 
 And see ! she stirs ! 
 
 She starts, — she moves, — she seems to feel 
 
 The thrill of life along her keel, 
 
 And, spurning with her foot the ground, 
 
 With one exulting, joyous bound, 
 
 She leaps into the ocean's arms ! 
 
 And lo ! from the assembled crowd 
 There rose a shout, prolonged and loud, 
 
482 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 That to the ocean seemed to say, 
 11 Take her, bridegroom, old and gray ; 
 Take her to thy protecting arms, 
 With all her 3 T outh and all her charms." 
 
 How beautiful she is ! how fair 
 She lies within those arms, that press 
 Her form with many a soft caress 
 
 Of tenderness and watchful care ! 
 Sail forth into the sea, ship ! 
 
 Through wiud and wave, right onward steer ! 
 he moistened eye, the trembling lip, 
 
 Are not the signs of doubt or fear. 
 
 Thou too, sail on, ship of State ! 
 Sail on, Union, strong and great ! 
 Humanit3 T , with all its fears, 
 With all the hopes of future years, 
 Is hanging breathless on thy fate ! 
 We know what Master laid thy keel, 
 What workmen wrought thy ribs of steel, 
 
 Who made each mast, and sail, and rope, 
 What anvils rang, what hammers beat, 
 In what a forge, and what a heat, 
 
 Were shaped the anchors of thy hope. 
 
 Fear not each sudden sound and shock ; 
 
 'Tis of the wave, and not the rock; 
 
 'Tis but the napping of the sail, 
 
 And not a rent made by the gale. 
 
 Spite of rock and tempest roar, 
 
 In spite of false lights on the shore, 
 
 Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea : 
 
 Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee. 
 
 Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears, 
 
 Our faith triumphant o'er our fears, 
 
 Are all with thee — are all with thee. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 483 
 
 THE CUMBERLAND. 
 
 (H. W. LONGFELLOW.) 
 
 At anchor in Hampton Roads we lay, 
 
 On board of the Cumberland, sloop-of-war ; 
 And at times from the fortress across the bay 
 The alarum of drums swept past, 
 Or a bugle blast 
 From the camp on the shore. 
 
 Then far away to the south uprose 
 
 A little feather of snow-white smoke, 
 And we knew that the iron ship of our foes 
 Was steadily steering its course, 
 To try the force, 
 Of our ribs of oak. 
 
 Down upon us heavily runs, 
 
 Silent and sullen, the floating fort ; 
 Then comes a puff of smoke from her guns, 
 And leaps the terrible death, 
 With fiery breath, 
 From each open port. 
 
 We are not idle but send her straight 
 
 Defiance back in a full broadside I 
 As hail rebounds from a roof of slate, 
 Rebounds our heavier hail 
 From each iron scale 
 Of the monster's hide. 
 
 " Strike your flag !" the rebel cries, 
 
 In his arrogant old plantation strain. 
 " Never 1" our gallant Morris replies ; 
 " It is better to sink than to yield !" 
 And the whole air pealed 
 With the cheers of the men. 
 
484 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Then, like a kraken huge and black, 
 
 She crushed our ribs in her iron grasp ! 
 Down went the Cumberland all a wrack, 
 With a sudden shudder of death, 
 And the cannon's breath 
 For her dying gasp. 
 
 Xext morn, as the sun rose over the bay, 
 
 Still floated our flag nt the mainmast-head. 
 Lord, how beautiful was thy day ! 
 Every waft of the air 
 Was a whisper of prayer, 
 Or a dirge for the dead. 
 
 Ho ! brave hearts that went down in the seas 
 
 Ye are at peace in the troubled stream, 
 Ho ! brave land ! with hearts like these, 
 TI13- flag, that is rent in twain, 
 Shall be one again, 
 And without a seam ! 
 
 THE RAVEN. 
 (edgar a. poe.) 
 
 Once upon a midnight dreary, while I ponder'd, weak 
 and weary, 
 
 Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten 
 lore, — 
 
 While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came 
 a tapping, 
 
 As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my cham- 
 ber-door. 
 
 " 'Tis some visitor," I mutter'd, "tapping at ray cham- 
 ber-door — 
 
 Only this, and nothing more." 
 
 Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak Decem- 
 ber, 
 
 And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost 
 upon the floor. 
 
PR AC iIC AL ELOCUTION. 485 
 
 Eagerly I wish'd the morrow : vainly I had sought to 
 
 borrow 
 From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the 
 
 lost Lenore — 
 For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels 
 
 name Lenore — 
 
 Nameless here forevermore. 
 
 And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple 
 curtain, 
 
 Thrill'd me — fill'd me with fantastic terrors never felt 
 before ; 
 
 So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood 
 repeating, 
 
 " 'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber- 
 door, — 
 
 Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber- 
 door ; 
 
 That it is, and nothing more." 
 
 Presently my soul grew stronger : hesitating then no 
 longer, 
 
 "Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I 
 implore ; 
 
 But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came 
 rapping, 
 
 And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my cham- 
 ber-door', 
 
 That I scarce was. sure I heard you" — here I open'd 
 wide the door ; 
 
 Darkness there, and nothing: more. 
 
 Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, 
 
 wondering, fearing, 
 Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to 
 
 dream before ; 
 But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave 
 
 no token, 
 
48G PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 And the only word there spoken was the whisper'd 
 
 word, " Lenore !" 
 This I whisper'd, and an echo murmur'd back the word, 
 
 " Lenore !" 
 
 Merely this, and nothing more. 
 
 Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me 
 
 burning, 
 Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than 
 
 before. 
 "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my 
 
 window-lattice ; 
 Let me see then what thereat is, and this n^stery 
 
 explore, — 
 Let my heart be still a moment, and this n^stery 
 
 explore ; 
 
 'Tis the wind, and nothing more." 
 
 Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt 
 and flutter, 
 
 In there stepp'd a stately raven of the saintly days of 
 yore. 
 
 Not the least obeisance made he ; not a minute stopp'd 
 or stay'd he ; 
 
 But, with mien of lord or lady, perch'd above my 
 chainber-door, — 
 
 Perch'd upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber- 
 door — 
 
 Perched and sat and nothing more. 
 
 Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into 
 
 smiling, 
 By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it 
 
 wore, 
 " Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, 
 
 " art sure no craven ; 
 Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, wandering from the 
 
 nightly shore, 
 Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Pluto* 
 
 nian shore ?" 
 
 Quoth the raven, "Nevermore !" 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 481 
 
 Much T marvell'd this ungainly fowl to hear discourse 
 
 so plainly, 
 Though its answer little meaning- — little relevancy 
 
 bore ; 
 For we cannot help agreeing that no living human 
 
 being 
 Ever yet was bless'd with seeing bird above his cham 
 
 ber-door — 
 Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his 
 
 chamber-door, 
 
 With such name as " Nevermore !" 
 
 But the raven sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke 
 
 only 
 That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did 
 
 outpour. 
 Nothing further then he utter'd — not a feather then he 
 
 flutter 'd— 
 Till I scarcely more than mutter'd, " Other friends 
 
 have flown before — 
 On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have 
 
 flown before." 
 
 Then the bird said, " Nevermore !" 
 
 Startled at the stillness, broken by reply so aptly 
 
 spoken, 
 "Doubtless," said I, " what it utters is its only stock 
 
 and store, 
 Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful 
 
 disaster 
 Follow'd fast and follow'd faster, till his songs one 
 
 burden bore, 
 Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden 
 
 bore, 
 
 Of — Never — nevermore I" 
 
 But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into 
 
 smiling, 
 Straight I wheel'd a cushion'd seat in front of bird, 
 
 and bust, and door. 
 
488 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to 
 
 linking 
 Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of 
 
 yore— 
 What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous 
 
 bird of yore 
 
 Meant in croaking " Nevermore !" 
 
 This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable ex- 
 pressing 
 
 To the fowl, whose fiery eyes now burn'd into my 
 bosom's core. 
 
 This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease 
 reclining 
 
 On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light 
 gloated o'er, 
 
 But whose velvet violet lining, with the lamp-light 
 gloating o'er, 
 
 She shall press — ah ! nevermore ! 
 
 Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from 
 
 an unseen censer 
 Swung by seraphim, whose foot-falls tinkled on the 
 
 tufted floor. 
 "Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee — by these 
 
 angels he hath sent thee 
 Respite — respite and nepenthe from thy memories of 
 
 Lenore ! 
 Quaff, oh, quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this 
 
 lost Lenore !" 
 
 Quoth the raven, " Nevermore !" 
 
 "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! — prophet still, if 
 bird or devil ! 
 
 Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest toss'd thee 
 here ashore, 
 
 Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land en- 
 chanted — 
 
 i 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 489 
 
 On this home by Horror haunted— tell me truly, I im- 
 plore — 
 
 Is there — is there balm in Gilead ? — tell me — tell me, I 
 implore !" 
 
 Quoth the raven, " Nevermore I" 
 
 "Prophet!" said I, " thing of evil! — prophet still, if 
 
 bird or devil ! 
 By that heaven that bends above us — by that God we 
 
 both adore, 
 Tell this soul, with sorrow laden, if, within the distant 
 
 Aidenn, 
 It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the angels 
 
 name Lenore ; 
 Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels 
 
 name Lenore I" 
 
 Quoth the raven, " Nevermore !" 
 
 " Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend !" I 
 
 shriek'd, upstarting — 
 " Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's 
 
 Plutonian shore ! 
 Leave no blaek plume as a token of that lie thy soul 
 
 hath spoken ! 
 Leave my loneliness unbroken ! — quit the bust above 
 
 iny door ! 
 Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form 
 
 from off my door !" 
 
 Quoth the raven, "Nevermore!" 
 
 And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is 
 sitting 
 
 On the pallid bust of Pallas, just above my chamber- 
 door ; 
 
 And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is 
 dreaming, 
 
 And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his 
 shadow on the floor ; 
 
 And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating 
 on the floor 
 
 Shall be lifted — nevermore ! 
 
490 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 THE BELLS. 
 
 (edgar a. poe.) 
 
 Hear the sledges with the bells — 
 Silver bells — 
 What a world of merriment their melody foretells ! 
 How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, 
 
 In the icy air of night ! 
 While the stars that oversprinkle 
 All the heavens, seem to twinkle 
 
 With a crystalline delight ; 
 Keeping time, time, time, 
 In a sort of Runic rl^me, 
 To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells 
 From the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
 Bells, bells, bells— 
 From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. 
 
 Hear the mellow wedding-bells, 
 Golden bells ! 
 What a world of happiness their harmony foretells ! 
 Through the balmy air of night 
 How they ring out their delight ! 
 From the molten-golden notes, 
 
 And all in tune, 
 What a liquid ditty floats 
 To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats 
 On the moon ! 
 Oh, from out the sounding cells-, 
 What a gush of euphony voluminously wells ! 
 How it swells ! 
 How it dwells 
 On the Future ! how it tells 
 Of the rapture that impels 
 To the swinging and the ringing 
 
 Of the bells, bells, bells— 
 Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
 Bells, bells, bells — 
 To the rhyming and the chimiug of the bells ! 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 49I 
 
 Hear the loud alarum bells — 
 Brazen bells ! 
 What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells ! 
 In the startled ear of night 
 How they scream out their affright ! 
 Too much horrified to speak, 
 The}^ can only shriek, shriek, 
 Out of tune, 
 In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, 
 In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire 
 Leaping higher, higher, higher, 
 With a desperate desire, 
 And a resolute endeavor, 
 Now — now to sit or never, 
 By the side of the pale-faced moon. 
 Oh, the bells, bells, bells ! 
 What a tale their terror tells 
 Of despair ! 
 How they clang, and clash, and roar ! 
 What a horror they outpour 
 On the bosom of the palpitating air ! 
 Yet the ear, it fully knows, 
 By the twanging 
 And the clanging, 
 How the danger ebbs and flows ; 
 Yet the ear distinctly tells, 
 In the jangling 
 And the wrangling, 
 How the danger sinks and swells, 
 By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells — 
 Of the bells— 
 Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
 Bells, bells, bells— 
 In the clamor and the clangor of the bells ! 
 
 Hear the tolling of the bells — 
 Iron bells ! 
 What a "world of solemn thought their monody compels! 
 In the silence of the night, 
 How we shiver with affright 
 At the melancholy menace of their tone ! 
 
92 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 For every sound that floats 
 From the rust within their throats 
 
 Is a groan. 
 And the people — ah, the people — 
 They that dwell up in the steeple, 
 
 All alone, 
 And who tolling, tolling, tolling, 
 
 In that muffled monotone, 
 Feel a glory in so rolling 
 
 On the human heart a stone — 
 The3 r are neither man nor woman — 
 The}^ are neither brute nor human — ■ 
 
 They are Ghouls : 
 And their king it is who tolls ; 
 And he rolls, rolls, rolls, rolls, 
 
 A paean from the bells ! 
 And his merry bosom swells 
 
 With the paean of the bells ! 
 And he dances and he yells ; 
 Keeping time, time, time, 
 In a sort of Runic rhyme, 
 
 To the paean of the bells — 
 Of the bells ; 
 Keeping time, time, time, 
 In a sort of Runic rhyme, 
 
 To the throbbing of the bells — 
 Of the bells, bells, bells, 
 
 To the sobbing of the bells ; 
 Keeping time, time, time, 
 
 As he knells, knells, knells, 
 In a happ3 T Runic rhyme, 
 
 To the rolling of the bells — 
 Of the bells, bells, bells— 
 
 To the tolling of the bells, 
 Of the bells, bells, bells, bells- 
 Bells, bells, bells, 
 To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 493 
 
 EXCELSIOR. 
 
 (H. W. LONGFELLOW.) 
 
 The shades of night were falling fast, 
 As through an Alpine village passed 
 A youth, who bore, mid snow and ice, 
 A banner with the strange device, 
 Excelsior ! 
 
 His brow was sad ; his eye, beneath, 
 Flashed like a falchion from its sheath ; 
 And like a silver clarion rung 
 The accents of that unknown tongue, 
 Excelsior ! 
 
 In happy homes he saw the light 
 Of household fires gleam warm and bright: 
 Above, the spectral glaciers shone : 
 And from his lips escaped a groan, 
 Excelsior ! 
 
 " Try not to pass !" the old man said ; 
 " Dark lowers the tempest overhead ; 
 The roaring torrent is deep and wide !"— 
 And loud that clarion voice replied, 
 Excelsior! 
 
 "Oh! stay," the maiden said, "and rest 
 Thy weary head upon this breast !" 
 A tear stood in his bright blue eye ; 
 But still he answered, with a sigh, 
 Excelsior ! 
 
 " Beware the pine-tree's withered branch! 
 Beware the awful avalanche!" 
 This was the peasant's last good-night ; — 
 A voice replied, far up the height, 
 Excelsior ! 
 
 32 
 
494 PRACTICAL FLOCUTION. 
 
 At break of day, as heavenward 
 The pious monks of St. Bernard 
 Uttered the oft repeated pra^-er, 
 A voice cried, through the startled air, 
 Excelsior ! 
 
 A traveller, — by the faithful hound, 
 Half buried iu the snow, was found, 
 Still grasping, in his haud of ice, 
 The banner with the strange device, 
 Excelsior ! 
 
 There, in the twilight cold and gray, 
 Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay ; 
 And from the sk} r , serene and far, 
 A voice fell, like a falling star, — 
 Excelsior ! 
 
 THE FAMINE. 
 
 (H. W. LONGFELLOW.) 
 
 O the long and dreary Winter ! 
 
 the cold and cruel Winter ! 
 
 Ever thicker, thicker, thicker, 
 
 Froze the ice on lake and river ; 
 
 Ever deeper, deeper, deeper, 
 
 Fell the snow o'er all the landscape, 
 
 Fell the covering snow, and drifted 
 
 Through the forest, round the village. 
 
 Hardly from his buried wigwam 
 
 Could the hunter force a passage ; 
 
 With his mittens and his snow-shoes 
 
 Yainly walk'd he through the forest, 
 
 Sought for bird or beast and found none ; 
 
 Saw no track of deer or rabbit, 
 
 In the snow beheld no footprints, 
 
 In the ghastly, gleaming forest 
 
 Fell, and could not rise from weakness, 
 
 Perish'd there from cold and hunger. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 495 
 
 the famine and the fever ! 
 O the wasting of the famine ! 
 the blasting of the fever ! 
 the wailing of the children ! 
 
 the anguish of the women ! 
 
 All the earth was sick and famish'd ; 
 Hungry was the air around them, 
 Hungry was the sky above them, 
 And the hungry stars in heaven 
 Like the eyes of wolves glared at them! 
 
 Into Hiawatha's wigwam 
 Came two other guests, as silent 
 As the ghosts were, and as gloomy, 
 Waited not to be invited, 
 Did not parley at the doorway, 
 Sat there without word of welcome 
 In the seat of Laughing Water; 
 Looked with haggard eyes and hollow 
 At the face of Laughing Water. 
 And the foremost said : " Behold me ! 
 
 1 am Famine, Bukadawin !" 
 
 And the other said : " Behold me! 
 I am Fever, Ahkosewin !" 
 And the lovely Minnehaha 
 Shudder'd as they look'd upon her, 
 Shudder'd at the words the} 7 utter'd, 
 Lay down on her bed in silence,. 
 Hid her face, but made no answer ; 
 Lay there trembling, freezing, burning 
 At the looks they cast upon her, 
 At the fearful words they utter'd. 
 
 Forth into the empty forest 
 
 Rushed the madden'd Hiawatha ; 
 
 In his heart was deadly sorrow, 
 
 In his face a stony firmness, 
 
 On his brow the sweat of anguish 
 
 Started, but it froze and fell not. 
 
 Wrapp'd in furs and arm'd for hunting, 
 
496 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 With his might} 1- bow of ash-tree, 
 With his quiver full of arrows, 
 With his mittens, Minjekahwun, 
 Into the vast and vacant forest 
 On his snow-shoes strode he forward. 
 "Gitche Manito, the Mighty!" 
 Cried he with his face uplifted 
 In that bitter hour of anguish, 
 " Give } T our children food, father ! 
 Give us food, or we must perish I 
 Give me food for Minnehaha, 
 For my dying Minnehaha!" 
 Through the far-resounding forest, 
 Through the forest vast and vacant 
 Rang that cry of desolation, 
 But there came no other answer 
 Than the echo of his crying, 
 Than the echo of the woodlands, 
 " Minnehaha 1 Minnehaha I" 
 
 All day long roved Hiawatha 
 
 In that melancholy forest, 
 
 Through the shadow of whose thickets, 
 
 In the pleasant days of Summer, 
 
 Of that ne'er forgotten Summer, 
 
 He had brought his .young wife homeward 
 
 From the land of the Dakotahs ; 
 
 When the birds sang in the thickets, 
 
 And the streamlets laugh'd and glisten'd, 
 
 And the air was full of fragrance, 
 
 And the lovely Laughing Water 
 
 Said with voice that did not tremble, 
 
 " I will follow you, my husband I" 
 
 In the wigwam with Nokomis, 
 
 With those gloom}- guests that watch'd her, 
 
 With the Famine and the Fever, 
 
 She was lying, the Beloved, 
 
 She the dying Minnehaha. 
 
 " Hark !" she said, " I hear a rushing, 
 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 49f 
 
 Hear a roaring and a rushing, 
 
 Hear the Falls of Minnehaha 
 
 Calling to me from a distance !" 
 
 "No, my child!" said old Nokomis, 
 
 " 'Tis the night-wind in the pine-trees !" 
 
 " Look \ n she said ; "I see my father 
 
 Standing lonely at his doorway, 
 
 Beckoning to me from his wigwam 
 
 In the land of the Dakotahs !" 
 
 " No, my child !" said old Nokomis, 
 
 " 'Tis the smoke that waves and beckons !" 
 
 " Ah !" she said, "the eyes of Pauguk 
 
 Glare upon me in the darkness, 
 
 I can feel his icy fingers 
 
 Clasping mine amid the darkness ! 
 
 Hiawatha! Hiawatha!" 
 
 And the desolate Hiawatha, 
 
 Far away amid the forest, 
 
 Miles away among the mountains, 
 
 Heard that sudden cry of anguish, 
 
 Heard the voice of Minnehaha 
 
 Calling to him in the darkness, 
 
 " Hiawatha ! Hiawatha !" 
 
 Over snow-fields waste and pathless, 
 Under snow-encumber'd branches, 
 Homeward hurried Hiawatha, 
 Empty-handed, heavy-hearted, 
 Heard Nokomis moaning, wailing : 
 " Wahonowin ! Wahonowin ! 
 Would that I had perish 'd for you, 
 Would that I were dead as you are ! 
 Wahonowin ! Wahonowin !" 
 And he rush'd into the wigwam, 
 Saw the old Nokomis slowly 
 Rocking to and fro and moaning, 
 Saw his lovely Minnehaha 
 Lying dead and cold before him, 
 And his bursting heart within him 
 
498 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Utter'd such a cry of anguish, 
 
 That the forest moan'd and shudder'd, 
 
 That the very stars in heaven 
 
 Shook and trembled with his anguish. 
 
 Then he sat down still and speechless, 
 On the bed of Minnehaha, 
 At the feet of Laughing Water, 
 At those willing feet, that never 
 More would lightly run to meet him, 
 Never more would lightly follow. 
 With both hands his face he cover'd, 
 Seven long days and nights he sat there. 
 As if in a swoon he sat there, 
 Speechless, motionless, unconscious 
 Of the daylight or the darkness. 
 
 Then they buried Minnehaha ; 
 In the snow a grave they made her, 
 In the forest deep and darksome, 
 Underneath the moaning hemlocks ; 
 Clothed her in her richest garments ; 
 Wrapp'd her in her robes of ermine, 
 Cover'd her with snow, like ermine: 
 Thus they buried Minnehaha, 
 And at night a fire was lighted, 
 On her grave four times was kindled, 
 For her soul upon its journey 
 To the Islands of the Blessed. 
 From his doorway Hiawatha 
 Saw it burning in the forest, 
 Lighting up the gloomy hemlocks ; 
 From his sleepless bed uprising, 
 From the bed of Minnehaha, 
 Stood and watch 'd it at the doorway^ 
 That it might not be extinguish 'd, 
 Might not leave her in the darkness. 
 
 " Farewell !" said he, " Minnehaha ! 
 Farewell, my Laughing Water ! 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 499 
 
 All mjr heart is buried with you, 
 All my thoughts go onward with 3^0 u ! 
 Come not back again to labor, 
 Come not back again to suffer, 
 Where the Famine and the Fever 
 Wear the heart and waste the body. 
 Soon my task will be completed, 
 Soon your footsteps I shall follow 
 To the Islands of the Blessed, 
 To the Kingdom of Ponemah, 
 To the Land of the Hereafter I" 
 
 LIBERTY AND UNION. 
 
 (WEBSTER.) 
 
 I profess, sir, in my career hitherto, to have kept 
 steadily in view the prosperity and honor of the whole 
 country, and the preservation of our federal union. It 
 is to that union we owe our safet}^ at home, and our 
 consideration and dignity abroad. It is to that union 
 that we are chiefly indebted for whatever makes us 
 most proud of our country. That union we reached, 
 only by the discipline of our virtues in the severe 
 school of adversity. It had its origin in the necessities 
 of disordered finance, prostrate commerce, and ruined 
 credit. Under its benign influences, these great inter- 
 ests immediately awoke, as from the dead, and sprang 
 forth with newness of life. Every year of its duration 
 has teemed with fresh proofs of its utility and its bless- 
 ings ; and, although our territory has stretched out 
 wider and wider, and our population spread farther 
 and farther, they have not outrun its protection or its 
 benefits. It has been to ns all, a copious fountain of 
 national, social, and personal happiness. 
 
 I have not allowed myself, sir, to look beyond the 
 union, to see what might lie hidden in the dark recess 
 behind. I have not coolly weighed the chances of pre- 
 serving liberty, when the bonds that unite us together 
 shall be broken asunder. I have not accustomed my- 
 
I 
 
 500 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 self to hang over the precipice of disunion, to see 
 whether, with my short sight, I can fathom the depth 
 of the abyss below ; nor could I regard him as a safe 
 counsellor in the affairs of this government, whose 
 thoughts should be mainly bent on considering, not 
 how the union should be preserved, but how tolerable 
 might be the condition of the people, when it shall be 
 broken up and destined. 
 
 While the union lasts, we have high, exciting, grati- 
 fying prospects spread out before us, for us and our 
 children. Beyond that, I seek not to penetrate the 
 vail. God grant, that in my day, at least, that curtain 
 may not rise. God grant, that on my vision never 
 ma}' be opened what lies behind. When my eyes shall 
 be turned to behold, for the last time, the sun in hea- 
 ven, may I not see him shining on the broken and dis- 
 honored fragments of a once glorious union ; on states 
 dissevered, discordant, belligerent ; on a land rent with 
 civil feuds, or drenched, it may be, in fraternal blood ! 
 Let their last feeble and lingering glance, rather, be- 
 hold the gorgeous ensign of the republic, now known 
 and honored throughout the earth, still full high ad- 
 vanced, its arms and trophies streaming in their origi- 
 nal lustre ; not a stripe erased or polluted, nor a single 
 star obscured, bearing for its motto, no such miserable 
 interrogatory as, What is all this worth? nor those 
 other words of delusion and folly: Liberty first, and 
 union afterwards ; but everywhere, spread all over in 
 characters of living light, blazing on all its ample folds, 
 as they float over the sea, and over the land, and in 
 every wind under the whole heavens, that other senti- 
 ment, dear to every true American heart, Liberty and 
 union, now and forever, one and inseparable ! 
 
 OH, VfHY SHOULD THE SPIRIT OF MORTAL BE PROUD? 
 
 Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud ? 
 Like a swift, fleeting meteor, a fast flying cloud, 
 A flash of the lightnino-, a break of the wave, 
 Man passeth from life to his rest in the grave. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 501 
 
 The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade, 
 
 Be scattered around and together be laid ; 
 
 And the young and the old, and the low and the high, 
 
 Shall moulder to dust and together shall lie. 
 
 The infant a mother attended and loved ; 
 The mother that infant's affection who proved ; 
 The husband that mother and infant who blessed, 
 Each, all, are away to their dwellings of rest. 
 
 The maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in whose ej 7 e, 
 Shone beauty and pleasure — her triumphs are by ; 
 And the memory of those who loved her and praised, 
 Are alike from the minds of the living erased. 
 
 The hand of the king that the sceptre hath borne ; 
 The brow of the priest that the mitre hath worn ; 
 The eye of the sage and the heart of the brave, 
 Are hidden and lost in the depth of the grave. 
 
 The peasant whose lot to sow and to reap ; 
 The herdsman, who climbed with his goats up the steep ; 
 The beggar, who wandered in search of his bread, 
 Have faded away like the grass that we tread. 
 
 The saint who enjoyed the communion of heaven, 
 The sinner who dared to remain unforgiven, 
 The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just, 
 Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust. 
 
 So the multitude goes, like the flowers or the weed 
 That withers away to let others succeed ; 
 So the multitude comes, even those we behold, 
 To repeat every tale that has often been told. 
 
 For we are the same our fathers have been ; 
 We see the same sights our fathers have seen — . 
 We drink the same stream and view the same sun, 
 And run the same course our fathers have run. 
 
502 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 The thoughts we are thinking our fathers would think ; 
 From the death we are shrinking our fathers would 
 
 shrink, 
 To the life we are clinging they also would cling ; 
 But it speeds for us all, like a bird on the wing. 
 
 They loved, but the stoiy we cannot unfold ; 
 The} 7 scorned, but the heart of the haughty is cold ; 
 They grieved, but no wail from their .slumbers will 
 
 come ; 
 They joyed, but the tongue of their gladness is dumb. 
 
 They died, aye ! they died ; and we things that are now, 
 Who walk on the turf that lies over their brow, 
 Who make in their dwelling a transient abode, 
 Meet the things that they met on their pilgrimage road. 
 
 Yea! hope and despondency, pleasure and pain, 
 We mingle together in sunshine and rain ; 
 And the smiles and the tears, the song and the dirge ; 
 Still follow each other, like surge upon surge. 
 
 'Tis the wink of an e}-e, 'tis the draught of a breath ; 
 From the blossom of health to the paleness of death, 
 From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud — 
 Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud ? 
 
 BRIDGE OF SIGHS. 
 (hood.) 
 
 One more Unfortunate, 
 Weary of breath, 
 
 Rashly importunate, 
 Gone to her death ! 
 
 Take her up tenderly, 
 Lift her with care ; — 
 
 Fashion 'd so slenderly, 
 Young, and so fair! 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 503 
 
 Look at her garments, 
 Clinging like cerements ; 
 
 Whilst the wave constantly 
 Drips from her clothing ; 
 
 Take her up instantly, 
 Loving, not loathing. 
 
 Touch her not scornfully 
 Think of her mournfully, 
 
 Gently and humanly ; 
 Not of the stains of her, 
 All that remains of her 
 
 Now, is pure womanly. 
 
 Make no deep scrutiny 
 Into her mutiny 
 
 Rash and undutiful; 
 Past all dishonor, 
 
 Death has left on her 
 Only the beautiful. 
 
 Still, for all slips of hers, 
 
 One of Eve's family — 
 Wipe those poor lips of hers, 
 
 Oozing so clammily ; 
 
 Loop up her tresses 
 
 Escaped from the comb, 
 Her fair auburn tresses ; 
 Whilst wonderment guesses 
 
 Where was her home ? 
 
 Who was her father ? 
 Who was her mother ? 
 Had she a sister ? 
 Had she a brother ? 
 
 Or was there a dearer one 
 
 Still, and a nearer one 
 Yet, than all other ? 
 
504 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Alas ! for the rarity 
 Of Christian charity 
 
 Under the sun ! 
 
 Oh ! it was pitiful ! 
 Near a whole city full, 
 
 Home she had none. 
 
 Sisterly, brotherly, 
 Fatherly, motherly, 
 
 Feelings were changed ; 
 Love, by harsh evidence, 
 
 Thrown from its eminence 
 Even God's providence 
 
 Seeming estranged. 
 
 Where the lamps quiver 
 So far in the river, 
 
 With many a light 
 
 From window and casement, 
 From garret to basement, 
 She stood, with amazement, 
 
 Houseless by night. 
 
 The bleak winds of March 
 
 Made her tremble and shiver ; 
 But not the dark arch, 
 
 Or the black flowing river: 
 Mad from life's history, 
 Glad to death's mystery 
 
 Swift to be huii'd — 
 Anj r where, anywhere 
 
 Out of the world I 
 
 In she plunged boldly, 
 No matter how coldly 
 
 The rough river ran, — 
 Over the brink of it, 
 Picture it, — think of it, 
 
 Dissolute man! 
 Lave in it, drink of it 
 
 Then, if you ca*n ! 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 505 
 
 Take her up tenderly, 
 
 Lift her with care ; 
 Fashion 'd so slenderly, 
 
 Young, and so fair ! 
 
 Ere her limbs frigidly 
 
 Stiffen so rigidly, 
 Decently, — kindly, — 
 
 Smooth and compose them ; 
 
 And her eyes, close them, 
 Staring so blindly ! 
 
 Dreadfully staring 
 
 Through muddy impurity, 
 As when with the daring 
 Last look of despairing 
 
 Fixed on futurity. 
 
 Perishing gloomily, 
 
 Spurred by contumely, 
 Cold inhumanity, 
 
 Burning insanity, 
 Into her rest, — 
 
 Cross her hands humbly, 
 
 As if praying dumbly, 
 Over her breast ! 
 
 Owning her weakness, 
 Her evil behaviour, 
 
 And leaving with meekness, 
 Her sins to her Saviour ! 
 
 SCOTT AND THE VETERAN. 
 (BAYARD TAYLOR.) 
 
 An old and crippled veteran to the War Department 
 came, 
 
 He sought the Chief who led him, on many a field of 
 fame — 
 
 The Chief who shouted " Forward!" where'er his ban- 
 ner rose, 
 
 And bore its stars in triumph behind the flying foes. 
 
506 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 " Have 3 7 ou forgotten, General," the battered soldier 
 
 cried, 
 11 The days of eighteen hundred twelve, when I was at 
 
 your side ? 
 Have you forgotten Johnson, who fought at Lundy's 
 
 Lane? 
 'Tis true, I'm old and pensioned, but I want to fight 
 
 again." 
 
 "Have I forgotten?" said the Chief: " My brave old 
 
 soldier, no ! 
 And here's the hand I gave } t ou then, and let it tell 
 
 you so ; 
 But you have done }~our share, my friend ; you're 
 
 crippled, old, and gray, 
 And we have need of younger arms and fresher blood 
 
 to-day." 
 
 " But General," cried the veteran, a flush upon his 
 
 brow, 
 " The very men who fought with us, they say are 
 
 traitors now : 
 They've torn the flag of Lundy's Lane, our old red, 
 
 white, and blue, 
 And while a drop of blood is left, I'll show that drop is 
 
 true. 
 
 11 I'm not so weak but I can strike, and I've a good 
 old gun, 
 
 To get the range of traitors' hearts, and pick them, 
 one by one. 
 
 Your Minie rifles and such arms, it ain't worth while 
 to try ; 
 
 I couldn't get the hang o' them, but I'll keep my pow- 
 der dry!" 
 
 " God bless j^ou, comrade !" said the Chief, — " God 
 
 bless 3 T our lo}< al heart ! 
 But younger men are in the field, and claim to have a 
 
 part ; 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 507 
 
 They'll plant our sacred banner firm, in each rebellious 
 
 town, 
 And woe, henceforth, to any hand that dares to pull it 
 
 down !" 
 
 "But General!" — still persisting, the weeping veteran 
 
 cried, 
 " I'm young enough to follow, so long as you're my 
 
 guide ; 
 And some, you know, must bite the dust, and that, at 
 
 least, can I ; 
 So, give the young ones place to fight, but me a place 
 
 to die ! 
 
 " If they should fire on Pickens, let the colonel in 
 
 command 
 Put me upon the rampart with the flag-staff in my 
 
 hand: 
 No odds how hot the cannon-smoke, or how the shell 
 
 may fly, 
 I'll hold the Stars and Stripes aloft, and hold them till 
 
 I die! 
 
 "I'm ready, General ; so you let a post to me be given, 
 Where Washington can look at me, as he looks down 
 
 from Heaven, 
 And say to Putnam at his side, or, may be, General 
 
 Wayne, — 
 1 There stands old Billy Johnson, who fought at 
 
 Lundy's Lane !' 
 
 "And when the fight is raging hot, before the traitors 
 
 ny,- 
 When shell and ball are screeching, and bursting in 
 
 the sky, 
 If any shot should pierce through me, and lay me on 
 
 my face, 
 My soul would go to Washington's, and not to Arnold's 
 
 place!" 
 
508 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION 
 
 BINGEN ON THE RHINE. 
 (MRS. NORTON.) 
 
 A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, 
 
 There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth 
 
 of woman's tears ; 
 But a comrade stood beside him, while his life-blood 
 
 ebb'd away, 
 And bent, with pitying glances, to hear what he might 
 
 say. 
 The d} T ing soldier falter'd, as he took that comrade's 
 
 hand, 
 And he said, " I never more shall see my own, my 
 
 native land ; 
 Take a message, and a token, to some distant friends 
 
 of mine, 
 For I was born at Bingen — at Bingen on the Rhine. 
 
 " Tell m} 7 brothers and companions, when they meet 
 
 and crowd around 
 To hear my mournful story in the pleasant vinej-ard 
 
 ground, 
 That we fought the battle bravely, and when the day 
 
 was done, 
 Full many a corse lay ghastly pale, beneath the setting 
 
 sun. 
 And midst the dead and dying, were some grown old 
 
 in wars, 
 The death wound on their gallant breasts, the last of 
 
 many scars : 
 But some were } r oung — and suddenly beheld life's 
 
 morn decline ; 
 And one had come from Bingen — fair Bingen on the 
 
 Rhine ! 
 
 " Tell my mother that her other sons shall comfort 
 
 her old age, 
 And I was &ye a truant bird, that thought his home a 
 
 cage: 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 509 
 
 For in}' father was a soldier, and even as a child 
 
 My heart leap'd forth to hear him tell of struggles 
 
 fierce and wild ; 
 And when he died, and left us to divide his scanty 
 
 hoard, 
 I let them take whate'er they would, but kept my 
 
 father's sword, 
 And with boyish love I hung it where the bright light 
 
 used to shine, 
 On the cottage-wall at Bingen — calm Bingen on the 
 
 Rhine 1 
 
 " Tell my sister not to weep for me, and sob with 
 
 drooping head, 
 When the troops are marching home again, with glad 
 
 and gallant tread ; 
 But to look upon them proudly, with a calm and 
 
 steadfast eye, 
 For her brother was a soldier too, and not afraid to die. 
 And if a comrade seek her love, I ask her in my name 
 To listen to him kindly, without regret or shame ; 
 And to hang the old sword in its place (my father's 
 
 sword and mine), 
 For the honor of old Bingen — dear Bingen on the 
 
 Rhine ! 
 
 " There's another — not a sister ; in the happy days 
 gone by, 
 
 You'd have known her by the merriment that sparkled 
 in her eye ; 
 
 Too innocent for coquetry, — too fond for idle scorn- 
 ing,— 
 
 Oh ! friend, I fear the lightest heart makes sometimes 
 heaviest mourning ; 
 
 Tell her the last night of my life (for ere the moon be 
 risen 
 
 My body will be out of pain — my soul be out of prison), 
 
 I dream 'd I stood with her, and saw the yellow sun- 
 light shine 
 
 On the vine-clad hills of Bingen — fair Bingen on the 
 Rhine ! 
 33 
 
510 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 "I saw the blue Rhine sweep along — I heard, or 
 seem'd to hear, 
 
 The German songs we used to sing, in chorus sweet 
 and clear ; 
 
 And down the pleasant river, and up the slanting hill, 
 
 The echoing chorus sounded, through the evening calm 
 and still ; 
 
 And her glad blue eyes were on me as we passed with 
 friend \y talk 
 
 Down many a path beloved of yore, and well remem- 
 bered walk, 
 
 And her little hand lay lightly, confidingly in mine : 
 
 But we'll meet no more at Bingen — loved Bingen on 
 the Rhine!" 
 
 His voice grew faint and hoarser, — his grasp was 
 
 childish weak, — 
 His eyes put on a dying look, — he sigh'd and ceased to 
 
 speak : 
 His comrade bent to lift him, but the spark of life had 
 
 fled,— 
 The soldier of the Legion, in a foreign land — was dead ! 
 And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she 
 
 look'd down 
 On the red sand of the battle-field, with bloody corpses 
 
 strown ; 
 Yea, calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light 
 
 seem'd to shine, 
 As it shone on distant Bingen — fair Bingen on the 
 
 Rhine ! 
 
 BARBARA FRIETCHIE. 
 (JOHN G. WHITTIER.) 
 
 Up from the meadows rich with corn, 
 Clear in the cool September morn, 
 
 The cluster'd spires of Frederick stand, 
 Green-wall'd by the hills of Maryland. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 5H 
 
 Round about them orchards sweep, 
 Apple and peach tree fruited deep, 
 
 Fair as a garden of the Lord, 
 
 To the eyes of the faniish'd rebel horde, 
 
 On that pleasant morn of the early Fall, 
 When Lee march'd over the mountain wall, 
 
 Over the mountains winding down, 
 Horse and foot, into Frederick town. 
 
 Forty flags with their silver stars, 
 Forty flags with their crimson bars, 
 
 Flapp'd in the morning wind : the sun 
 Of noon look'd down, and saw not one. 
 
 Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, 
 Bow'd with her fourscore years and ten, 
 
 Bravest of all in Frederick town, 
 
 She took up the flag the men haul'd down. 
 
 In her attic-window the staff she set, 
 To show that one heart was loyal yet. 
 
 Up the street came the rebel tread, 
 Stonewall Jackson riding ahead. 
 
 Under his slouch'd hat left and right 
 He glanced : the old flag met his sight. 
 
 " Halt I" — the dust-brown ranks stood fast ; 
 " Fire !" — out blazed the rifle-blast. 
 
 It shiver'd the window-pane and sash, 
 It rent the banner with seam and gash. 
 
 Quick as it fell from the broken staff, 
 Dame Barbara snatch'd the silken scarf. 
 
 She lean'd far out on the window-sill, 
 And shook it forth with a royal will. 
 
512 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 " Shoot, if yon must, this old gray head, 
 But spare your country's flag," she said. 
 
 A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, 
 Over the face of the leader came ; 
 
 The nobler nature within him stirr'd 
 To life at that woman's deed and word. 
 
 "Who touches a hair of yon gray head 
 Dies like a dog ! March on !" he said. 
 
 All day long through Frederick street 
 Sounded the tread of marching feet ; 
 
 All day long that free flag toss'd 
 Over the heads of the rebel host. 
 
 Ever its torn folds rose and fell 
 
 On the loyal winds that loved it well ; 
 
 And, through the hill-gaps, sunset light 
 Shone over it with a warm good-night. 
 
 Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er, 
 
 And the rebel rides on his raids no more. 
 
 Honor to her ! and let a tear 
 
 Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier. 
 
 Over Barbara Frietchie's grave, 
 Flag of Freedom and Union, wave ! 
 
 Peace and order and beauty draw 
 Round thy symbol of light and law ; 
 
 And ever the stars above look down 
 On thy stars below in Frederick town. 
 
 MAUD MULLER. 
 
 (j. G. WHITTIER.) 
 
 Maud Muller, on a summer's day, 
 Baked the meadow sweet with hay. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 513 
 
 Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth 
 Of simple beauty and rustic health. 
 
 Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee 
 The mock-bird echoed from his tree. 
 
 But, when she glanced to the far-off town, 
 White from its hill-slope looking down, 
 
 The sweet song died, and a vague unrest 
 And a nameless longing filled her breast — 
 
 A wish, that she hardly dared to own, 
 For something better than she had known. 
 
 The Judge rode slowly down the lane, 
 Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane. 
 
 He drew his bridle in the shade 
 
 Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid, 
 
 And ask a draught from the spring that flowed 
 Through the meadow across the road. 
 
 She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up, 
 And filled for him her small tin cup, 
 
 And blushed as she gave it, looking down 
 On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown. 
 
 " Thanks!" said the Judge, " a sweeter draught 
 From a fairer hand was never quaffed." 
 
 He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees, 
 Of the singing birds and the humming bees ; 
 
 Then talked of the ha}dng, and wondered whether 
 The cloud in the west would bring foul weather. 
 
 And Maud forgot her brier-torn gown, 
 And her graceful ankles bare and brown ; 
 
 And listened, while a pleased surprise 
 Looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes. 
 
514 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 At last, like one who for delay 
 Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away. 
 
 Maud Muller looked and sighed : " Ah, me ! 
 That I the Judge's bride might be ! 
 
 " He would dress me up in silks so fine, 
 And praise and toast me at his wine. 
 
 " My father should wear a broadcloth coat ; 
 My brother should sail a painted boat. 
 
 " I'd dress my mother so grand and gay ; 
 And the baby should have a new toy each day. 
 
 "And I'd feed the hungry and clothe the poor, 
 And all should bless me who left our door." 
 
 The Judge looked back as he climbed the hill, 
 And saw Maud Muller standing still. 
 
 " A form more fair, a face more sweet, 
 Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet. 
 
 " And her modest answer and graceful air 
 Show her wise and good as she is fair. 
 
 " Would she were mine, and I to-day, 
 Like her, a harvester of hay: 
 
 " No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs, 
 JSTor weary lawyers with endless tongues, 
 
 "But low of cattle and song of birds, 
 And health and quiet and loving words." 
 
 But he thought of his sisters proud and cold, 
 And his mother vain of her rank and gold. 
 
 So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on, 
 And Maud was left in the field alone. 
 
 But the lawyers smiled that afternoon, 
 When he hummed in court an old love-tune ; 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 515 
 
 And the young girl mused beside the well, 
 Till the rain on the unraked clover fell. 
 
 He wedded a wife of richest dower, 
 Who lived for fashion, as he for power. 
 
 Yet oft, in his marble hearth's bright glow, 
 He watched a picture come and go : 
 
 And sweet Maud Muller's hazel eyes 
 Looked out in their innocent surprise. 
 
 Oft, when the wine in his glass was red, 
 He longed for the wayside well instead ; 
 
 And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms, 
 To dream of meadows and clover-blooms. 
 
 And the proud man sighed, with a secret pain ; 
 " Ah, that I were free again ! 
 
 "Free as when I rode that day, 
 
 Where the barefoot maiden raked her hay." 
 
 She wedded a man unlearned and poor, 
 And many children played round her door. 
 
 But care and sorrow, and childbirth pain, 
 Left their traces on heart and brain. 
 
 And oft, when the summer sun shone hot 
 On the new-mown hay in the meadow lot, 
 
 And she heard the little spring brook fall 
 Over the roadside, through the wall, 
 
 In the shade of the apple-tree again 
 She saw a rider draw his rein. 
 
 And, gazing down with timid grace, 
 She felt his pleased eyes read her face. 
 
 Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls 
 Stretched away into stately halls ; 
 
516 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 The weary wheel to a spinnet turned, 
 The tallow candle an astral burned, 
 
 And for him who sat by the chimney lug, 
 Dozing and grumbling o'er pipe and mug, 
 
 A manly form at her side she saw, 
 And joy was duty and love was law. 
 
 Then she took up her burden of life again, 
 Saying only, " It might have been." 
 
 Alas for maiden, alas for Judge, 
 
 For rich repiner and household drudge ! 
 
 God pity them both ! and pity us all, 
 Who vainly the dreams of youth recall. 
 
 For of all sad words of tongue or pen, 
 
 The saddest are these : " It might have been !" 
 
 Ah, well ! for us all some sweet hope lies 
 Deeply buried from human eyes ; 
 
 And, in the hereafter, angels may 
 Roll the stone from its grave away ! 
 
 SHAMUS O'BRIEN, THE BOLD BOY OF GLINGALL. 
 A TALE OF '98. 
 
 (SHERIDAN LEFANOR.) 
 
 Jist afther the war, in the year '98, 
 As soon as the boys wor all scattered and bate, 
 'Twas the custom, whenever a pisant was got, 
 To hang him by thrial — barrin' sich as was shot. 
 There was trial by jury goin' on by daylight, 
 And the martial-law hangin' the lavins by night. 
 It's them was hard times for an honest gossoon : 
 If he missed in the judges — he'd meet a dragoon; 
 An' whether the sodgers or judges gev sentence, 
 The divil a much time they allowed for repentance. 
 An' it's many's the fine boy was then on his keepin' 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 51f 
 
 Wid small share iv resting or atin', or sleepin', 
 
 An' because they loved Erin, an' scorned to sell it, 
 
 A prey for the bloodhound, a mark for the bullet — ■ 
 
 Unsheltered by night, and un rested by clay, 
 
 With the heath for their barrack, revenge for their pay ; 
 
 An' the bravest an' hardiest boy iv them all 
 
 Was Shamus O'Brien, from the town iv Grlingall. 
 
 His limbs were well set, an' his body was light, 
 
 An' the keen-fanged hound had not teeth half so white ; 
 
 But his face was as pale as the face of the dead, 
 
 And his cheek never warmed with the blush of the red. 
 
 An' for all that he wasn't an ugly young bye, 
 
 For the divil himself couldn't blaze with his eye, 
 
 So droll an' so wicked, so dark and so bright, 
 
 Like a fire-flash that crosses the depth of the night ! 
 
 An' he was the best mower that ever has been, 
 
 An' the illigantest hurler that ever was seen, 
 
 An' his clancin' was sich that the men used to stare, 
 
 An' the women turn crazy, he done it so quare ; 
 
 An', by gorra, the whole world gev it into him there. 
 
 An' it's he was the boy that was hard to be caught, 
 
 An' it's often he run, an' it's often he fought, 
 
 An' it's many the one can remember right well 
 
 The quare things he done : an' it's often I heerd tell 
 
 How he lathered the yeomen, himself agin four, 
 
 An' stretched the two strongest on old Galtimore. 
 
 But the fox must sleep sometimes, the wild deer must 
 
 rest, 
 An' treachery prey on the blood iv the best ; 
 Afther man}'- a brave action of power and pride, 
 An' many a haid night on the mountain's bleak side, 
 An' a thousand great dangers and toils overpast, 
 In the darkness of night he was taken at last. 
 
 Now, Shamus, look back on the beautiful moon, 
 For the door of the prison must close on you soon, 
 An' take your last look at her dim lovely light, 
 That falls on the mountain and valley this night ; 
 One look at the village, one look at the flood, 
 An' one at the sheltering, far-distant wood ; 
 
518 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Farewell to the forest, farewell to the hill, 
 
 An' farewell to the friends that will think of you still ; 
 
 Farewell to the pathern, the hurlin' an' wake, 
 
 And farewell to the girl that would die for } r our sake. 
 
 An' twelve sodgers brought him to Maryborough jail, 
 
 An' the turnkej^ resaved him, refusin' all bail ; 
 
 The fleet limbs wor chained, an' the sthrong hands wor 
 
 bound, 
 An' he laid clown his length on the cowld prison-ground, 
 An' the dreams of his childhood kem over him there 
 As gentle an' soft as the sweet summer air ; 
 An' happy remembrances crowding on ever, 
 As fast as the foam-flakes dhrift down on the river, 
 Bringing fresh to his heart merry da}^s long gone by, 
 Till the tears gathered heav}' and thick in his eye. 
 But the tears didn't fall, for the pride of his heart 
 Would not suffer one drop down his pale cheek to start ; 
 An' he sprang to his feet in the dark prison cave, 
 An' he swore with the fierceness that misery gave, 
 By the hopes of the good, an' the cause of the brave, 
 That when he was mouldering in the cold grave 
 His enemies never should have it to boast 
 His scorn of their vengeance one moment was lost; 
 His bosom might bleed, but his cheek should be dhry, 
 For, undaunted he lived, and undaunted he'd die. 
 Well, as soon as a few weeks was over and gone, 
 The terrible day iv the thrial kem on, 
 There was sich a crowd there was scarce room to stand, 
 An' sodgers on guard, an' dhragoons sword-in-hand ; 
 An' the court-house so full that the people were both- 
 ered, 
 An' attorneys an' criers on the point ivbein' smothered ; 
 An' counsellors almost gev over for dead, 
 An' the jury sittin' up in their box overhead ; 
 An' the judge settled out so detarmined an' big, 
 With his gown on his back, and an illegant new wig ; 
 An' silence was called, an' the miuute it was said 
 The court was as still as the heart of the dead, 
 An' they heard but the openin' of one prison lock, 
 An' Shamus O'Brien kem into the dock. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 519 
 
 For one minute he turned his eye round on the throng, 
 
 An' he looked at the bars, so firm and so strong, 
 
 An' he saw that he had not a hope nor a friend, 
 
 A chance to escape, nor a word to defend ; 
 
 An' he folded his arms as he stood there alone, 
 
 As cairn and as cold as a statue of stone; 
 
 And they read a big writin', a yard long at laste, 
 
 An' Jim didn't understand it, nor mind it a taste, 
 
 An' the judge took a big pinch iv snuff, and he says, 
 
 " Are you guilty or not, Jim O'Brien, av you plase ?" 
 
 An' all held their breath in the silence of dhread, 
 
 An' Shamus O'Brien made answer and said: 
 
 " My lord, if you ask me, if in my life-time 
 
 I thought any treason, or did any crime 
 
 That should call to my cheek, as I stand alone here, 
 
 The hot blush of shame, or the coldness of fear, 
 
 Though I stood by the grave to receive my death-blow, 
 
 Before God and the world I would answer you, no ! 
 
 But if you would ask me, as I think it like, 
 
 If in the rebellion I carried a pike, 
 
 An' fought for ould Ireland from the first to the close, 
 
 An' shed the heart's blood of her bitterest foes, 
 
 I answer you, yes ; and I tell you again, 
 
 Though I stand here to perish, it's my glory that then 
 
 In her cause I was willing my veins should run dhry, 
 
 An' that now for her sake I am ready to die." 
 
 Then the silence was great, and the jury smiled bright, 
 
 And the judge wasn't sorry the job was made light ; 
 
 By my sowl, it's himself was the crabbed ould chap ! 
 
 In a twinklin' he pulled on his ugly black cap. 
 
 Then Shamus' mother in the crowd standin' by, 
 
 Called out to the judge with a pitiful cry : 
 
 "0, judge ! darlin', don't, 0, don't say the word! 
 
 The crathur is young, have mercy, my lord ; 
 
 He was foolish, he didn't know what he was doin' ; 
 
 You don't know him, my lord — 0, don't give him to 
 
 ruin ! 
 He's the kindliest crathur, the tendherest-hearted ; 
 
520 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Don't part us forever, we that's so long parted. 
 Judge, mavotirneen, forgive him, forgive him, my lord, 
 An' God will forgive you — 0, don't say the word !" 
 That was the first minute that O'Brien was shaken, 
 When he saw that he was not quite forgot or forsaken ; 
 An' down his pale cheeks, at the word of his mother, 
 The big tears wor runnin' fast, one afther th' other ; 
 An' two or three times he endeavored to spake, 
 But the sthrong, manly voice used to falther and break ; 
 But at last, by the strength of his high-mounting pride, 
 He conquered and masthered his grief's swelling tide, 
 "An'," says he, "mother, darlin', don't break your 
 
 poor heart, 
 For, sooner or later, the dearest must part ; 
 And God knows it's betther than wandering in fear 
 On the bleak, trackless mountain, among the wild deer, 
 To lie in the grave, where the head, heart, and breast, 
 From thought, labor, and sorrow, forever shall rest. 
 Then, mother, my darlin', don't cry any more, 
 Don't make me seem broken, in this, my last hour ; 
 For I wish, when my head's lyin' under the raven, 
 No thrue man can say that I died like a craven !" 
 Then towards the judge Shamus bent down his head, 
 An' that minute the solemn death-sentince was said. 
 
 The mornin' was bright, an' the mists rose on high, 
 
 An' the lark whistled merrily in the clear sky ; 
 
 But why are the men standin' idle so late ? 
 
 An' why do the crowds gather fast in the street ? 
 
 What come they to talk of ? what come they to see ? 
 
 An' why does the long rope hang from the cross-tree ? 
 
 O, Shamus O'Brien ! pray fervent and fast, 
 
 May the saints take your soul, for this day is your last ; 
 
 Pray fast an' pray sthrong, for the moment is nigh, 
 
 When, sthrong, proud, an' great as you are, you must 
 
 die. 
 An' fasther an' fasther, the crowd gathered there, 
 Boys, horses, and gingerbread, just like a fair ; 
 An' whiskey was sellin', and cussamuck too, 
 An' ould men and young women enjoying the view. 
 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 521 
 
 An' ould Tim Mulvany, he med the remark, 
 
 There wasn't sich a sight since the time of Noah's ark, 
 
 An' be gorry, 'twas thrue for him, for divil sich a 
 
 scruge, 
 Sich divarshin and crowds, was known since the deluge, 
 For thousands were gathered there, if there was one, 
 Waitin' till such time as the hangin' 'id come on. 
 
 At last they threw open the big prison-gate, 
 
 An' out came the sheriffs and sodgers in state, 
 
 An' a cart in the middle, an' Shamus was in it, 
 
 Not paler, but prouder than ever, that minute. 
 
 An' as soon as the people saw Shamus O'Brien, 
 
 Wid prayin' and blessin', and all the girls cryin', 
 
 A wild wailin' sound kem on by degrees, 
 
 Like the sound of the lonesome wind blowin' through 
 
 trees. , 
 
 On, on to the gallows the sheriffs are gone, 
 An' the cart an' the sodgers go steadily on ; 
 An' at every side swellin' around of the cart, 
 A wild, sorrowful sound, that id open your heart. 
 Now under the gallows the cart takes its stand, 
 An' the hangman gets up with the rope in his hand ; 
 An' the priest, havin' blest him, goes down on the 
 
 ground, 
 An' Shamus O'Brien throws one last look around. 
 Then the hangman dhrew near, an' the people grew 
 
 still, 
 Young faces turned sickly, and warm hearts turn chill ; 
 An' the rope bein' ready, his neck was made bare, 
 For the gripe iv the life-strangling chord to prepare ; 
 An' the good priest has left him, havin' said his last 
 
 prayer. 
 But the good priest done more, for his hands he un- 
 bound, 
 And with one daring spring Jim has leaped on the 
 
 ground ; 
 Bang! bang! goes the carbines, and clash goes the 
 
 sabres ; 
 He's not down ! he's alive still ! now stand to him, 
 
 neighbors ! 
 
522 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Through the smoke and the horses he's into the crowd- 
 By the heavens, he's free ! — than thunder more loud, 
 By one shout from the people the heavens were shaken- 
 One shout that the dead of the world might awaken. 
 The sodgers ran this way, the sheriffs ran that, 
 An' Father Malone lost his new Sunday hat ; 
 To-night he'll be sleepin' in Aherloe Glin, 
 An' the divil's in the dice if you catch him ag'in. 
 Your swords they may glitter, your carbines go bang, 
 But if you want hangin', it's yourself you must hang. 
 
 He has mounted his horse, and soon he will be 
 In America, darlint, the land of the free. 
 
 SHERIDAN'S RIDE. 
 (THOMAS 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. 
 
 And wider 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 is 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. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 523 
 
 Still sprung from those swift hoofs, thundering south, 
 
 The dust, like 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 beaten 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 eye 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. 
 
 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 the red nostril's play, 
 He seemed to the whole great army to say, 
 " I have brought you Sheridan all the w r ay 
 From Winchester, down to save the dajr." 
 
 Hurrah! hurrah for Sheridan! 
 
 Hurrah ! hurrah for horse and man ! 
 
 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, 
 
524 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Be it said in letters both bold and bright : 
 " Here is the steed that saved the day 
 By carrying Sheridan into the fight, 
 From Winchester — twenty miles away!" 
 
 DRIFTING. 
 
 (T. BUCHANAN READ.) 
 
 My soul to-day 
 
 Is far away, 
 Sailing the Vesuvian Baj 7- ; 
 
 My winged boat, 
 
 A bird afloat, 
 Swims round the purple peaks remote 
 
 Round purple peaks 
 
 It sails, and seeks 
 Blue inlets and their crystal creeks, 
 
 Where high rocks throw, 
 
 Through deeps below, 
 A duplicated golden glow. 
 
 Far, vague, and dim, 
 The mountains swim ; 
 
 While on Vesuvius' misty brim, 
 With outstretched hands 
 The gray smoke stands 
 
 O'erlooking the volcanic lands. 
 
 Here Ischia smiles 
 
 O'er liquid miles ; 
 And 3 r onder, bluest of the isles, 
 
 Calm Capri waits, 
 
 Her sapphire gates 
 Beguiling to her bright estates. 
 
 I heed not, if 
 
 My rippling skiff 
 Float swift or slow from cliff to cliff;— 
 
 With dreamful eyes 
 
 My spirit lies 
 Under the walls of Paradise. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 525 
 
 Under the walls 
 
 Where swells and falls 
 The Bay's deep breast at intervals 
 
 At peace I lie, 
 
 Blown softly by, 
 A cloud upon this liquid sky. 
 
 The clay so mild, 
 
 Is Heaven's own child, 
 With earth and ocean reconciled ; — 
 
 The airs I feel 
 
 Around me steal 
 Are murmuring to the murmuring keel. 
 
 Over the rail 
 
 My hand I trail 
 Within the shadow of the sail, 
 
 A joy intense, 
 
 The cooling sense 
 Glides down my drowsy indolence. 
 
 With dreamful eyes 
 
 My spirit lies 
 Where summer sings and never dies, — 
 
 O'erveiled with vines, 
 
 She glows and shines 
 Among her future oil and wines. 
 
 Her children, hid 
 
 The cliffs amid, 
 Are gambolling with the gambolling kid ; 
 
 Or down the walls, 
 
 With tips}^ calls, 
 Laugh on the rocks like waterfalls. 
 
 The fisher's child, 
 
 With tresses wild, 
 Unto the smooth, bright sand beguiled, 
 
 With glowing lips 
 
 Sings as she skips, 
 Or gazes at the far-off ships. 
 34 
 
526 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Yon deep bark goes 
 
 Where traffic blows, 
 From lands of sua to lands of snows ;- 
 
 This happier one, 
 
 Its course is run 
 From lands of snow to lands of sun. 
 
 O happy ship, 
 
 To rise and dip, 
 With the blue ciystal at your lip ! 
 
 happy crew, 
 
 My heart with you 
 Sails, and sails, and sings anew ! 
 
 No more, no more 
 
 The worldly shore 
 Upbraids me with its loud uproar ! 
 
 With dreamful eyes 
 
 My spirit lies 
 Under the walls of Paradise ! 
 
 THE GHOST. 
 
 'Tis about twenty } r ears since Abel Law, 
 A short, round-favored, merry 
 Old soldier of the Revolutionary 
 War, 
 
 Was wedded to 
 A most abominable shrew. 
 The temper, sir, of Shakspeare's Catharine 
 Could no more be compared with hers, 
 Than mine 
 With Lucifer's. 
 
 Her eyes were like a weasePs ; she had a harsh 
 Face, like a cranberry marsh, 
 All spread 
 With spots of white and red ; 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 52? 
 
 Hair of the color of a wisp of straw, 
 And a disposition like a cross-cut saw. 
 The appellation of this lovely dame 
 Was Nancy ; don't forget the name. 
 
 Her brother David was a tall, 
 Good-looking chap, and that was all : 
 One of your great big nothings, as we say 
 Here in Rhode Island, picking up old jokes 
 And cracking them on other folks. 
 Well, David undertook one night to play 
 The Ghost, and frighten Abel, who, 
 He knew, 
 
 Would be returning from a journey through 
 A grove of forest wood 
 That stood 
 Below 
 The house some distance, — half a mile, or so. 
 
 With a long taper 
 Cap of white paper, 
 Just made to cover 
 A wig, nearly as large over 
 As a corn-basket, and a sheet 
 With both ends made to meet 
 Across his breast, 
 
 (The way in which ghosts are always dressed) 
 He took 
 His station near 
 A huge oak-tree, 
 Whence he could overlook 
 The road and see 
 Whatever might appear. 
 
 It happened that about an hour before, friend Abel 
 Had left the table 
 
 Of an inn, where he had made a halt, 
 With horse and wagon, 
 To taste a flagon 
 Of malt 
 
528 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Liquor, and so forth, which, being done, 
 He went on, 
 
 Caring no more for twenty ghosts, 
 Than if they were so many posts. 
 
 David was nearly tired of waiting ; 
 His patience was abating ; 
 At length, he heard the careless tones 
 Of his kinsman's voice, 
 And then the noise 
 Of wagon-wheels among the stones. 
 Abel was quite elated, and was roaring 
 With all his might, and pouring 
 Out, in great confusion, 
 Scraps of old songs made in "the Revolution." 
 
 His head was full of Bunker Hill and Trenton ; 
 And jovially he went on, 
 Scaring the whip-po-wills among the trees 
 With rhymes like these : — [Sings.] 
 
 " See the Yankees 
 Leave the hill, 
 
 With baggernetts declining, 
 With looped-clown hats 
 And rusty guns, 
 
 And leather aprons shining. 
 " See the Yankees — Whoa ! Why, what is that ?" 
 Said Abel, staring like a cat, 
 As, slowly, on the fearful figure strode 
 Into the middle of the road. 
 
 " My conscience ! what a suit of clothes ! 
 Some crazy fellow, I suppose. 
 
 Hallo! friend, what's your name! by the powers of gin, 
 That's a strange dress to travel in." 
 " Be silent, Abel ; for I now have come 
 To read your doom ; 
 
 Then hearken, while your fate I now declare. 
 I am a spirit" — " I suppose you are ; 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 529 
 
 But you'll not hurt me, and I'll tell you why : 
 
 Here is a fact which you cannot deny ; — 
 
 All spirits must be either good 
 
 Or bad, — that's understood, — 
 
 And be you good or evil, I am sure 
 
 That I'm secure. 
 
 If a good spirit, I am safe. If evil, — 
 
 And I don't know but you may be the Devil, — 
 
 If that's the case, you'll recollect, I fancj 7 , 
 
 That I am married to your sister Nancy I" 
 
 THE SMACK IN SCHOOL. 
 
 A district school, not far away, 
 
 'Mid Berkshire hills, one winter's day, 
 
 Was humming with its wonted noise 
 
 Of three-score mingled girls and boys ; 
 
 Some few upon their tasks intent, 
 
 But more on furtive mischief bent. 
 
 The while the master's downward look 
 
 Was fastened on a copy-book : 
 
 When suddenly, behind his back, 
 
 Hose sharp and clear a rousing smack ! 
 
 As 'twere a batter}^ of bliss 
 
 Let off in one tremendous kiss ! 
 
 " What's that ?" the startled master cries ; 
 
 " That, thir," a little imp replies, 
 
 " Wath William Willith, if you pleathe— 
 
 I thaw him kith Thuthanna Peathe !" 
 
 With frown to make a statue thrill, 
 
 The master thundered, " Hither, Will!" 
 
 Like wretch o'ertaken in his track, 
 
 With stolen chattels on his back, 
 
 Will hung his head in fear and shame, 
 
 And to the awful presence came — 
 
 A great, green, bashful simpleton, 
 
 The butt of all good-natured fun. 
 
 With smile suppressed, and birch upraised, 
 
 The threatener faltered — " I'm amazed 
 
530 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 That you, my biggest pupil, should 
 
 Be guilt}'' of an act so rude ! 
 
 Before the whole set school to boot — 
 
 What evil genius put you to't ?" 
 
 "'Twas she, herself, sir," sobbed the lad, 
 
 "I did not mean to be so bad ; 
 
 But when Susannah shook her curls, 
 
 And whispered, I was 'fraid of girls, 
 
 And dursn't kiss a bab} T 's doll, 
 
 I couldn't stand it, sir, at all, 
 
 But up and kissed her on the spot ! 
 
 I know — boo-hoo — I ought to not, 
 
 But, somehow, from her looks — boo-hoo- 
 
 I thought she kind o' wished me to !" 
 
 WOUNDED. 
 ( WILLIAM E. MILLER.) 
 
 Let me lie down 
 Just here in the shade of this cannon-torn tree, 
 Here, low on the trampled grass, where I may see 
 The surge of the combat, and where I may hear 
 The glad cry of victory, cheer upon cheer : 
 
 Let me lie dowu. 
 
 Oh, it was grand ! 
 Like the tempest we charged, in the triumph to share; 
 The tempest, — its fury and thunder were there : 
 On, on, o'er entrenchments, o'er living and dead, 
 With the foe under foot, and our flag overhead : 
 
 Oh, it was grand ! 
 
 Weary and faint, 
 Prone on the soldier's couch, ah, how can I rest 
 With this shot-shatter'd head and sabre-pierced breast? 
 Comrades, at roll-call when I shall be sought, 
 Say I fought till I fell, and fell where I fought, 
 
 Wounded and faint. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 531 
 
 Oh, that last charge ! 
 Right through the dread hell-fire of shrapnel and shell, 
 Through without faltering, — clear through with a yell ! 
 Right in their midst, in the turmoil and gloom, 
 Like heroes we dash'd, at the mandate of doom ! 
 
 Oh, that last charge ! 
 
 It was duty ! 
 Some things are worthless, and some others so good 
 That nations who buy them pay only in blood. 
 For Freedom and Union each man owes his part ; 
 And here I pay my share, all warm from my heart : 
 
 It is duty. 
 
 Dying at last ! 
 My mother, dear mother ! with meek tearful eye, 
 Farewell ! and God bless you, for ever and aye ! 
 Oh that I now lay on your pillowing breast, 
 To breathe my last sigh on the bosom first prest ! 
 
 Dying at last ! 
 
 I am no saint ; 
 But, boys, say a prayer. There's one that begins, 
 " Our Father," and then says, " Forgive us our sins :" 
 Don't forget that part, say that strongly, and then 
 I'll try to repeat it, and you'll say, " Amen !" 
 
 Ah ! I'm no saint ! 
 
 Hark ! there's a shout ! 
 Raise me up, comrades ! We have conquer'd, I know ! — 
 Up, on my feet, with my face to the foe ! 
 Ah ! there flies the flag, with its star-spangles bright, 
 The promise of glory, the S3^mbol of right ! 
 
 Well may they shout ! 
 
 I'm muster'd out. 
 God of our fathers, our freedom prolong, 
 And tread down rebellion, oppression, and wrong ! 
 
 land of earth's hope, on tlry blood-redden'd sod 
 
 1 die for the nation, the Union, and God ! 
 
 I'm muster'd out. 
 
532 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT 
 (DUFRRIX.) 
 
 I'm sitting on the stile, Mary, 
 
 Where we sat side b} T side, 
 On a bright Ma} T morning, long ago, 
 
 When first you were my bride ; 
 The corn was springing fresh and green, 
 
 And the lark sang loud and high ; 
 And the red was on your lip, Mary, 
 
 And the love-light in your eye. 
 
 The place is little changed, Mary, 
 
 The day as bright as then , 
 The lark's loud song is in my ear, 
 
 And the corn is green again ; 
 But I miss the soft clasp of your hand, 
 
 And your breath warm on my cheek ; 
 And I still keep listening for the words 
 
 You never more will speak. 
 
 'Tis but a step down yonder lane, 
 
 And the little church stands near — 
 The church where we were wed, Mary; 
 
 I see the spire from here. 
 But the graveyard lies between, Mary, 
 
 And my step might break your rest — 
 For I've laid you, darling, down to sleep, 
 
 With your baby on your breast. 
 
 I'm very lonely now, Mary, 
 
 For the poor make no new friends ; 
 But, ! they love the better still 
 
 The few our Father sends ! 
 And you were all I had, Mary — 
 
 My blessing and my pride : 
 There's nothing left to care for now, 
 
 Since my poor Mary died. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 533 
 
 Yours was the good, brave heart, Mary, 
 
 That still kept hoping on, 
 When the trust in God had left my soul, 
 
 And my arm's young strength was gone ; 
 There was comfort ever on your lip, 
 
 And the kind look on your brow — 
 I bless you, Mary, for that same, 
 
 Though you cannot hear me now. 
 
 I thank you for the patient smile 
 
 When your heart was lit to break — 
 When the hunger pain was gnawing there, 
 
 And you hid it for my sake ; 
 I bless you for the pleasant word, 
 
 When your heart was sad and sore — 
 O ! I'm thankful you are gone, Mary, 
 
 Where grief can't reach you more 1 
 
 I'm bidding you a long farewell, 
 
 My Mary — kind and true ! 
 But I'll not forget you, darling, 
 
 In the land I'm going to ; 
 They say there's bread and work for all, 
 
 And the sun shines always there — 
 But I'll not forget old Ireland, 
 
 Were it fifty times as fair ! 
 
 And often in those grand old woods 
 
 I'll sit, and shut my eyes, 
 And my heart will travel back again 
 
 To the place where Maiy lies ; 
 And I'll think I see the little stile 
 
 Where we sat side by side, 
 And the springing corn, and the bright May morn, 
 
 When first you were my bride. 
 
534 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 THE SEMINOLE'S DEFIANCE. 
 (G. W. PATTEX.) 
 
 Blaze, with your serried columns ! 
 
 I will not bend the knee ! 
 The shackles ne'er again shall bind 
 
 The arm which now is free. 
 I've mailed it with the thunder, 
 
 When the tempest muttered low ; 
 And where it falls, ye well may dread 
 
 The lightning of its blow ! 
 
 I've scared } T e in the city, 
 
 I've scalped 3*e on the plain ; 
 Go, count your chosen, where they fell 
 
 Beneath nrv leaden rain ! 
 I scorn 3^our proffered treaty ! 
 
 The pale-face I defy ! 
 Revenge is stamped upon my spear, 
 
 And blood my battle-cry ! 
 
 Some strike for hope of booty, 
 
 Some to defend their all, — 
 I battle for the joy I have 
 
 To see the white man fall : 
 I love, among the wounded, 
 
 To hear his dying moan, 
 And catch, while chanting at his side, 
 
 The music of his groan. 
 
 Ye've trailed me through the forest, 
 
 Ye've tracked me o'er the stream ; 
 And struggling through the everglade. 
 
 Your bristling ba} r onets gleam ; 
 But I stand as should the warrior, 
 
 With his rifle and his spear ; 
 The scalp of vengeance still is red, 
 
 And warns ye — Come not here ! 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 535 
 
 I loathe ye in my bosom, 
 
 I scorn ye with mine eye, 
 And I'll taunt ye with my latest breath, 
 
 And fight ye till I die ! 
 I ne'er will ask ye quarter, 
 
 And I ne'er will be your slave ; 
 But I'll swim the sea of slaughter, 
 
 Till I sink beneath its wave ! 
 
 THE VAGABONDS. 
 
 (j. T. TROWBRIDGE.) 
 
 "We are two travellers, Roger and I. 
 
 Roger's my dog : — come here, you scamp ! 
 Jump for the gentlemen, — mind your eye ! 
 
 Over the table, — look out for the lamp ! — 
 The rogue is growing a little old ; 
 
 Five years we've tramped through wiud and weather, 
 And slept out-doors when nights were cold, 
 
 And ate and drank — and starved together. 
 
 We've learned what comfort is, I tell you ! 
 
 A bed on the floor, a bit of rosin, 
 A fire to thaw our thumbs, (poor fellow ! 
 
 The paw he holds up there's been frozen,) 
 Plenty of catgut for my fiddle, 
 
 (This out-door business is bad for strings,) 
 Then a few nice buckwheats hot from the griddle, 
 
 And Roger and I set up for kings ! 
 
 No, thank ye, Sir, — I never drink; 
 
 Roger and I are exceedingly moral. — 
 Aren't we, Roger ? — see him wink ! — 
 
 Well, something hot, then, — we won't quarrel. 
 He's thirsty, too, — see him nod his head ? 
 
 What a pity, Sir, that dogs can't talk ! 
 He understands every word that's said, — 
 
 And he knows good milk from water-and-chalk. 
 
536 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 The truth is, Sir, now I reflect, 
 
 I've been so sadly given to grog, 
 I wonder I've not lost the respect 
 
 (Here's to 3'ou, Sir !) even of my dog. 
 But he sticks b} 7- , through thick and thin ; 
 
 And this old coat, with its empt}' pockets, 
 And rags that smell of tobacco and o-in, 
 
 He'll follow while he has eyes in his sockets. 
 
 There isn't another creature living 
 
 Would do it, and prove, through every disaster, 
 So fond, so faithful, and so forgiving, 
 
 To such a miserable thankless master ! 
 No, sir ! — see him wag his tail and grin ! 
 
 By George ! it makes my old eyes water ! 
 That is, there's something in this gin 
 
 That chokes a fellow. But, no matter. 
 
 We'll have some music, if you're willing, 
 
 And Roger (hem ! what a plague a cough is, Sir !) 
 Shall march a little. — Start, you villain ! 
 
 Stand straight ! 'Bout face ! Salute your officer ! 
 Put up that paw ! Dress ! Take your rifle ! 
 
 (Some dogs have arms, you see !) Now hold your 
 Cap while the gentlemen give a trifle, 
 
 To aid a poor old patriot soldier ! 
 
 March ! Halt ! Now show how the rebel shakes, 
 
 When he stands up to hear his sentence. 
 Now tell us how mairy drams it takes 
 
 To honor a jolly new acquaintance. 
 Five 3 T elps, — that's five ; he's mighty knowing ! 
 
 The night's before us, fill the glasses ! — 
 Quick, Sir ! I'm ill, — my brain is going ! 
 
 Some brandy, — thank you, — there ! — it passes ! 
 
 Why not reform ? That's easily said ; 
 
 But I've gone through such wretched treatment, 
 Sometimes forgetting the taste of bread, 
 
 And scarce remembering what meat meant, 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 53*7 
 
 That my poor stomach's past reform ; 
 
 And there are times when, mad with thinking, 
 I'd sell out heaven for something warm 
 
 To prop a horrible inward sinking. 
 
 Is there a way to forget to think ? 
 
 At your age, Sir, home, fortune, friends, 
 A dear girl's love, — but I took to drink ; — 
 
 The same old story ; you know how it ends. 
 If you could have seen these classic features, — 
 
 You needn't laugh, Sir ; they were not then 
 Such a burning libel on God's creatures : 
 
 I was one of your handsome men ! 
 
 If jou. had seen her, so fair and young, 
 
 Whose head was happy on this breast ! 
 If you could have heard the songs I sung 
 
 When the wine went round, you wouldn't have guessed 
 That ever I, Sir, should be straying 
 
 From door to door, with fiddle and dog, 
 Ragged and penniless, and playing 
 
 To you to-night for a glass of grog ! 
 
 She's married since, — a parson's wife : 
 
 'Twas better for her that we should part, — 
 Better the soberest, prosiest life, 
 
 Than a blasted home and a broken heart. 
 I have seen her? Once: I was weak and spent 
 
 On the dusty road, a carriage stopped: 
 But little she dreamed as on she went, 
 
 Who kissed the coin that her fingers dropped ! 
 
 You've set me talking, Sir ; I'm sorry ; 
 
 It makes me wild to think of the change ! 
 What do you care for a beggar's story ? 
 
 Is it amusing? 3 r ou find it strange? 
 I had a mother so proud of me ! 
 
 'Twas well she died before Do you know 
 
 If the happy spirits in heaven can see 
 
 The ruin and wretchedness here below ? 
 
538 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Another glass, and strong, to deaden 
 
 This pain ; then Roger and I will start. 
 I wonder, has he such a lumpish, leaden, 
 
 Aching thing, in place of a heart ? 
 He is sad sometimes, and would weep, if he could, 
 
 No doubt, remembering things that were, — 
 A virtuous kennel, w ith plenty of food, 
 
 And himself a sober, respectable cur. 
 
 I'm better now ; that glass was warming. — 
 
 You rascal ! limber your lazy feet ! 
 We must be fiddling and performing 
 
 For supper and bed, or starve in the street. — 
 Not a very gay life to lead, 3-011 think? 
 
 But soon we shall go where lodgings are free, 
 And the sleepers need neither victuals nor drink ;- 
 
 The sooner, the better for Ro^er and me ! 
 
 RIENZl'S ADDRESS. 
 
 (m. r. mitford.) 
 
 Friends : I come not here to talk. Ye know too well 
 
 The story of our thraldom ; — we are slaves! 
 
 The bright sun rises to his course, and lights 
 
 A race of slaves ! He sets, and his last beam 
 
 Falls on a slave ! — not such as, swept along 
 
 By the full tide of power, the conqueror leads 
 
 To crimson glory and undying fame ; 
 
 But base, ignoble slaves — slaves to a horde 
 
 Of petty t} r rants, feudal despots, lords, 
 
 Rich in some dozen paltry villages — 
 
 Strong in some hundred spearsmen — only great 
 
 In that strange spell, a name ! Each hour, dark fraud, 
 
 Or open rapine, or protected murder, 
 
 Cries out against them. But this very day, 
 
 An honest man, m} r neighbor — there he stands — 
 
 Was struck — struck like a dog, by one who wore 
 
 The badge of Ursini ! because, forsooth, 
 
 He tossed not high his ready cap in air, 
 
 Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts, 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 539 
 
 At sight of that great ruffian ! Be we men, 
 
 And suffer such dishonor ? Men, and wash not 
 
 The stain away in blood ? Such shames are common. 
 
 I have known deeper wrongs. I, that speak to you — 
 
 I had a brother once, — a gracious boy, 
 
 Full of all gentleness, of calmest hope, 
 
 Of sweet and quiet jo} r ; there was the look 
 
 Of heaven upon his face, which limners give 
 
 To the beloved disciple. How I loved 
 
 That gracious boy ! Younger b^y fifteen 3'ears, 
 
 Brother at once and son ! He left my side, 
 
 A summer bloom on his fair cheeks, a smile 
 
 Parting his innocent lips. In one short hour, 
 
 The pretty, harmless boy was slain ! I saw 
 
 The corse, the mangled corse, and then I cried 
 
 For vengeance ! Bouse, ye Bomans ! rouse, ye slaves! 
 
 Have ye brave sous ? Look, in the next fierce brawl, 
 
 To see them die ! Have ye daughters fair ? Look 
 
 To see them live, torn from your arms, distained, 
 
 Dishonored ! and if ye dare call for justice, 
 
 Be answered by the lash ! Yet this is Borne, 
 
 That sat on her seven hills, and, from her throne 
 
 Of beauty, ruled the world ! Yet we are Bomans ! 
 
 Why, in that elder day, to be a Roman 
 
 Was greater than a king ! — and once again — 
 
 Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to the tread 
 
 Of either Brutus ! — once again I swear, 
 
 The eternal city shall be free ! her sons 
 
 Shall walk with princes ! 
 
 NEW YEAR'S EVE. 
 
 Little Gretchen, little Gretchen wanders up and down the 
 
 street ; 
 The snow is on her yellow hair, the frost is at her feet. 
 The rows of long, dark houses without look cold and damp, 
 By the struggling of the moonbeam, by the flicker of the lamp. 
 The clouds ride fast as horses, the wind is from the north, 
 But no one cares for Gretchen, and no one looketh forth. 
 Within those dark, damp houses are merry faces bright, 
 And happy hearts are watching out the old year's latest night. 
 
540 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 With the little box of matches she could not sell all day, 
 And the thin, thin tattered mantle the wind blows every way, 
 She clingeth to the railing, she shivers in the gloom, — 
 There are parents sitting snugly by firelight in the room; 
 And children with grave faces are whispering one another 
 Of presents for the New Year, for father or for mother. 
 But no one talks to Gretchen, and no one hears her speak, 
 No breath of little whisperers comes warmly to her cheek. 
 
 No little arms are round her : ah me ! that there should be, 
 With so much happiness on earth, so much of misery ! 
 Sure they of many blessings should scatter blessings round, 
 As laden boughs in autumn fling their ripe fruits to the ground, 
 And the best love man can offer to the God of love, be sure, 
 Is kindness to his little ones, and bounty to his poor. 
 Little Gretchen, little Gretchen goes coldly on her way ; 
 There's no one looketh out at her, there's no one bids her stay. 
 
 Her home is cold and desolate ; no smile, no food, no fire, 
 But children clamorous for bread, and an impatient sire. 
 So she sits down in an angle where two great houses meet, 
 And she curleth up beneath her, for warmth, her little feet ; 
 And she looketh on the cold wall, and on the colder sky, 
 And wonders if the little stars are bright fires up on high. 
 She hears a clock strike slowly, up in a far church tower, 
 With such a sad and solemn tone, telling the midnight hour. 
 
 And she remembered her of tales her mother used to tell, 
 And of the cradle songs she sang, when summer's twilight fell ; 
 Of good men and of angels, and of the Holy Child, 
 Who was cradled in a manger, when winter was most w r ild ; 
 Who was poor, and cold, and hungry, and desolate and lone ; 
 And she thought the song had told he was ever with his own ; 
 And all the poor and hungry and forsaken ones are his, — 
 " How good of Him to look on me in such a place as this !" 
 
 Colder it grows and colder, but she does not feel it now, 
 For the pressure at her heart, and the weight upon her brow ; 
 But she struck one little match on the wall so cold and bare, 
 That she might look around her, and see if He were there. 
 The single match has kindled, and by the light it threw 
 It seemed to little Gretchen the wall was rent in two ; 
 And she could see folks seated at a table richly spread, 
 With heaps of goodly viands, red wine and pleasant bread. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 541 
 
 She could sraell the fragrant savor, she could hear what thev 
 
 did say, 
 Tnen all was darkness once again, the match had burned away, 
 She struck another hastily, and now she seemed to see 
 Within the same warm chamber a glorious Christmas tree. 
 The branches were all laden with things that children prize, 
 Iv right gifts for boy and maiden — she saw them with her eyes, 
 And she almost seemed to touch them, and to join the wel- 
 come shout, 
 When darkness fell around her, for the little match was out. 
 
 Another, yet another, she has tried — they will not light ; 
 Till all her little store she took, and struck with all her might ; 
 And the whole miserable place was lighted with the glare, 
 And she dreamed there stood a little child before her in the a1¥. 
 There were blood-drops on his forehead, a spear-wound in his 
 
 side. 
 And cruel nail-prints in his feet, and in his hands spread wide. 
 And he looked upon her gently, and she felt that he had 
 
 known 
 Pain, hunger, cold, and sorrow — ay, equal to her own. 
 
 And he pointed to the laden board and to the Christmas tree, 
 Then up to the cold sky, and said, " Will Gretchen come with 
 
 me?" 
 The poor child felt her pulses fail, she felt her eyeballs swim, 
 And a ringing sound was in her ears, like her dead mother's 
 
 hymn : 
 And she folded both her thin white hands, and turned from 
 
 that bright board, 
 And from the golden gifts, and said, ''With thee, with thee, 
 
 Lord !" 
 The chilly winter morning breaks up in the dull skies 
 On the city wrapt in vapor, on the spot where Gretchen lies. 
 
 Tn her scant and tattered garment, with her back against the 
 
 wall, 
 She sitteth cold and rigid, she answers to no call. 
 They have lifted her up fearfully, they shuddered as they said, 
 "It was a bitter, bitter night ! the child is frozen dead." 
 The angels sang their greeting for one more redeemed from sin; 
 Men said. " It was a bitter night ; would no one let her in?" 
 And they shivered as they spoke of her, and sighed They 
 
 could not see 
 How much of happiness there was after that misery. 
 35 
 
542 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 THE BLACK REGIMENT. PORT HUDSON, May 21, 1863 
 (GEO. H. BOKER.) 
 
 Dark as the clouds of even, 
 Ranked in the western heaven, 
 Waiting the breath that lifts 
 All the dread mass, and drifts 
 Tempest and falling brand 
 Over a ruined land ; — • 
 So still and orderly, 
 Arm to arm, knee to knee, 
 Waiting the great event 
 Stands the black regiment. 
 
 Down the long dusky line 
 Teeth gleam and eye-balls shine, 
 And the bright bayonet, 
 Bristling, and firmly set, 
 Flashed with a purpose grand, 
 Long, ere the sharp command 
 Of the fierce rolling drum 
 Told them their time had come, 
 Told them what work was sent 
 For the black regiment. 
 
 "Now," the flag-sergeant cried, 
 
 " Though death and hell betide, 
 
 Let the whole nation see 
 
 If we are fit to be free 
 
 In this land ; or bound 
 
 Down, like the whining hound, — 
 
 Bound with red stripes of pain 
 
 In our old chains again !" 
 
 Oh ! what a shout there went 
 
 From the black regiment ! 
 
 " Charge !" trump and drum awoke, 
 Onward the bondmen broke : 
 Bayonet and sabre stroke 
 Vainly opposed their rush. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 543 
 
 Through the wild battle's crush, 
 With but one thought aflush, 
 Driving their lords like chaff, 
 In the guns' mouths they laugh ; 
 Or at the slippery brands 
 Leaping with open hands, 
 Down they tear man and horse, 
 Down in their awful course ; 
 Trampling with bloody heel 
 Over the crashing steel, 
 All their eyes forward bent, 
 Rushed the black regiment. 
 
 " Freedom !" their battle-cry, — 
 " Freedom ! or learn to die !" 
 Ah ! and they meant the word, 
 Not as with us 'tis heard, 
 Not a mere party shout : 
 They gave their spirits out ; 
 Trusted the end to God, 
 And on the gory sod 
 Rolled in triumphant blood. 
 Glad to strike one free blow, 
 Whether for weal or woe ; 
 Glad to breathe one free breath, 
 Though on the lips of death. 
 Praying — alas ! in vain ! — 
 That they might fall again, 
 So they could once more see 
 That burst to liberty ! 
 This was what " Freedom" lent 
 To the black reo-iment. 
 
 Hundreds on hunrdeds fell, 
 But they are resting well ; 
 Scourges and shackles strong 
 Never shall do them wrong. 
 O, to the living few, 
 Soldiers, be just and true ! 
 
544 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Hail them as comrades tried ; 
 Fight with them side by side ; 
 Xever in field or tent, 
 Scorn the black regiment. 
 
 SPEECH OF SERGEANT BUZFUZ. 
 
 Yon heard from my learned friend, Gentlemen of the 
 Jury, that this is an action for a breach of promise of 
 marriage, in which the damages are laid at fifteen 
 hundred pounds. The plaintiff, Gentlemen, is a widow; 
 yes, Gentlemen, a widow. The late Mr. Bardell, some 
 time before his death, became the father, Gentlemen, 
 of a little boy. With this little boy, the onl3 r pledge 
 of her departed exciseman, Mrs. Bardell shrunk from 
 the world and courted the retirement and tranquillity of 
 G os well street ; and here she placed in her front parlor- 
 window a written placard, bearing this inscription, — 
 "Apartments furnished for a single gentleman. 
 Inquire within.'' 
 
 Mrs. Bardell's opinions of the opposite sex, Gentle- 
 men, were derived from a long contemplation of 
 the inestimable qualities of her lost husband. She 
 had no fear, — she had no distrust, — all was confidence 
 and reliance. "Mr. Bardell," said the widow, "was a 
 man of honor, — Mr. Bardell was a man of his word, — • 
 Mr. Bardell was no deceiver, — Mr. Bardell was once a 
 single gentleman himself: to single gentlemen I look 
 for protection, for assistance, for comfort, and conso- 
 lation ; in single gentlemen I shall perpetually see 
 something to remind me of what Mr. Bardell was, 
 w r hen he first won mj T young and untried affections ; 
 to a single gentleman, then, shall my lodgings be let." 
 
 Actuated by this beautiful and touching impulse 
 (among the best impulses of our imperfect nature, 
 Gentlemen), the lonely and desolate widow dried her 
 tears, furnished her first floor, caught her innocent bojr 
 to her maternal bosom, and put the bill up in her 
 parlor-window. Did it remain there long ? IS"o. The 
 serpent was on the watch, the train was laid, the mine 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 545 
 
 was preparing, the sapper and miner was at work. 
 Before the bill had been in the parlor-window three 
 days, Gentlemen, — a being, erect upon two legs, and 
 bearing all the outward semblance of a man, and not of a 
 monster, knocked at the door of Mrs. Bardell's house ! 
 He inquired within ; he took the lodgings ; and on the 
 very next day he entered into possession of them. 
 This man was Pickwick, — Pickwick the defendant ! 
 
 Of this man I will say little. The subject pre- 
 sents but few attractions ; and I, Gentlemen, am 
 not t v he man, nor are you, Gentlemen, the men, to 
 delight in the contemplation of revolting heartlessness, 
 and of systematic villainy. I say systematic villainy, 
 Gentlemen ; and when I say systematic villainy, let me 
 tell the defendant Pickwick, if he be in court, as I am 
 informed he is, that it would have been more decent in 
 him, more becoming, if he had stopped away. Let me 
 tell him, further, that a counsel, in the discharge of 
 his duty, is neither to be intimidated, nor bullied, nor 
 put down ; and that any attempt to do either the one or 
 the other will recoil on the head of the attempter, be he 
 plaintiff or be he defendant, be his name Pickwick, 
 or Nokes, or Stoaks, or Stiles, or Brown, or Thomp- 
 son. 
 
 I shall show you, Gentlemen, that for two }^ears 
 Pickwick continued to reside constantly, and without 
 interruption or intermission, at Mrs. Bardell's house. 
 I shall show you that Mrs. Bardell, during the whole 
 of that time, waited on him, attended to his comforts, 
 cooked his meals, looked out his linen for the washer- 
 woman when it went abroad, darned, aired and pre- 
 pared it for wear when it came home, and, in short, 
 enjoyed his fullest trust and confidence. I shall show 
 you that, on many occasions, he gave half-pence, and 
 on some occasions even sixpence, to her little boy. I 
 shall prove to you, that on one occasion, wheu he 
 returned from the country, he distinctly and in terms 
 offered her marriage, — previously, however, taking 
 special care that there should be no witnesses to their 
 solemn contract ; and I am in a situation to prove to 
 
546 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 you, on the testimony of three of his own friends,— 
 most unwilling witnesses, Gentlemen — most unwilling 
 witnesses, — that on that morning he was discovered 
 by them holding the plaintiff in his arms, and soothing 
 her agitation by his caresses and endearments. 
 
 And now, Gentlemen, but one word more. Two 
 letters have passed between these parties, — letters that 
 must be viewed with a cautious and suspicious eye, — 
 letters that were evidently intended, at the time, by 
 Pickwick, to mislead and delude any third parties into 
 whose hands they might fall. Let me read the first : — 
 " Garraway's, twelve o'clock. — Dear Mrs. B. — Chops 
 and Tomato sauce. Yours, Pickwick." Gentlemen, 
 what does this mean ? Chops and Tomato sauce ! 
 Yours, Pickwick ! Chops! Gracious heavens! And 
 Tomato sauce. Gentlemen, is the happiness of a 
 sensitive and confiding female to be trifled away by 
 such shallow artifices as these ? 
 
 The next has no date whatever, which is in itself 
 suspicious : — " Dear Mrs. B., I shall not be at home to- 
 morrow. Slow coach." And then follows this very 
 remarkable expression, — " Don't trouble yourself about 
 the warming-pan." The warming-pan ! Wiry, Gentle- 
 men, who does trouble himself about a warming-pan ! 
 Why is Mrs. Bardell so earnestly entreated not to 
 agitate herself about this warming-pan, unless (as is 
 no doubt the case) it is a mere cover for hidden fire — 
 a mere substitute for some endearing word or promise, 
 agreeably to a preconcerted system of correspondence, 
 artfully contrived by Pickwick with a view to his 
 contemplated desertion ? And what does this allusion 
 to the slow coach mean? For aught I know, it may 
 be a reference to Pickwick himself, who has most un- 
 questionably been a criminally slow coach during the 
 whole of this transaction, but whose speed will now be 
 very unexpectedly accelerated, and whose wheels, 
 Gentlemen, as he will find to his cost, will very soon 
 be greased by you ! 
 
 But enough of this, Gentlemen. It is difficult to 
 smile with an aching heart. My client's hopes and 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 54*7 
 
 prospects are ruined, and it is no figure of speech to 
 say that her occupation is gone indeed. The bill is 
 down ; but there is no tenant ! Eligible single gentle- 
 men pass and repass ; but there is no invitation for 
 them to inquire within, or without ! All is gloom and 
 silence in the house : even the voice of the child is 
 hushed ; his infant -sports are disregarded, when his 
 mother weeps. 
 
 But Pickwick, Gentlemen, Pickwick, the ruthless 
 destroyer of this domestic oasis in the desert of Gos- 
 well street, — Pickwick, who has choked up the well, 
 and thrown ashes on the sward, — Pickwick who comes 
 before you to-day with his heartless tomato sauce and 
 warming-pans, — Pickwick still rears his head with 
 unblushing effrontery, and gazes without a sigh on the 
 ruin he has made ! Damages, Gentlemen, heavy 
 damages, is the only punishment with which you can 
 visit him, — the only recompense you can award to my 
 client ! And for those damages she now appeals to an 
 enlightened, a high-minded, a right-feeling, a consci- 
 entious, a dispassionate, a sympathizing, a contempla- 
 tive Jury of her civilized countrymen ! 
 
 THE DYING GLADIATOR. 
 (LORD BYRON.) 
 
 The seal is set, — ISTow welcome, thou dread power. 
 
 Nameless, yet thus omnipotent, which here 
 Walk'st in the shadow of the midnight hour 
 
 With a deep awe, yet all distinct from fear ; 
 
 Thy haunts are ever where the dead walls rear 
 Their ivy mantles, and the solemn scene 
 
 Derives from thee a sense so deep and clear, 
 That we become a part of what has been, 
 And grow unto the spot, all-seeing, but unseen. 
 
 And here the buzz of eager nations ran, 
 In murmured pit}^ or loud-roared applause, 
 
 As man was slaughtered by his fellow-man. 
 
 And wherefore slaughtered? wherefore, but because 
 
548 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Such were the bloodj- circus' genial laws, 
 And the imperial pleasure. Wherefore not? 
 
 What matters where we fall to fill the maws 
 Of worms — on battle-plains or listed spot ? 
 Both are but theatres where the chief actors rot. 
 
 I see before me the gladiator lie : 
 
 He leans upon his hand ; his manly brow 
 Consents to death, but conquers agony, 
 
 And his drooped head sinks gradually low; 
 
 And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow, 
 From the red gash, fall heavy, one hy one, 
 
 Like the first of a thunder-shower ; and now 
 The arena swims around him: he is gone, 
 Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch 
 who won. 
 
 He heard it, but he heeded not ; his eyes 
 
 Were with his heart, and that was far away: 
 
 He recked not of the life he lost, nor prize ; 
 But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, 
 There were his young barbarians all at play, 
 
 There was their Dacian mother — he, their sire, 
 Butchered to make a Roman holiday. 
 
 All this rushed with his blood. Shall he expire, 
 
 And unavenged ? Arise, ye Goths, and glut your ire! 
 
 THE INQUIRY. 
 (CHARLES MACKAY.) 
 
 Tell me, ye w T inged winds, that round my pathway roar, 
 Do ye not know some spot where mortals weep no more ? 
 Some lone and pleasant dell, some valley in the west, 
 Where, free from toil and pain, the weary soul may rest? 
 The loud wind dwindled to a whisper low, 
 And sighed for pity as it answered — "No." 
 
 Tell me, thou mighty deep, whose billows round me play, 
 Know'st thou some favored spot, some island far away, 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 549 
 
 Where weary man may find the bliss for which he sighs ; 
 
 Where sorrow never lives, and friendship never dies ? 
 The loud waves, rolling in perpetual flow, 
 Stopped for a while, and sighed to answer — "No." 
 
 And thou, serenest moon, that, with such lovely face, 
 Dost look upon the earth, asleep in night's embrace ; 
 Tell me, in all thy round, hast thou not seen some spot, 
 Where miserable man might find a happier lot ? 
 Behind a cloud the moon withdrew in woe, 
 And a voice, sweet, but sad, responded — " No." 
 
 Tell me, my secret soul ; — oh ! tell me, Hope and Faith, 
 Is there no resting-place from sorrow, sin, and death ? 
 Is there no happy spot, where mortals may be blessed, 
 Where grief may find a balm, and weariness a rest? 
 Faith, Hope, and Love, best boons to mortals given, 
 Waved their bright wings, and whispered — " Yes, 
 in Heaven !" 
 
 LOVE. 
 (COLERIDGE.) 
 
 All thoughts, all passions, all delights, 
 Whatever stirs this mortal frame, 
 
 All are but ministers of Love, 
 And feed his sacred flame. 
 
 Oft in my waking dreams do I 
 Live o'er again that happy hour, 
 
 When midway on the mound I lay, 
 Beside the ruined tower. 
 
 The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene, 
 Had blended with the lights of eve ; 
 
 And she was there, my hope, my joy, 
 My own dear Genevieve! 
 
550 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION, 
 
 She leaned against the armed man, 
 The statue of the armed knight ; 
 
 She stood and listened to my lay, 
 Amid the lingering light. 
 
 Few sorrows hath she of her own. 
 
 My hope ! my joy ! mj T Genevieve ! 
 She loves me best whene'er I sing 
 
 The songs that make her grieve. 
 
 I played a soft and doleful air ; 
 
 I sang an old and moving stoiy — 
 And old, rude song, that suited well 
 
 That ruin wild and hoaiy. 
 
 She listened with a flitting blush, 
 
 With downcast eyes and modest grace ; 
 
 For well she knew I could not choose 
 But gaze upon her face. 
 
 I told her of the knight that wore 
 Upon his shield a burning brand ; 
 
 And that for ten long years he w T ooed 
 The Lady of the Land. 
 
 I told her how he pined — and ah 1 
 The deep, the low, the pleading tone 
 
 With which I sang another's love, 
 Interpreted my own. 
 
 She listened with a flitting blush, 
 
 With downcast eyes and modest grace ; 
 
 And she forgave me that I gazed 
 Too fondly on her face ! 
 
 But when I told the cruel scorn 
 
 That crazed that bold and lovely knight, 
 
 And that he crossed the mountain-woods, 
 !N"or rested day nor night j 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 551 
 
 That sometimes from the savage den, 
 
 And sometimes from the darksome shade, 
 
 And sometimes starting up at once 
 In green and sunny glade, — 
 
 There came and looked him in the face 
 
 An angel beautiful and bright ; 
 And that he knew it was a fiend, 
 
 This miserable knight 1 
 
 And that, unknowing what he did, 
 
 He leaped amid a murderous band, 
 And saved from outrage worse than death, 
 
 The Lady of the Land. 
 
 And how she wept, and clasped his knees ; 
 
 And how she tended him in vain — 
 And ever strove to expiate 
 
 The scorn that crazed his brain ; — 
 
 And that she nursed him in a cave ; 
 
 And how his madness went away, 
 When on the yellow forest-leaves 
 
 A dying man he lay. 
 
 His dying words — but when I reached 
 That tenderest strain of all the ditty, 
 
 My faltering voice and pausing harp 
 Disturbed her soul with pity ! 
 
 All impulses of soul and sense 
 
 Had thrilled my guileless Genevieve ; 
 
 The music and the doleful tale, 
 The rich and balmy eve ; 
 
 And hopes, and fears that kindle hope, 
 
 An undistinguishable throng, 
 And gentle wishes long subdued, 
 
 Subdued and cherished long 
 
552 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 She wept with pitj^ and delight — 
 
 She blushed with love, and virgin shame ; 
 
 And like the murmur of a dream, 
 I heard her breathe my name. 
 
 Her bosom heaved ; she stepped aside — 
 As conscious of my look she stept — 
 
 Then suddenly, with timorous eye, 
 She fled to me and wept. 
 
 She half inclosed me with her arms : 
 She pressed me with a meek embrace ; 
 
 And bending back her head, looked up, 
 And gazed upon my face. 
 
 'Twas partly love, and partly fear, 
 And parti} 7 'twas a bashful art, 
 
 That I might rather feel, than see, 
 The swelling of her heart. 
 
 I calmed her fears, and she was calm, 
 And told her love with virgin pride ; 
 
 And so I won my Genevieve, 
 My bright and beauteous bride. 
 
 LADY CLARE. 
 (TENNYSON.) 
 
 It was the time when lilies blow, 
 
 And the clouds are highest up in air, 
 
 Lord Ronald brought a lily-white doe 
 To give his cousin, Lady Clare. 
 
 I trow the}' did not part in scorn : 
 Lovers long betrothed were they : 
 
 They two shall wed the morrow morn ; 
 God's blessing on the day ! 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 553 
 
 "He does not love me for my birth, 
 
 Nor for my lands so broad and fair ; 
 He loves me for my own true worth, 
 
 And that is well," said Lady Clare. 
 
 In there came old Alice the nurse, 
 
 Said, " Who was this that went from thee ?" 
 
 " It was my cousin," said Lady Clare ; 
 " To-morrow he weds with me." 
 
 " God be thanked !" said Alice the nurse, 
 " That all comes round so just and fair : 
 
 Lord Ronald is heir of all your lands, 
 And you are not the Lady Clare." 
 
 " Are ye out of your mind, my nurse, my nurse ?" 
 Said Lady Clare, " that ye speak so wild ?" 
 
 "As God's above," said Alice the nurse, 
 " I speak the truth : you are my child. 
 
 " The old Earl's daughter died at my breast ; 
 
 I speak the truth as I live by bread ! 
 I buried her like my own sweet child, 
 
 And put my child in her stead." 
 
 " Falsely, falsely have ye done, 
 
 mother," she said, "if this be true, 
 To keep the best man under the sun 
 
 So many years from his due." 
 
 " Nay now, my child," said Alice the nurse, 
 
 " But keep the secret for your life, 
 And all you have will be Lord Ronald's 
 
 When you are man and wife." 
 
 " If I'm a beggar born," she said, 
 
 "I will speak out, for I dare not lie: 
 Pull off, pull off the brooch of gold, 
 
 And fling the diamond necklace by." 
 
554 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 " Nay now, my child," said Alice the nurse, 
 " But keep the secret all ye can." 
 
 She said, "Not so : but I will know, 
 If there be any faith in man." 
 
 "Nay now, what faith?" said Alice the nurse: 
 " The man will cleave unto his right." 
 
 "And he shall have it," the lady replied, 
 " Though I should die to-night." 
 
 " Yet give one kiss to your mother dear ! 
 
 Alas, m}>- child, I sinned for thee." 
 " mother, mother, mother," she said, 
 
 " So strange it seems to me. 
 
 " Yet here's a kiss for my mother dear, 
 
 My mother dear, if this be so ; 
 And lay your hand upon my head, 
 
 And bless me, mother, ere I go." 
 
 She clad herself in a russet gown — 
 
 She was no longer Lady Clare : 
 She went by dale, and she went by down, 
 
 With a single rose in her hair. 
 
 The lily-white doe Lord Ronald had brought 
 
 Leapt up from where she lay, 
 Dropt her head in the maiden's hand, 
 
 And followed her all the way. 
 
 Down stept Lord Ronald from his tower 
 " Lady Clare, you shame your wor.h ! 
 
 Why come you dressed like a village m .id, 
 That are the flower of all the earth V 
 
 ■' If I come drest like a village maid, 
 
 I am but as my fortunes are: 
 I am a beggar born," she said, 
 
 "And not the Lady Clare." 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. £55 
 
 " Play me no tricks," said Lord Ronald, 
 
 " For I am yours in word and deed. 
 Play me no tricks," said Lord Ronald, 
 
 " Your riddle is hard to read." 
 
 Oh, and proudly stood she up ! 
 
 Her heart within her did not fail : 
 She looked into Lord Ronald's eyes, 
 
 And told him all her nurse's tale. 
 
 He laughed a laugh of merry scorn : 
 
 He turned and kissed her where she stood : 
 
 " If you are not the heiress born, 
 And I," said he, " the next of blood — - 
 
 " If you are not the heiress born, 
 
 And I," said he, "the lawful heir, 
 We two will wed to-morrow morn, 
 
 And you shall still be — Lady Clare." 
 
 THE DROWNED MARINER. 
 
 (MRS. smith.) 
 
 A mariner sat in the shrouds one night, 
 
 The wind was piping free ; 
 Now bright, now dimmed was the moonlight pale, 
 And the phosphor gleamed in the wake of the whale, 
 
 As it floundered in the sea ; 
 The scud was flying athwart the sky, 
 The gathering winds went whistling by, 
 And the wave, as it towered then fell in spray, 
 Looked an emerald wall in the moonlight ray. 
 
 The mariner swayed and rocked on the mast, 
 
 But the tumult pleased him well : 
 Down the yawning wave his eye he cast, 
 And the monsters watched, as they hurried past, 
 
 Or lightly rose and fell, — 
 For their broad, damp fins were under the tide. 
 And they lashed, as they past, the vessel's side, 
 
556 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 And their filmy eyes, all huge and grim, 
 Glared fiercely up, and they glared at him. 
 
 Now freshens the gale, and the brave ship goes 
 
 Like an uncurbed steed along ; 
 A sheet of flame is the spraj?- she throws, 
 As her gallant prow the water plows ; 
 
 But the ship is fleet and strong ; 
 The topsails are reefed, and the sails are furled, 
 And onward she sweeps o'er the watery world, 
 And dippeth her spars in the surging flood ; 
 But there conieth no chill to the mariner's blood. 
 
 Wildly she rocks, but he swingeth at ease, 
 And holds him by the shroud ; 
 
 And, as she careens to the crowding breeze, 
 
 The gaping deep the mariner sees, 
 
 And the surging heareth loud. 
 
 Was that a face, looking up at him 
 
 With its pallid cheek, and its cold eyes dim ? 
 
 Did it beckon him down f Did it call his name ? 
 
 Now rolleth the ship the way whence it came. 
 
 The mariner looked, and he saw, with dread, 
 
 A face he knew too well ; 
 And the cold eyes glared, the eyes of the dead, 
 And its long hair out on the waves was spread. 
 
 Was there a tale to tell ? 
 The stout ship rocked with a reeling speed — 
 And the mariner groaned, as well he need — 
 For ever down, as she plunged on her side, 
 The dead face gleamed from the briny tide. 
 
 Bethink thee, mariner, well of the past : 
 
 A voice calls loud for thee ; 
 There's a stifled pra3 T er, the first, the last ; 
 The plunging ship on her beam is cast — 
 
 Oh, where shall tlry burial be ? 
 Bethink thee of oaths, that were lightly spoken ; 
 Bethink thee of vows, that were lightly broken ; 
 Bethink thee of all that is dear to thee, 
 For thou art alone on the raging sea. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 55? 
 
 Alone in the dark, alone on the wave 
 
 To buffet the storm alone ; 
 To struggle aghast at thy watery grave, 
 To struggle and feel there is none to save ! 
 
 God shield thee, helpless one ! 
 The stout limbs yield, for their strength is past. 
 The trembling hands on the deep are cast ; 
 The white brow gleams a moment more, 
 Then slowly sinks — the struggle is o'er. 
 
 Down, clown, where the storm is hushed to sleep, 
 Where the sea its dirge shall swell ; 
 
 Where the amber-drops for thee shall weep, 
 
 And the rose-lipped shell its music keep ; 
 There thou shalt slumber well. 
 
 The gem and the pearl lie heaped at thy side ; 
 
 They fell from the neck of the beautiful bride, 
 
 From the strong man's hand, from the maiden's brow, 
 
 As they slowly sunk to the wave below. 
 
 A peopled home is the ocean-bed ; 
 
 The mother and child are there : 
 The fervent 3 T outh and the hoary head, 
 The maid with her floating locks outspread, 
 
 The babe with its silken hair : 
 As the water moveth they slightly sway, 
 And the tranquil light on their features play : 
 And there is each cherished and beautiful form, 
 Away from decay, and away from the storm. 
 
 THE DIVER. 
 
 (SCHILLER.) 
 
 " Oh, where is the knight or the squire so bold, 
 As to dive to the howling charybdis below? — 
 
 I cast into the whirlpool a goblet of gold, 
 And o'er it already the dark waters flow: 
 
 Whoever to me may the goblet bring, 
 
 Shall have for his guerdon that gift of his king." 
 36 
 
558 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 He spoke, and the cup from the terrible steep, 
 That rugged and hoary, hung over the verge 
 
 Of the endless and measureless world of the deep, 
 Swirled into the maelstrom that maddened the surge. 
 
 " And where is the diver so stout to go — 
 
 I ask }^e again — to the deep below ?" 
 
 And the knights and the squires that gathered around, 
 Stood silent — and fixed on the ocean their eyes; 
 
 They looked on the dismal and savage profound, 
 
 And the peril chilled back every thought of the prize. 
 
 And thrice spoke the monarch — " The cup to win, 
 
 Is there never a wight who will venture in ?" 
 
 And all as before heard in silence the king — 
 
 Till a } T outh, with an aspect unfearing but gentle, 
 
 'Mid the tremulous squires, stept out from the ring, 
 Unbuckling his girdle, and doffing his mantle; 
 
 And the murmuring crowd, as they parted asunder. 
 
 On the stately boy cast their looks of wonder. 
 
 As he strode to the marge of the summit, and gave 
 One glance on the gulf of that merciless main; 
 
 Lo ! the wave that forever devours the wave, 
 Casts roaringly up the chary bdis again ; 
 
 And, as with the swell of the far thunder-boom, 
 
 Rushes foamingl}^ forth from the heart of the gloom. 
 
 And it bubbles and seethes, and it hisses and roars, 
 As when fire is with water commixed and contending ; 
 
 And the spray of its wrath to the welkin up-soars, 
 And flood upon flood hurries on, never ending. 
 
 And it never will rest, nor from travail be free, 
 
 Like a sea that is laboring the birth of a sea. 
 
 And at last there lay open the desolate realm ! 
 
 Through the breakers that whitened the waste of the 
 swell, 
 Dark — dark yawned a cleft in the midst of the whelm, 
 
 The path to the heart of that fathomless hell. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. '559 
 
 Round and round whirled the waves — deep and deeper 
 
 still driven, 
 Like a gorge thro' the mountainous main thunder-riven, 
 
 The youth gave his trust to his Maker ! Before 
 That path through the riven abyss closed again — 
 
 Hark! a shriek from the crowd rang aloft from the 
 shore, 
 And, behold ! he is whirled in the grasp of the main ! 
 
 And o'er him the breakers mysteriously rolled, 
 
 And the giant-mouth closed on the swimmer so bold. 
 
 O'er the surface grim silence lay dark and profound, 
 But the deep from below murmured hollow and fell ; 
 
 And the crowd, as it shuddered, lamented aloud — 
 " Gallant youth — noble heart — fare-thee-well, fare- 
 thee-well I" 
 
 And still ever deepening that wail as of woe, 
 
 More hollow the gulf sent its howl from below. 
 
 If thou should 'st in those waters thy diadem fling, 
 And cry, " Who may find it shall win it, and wear;" 
 
 God 's wot, though the prize were the crown of a king — . 
 A crown at such hazard were valued too dear. 
 
 For never did lips of the living reveal, 
 
 What the deeps that howl yonder in terror conceal. 
 
 Oh, many a ship, to that breast grappled fast, 
 
 Has gone down to the fearful and fathomless grave; 
 
 Again, crashed together, the keel and the mast, 
 To be seen, tossed aloft in the glee of the wave. — 
 
 Like the growth of a storm ever louder and clearer, 
 
 Grows the roar of the gulf rising nearer and nearer. 
 
 And it bubbles and seethes, and it hisses and roars, 
 As when fire is with water commixed and contending ; 
 
 And the spray of its wrath to the welkin up-soars, 
 And flood upon flood hurries on, never ending. 
 
 And, as with the swell of the far thunder-boom, 
 
 Rushes roaringly forth from the heart of the gloom. 
 
560 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Aud, lo ! from the heart of that far-floating gloom, 
 What gleams on the darkness so swanlike and white ? 
 
 Lo ! an arm and a neck, glancing up from the tomb !— 
 The}?- battle — the Man's with the Element's might. 
 
 It is he — it is he ! — in his left hand behold, 
 
 As a sign — as a joy ! — shines the goblet of gold! 
 
 And he breathed deep, and he breathed long, 
 And he greeted the heavenly delight of the day. 
 
 They gaze on each other — they shout as they throng — 
 " He lives — lo the ocean has rendered its prej' ! 
 
 And out of the grave where the Hell began, 
 
 His valor has rescued the living man !" 
 
 And he comes with the crowd in their clamor and glee, 
 And the goblet his daring has won from the water, 
 
 He lifts to the king as he sinks on his knee ; 
 
 And the king from her maidens has beckoned his 
 daughter, 
 
 And he bade her the wine to his cup-bearer bring, 
 
 And thus spake the Diver — "Long life to the king! 
 
 " Happy they whom the rose-hues of da} T light rejoice, 
 The air and the sky that to mortals are given ! 
 
 May the horrors below never more find a voice — 
 Nor Man stretch too far the wide mercy of Heaven ! 
 
 Never more — never more may he lift from the mirror, 
 
 The Yeil which is woven with Night and with Terror ! 
 
 " Quick-brightening like lightning — it tore me along, 
 Down, down, till the gush of a torrent at play, 
 
 In the rocks of its wilderness caught me — and strong 
 As the wings of an eagle, it whirled me away. 
 
 Vain, vain were my struggles — the circle had won me, 
 
 Round and round in its dance the wild element spun 
 me. 
 
 " And I called on my God, and my God heard my 
 prayer, 
 In the strength of my need, in the gasp of my 
 breath — 
 And showed me a erase that rose up from the lair, 
 And I clung to it, trembling — and baffled the death ! 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 561 
 
 And, safe in the perils around me, behold 
 On the spikes of the coral the goblet of gold. 
 
 w Below, at the foot of that precipice drear, 
 
 Spread the gloomy, and purple, and pathless obscure ! 
 
 A Silence of Horror that slept on the ear, 
 
 That the eye more appalled might the Horror endure ! 
 
 Salamander — snake — dragon — vast reptiles that dwell 
 
 In the deep — coiled about the grim jaws of their hell. 
 
 " Dark-crawled — glided dark the unspeakable swarms, 
 Like masses unshapen, made life hideously — 
 
 Here clung and here bristled the fashionless forms — ■ 
 Here the Hammer-fish darkened the dark of the sea — ■ 
 
 And with teeth grinning white, and a menacing motion, 
 
 Went the terrible Shark — the Hyena of Ocean. 
 
 " There I hung, and the awe gathered icily o'er me, 
 So far from the earth where man's help there was 
 none ! 
 
 The One Human Thing, with the Goblins before me — 
 Alone — in a loneness so ghastly — Alone ! 
 
 Fathom-deep from man's eye in the speechless profound, 
 
 With the death of the Main and the Monsters around. 
 
 "Methought, as I gazed through the darkness, that 
 now 
 
 A hundred-limbed creature caught sight of its prey, 
 And darted — God ! from the far-flaming bough 
 
 Of the coral, I swept on the horrible way; 
 And it seized me, the wave with its wrath and its roar, 
 It seized me to save — King, the danger is o'er !" 
 
 On the youth gazed the monarch, and marveled — quoth 
 .he, 
 
 " Bold Diver, the goblet I promised is thine, 
 And this ring will I give, a fresh guerdon to thee, 
 
 Never jewels more precious shone up from the mine ; 
 If thou'lt bring me fresh tidings, and venture again, 
 To say what lies hid in the innermost main 1" 
 
562 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Then out spake the daughter in tender emotion, 
 
 " Ah ! father, my father, what more can there rest ? 
 Enough of this sport with the pitiless ocean — 
 
 He has served thee as none would, thyself hast con- 
 fest. 
 If nothing can slake thy wild thirst of desire, 
 Be your knights not, at least, put to shame by the 
 squire !" 
 
 The king seized the goblet — he swung it on high, 
 And whirling, it fell in the roar of the tide : 
 
 " But bring back that goblet again to my eye, 
 
 And I'll hold thee the dearest that rides by my side ! 
 
 And thine arms shall embrace as thy bride, I decree, 
 
 The maiden whose pity now pleadeth for thee." 
 
 In his heart, as he listened, there leapt the wild joy — 
 And the hope and the love through his eyes spoke in 
 fire, 
 On that bloom, on that blush, gazed, delighted, the 
 boy ; 
 The maiden she faints at the feet of her sire ! 
 Here the guerdon divine, there the danger beneath ; 
 He resolves ! — To the strife with the life and the death! 
 
 They hear the loud surges sweep back in their swell ; 
 
 Their coming the thunder-sound heralds along ! 
 Fond eyes yet are tracking the spot where he fell — 
 
 They come, the wild waters, in tumult and throng, 
 Rearing up to the cliff — roaring back as before ; 
 But no wave ever brought the lost youth to the shore. 
 
 MORNING HYMN TO MOUNT BLANC. 
 (COLERIDGE.) 
 
 Hast thou a charm to stay the morning star 
 In his steep course ? — so long he seems to pause 
 On thy bald, awful head, O sovereign Blanc ! 
 The Arve and Aveiron at thy base 
 Rave ceaselessly ; but thou, most awful form ! 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 5^3 
 
 Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines, 
 How silently ! Around thee and above 
 Deep is the air and dark, — substantial black, — 
 An ebon mass ; methinks thou piercest it, 
 As with a wedge ! But when I look again, 
 It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine, 
 Thy habitation from eternity ! 
 
 dread and silent mount ! I gazed upon thee, 
 Till thou, still present to the bodily sense, 
 
 Didst vanish from my thought : entranced in prayer 
 
 1 worshiped the Invisible alone. 
 
 Yet like some sweet, beguiling melody, 
 
 So sweet, we know not we are listening to it, 
 
 Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my thoughts 
 
 Yea, with my life, and life's own secret joy, — 
 
 Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused, 
 
 Into the mighty visions passing — there 
 
 As in her natural form, swelled vast to Heaven. 
 
 Awake, my soul ! not only passive praise 
 Thou owest — not alone these swelling tears, 
 Mute thanks, and secret ecstacy. Awake, 
 Yoice of sweet song ! Awake, my heart, awake ! 
 Green vales and icy cliffs all join my hymn. 
 Thou first and chief, sole sovereign of the vale ! 
 Oh ! struggling with the darkness all the night, 
 And visited all night by troops of stars, 
 Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink : 
 Companion of the morning-star at dawn, 
 Thyself, earth's ros}? - star, and of the dawn 
 Co-herald ! wake, oh wake ! and utter praise. 
 Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth? 
 "Who filled thy countenance with rosy light ? 
 Who made thee parent of perpetual streams ? 
 
 And you, 3~e five wild torrents fiercely glad ! 
 Who called you forth from night to utter death, 
 Prom dark and icy caverns called you forth, 
 Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks, 
 
564 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 Forever shattered and the same forever ? 
 
 Who gave you your invulnerable life. 
 
 Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy, 
 
 Unceasing thunder and eternal foam ? 
 
 And who commanded, — and the silence came, — 
 
 " Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest?" 
 
 Ye ice-falls ! ye that from the mountain's brow 
 Adown enormous ravines slope amain, — 
 Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, 
 And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge! 
 Motionless torrents ! silent cataracts ! — 
 Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven 
 Beneath the keen full moon ? Who bade the sun 
 Clothe you with rainbows ? Who, with living flowers 
 Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet ? — 
 " God !" let the torrents, like a shout of nations, 
 Answer ; and let the ice-plains echo, " God !" 
 
 " God!" sing, ye meadow-streams, with gladsome voice, 
 
 Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds! 
 
 And they, too, have a voice, yon piles of snow, 
 
 And in their perilous fall shall thunder, " God!" 
 
 Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost ! 
 
 Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest I 
 
 Ye eagles, plajunates of the mountain-storm ! 
 
 Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds! 
 
 Ye signs and wonders of the elements ! 
 
 Utter forth " God !" and fill the hills with praise. 
 
 Once more, hoar mount ! with thy sky-pointing peak, 
 Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard, 
 Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene, 
 Into the depth of clouds that veil thy breast, — 
 Thou, too, again, stupendous mountain ! thou 
 That, as I raise my head, awhile bowed low 
 In adoration, upward from tlrv base 
 Slow-traveling with dim eyes suffused with tears, 
 Solemnly seemest, like a vapory cloud, 
 To rise before me — rise, oh ever rise, 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 565 
 
 Rise, like a cloud of incense, from the earth ! 
 Thou kingly spirit throned among the hills, 
 Thou dread ambassador from earth to heaven, 
 Great hierarch ! tell thou the silent sky, 
 And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun. 
 Eaith, with her thousand voices, praises God 1 
 
 THE KING OF DENMARK'S RIDE. 
 (CAROLINE NORTON.) 
 
 Word was brought to the Danish king 
 
 (Hurry !) 
 That the love of his heart lay suffering, 
 And pined for the comfort his voice would bring ; 
 
 (0 ! ride as though you were flying !) 
 Better he loves each golden curl 
 On the brow of that Scandinavian girl 
 Than his rich crown jewels of ruby and pearl ; 
 
 And his Rose of the Isles is dying ! 
 
 Thirty nobles saddled with speed ; 
 
 (Hurry !) 
 Each one mounting a gallant steed 
 Which he kept for battle and days of need ; 
 
 (0 ! ride as though you were flying !) 
 Spurs were struck in the foaming flank ; 
 Worn-out chargers staggered and sank ; 
 Bridles were slackened, and girths were burst ; 
 But ride as they would, the king rode first, 
 
 For his Rose of the Isles lay dying ! 
 
 His nobles are beaten, one by one ; 
 
 (Hurry!) 
 They have fainted, and faltered, and homeward gone; 
 His little fair page now follows alone, 
 
 For strength and for courage trying. 
 The king looked back at that faithful child ; 
 Wan was the face that answering smiled ; 
 They passed the drawbridge with clattering din, 
 Then he dropped ; and only the king rode in 
 
 Where his Rose of the Isles lay dying ! 
 
566 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 The king blew a blast on his bugle horn ; 
 
 (Silence !) 
 No answer came ; but faint and forlorn 
 An echo returned on the cold gray morn, 
 
 Like the breath of a spirit sighing. 
 The castle portal stood grimly wide ; 
 None welcomed the king from that weary ride ; 
 For dead, in the light of the dawning day, 
 The pale sweet form of the welcomer lay, 
 
 Who had yearned for his voice while dying ! 
 
 The panting steed, with a drooping crest, 
 
 Stood weary. 
 The king returned from her chamber of rest, 
 The thick sobs choking in his breast ; 
 
 And, that dumb companion e}-eing, 
 The tears gushed forth which he strove to check ; 
 He bowed his head on his charger's neck : 
 11 0, steed — that every nerve didst strain, 
 Dear steed, our ride hath been in vain 
 
 To the halls where my love lay dying I" 
 
 THE RIDE FROM GHENT TO AIX. 
 
 (browning.) 
 
 I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris and he : 
 I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three ; 
 "Good speed!" cried the watch, as the gate-bolts un- 
 drew ; 
 " Speed !" echoed the wall to us galloping through; 
 Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, 
 And into the midnight we galloped abreast. 
 
 Not a word to each other ; we kept the great pace — 
 Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our 
 
 place ; 
 I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight, 
 Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right, 
 Rebuckled the check-strap, chained slacker the bit, 
 Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 56f 
 
 'Twas moonset at starting ; but while we drew near 
 Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear ; 
 At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see ; 
 At Puffeld 'twas morning as plain as could be ; 
 And from Mechlen church-steeple we heard the half- 
 chime — 
 So Joris broke silence with "Yet there is time!" 
 
 At Aerschot, up leaped of a sudden the sun, 
 And against him the cattle stood black every one, 
 To stare through the mist at us galloping past ; 
 And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last, 
 With resolute shoulders, each butting away 
 The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray. 
 
 And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent 
 
 back 
 For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track; 
 And one eye's black intelligence, — ever that glance 
 O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance ; 
 And the thick heavy spume-flakes, which a}^e and anon 
 His fierce lips shook upward in galloping on. 
 
 By Hasselt Dirck groaned ; and cried Joris, " Stay 
 
 spur! 
 Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her ; 
 We'll remember at Aix" — for one heard the quick 
 
 wheeze 
 Of her chest, saw the stretched neck, and staggering 
 
 knees, 
 And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank, 
 As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank. 
 
 So we were left galloping, Joris and I, 
 
 Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky ; 
 
 The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh ; 
 
 'Neath our feet broke the brittle, bright stubble like 
 
 chaff; 
 Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white, 
 And " Gallop!" gasped Joris, "for Aix is in sight! 
 
568 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 " How they'll greet us !" — and all in a moment his roan 
 Rolled neck and croup over, la}' dead as a stone ; 
 And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight 
 Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate, 
 With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, 
 And with circles of red for his ej^esockets' rim. 
 
 Then I cast loose my huff-coat, each holster let fall, 
 Shook off both my Jack-boots, let go belt and all, 
 Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear, 
 Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without 
 
 peer ; 
 Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad 
 
 or good, 
 Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood. 
 
 And all I remember is friends nocking round, 
 As I sate with his head 'twixt m} T knees on the ground ; 
 And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine, 
 As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine, 
 Which (the burgesses voted by common consent) 
 Was no more than his due who brought good news 
 from Ghent. 
 
 SCENE EROM CATILINE. 
 (CROLY.) 
 
 [In the Senate. ,] 
 
 Cicero. Our long dispute must close. Take one 
 proof more 
 Of this rebellion. — Lucius Catiline 
 Has been commanded to attend the senate. 
 He dares not come. I now demand your votes ! — 
 Is he condemned to exile? 
 
 [Catiline comes in hastily, and flings himself on the 
 
 bench ; all the senators go over to the other side. 
 Cicero, [turning to Catiline.] Here I repeat the 
 charge, to gods and men. 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 569 
 
 Of treasons manifold ; — that, but this day, 
 He has received dispatches from the rebels ; 
 That he has leagued with deputies from Gaul 
 To seize the province ; nay, has levied troops, 
 And raised his rebel standard : — that but now 
 A meeting of conspirators was held 
 Under his roof, with mystic rites, and oaths, 
 Pledged round the body of a murdered slave. 
 To these he has no answer. 
 
 Catiline, [rising calmly.'] Conscript fathers ! 
 I do not rise to waste the night in words ; 
 Let that plebeian talk ; 'tis not my trade ; 
 But here I stand for right — let him show proofs — 
 For Roman right; though none, it seems, dare stand 
 To take their share with me. Ay, cluster there, 
 Cling to your masters ; judges, Romans — slaves / 
 His charge is false ; I dare him to his proofs. 
 You have my answer. Let my actions speak ! 
 
 Cic. [interrupting him.~] Deeds shall convince you ! 
 Has the traitor done ? 
 
 Cat. But this I will avow, that I have scorned, 
 And still do scorn, to hide my sense of wrong : 
 Who brands me on the forehead, breaks my sword, 
 Or lays the bloody scourge upon my back, 
 Wrongs me not half so much as he who shuts 
 The gates of honor on me, — turning out 
 The Roman from his birthright ; and for what ? 
 
 [Looking round. 
 To fling your offices to every slave ; 
 Yipers that creep where man disdains to climb ; 
 And having wound their loathsome track to the top 
 Of this huge mouldering monument of Rome, 
 Hang hissing at the nobler man below. 
 
 Cic. This is his answer ! Must I bring more 
 proofs ? 
 Fathers, } r ou know there lives not one of us, 
 But lives in peril of his midnight sword. 
 Lists of proscription have been handed round, 
 In which your general properties are made 
 Your murderer's hire. 
 
570 PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 
 
 \_A cry is heard without — " More prisoners /" An of- 
 ficer enters with letters for Cicero ; who, after 
 glancing at them, sends them round the Senate. 
 Catiline is strongly perturbed. 
 Gic. Fathers of Rome ! If man can be convinced 
 By proof, as clear as daj'light, here it is ! 
 Look on these letters ! Here's a deep-laid plot 
 To wreck the provinces : a solemn league, 
 Made with all form and circumstance. The time 
 Is desperate, — all the slaves are up ; — Rome shakes ! 
 The heavens alone can tell how near our graves 
 We stand even here ! — The name of Catiline 
 Is foremost in the league. He was their king. 
 Tried and convicted traitor ! go from Rome ! 
 
 Cat. [haughtily rising.'] Come, consecrated lictors, 
 from your thrones : [ To the Senate. 
 
 Fling down your sceptres : — take the rod and axe, 
 And make the murder as you make the law. 
 
 Gic. [interrupting him.] Give up the record of his 
 banishment. [ To an officer. 
 
 [The officer gives it to the Consul.] 
 Cat. Banished from Rome ! What's banished, but 
 set free 
 From daily contact of the things I loathe? 
 " Tried and convicted traitor I" Who says this ? 
 Who'll prove it, at his peril, on my head ? 
 Banished — I thank 3 r ou for 't. It breaks my chain ! 
 I held some slack allegiance till this hour — 
 But now my sword's my own. Smile on, my lords ! 
 I scorn to count what feelings, withered hopes, 
 Strong provocations, bitter, burning wrongs, 
 I have within my heart's hot cells shut up, 
 To leave you in your lazy dignities. 
 But here I stand and scoff } t ou : here I fling 
 Hatred and full defiance in your face. 
 Your Consul's merciful. For this, all thanks. 
 He dares not touch a hair of Catiline. 
 
 [ The Consul reads'] : — " Lucius Sergius Catiline : by 
 the decree of the Senate, you are declared an en- 
 emy and alien to the State, and banished from the 
 territory of the Commonwealth." 
 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. 571 
 
 The Consul. Lictors, drive the traitor from the 
 
 temple ! 
 Cat. \_ furious.'] " Traitor I" I go — but I return. 
 This— trial ! 
 Here I devote your Senate ! I've had wrongs 
 To stir a fever in the blood of age, 
 Or make the infant's sinews strong as steel, 
 This day's the birth of sorrows ! — this hour's work 
 Will breed proscriptions : — look to your hearths, my 
 
 lords ! 
 For there, henceforth, shall sit, for household gods, 
 Shapes hot from Tartarus ! — all shames and crimes ! 
 Wan Treacher}^ with his thirsty dagger drawn ; 
 Suspicion, poisoning his brother's cup ; 
 Naked Rebellion, with the torch and axe, 
 Making his wild sport of your blazing thrones ; 
 Till Anarchy comes down on you like Night, 
 And Massacre seals Rome's eternal grave ! 
 
 [ The Senators rise in tumult and cry out, 
 Go, enemy and parricide, from Rome ! 
 
 Cic. Expel him, lictors ! Clear the Senate-house ! 
 
 [ They surround him. 
 Cat. [struggling through them]. I go, but not to 
 leap the gulf alone. 
 I go — but when I come, 'Twill be the burst 
 Of ocean in the earthquake — rolling back 
 In swift and mountainous ruin. Fare you well ! 
 You build n^ funeral-pile, but 3 7 our best blood 
 Shall quench its flame. Back, slaves ! [ To the lictors.] 
 — I will return ! \_He rushes out.] 
 
 THE END. 
 
COMSTOCK'S ELOCUTION. 
 
 [ENLARGED.] 
 
 A SYSTEM OF VOCAL GYMNASTICS. 
 
 Coinstoek's Elocution is designs I for the Promotion of Health. Cure of 
 Stammering, and Defective Articulation, and contains Exercises in Elo- 
 cution, Vocal Gymnastics, Articulation, Pitch, Force. Time, Gesture, 
 Reading and Declamation : with Postures of the Body, Arms, Head, 
 Face. Eyes. Shoulders, and the Lower Limbs. 
 
 Illustrated with two hundred and sixty-three engravings, of figures in 
 various positions, and diagrams illustrative of the whole subject. 
 
 BY ANDREW COMST00K, M.D. 
 
 To which is added a collection of gems from the writings of the best 
 authors in prose and verse, edited and selected 
 
 BY PHILIP LAWRENCE. 
 
 Professor of Elocution, and Teacher of Reading and Recitation in the 
 First Schools and Colleges in Philadelphia. 
 
 The whole of the above is contained in a large duodecimo volume, of 
 six hun ired pages, (being double the size ever before issued.) printed on 
 the finest paper, and bound in the strongest manner. Price Two Dollars. 
 
 Copies of •• Comstock's Elocution, Enlarged," will be sent at once, to 
 any one, to an}' place, per first mail, post-paid, on receipt of price. 
 
 COiSTOOK 5 ! COLORED GHAUT. 
 
 COMSTOCK'S COLORED CHART. Being a perfect alphabet, of the 
 English Language, Graphic and Typic, with Exercises in Articulation, 
 Pitch, Force, and Gesture. It comprises, first, the Elementary Sounds 
 of the English Language — second, Forty-four Colored Engravings, 
 showing the best and only correct positions of the mouth, in the ener- 
 getic utterance of words — third, a Perfect Alphabet, graphic and typic 
 — -fourth. Exercises in Pitch, Force and Melody — fifth, Exercises in 
 Gesture — sixth, Sixty-eight colored figures, representing tb.2 various 
 postures and different attitudes to be used in declamation. The whole 
 comprised on a large colored chart, measuring sixty-two by fifty-one 
 inches, and mounted on muslin and on rollers. Price Five Dollars. 
 
 Address all orders and remittances for either of the above, to receive 
 immediate attention, to the Publishers, 
 
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