MODULATION.

1. "Make way for liberty!" he cried,—Made way for liberty, and died!2. "Peace be unto thee, father," Tauler said:"God give thee a good day!" The old man raisedSlowly his calm blue eyes: "I thank thee, son;But all my days are good, and none are ill."3. "They come, they come! the pale-face come!"The chieftain shouted where he stood,Sharp watching at the margin wood,And gave the war-whoop's treble yell,That like a knell on fair hearts fellFar watching from their rocky home.4."Not yet, not yet: steady, steady!"On came the foe in even line,Nearer and nearer, to thrice paces nine.We looked into their eyes. "Ready!"A sheet of flame, a roll of death!They fell by scores: we held our breath:Then nearer still they came.Another sheet of flame,And brave men fled who never fled before.5. Did ye not hear it?—No: 'twas but the wind,Or the car rattling o'er the stony street.On with the dance! let joy be unconfined!No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meetTo chase the glowing hours with flying feet.But hark!—that heavy sound breaks in once more,As if the clouds its echo would repeat;And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before!Arm, arm! it is—it is—the cannon's opening roar!6. "Together!" shouts Niagara his thunder-toned decree;"Together!" echo back the waves upon the Mexic Sea;"Together!" sing the sylvan hills where old Atlantic roars;"Together!" boom the breakers on the wild Pacific shores;"Together!" cry the people. And "together" it shall be,An everlasting charter-bond forever for the free!Of liberty the signet-seal, the one eternal sign,Be those united emblems,—the Palmetto and the Pine.7. "Ho, sailor of the sea!How's my boy,—my boy?""What's your boy's name, good wife?And in what good ship sailed he?""My boy John,—He that went to sea:What care I for the ship, sailor?My boy's my boy to me."8. Out burst all with one accord:"This is Paradise for Hell!Let France, let France's king,Thank the man that did the thing!"What a shout! and all one word,—"Hervé Riel!"As he stepped in front once more,Not a symptom of surpriseIn the frank blue Breton eyes:Just the same man as before.9. He called his child,—no voice replied;He searched, with terror wild:Blood, blood, he found on every side,But nowhere found his child."Hell-hound! my child's by thee devoured,"The frantic father cried;And to the hilt his vengeful swordHe plunged in Gelert's side.His suppliant, as to earth he fell,No pity could impart;But still his Gelert's dying yellPassed heavy o'er his heart.10. 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?What pierceth the king like the point of a dart?What drives the bold blood from his cheek to his heart?"Chaldæans, magicians! the letters expound."They are read; and Belshazzar is dead on the ground!11.Sir P.—'Slife, madam! I say, had you any of theselittle elegant expenses when you married me?Lady T.—Lud, Sir Peter! would you have me be outof the fashion?Sir P.—The fashion, indeed! What had you to dowith the fashion before you married me?Lady T.—For my part, I should think you would liketo have your wife thought a woman of taste.Sir P.—Ay, there again! Taste! Zounds, madam!you had no taste when you married me.Lady T.—That's very true, indeed, Sir Peter; and,after having married you, I should never pretend to tasteagain, I allow.

1. "Make way for liberty!" he cried,—Made way for liberty, and died!

2. "Peace be unto thee, father," Tauler said:"God give thee a good day!" The old man raisedSlowly his calm blue eyes: "I thank thee, son;But all my days are good, and none are ill."

3. "They come, they come! the pale-face come!"The chieftain shouted where he stood,Sharp watching at the margin wood,And gave the war-whoop's treble yell,That like a knell on fair hearts fellFar watching from their rocky home.

4."Not yet, not yet: steady, steady!"On came the foe in even line,Nearer and nearer, to thrice paces nine.We looked into their eyes. "Ready!"A sheet of flame, a roll of death!They fell by scores: we held our breath:Then nearer still they came.Another sheet of flame,And brave men fled who never fled before.

5. Did ye not hear it?—No: 'twas but the wind,Or the car rattling o'er the stony street.On with the dance! let joy be unconfined!No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meetTo chase the glowing hours with flying feet.But hark!—that heavy sound breaks in once more,As if the clouds its echo would repeat;And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before!Arm, arm! it is—it is—the cannon's opening roar!

6. "Together!" shouts Niagara his thunder-toned decree;"Together!" echo back the waves upon the Mexic Sea;"Together!" sing the sylvan hills where old Atlantic roars;"Together!" boom the breakers on the wild Pacific shores;"Together!" cry the people. And "together" it shall be,An everlasting charter-bond forever for the free!Of liberty the signet-seal, the one eternal sign,Be those united emblems,—the Palmetto and the Pine.

7. "Ho, sailor of the sea!How's my boy,—my boy?""What's your boy's name, good wife?And in what good ship sailed he?"

"My boy John,—He that went to sea:What care I for the ship, sailor?My boy's my boy to me."

8. Out burst all with one accord:"This is Paradise for Hell!Let France, let France's king,Thank the man that did the thing!"What a shout! and all one word,—"Hervé Riel!"As he stepped in front once more,Not a symptom of surpriseIn the frank blue Breton eyes:Just the same man as before.

9. He called his child,—no voice replied;He searched, with terror wild:Blood, blood, he found on every side,But nowhere found his child.

"Hell-hound! my child's by thee devoured,"The frantic father cried;And to the hilt his vengeful swordHe plunged in Gelert's side.

His suppliant, as to earth he fell,No pity could impart;But still his Gelert's dying yellPassed heavy o'er his heart.

10. 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?What pierceth the king like the point of a dart?What drives the bold blood from his cheek to his heart?"Chaldæans, magicians! the letters expound."They are read; and Belshazzar is dead on the ground!

11.Sir P.—'Slife, madam! I say, had you any of theselittle elegant expenses when you married me?

Lady T.—Lud, Sir Peter! would you have me be outof the fashion?

Sir P.—The fashion, indeed! What had you to dowith the fashion before you married me?

Lady T.—For my part, I should think you would liketo have your wife thought a woman of taste.

Sir P.—Ay, there again! Taste! Zounds, madam!you had no taste when you married me.

Lady T.—That's very true, indeed, Sir Peter; and,after having married you, I should never pretend to tasteagain, I allow.

12. "And what the meed?" at length Tell asked."Bold fool! when slaves like thee are tasked,It is my will;But that thine eye may keener be,And nerved to such nice archery,If thou succeed'st, thou goest free.What! pause ye still?Give him a bow and arrow there:One shaft,—but one." Madness, despair,And tortured love,One moment swept the Switzer's face;Then passed away each stormy trace,And high resolve reigned like a graceCaught from above.13.Bass.—Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly?Shy.—To cut the forfeit from that bankrupt there.Gra.—Can no prayers pierce thee?Shy.—No, none that thou hast wit enough to make.Gra.—Oh, be thou damned, inexorable dog,And for thy life let justice be accused!Thou almost mak'st me waver in my faith,To hold opinion with Pythagoras,That souls of animals infuse themselvesInto the trunks of men: thy currish spiritGoverned a wolf, who, hanged for human slaughter,Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet,And, whilst thou lay'st in thy unhallowed dam,Infused itself in thee; for thy desiresAre wolfish, bloody, starved, and ravenous.Shy.—Till thou canst rail the seal from off my bond,Thou but offend'st thy lungs to speak so loud.Repair thy wit, good youth, or it will fallTo cureless ruin.—I stand here for law.14.Ham.—Now, mother, what's the matter?Queen.—Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended.Ham.—Mother, you have my father much offended.Queen.—Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue.Ham.—Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue.Queen.—Why, how now, Hamlet?Ham.—What's the matter now?Queen.—Have you forgot me?Ham.—No, by the rood, not so:You are the queen, your husband's brother's wife;And—would it were not so!—you are my mother.Queen.—Nay, then, I'll set those to you that can speak.Ham.—Come, come, and sit you down: you shall not budge;You go not, till I set you up a glassWhere you may see the inmost part of you.

13.Bass.—Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly?

Shy.—To cut the forfeit from that bankrupt there.

Gra.—Can no prayers pierce thee?

Shy.—No, none that thou hast wit enough to make.

Gra.—Oh, be thou damned, inexorable dog,And for thy life let justice be accused!Thou almost mak'st me waver in my faith,To hold opinion with Pythagoras,That souls of animals infuse themselvesInto the trunks of men: thy currish spiritGoverned a wolf, who, hanged for human slaughter,Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet,And, whilst thou lay'st in thy unhallowed dam,Infused itself in thee; for thy desiresAre wolfish, bloody, starved, and ravenous.

Shy.—Till thou canst rail the seal from off my bond,Thou but offend'st thy lungs to speak so loud.Repair thy wit, good youth, or it will fallTo cureless ruin.—I stand here for law.

14.Ham.—Now, mother, what's the matter?

Queen.—Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended.

Ham.—Mother, you have my father much offended.

Queen.—Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue.

Ham.—Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue.

Queen.—Why, how now, Hamlet?

Ham.—What's the matter now?

Queen.—Have you forgot me?

Ham.—No, by the rood, not so:You are the queen, your husband's brother's wife;And—would it were not so!—you are my mother.

Queen.—Nay, then, I'll set those to you that can speak.

Ham.—Come, come, and sit you down: you shall not budge;You go not, till I set you up a glassWhere you may see the inmost part of you.

"'Tis not enough the voice be loud and clear:'TisMODULATIONthat must charm the ear."

A good reader or speaker will vary his or her voice in the elements of emotional expression (that is, pitch, quality, movement, stress, force), on words, phrases, and sentences, in such a manner that the listeners get a suggestion of the meaning of a word by the sound of it. For instance, the wordsbright,glad,joyful,dull,sad,weak, may be pronounced in such a manner as to suggest by the quality of voice used their meaning; and, in the same manner, phrases and whole sentences may have variation in voice so as to suggest their meaning. This is modulation.

To modulate well, first, you must use your imagination, to form a perfect picture in your own mind of what you wish to describe, just as you would if you were an artist, and were intending to paint an ideal picture; and, in reality, you are an artist, for you paint with words and tones. Secondly, you should understand the exact meaning of each word, and,when you speak it, make your manner of speaking it suggest its meaning. Suppose you were to read Tennyson's "Song of the Brook." We will analyze as near as words may the manner of reading each verse. Read the whole song, and form the picture in imagination of the flow of the water, the scenery along its course, the roughness or smoothness of the water as described, the slowness or rapidity of its flow at different points, how large or small the brook is, making the picture as perfect as if you would paint upon canvas the whole scene.

THE BROOK.

1. I come from haunts of coot and hern;2. I make a sudden sally,3. And sparkle out among the fern4. To bicker down a valley.5. By thirty hills I hurry down,6. Or slip between the ridges;7. By twenty thorps, a little town,8. And half a hundred bridges.9. Till last by Philip's farm I flow10. To join the brimming river;11. For men may come, and men may go,12. But I go on forever.13. I chatter over stony ways14. In little sharps and trebles;15. I bubble into eddying bays;16. I babble on the pebbles.17. With many a curve my banks I fret,18. By many a field and fallow,19. And many a fairy foreland set20. With willow-weed and mallow.21. I chatter, chatter, as I flow22. To join the brimming river;23. For men may come, and men may go,24. But I go on forever.25. I wind about, and in and out,26. With here a blossom sailing,27. And here and there a lusty trout,28. And here and there a grayling,29. And here and there a foamy flake30. Upon me as I travel;31. With many a silvery waterbreak32. Above the golden gravel;33. And draw them all along, and flow,34. To join the brimming river;35. For men may come, and men may go,36. But I go on forever.37. I steal by lawns and grassy plots;38. I slide by hazel covers;39. I move the sweet forget-me-nots40. That grow for happy lovers.41. I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,42. Among my skimming swallows;43. I make the netted sunbeams dance44. Against my sandy shallows.45. I murmur under moon and stars46. In brambly wildernesses;47. I linger by my shingly bars;48. I loiter round my cresses;49. And out again I curve and flow50. To join the brimming river;51. For men may come, and men may go,52. But I go on forever.

1. I come from haunts of coot and hern;2. I make a sudden sally,3. And sparkle out among the fern4. To bicker down a valley.

5. By thirty hills I hurry down,6. Or slip between the ridges;7. By twenty thorps, a little town,8. And half a hundred bridges.

9. Till last by Philip's farm I flow10. To join the brimming river;11. For men may come, and men may go,12. But I go on forever.

13. I chatter over stony ways14. In little sharps and trebles;15. I bubble into eddying bays;16. I babble on the pebbles.

17. With many a curve my banks I fret,18. By many a field and fallow,19. And many a fairy foreland set20. With willow-weed and mallow.

21. I chatter, chatter, as I flow22. To join the brimming river;23. For men may come, and men may go,24. But I go on forever.

25. I wind about, and in and out,26. With here a blossom sailing,27. And here and there a lusty trout,28. And here and there a grayling,

29. And here and there a foamy flake30. Upon me as I travel;31. With many a silvery waterbreak32. Above the golden gravel;

33. And draw them all along, and flow,34. To join the brimming river;35. For men may come, and men may go,36. But I go on forever.

37. I steal by lawns and grassy plots;38. I slide by hazel covers;39. I move the sweet forget-me-nots40. That grow for happy lovers.

41. I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,42. Among my skimming swallows;43. I make the netted sunbeams dance44. Against my sandy shallows.

45. I murmur under moon and stars46. In brambly wildernesses;47. I linger by my shingly bars;48. I loiter round my cresses;

49. And out again I curve and flow50. To join the brimming river;51. For men may come, and men may go,52. But I go on forever.

As a whole, this piece requires for quality of voice thepure tone; force,gentle; movement,moderate; pitch,middle; stress,median. The variations in modulation must be from these, and will be mostly variations in quality, movement, and pitch.

Lines 2 to 6. Movement, quick; pitch, high; with quality changing on wordssudden,sparkle,bicker,hurry,slip, in such a way as to suggest the meaning of the word.

Lines 7 to 12. Movement, moderate; pitch, middle.

Lines 13 to 16. Movement, quick; pitch, high; the wordschatter,stony,sharps,trebles,bubble,babble, spoken with suggestion of their meaning.

Lines 17 to 20. Movement, moderate; pitch, middle.

Lines 21 to 24. Movement, quick; pitch, high; make quality suggest onchatter,brimming.

Lines 25 to 28. Movement, slow; pitch, middle; change to suggestive quality onwind,blossom,lusty.

Lines 29 to 36. Movement, moderate; pitch, middle; suggestive quality onfoamy,silvery,golden,brimming.

Lines 37 to 40. Movement, slow; pitch, low; suggestive quality onsteal,slide,move,happy.

Lines 41, 42. Movement, pitch, quality, all varied on wordsslip,slide,gloom,glance.

Lines 43, 44. Movement, quick; pitch, high; suggestive quality ondance,shallows.

Lines 45 to 48. Movement, slow; pitch, low; quality, very slightly aspirate; suggestive quality onmurmur,linger,loiter.

Lines 49 to 52. Movement, moderate; pitch, middle; suggestive quality onbrimming.

This analysis is very imperfect, as it is impossible in words to explain it. What modulation requires is, as a popular author says, "genius and sense" on your part, and you will be enabled to do as here is imperfectly suggested. You will do well to select some pieces, and analyze them, as here suggested. In Longfellow's launch of the ship, in his poem "Building of the Ship," picture the whole scene in imagination, the size and kind of ship, the number of the crowd, &c.

The following pieces are marked so that you may get a general idea of what is required for emotional expression in each. No marking can give you particulars of what is necessary, as the modulation of voice or variety in emotional expression—the light and shadow in the coloring of your word-picture—must depend upon your artistic "sense and genius." Imagine your picture, understand the meaning of every word and suggest its meaning in tone, concentrate yourself in the thought and feeling of the piece, and let your voice be governed by that, and you will not go far wrong if you have faithfully practised what has been recommended in the previous pages of this book.

1. Pure quality, gentle force, slow movement, middle pitch, median stress.

Those evening bells, those evening bells!How many a tale their music tellsOf youth and home, and that sweet timeWhen last I heard their soothing chime!Those joyous hours are passed away;And many a heart that then was gayWithin the tomb now darkly dwells,And hears no more those evening bells.And so 'twill be when I am gone:That tuneful peal will still ring on;While other bards shall walk these dells,And sing your praise, sweet evening bells.

Those evening bells, those evening bells!How many a tale their music tellsOf youth and home, and that sweet timeWhen last I heard their soothing chime!

Those joyous hours are passed away;And many a heart that then was gayWithin the tomb now darkly dwells,And hears no more those evening bells.

And so 'twill be when I am gone:That tuneful peal will still ring on;While other bards shall walk these dells,And sing your praise, sweet evening bells.

2. Orotund quality, with fulness and power, varying middle and low pitch, moderate and quick movement, median and radical stress mixed.

With storm-daring pinion and sun-gazing eyeThe gray forest eagle is king of the sky.From the crag-grasping fir-top where morn hangs its wreath,He views the mad waters white writhing beneath.A fitful red glaring, a rumbling jar,Proclaim the storm-demon still raging afar:The black cloud strides upward, the lightning more red,And the roll of the thunder more deep and more dread;A thick pall of darkness is cast o'er the air;And on bounds the blast with a howl from its lair.The lightning darts zig-zag and forked through the gloom;And the bolt launches o'er with crash, rattle, and boom:The gray forest eagle—where, where has he sped?Does he shrink to his eyrie, or shiver with dread?Does the glare blind his eye? Has the terrible blastOn the wing of the sky-king a fear-fetter cast?No, no! the brave eagle, he thinks not of fright:The wrath of the tempest but rouses delight.To the flash of the lightning his eye casts a gleam;To the shriek of the wild blast he echoes his scream;And with front like a warrior that speeds to the fray,And a clapping of pinions, he's up and away.Away—oh! away—soars the fearless and free;What recks he the skies' strife? its monarch is he!The lightning darts round him, undaunted his sight;The blast sweeps against him, unwavered his flight:High upward, still upward, he wheels, till his formIs lost in the black scowling gloom of the storm.

3. Pure to orotund quality, gentle to moderate force, moderate movement, middle pitch, radical and median stressmixed. This contains many words that can be pronounced with a quality or variation suggesting their meaning.

Rhetoric as taught in our seminaries and by elocutionists is one thing: genuine, heart-thrilling, soul-stirring eloquence is a very different thing. The one is like the rose in wax, without odor; the other like the rose on its native bush, perfuming the atmosphere with the rich odors distilled from the dew of heaven.

The one is the finely-finished statue of a Cicero or Demosthenes, more perfect in its lineaments than the original, pleasing the eye, and enrapturing the imagination: the other is the living man, animated by intellectual power, rousing the deepest feelings of every heart, and electrifying every soul as with vivid lightning. The one is a picture of the passions all on fire: the other is the real conflagration, pouring out a volume of words that burn like liquid flames bursting from the crater of a volcano.

The one attracts the admiring gaze and tickles the fancy of an audience: the other sounds an alarm that vibrates through the tingling ears to the soul, and drives back the rushing blood upon the aching heart. The one falls upon the multitude like April showers glittering in the sunbeams, animating, and bringing nature into mellow life: the other rouses the same mass to deeds of noble daring, and imparts to it the terrific force of an avalanche.

The one moves the cerebral foliage in waves of recumbent beauty like a gentle wind passing over a prairie of tall grass and flowers: the other strikes a blow that resounds through the wilderness of mind like rolling thunder through a forest of oaks. The one fails when strong commotions and angry elements agitate the public peace: the other can ride upon the whirlwind, direct the tornado, and rule the storm.

4. Aspirated orotund quality, moderate force, very slow movement, very low pitch, median stress.

Tread softly, bow the head, in reverent silence bow:No passing bell doth toll, yet an immortal soulIs passing now.Stranger, however great, with lowly reverence bow:There's one in that poor shed, one by that paltry bed,Greater than thou.Beneath that beggar's roof, lo! Death doth keep his state.Enter, no crowds attend; enter, no guards defendThis palace-gate.That pavement damp and cold no smiling courtiers tread:One silent woman stands, lifting with meagre handsA dying head.No mingling voices sound,—an infant wail alone:A sob suppressed, again that short deep gasp, and thenThe parting groan.Oh change! oh wondrous change! burst are the prison-bars:This moment there, so low, so agonized; and nowBeyond the stars!Oh change, stupendous change! there lies the soulless clod:The sun eternal breaks, the new immortal wakes,—Wakes with his God!

Tread softly, bow the head, in reverent silence bow:No passing bell doth toll, yet an immortal soulIs passing now.

Stranger, however great, with lowly reverence bow:There's one in that poor shed, one by that paltry bed,Greater than thou.

Beneath that beggar's roof, lo! Death doth keep his state.Enter, no crowds attend; enter, no guards defendThis palace-gate.

That pavement damp and cold no smiling courtiers tread:One silent woman stands, lifting with meagre handsA dying head.

No mingling voices sound,—an infant wail alone:A sob suppressed, again that short deep gasp, and thenThe parting groan.

Oh change! oh wondrous change! burst are the prison-bars:This moment there, so low, so agonized; and nowBeyond the stars!

Oh change, stupendous change! there lies the soulless clod:The sun eternal breaks, the new immortal wakes,—Wakes with his God!

5. Pure quality, moderate force, quick movement, high pitch, radical stress, suggestive quality on many words.

The Wind one morning sprang up from sleep,Saying, "Now for a frolic, now for a leap,Now for a mad-cap galloping chase:I'll make a commotion in every place!"So it swept with a bustle right through a great town,Creaking the signs, and scattering downShutters, and whisking with merciless squallsOld women's bonnets and gingerbread-stalls:There never was heard a much lustier shoutAs the apples and oranges tumbled about;And the urchins, that stand with their thievish eyesForever on watch, ran off each with a prize.Then away to the field it went blustering and humming,And the cattle all wondered whatever was coming:It plucked by their tails the grave matronly cows,And tossed the colts' manes all about their brows;Till, offended at such a familiar salute,They all turned their backs, and stood silently mute.So on it went capering, and playing its pranks;Whistling with reeds on the broad river's banks;Puffing the birds as they sat on the spray,Or the traveller grave on the king's highway.It was not too nice to hustle the bagsOf the beggar, and flutter his dirty rags:'Twas so bold, that it feared not to play its jokeWith the doctor's wig and the gentleman's cloak.Through the forest it roared, and cried gayly, "Now,You sturdy old oaks, I'll make you bow!"And it made them bow without more ado,And cracked their great branches through and through.Then it rushed like a monster on cottage and farm,Striking their dwellers with sudden alarm,And they ran out like bees in a midsummer swarm.There were dames with their kerchiefs tied over their capsTo see if their poultry were free from mishaps.The turkeys they gobbled; the geese screamed aloud;And the hens crept to roost in a terrified crowd:There was rearing of ladders, and logs laying on,Where the thatch from the roof threatened soon to be gone.But the wind had passed on, and had met in a laneWith a school-boy who panted and struggled in vain;For it tossed him and twirled him, then passed, and he stoodWith his hat in a pool, and his shoe in the mud.

What you have to say, where you have to say it, when you have to say it, why you have to say it, and to whom you have to say it,—on these depend how you shall say it, or your style. Conversational style is as you would talk in earnest conversation with a friend; Narrative, as you would tell an anecdote or story to a company of friends; Descriptive, as you would describe what you had actually seen; Didactic, as you would state earnestly, decisively, but pleasantly, your knowledge or opinions to others; Public Address, which generally includes the Didactic, Narrative, and Descriptive, is spoken with design to move, to persuade, and instruct, particularly the latter; Declamatory is Public Address magnified in expression, exhibiting more emotion, both in language, and in quality, and fulness of voice; the Emotional or Dramatic, in which the emotions and passions are strongly expressed. In practising these different styles, the quality, pitch, force, and time must be regulated by your thought and feeling, guided, as in transition, by commonsense, which will enable you to tell natural from unnatural expression. Practise these few exercises under each head; but you will do better to practise pieces such as are referred to under each head in the "Reading Club."

CONVERSATIONAL.

1. "And how's my boy, Betty?" asked Mrs. Boffin, sitting down beside her.

"He's bad; he's bad!" said Betty. "I begin to be afeerd he'll not be yours any more than mine. All others belonging to him have gone to the Power and the Glory; and I have a mind that they're drawing him to them, leading him away."

"No, no, no!" said Mrs. Boffin.

"I don't know why else he clinches his little hand, as if it had hold of a finger that I can't see; look at it!" said Betty, opening the wrappers in which the flushed child lay, and showing his small right hand lying closed upon his breast. "It's always so. It don't mind me."

2.Helen.—What's that you read?Modus.—Latin, sweet cousin.Hel.—'Tis a naughty tongue,I fear, and teaches men to lie.Modus.—To lie!Hel.—You study it. You call your cousin sweet,And treat her as you would a crab. As sour'Twould seem you think her: so you covet her!Why, how the monster stares, and looks about!You construe Latin, and can't construe that!Modus.—I never studied women.Hel.—No, nor men;Else would you better know their ways, nor readIn presence of a lady.

2.Helen.—What's that you read?

Modus.—Latin, sweet cousin.

Hel.—'Tis a naughty tongue,I fear, and teaches men to lie.

Modus.—To lie!

Hel.—You study it. You call your cousin sweet,And treat her as you would a crab. As sour'Twould seem you think her: so you covet her!Why, how the monster stares, and looks about!You construe Latin, and can't construe that!

Modus.—I never studied women.

Hel.—No, nor men;Else would you better know their ways, nor readIn presence of a lady.

3. "Now," said Wardle, "what say you to an hour on the ice? We shall have plenty of time."

"Capital!" said Mr. Benjamin Allen.

"Prime!" ejaculated Mr. Bob Sawyer.

"You skate, of course, Winkle?" said Wardle.

"Ye—yes; oh, yes!" replied Mr. Winkle. "I—I am rather out of practice."

"Oh, do skate, Mr. Winkle!" said Arabella. "I like to see it so much!"

"Oh, it is so graceful!" said another young lady.

A third young lady said it was elegant; and a fourth expressed her opinion that it was "swan-like."

"I should be very happy, I'm sure," said Mr. Winkle, reddening; "but I have no skates."

This objection was at once overruled. Trundle had got a couple of pair, and the fat boy announced that there were half a dozen more down stairs; whereat Mr. Winkle expressed exquisite delight, and looked exquisitely uncomfortable.

See "Reading Club," No. 1, p. 56; No. 2, p. 49; No. 3, pp. 5, 38; No. 4, pp. 94, 67.

NARRATIVE.

1. Tauler the preacher walked, one autumn-day,Without the walls of Strasburg, by the Rhine,Pondering the solemn miracle of life;As one who, wandering in a starless night,Feels momently the jar of unseen waves,And hears the thunder of an unknown seaBreaking along an unimagined shore.

2. The illustrious Spinola, upon hearing of the death of a friend, inquired of what disease he died. "Of having nothing to do," said the person who mentioned it. "Enough," said Spinola, "to kill a general." Not only the want of employment, but the want of care, often increases as well as brings on this disease.

3. Sir Isaac Newton was once examining a new and very fine globe, when a gentleman came into his study who did not believe in a God, but declared the world we live in came by chance. He was much pleased with the handsome globe, and asked, "Who made it?"—"Nobody," answered Sir Isaac: "it happened there." The gentleman looked up in amazement; but he soon understood what it meant.

See "Reading Club," No. 1, pp. 23, 73; No. 2, pp. 37, 44; No. 3, pp. 9, 99; No. 4, pp. 26, 49, 89.

DESCRIPTIVE.

1. The morn awakes, like brooding dove,With outstretched wings of gray:Thin, feathery clouds close in above,And build a sober day.No motion in the deeps of air,No trembling in the leaves;A still contentment everywhere,That neither laughs nor grieves.A shadowy veil of silvery sheenBedims the ocean's hue,Save where the boat has torn betweenA track of shining blue.Dream on, dream on, O dreamy day!The very clouds are dreams:That cloud is dreaming far away,And is not where it seems.

1. The morn awakes, like brooding dove,With outstretched wings of gray:Thin, feathery clouds close in above,And build a sober day.

No motion in the deeps of air,No trembling in the leaves;A still contentment everywhere,That neither laughs nor grieves.

A shadowy veil of silvery sheenBedims the ocean's hue,Save where the boat has torn betweenA track of shining blue.

Dream on, dream on, O dreamy day!The very clouds are dreams:That cloud is dreaming far away,And is not where it seems.

2. The broad moon lingers on the summit of Mount Olivet; but its beam has long left the garden of Gethsemane, and the tomb of Absalom, the waters of Kedron, and the dark abyss of Jehoshaphat. Full falls its splendor, however, on the opposite city, vivid and defined in its silver blaze. A lofty wall, with turrets and towers and frequent gates, undulates with the unequal ground which it covers, as it encircles the lost capital of Jehovah. It is a city of hills, far more famous than those of Rome; for all Europe has heard of Sion and of Calvary.

3. It was a fine autumnal day: the sky was clear and serene, and Nature wore that rich and golden livery which we always associate with the idea of abundance. The forests had put on their sober brown and yellow; while some trees of the tenderer kind had been nipped by the frosts into brilliant dyes of orange, purple, and scarlet. Streaming files of wild ducks began to make their appearance high in the air; the bark of the squirrel might be heard from the groves of beech and hickory nuts, and the pensive whistle of the quail at intervals from the neighboring stubble-field.

See "Reading Club," No. 2, pp. 15, 39; No. 3, pp. 28, 97; No. 4, pp. 19, 36, 92.

DIDACTIC.

1. To teach—what is it but to learnEach day some lesson fair or deep,The while our hearts toward others yearn,—The hearts that wake toward those that sleep?To learn—what is it but to teachBy aspect, manner, silence, word,The while we far and farther reachWithin thy treasures, O our Lord?Then who but is a learner aye?And who but teaches, well or ill?Receiving, giving, day by day,—So grows the tree, so flows the rill.

1. To teach—what is it but to learnEach day some lesson fair or deep,The while our hearts toward others yearn,—The hearts that wake toward those that sleep?

To learn—what is it but to teachBy aspect, manner, silence, word,The while we far and farther reachWithin thy treasures, O our Lord?

Then who but is a learner aye?And who but teaches, well or ill?Receiving, giving, day by day,—So grows the tree, so flows the rill.

2. All professions should be liberal; and there should be less pride felt in peculiarity of employment, and more in excellence of achievement. And yet more: in each several profession no master should be too proud to do its hardest work. The painter should grind his own colors; the architect work in the mason's yard with his men; the master-manufacturer be himself a more skilful operative than any man in his mills; and the distinction between one man and another be only in experience and skill, and the authority and wealth which these must naturally and justly obtain.

3. Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile,Hath not old custom made this life more sweetThan that of painted pomp? Are not these woodsMore free from peril than the envious court?Here feel we but the penalty of Adam,The seasons' difference; as, the icy fangAnd churlish chiding of the winter's wind,Which, when it bites and blows upon my body,Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say,This is no flattery: these are counsellorsThat feelingly persuade me what I am.Sweet are the uses of adversity,Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;And this our life, exempt from public haunt,Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.

See "Reading Club," No. 1, p. 82; No. 2, pp. 88, 76; No. 3, p. 59.

PUBLIC ADDRESS.

1. Let not, then, the young man sit with folded hands, calling on Hercules. Thine own arm is the demigod: itwas given thee to help thyself. Go forth into the world trustful, but fearless. Exalt thine adopted calling or profession. Look on labor as honorable, and dignify the task before thee, whether it be in the study, office, counting-room, work-shop, or furrowed field. There is an equality in all, and the resolute will and pure heart may ennoble either.

2. While you are gazing on that sun which is plunging into the vault of the west, another observer admires him emerging from the gilded gates of the east. By what inconceivable power does that agèd star, which is sinking fatigued and burning in the shades of the evening, re-appear at the same instant fresh and humid with the rosy dew of the morning? At every hour of the day the glorious orb is at once rising, resplendent as noonday, and setting in the west; or rather our senses deceive us, and there is, properly speaking, no east or west, no north or south, in the world.

3. In all natural and spiritual transactions, so far as they come within the sphere of human agency, there are three distinct elements: there is an element of endeavor, of mystery, and of result; in other words, there is something for man to do, there is something beyond his knowledge and control, there is something achieved by the co-operation of these two. Man sows the seed, he reaps the harvest; but between these two points occurs the middle condition of mystery. He casts the seed into the ground; he sleeps and rises night and day; but the seed springs and grows up, he knows not how: yet, when the fruit is ripe, immediately he putteth in the sickle, because the harvest is come. That is all he knows about it. There is something for him to do, something for him to receive; but between the doing and receiving there is a mystery.

See "Reading Club," No. 1, p. 83; No. 2, pp. 77, 79; No. 3, pp. 74, 91; No. 4, pp. 35, 53.

DECLAMATORY.

1. You speak like a boy,—like a boy who thinks the old gnarled oak can be twisted as easily as the young sapling. Can I forget that I have been branded as an outlaw, stigmatized as a traitor, a price set on my head as if I had been a wolf, my family treated as the dam and cubs of the hill-fox, whom all may torment, vilify, degrade, and insult; thevery name which came to me from a long and noble line of martial ancestors denounced, as if it were a spell to conjure up the devil with?

2. I have been accused of ambition in presenting this measure,—inordinate ambition. If I had thought of myself only, I should have never brought it forward. I know well the perils to which I expose myself,—the risk of alienating faithful and valued friends, with but little prospect of making new ones (if any new ones could compensate for the loss of those we have long tried and loved), and the honest misconception both of friends and foes. Ambition!—yes, I have ambition; but it is the ambition of being the humble instrument in the hands of Providence to reconcile a divided people, once more to revive concord and harmony in a distracted land; the pleasing ambition of contemplating the glorious spectacle of a free, united, prosperous, and fraternal people.

3. Tell me, ye who tread the sods of yon sacred height, is Warren dead? Can you not still see him, not pale and prostrate, the blood of his gallant heart pouring out of his ghastly wound, but moving resplendent over the field of honor, with the rose of heaven upon his cheek, and the fire of liberty in his eye? Tell me, ye who make your pious pilgrimage to the shades of Vernon, is Washington indeed shut up in that cold and narrow house? That which made these men, and men like these, cannot die. The hand that traced the charter of Independence is indeed motionless; the eloquent lips that sustained it are hushed: but the lofty spirits that conceived, resolved, and maintained it, and which alone, to such men, "make it life to live,"—these cannot expire.

See "Reading Club," No. 1, pp. 66, 75; No. 3, pp. 50, 68, 84; No. 4, pp. 40, 55.

DRAMATIC OR EMOTIONAL.

1. Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye!I feel my heart new opened. Oh, how wretchedIs that poor man that hangs on princes' favors!There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to,That sweet aspéct of princes and their ruin,More pangs and fears than wars or women have;And, when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,Never to hope again.2. What would you have, you curs!That like nor peace nor war? The one affrights you;The other makes you proud. He that trusts you,Where he should find you lions finds you hares;Where foxes, geese. You are no surer, no,Than is the coal of fire upon the ice,Or hailstone in the sun.3. To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,To the last syllable of recorded time;And all our yesterdays have lighted foolsThe way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player,That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,And then is heard no more: it is a taleTold by an idiot, full of sound and fury,Signifying nothing.

2. What would you have, you curs!That like nor peace nor war? The one affrights you;The other makes you proud. He that trusts you,Where he should find you lions finds you hares;Where foxes, geese. You are no surer, no,Than is the coal of fire upon the ice,Or hailstone in the sun.

3. To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,To the last syllable of recorded time;And all our yesterdays have lighted foolsThe way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player,That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,And then is heard no more: it is a taleTold by an idiot, full of sound and fury,Signifying nothing.

See "Reading Club," No. 1, p. 8; No. 2, p. 28; No. 3, p. 60; No. 4, p. 14.

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