PITCH.

3."Hold, there!" the other quick replies:"'Tis green: I saw it with these eyes,As late with open mouth it lay,And warmed it in the sunny ray.Stretched at its ease, the beast I viewed,And saw it eat the air for food.""I've seen it, sir, as well as you,And must again affirm it blue:At leisure I the beast surveyed,Extended in the cooling shade.""'Tis green, 'tis green, sir, I assure ye!""Green!" cries the other in a fury:"Why, sir! d'ye think I've lost my eyes?""'Twere no great loss," the friend replies;"For, if they always serve you thus,You'll find them of but little use."

MONOTONE.

1. When for me the silent oarParts the Silent River,And I stand upon the shoreOf the strange Forever,Shall I miss the loved and known?Shall I vainly seek mine own?2. Â Ye golden lamps of heaven, farewell, with all your feeble light!Farewell, thou ever-changing moon, pale empress of the night!And thou, effulgent orb of day, in brighter flames arrayed,My soul, which springs beyond thy sphere, no more demands thy aid.Ye stars are but the shining dust of my divine abode,The pavement of those heavenly courts where I shall reign with God.3. Â Father of earth and heaven, I call thy name!Round me the smoke and shout of battle roll;My eyes are dazzled with the rustling flame:Father, sustain an untried soldier's soul.Or life or death, whatever be the goalThat crowns or closes round this struggling hour,Thou know'st, if ever from my spirit stoleOne deeper prayer, 'twas that no cloud might lowerOn my young fame. Oh, hear, God of eternal power!

1. When for me the silent oarParts the Silent River,And I stand upon the shoreOf the strange Forever,Shall I miss the loved and known?Shall I vainly seek mine own?

2. Â Ye golden lamps of heaven, farewell, with all your feeble light!Farewell, thou ever-changing moon, pale empress of the night!And thou, effulgent orb of day, in brighter flames arrayed,My soul, which springs beyond thy sphere, no more demands thy aid.Ye stars are but the shining dust of my divine abode,The pavement of those heavenly courts where I shall reign with God.

3. Â Father of earth and heaven, I call thy name!Round me the smoke and shout of battle roll;My eyes are dazzled with the rustling flame:Father, sustain an untried soldier's soul.Or life or death, whatever be the goalThat crowns or closes round this struggling hour,Thou know'st, if ever from my spirit stoleOne deeper prayer, 'twas that no cloud might lowerOn my young fame. Oh, hear, God of eternal power!

The general pitch of voice varies with the emotion. Some feelings we are prompted to express in the high tones, as joy; some in the lower tones, as awe: but, without practice, very few have command of the higher and lower tones; and, when they attempt to read, they cannot give the requisite variety to make it expressive. It is important that these exercises should be studied until you can as easily read in your highest and lowest tones as in your natural conversational or middle tones.

In high pitch, read in as high pitch as you can, and at the same time keep the tone pure, and you will find your voice gradually gain in compass.

In middle pitch, read in your conversational tone, with earnestness.

In low pitch, read somewhat lower than middle pitch, and make as full a tone as you can.

In very low pitch, read as low in pitch as you can with ease, and do not try to make it loud or full until you have had considerable practice. Don't pinch or strain the throat: if you do, the quality will be bad.

HIGH PITCH.

1. Merrily swinging on brier and weed,Near to the nest of his little dame,Over the mountain-side or mead,Robert of Lincoln is telling his name,â€”Bob-o-link, bob-o-link,Spink, spank, spink!Snug and safe is that nest of oursHidden among the summer flowers:Chee, chee, chee!2. Â Oh! did you see him riding down,And riding down, while all the townCame out to see, came out to see,And all the bells rang mad with glee?Oh! did you hear those bells ring out,The bells ring out, the people shout?And did you hear that cheer on cheerThat over all the bells rang clear?3. Â I am that merry wanderer of the night:I jest to Oberon, and make him smile,When I, a fat and bean-fed horse, beguile,Neighing in likeness of a silly foal.And sometimes lurk I in a gossip's bowl,In very likeness of a roasted crab;And, when she drinks, against her lips I bob,And on her withered dew-lap pour the ale.

2. Â Oh! did you see him riding down,And riding down, while all the townCame out to see, came out to see,And all the bells rang mad with glee?

Oh! did you hear those bells ring out,The bells ring out, the people shout?And did you hear that cheer on cheerThat over all the bells rang clear?

3. Â I am that merry wanderer of the night:I jest to Oberon, and make him smile,When I, a fat and bean-fed horse, beguile,Neighing in likeness of a silly foal.And sometimes lurk I in a gossip's bowl,In very likeness of a roasted crab;And, when she drinks, against her lips I bob,And on her withered dew-lap pour the ale.

MIDDLE PITCH.

1. Â The honey-bee that wanders all day longThe field, the woodland, and the garden o'er,To gather in his fragrant winter-store,Humming in calm content his quiet song,Sucks not alone the rose's glowing breast,The lily's dainty cup, the violet's lips;But from all rank and noisome weeds he sipsThe single drop of sweetness ever pressedWithin the poison chalice. Thus, if weSeek only to draw forth the hidden sweetIn all the varied human flowers we meetIn the wide garden of Humanity,And, like the bee, if home the spoil we bear,Hived in our hearts, it turns to nectar there.

2. Now the laughing, jolly Spring began to show her buxom face in the bright morning. The buds began slowly to expand their close winter folds, the dark and melancholy woods to assume an almost imperceptible purple tint; and here and there a little chirping blue-bird hopped about the orchards. Strips of fresh green appeared along the brooks, now released from their icy fetters; and nests of littlevariegated flowers, nameless, yet richly deserving a name, sprang up in the sheltered recesses of the leafless woods.

3. I know, the more one sickens, the worse at ease he is; and that he that wants money, means, and content, is without three good friends; that the property of rain is to wet, and fire to burn; that good pasture makes fat sheep, and that a great cause of the night is lack of the sun; that he that hath learned no wit by nature or art may complain of good breeding, or comes of a very dull kindred.

LOW PITCH.

1. Â Mid the flower-wreathed tombs I stand,Bearing lilies in my hand.Comrades, in what soldier-graveSleeps the bravest of the brave?Is it he who sank to restWith his colors round his breast?Friendship makes his tomb a shrine:Garlands veil it; ask not mine.2. Â God, thou art merciful. The wintry storm,The cloud that pours the thunder from its womb,But show the sterner grandeur of thy form.The lightnings glancing through the midnight gloom,To Faith's raised eye as calm, as lovely, comeAs splendors of the autumnal evening star,As roses shaken by the breeze's plume,When like cool incense comes the dewy air,And on the golden wave the sunset burns afar.3. Â O thou Eternal One! whose presence brightAll space doth occupy, all motion guide;Unchanged through Time's all-devastating flight;Thou only God!â€”there is no God beside!Being above all beings! Three-in-one!Whom none can comprehend, and none explore;Who fill'st existence with Thyself alone;Embracing all, supporting, ruling o'er;Being whom we call God, and know no more!

1. Â Mid the flower-wreathed tombs I stand,Bearing lilies in my hand.Comrades, in what soldier-graveSleeps the bravest of the brave?

Is it he who sank to restWith his colors round his breast?Friendship makes his tomb a shrine:Garlands veil it; ask not mine.

2. Â God, thou art merciful. The wintry storm,The cloud that pours the thunder from its womb,But show the sterner grandeur of thy form.The lightnings glancing through the midnight gloom,To Faith's raised eye as calm, as lovely, comeAs splendors of the autumnal evening star,As roses shaken by the breeze's plume,When like cool incense comes the dewy air,And on the golden wave the sunset burns afar.

3. Â O thou Eternal One! whose presence brightAll space doth occupy, all motion guide;Unchanged through Time's all-devastating flight;Thou only God!â€”there is no God beside!Being above all beings! Three-in-one!Whom none can comprehend, and none explore;Who fill'st existence with Thyself alone;Embracing all, supporting, ruling o'er;Being whom we call God, and know no more!

VERY LOW PITCH.

1. Â When in the silent night all earth lies hushedIn slumber; when the glorious stars shine out,Each star a sun, each sun a central lightOf some fair system, ever wheeling onIn one unbroken round, and that againRevolving round another sun; while all,Suns, stars, and systems, proudly roll alongIn one majestic, ever-onward course,In space uncircumscribed and limitless,â€”Oh! think you then the undebased soulCan calmly give itself to sleep,â€”to rest?

2. Go stand upon the heights at Niagara, and listen in awe-struck silence to that boldest most earnest and eloquent, of all Nature's orators! And what is Niagara, with its plunging waters and its mighty roar, but the oracle of God, the whisper of His voice who is revealed in the Bible as sitting above the water-floods forever?

3. Â The drums are all muffled; the bugles are still;There's a pause in the valley, a halt on the hill;And the bearers of standards swerve back with a thrillWhere the sheaves of the dead bar the way:For a great field is reaped, heaven's garners to fill;And stern Death holds his harvest to-day.

As there are all kinds and qualities of emotions, so there are all kinds and qualities of voice to express them. The shade and varieties of these qualities are as infinite in number as the emotions they express. We need, however, in practice, to make but four general divisions,â€”whisper, aspirate, pure, and orotund. The whisper expresses secrecy, fear, and like emotions. It is seldom required in reading, as the aspirate is expressive of the same, and you would be likely to use that instead of whisper. You should practise the whisper until you can make it very clear, and free from all impurity, or sound of throat, and full, so as to be heard at a distance. In both whisper and aspirate leave the throat free and open; and be energetic, remembering that force ismade by control of muscles at the waist, and not by effort of throat or mouth. The clearer you can make a whisper, the better quality you can make in pure and orotund. Pure tone or quality is sound made with no disagreeable quality being heard; and is the same as pleasant quality, spoken of as being necessary to make listeners. Pure quality is made with ease, with no waste of breath, and is used for expression of agreeable feelings. Orotund is a magnified, pure tone, and adds richness and power to the voice in speech. It is the expression of intense feelings, usually slow in movement, as grandeur, sublimity, awe, &c. It can only be obtained by much practice and much patience, allowing the voice to grow in fulness, as it will in time, if practice continues.

WHISPER.

1.Deep stillness fell on all around:Through that dense crowd was heard no soundOf step or word.2. Â How dark it is! I cannot seem to seeThe faces of my flock. Is that the seaThat murmurs so? or is it weeping? Hush,My little children! God so loved the world,He gave his Son: so love ye one another.Love God and man. Amen!3. Hush! 'tis a holy hour! The quiet roomSeems like a temple; while yon soft lamp shedsA faint and starry radiance through the gloomAnd the sweet stillness down on bright young heads,With all their clustering locks untouched by care,And bowed, as flowers are bowed with night, in prayer.

1.Deep stillness fell on all around:Through that dense crowd was heard no soundOf step or word.

2. Â How dark it is! I cannot seem to seeThe faces of my flock. Is that the seaThat murmurs so? or is it weeping? Hush,My little children! God so loved the world,He gave his Son: so love ye one another.Love God and man. Amen!

3. Hush! 'tis a holy hour! The quiet roomSeems like a temple; while yon soft lamp shedsA faint and starry radiance through the gloomAnd the sweet stillness down on bright young heads,With all their clustering locks untouched by care,And bowed, as flowers are bowed with night, in prayer.

ASPIRATE.

1. Â Hush! draw the curtain,â€”so!She is dead, quite dead, you see.Poor little lady! She liesWith the light gone out of her eyes;But her features still wear that soft,Gray, meditative expressionWhich you must have noticed oft.2. Â Lord of the winds! I feel thee nigh;I know thy breath in the burning sky;And I wait with a thrill in every veinFor the coming of the hurricane.And, lo! on the wing of the heavy gales,Through the boundless arch of heaven, he sails:Silent and slow, and terribly strong,The mighty shadow is borne along,Like the dark eternity to come;While the world below, dismayed and dumb,Through the calm of the thick hot atmosphereLooks up at its gloomy folds with fear.3. Â 'Tis midnight's holy hour; and silence nowIs brooding like a gentle spirit o'erThe still and pulseless world. Hark! on the windsThe bell's deep tones are swelling: 'tis the knellOf the departed year. No funeral trainIs sweeping past: yet on the stream and wood,With melancholy light, the moonbeams restLike a pale, spotless shroud; the air is stirredAs by a mourner's sigh; and on yon cloud,That floats so still and placidly through heaven,The spirits of the seasons seem to stand,â€”Young Spring, bright Summer, Autumn's solemn form,And Winter with its aged locks,â€”and breathe,In mournful cadences that come abroadLike the far wind-harp's wild and touching wail,A melancholy dirge o'er the dead year,Gone from the earth forever.

2. Â Lord of the winds! I feel thee nigh;I know thy breath in the burning sky;And I wait with a thrill in every veinFor the coming of the hurricane.And, lo! on the wing of the heavy gales,Through the boundless arch of heaven, he sails:Silent and slow, and terribly strong,The mighty shadow is borne along,Like the dark eternity to come;While the world below, dismayed and dumb,Through the calm of the thick hot atmosphereLooks up at its gloomy folds with fear.

3. Â 'Tis midnight's holy hour; and silence nowIs brooding like a gentle spirit o'erThe still and pulseless world. Hark! on the windsThe bell's deep tones are swelling: 'tis the knellOf the departed year. No funeral trainIs sweeping past: yet on the stream and wood,With melancholy light, the moonbeams restLike a pale, spotless shroud; the air is stirredAs by a mourner's sigh; and on yon cloud,That floats so still and placidly through heaven,The spirits of the seasons seem to stand,â€”Young Spring, bright Summer, Autumn's solemn form,And Winter with its aged locks,â€”and breathe,In mournful cadences that come abroadLike the far wind-harp's wild and touching wail,A melancholy dirge o'er the dead year,Gone from the earth forever.

PURE.

1. Your voiceless lips, O flowers! are living preachers,Each cup a pulpit, and each leaf a book,Supplying to my fancy numerous teachersIn loneliest nook.2. Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,The flying cloud, the frosty light;The year is dying in the night:Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.Ring out the old; ring in the new;Ring, happy bells, across the snow:The year is going; let him go:Ring out the false, ring in the true.3. Was it the chime of a tiny bellThat came so sweet to my dreaming ear,Like the silvery tones of a fairy's shell,That he winds on the beach, so mellow and clear,When the winds and the waves lie together asleep,And the moon and the fairy are watching the deep,â€”She dispensing her silvery light,And he his notes as silvery quite,â€”While the boatman listens, and ships his oar,To catch the music that comes from the shore?Hark! the notes on my ear that playAre set to words: as they float, they say,"Passing away, passing away!"

1. Your voiceless lips, O flowers! are living preachers,Each cup a pulpit, and each leaf a book,Supplying to my fancy numerous teachersIn loneliest nook.

2. Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,The flying cloud, the frosty light;The year is dying in the night:Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old; ring in the new;Ring, happy bells, across the snow:The year is going; let him go:Ring out the false, ring in the true.

3. Was it the chime of a tiny bellThat came so sweet to my dreaming ear,Like the silvery tones of a fairy's shell,That he winds on the beach, so mellow and clear,When the winds and the waves lie together asleep,And the moon and the fairy are watching the deep,â€”She dispensing her silvery light,And he his notes as silvery quite,â€”While the boatman listens, and ships his oar,To catch the music that comes from the shore?Hark! the notes on my ear that playAre set to words: as they float, they say,"Passing away, passing away!"

OROTUND.

1. Approach and behold while I lift from his sepulchre its covering. Ye admirers of his greatness, ye emulous of his talents and his fame, approach, and behold him now. How pale! how silent! No martial bands admire the adroitness of his movements, no fascinating throng weep and melt and tremble at his eloquence. Amazing change! A shroud, a coffin, a narrow subterraneous cabin,â€”this is all that now remains of Hamilton. And is this all that remains of him? During a life so transitory, what lasting monument, then, can our fondest hopes erect!

2.A seraph by the throneIn the full glory stood. With eager handHe smote the golden harp-strings, till a floodOf harmony on the celestial airWelled forth unceasing: then with a great voiceHe sang the "Holy, holy, evermore,Lord God Almighty!" and the eternal courtsThrilled with the rapture; and the hierarchies,Angel and rapt archangel, throbbed and burnedWith vehement adoration. Higher yetRose the majestic anthem without pause,â€”Higher, with rich magnificence of sound,To its full strength; and still the infinite heavensRang with the "Holy, holy, evermore!"3. Â God, thou art mighty. At thy footstool bound,Lie, gazing to thee, Chance and Life and Death.Nor in the angel-circle flaming round,Nor in the million worlds that blaze beneath,Is one that can withstand thy wrath's hot breath.Woe in thy frown; in thy smile victory.Hear my last prayer. I ask no mortal wreath:Let but these eyes my rescued country see;Then take my spirit, All-Omnipotent, to thee.

3. Â God, thou art mighty. At thy footstool bound,Lie, gazing to thee, Chance and Life and Death.Nor in the angel-circle flaming round,Nor in the million worlds that blaze beneath,Is one that can withstand thy wrath's hot breath.Woe in thy frown; in thy smile victory.Hear my last prayer. I ask no mortal wreath:Let but these eyes my rescued country see;Then take my spirit, All-Omnipotent, to thee.

For examples of pure tone, see "Reading Club," No. 1, pages 54 and 82; No. 2, page 63; No. 3, pages 11, 49; No. 4, pages 29, 36, 81.For orotund, No. 1, page 42; No. 2, page 64; No. 3, page 25; No. 4, page 61.

For examples of pure tone, see "Reading Club," No. 1, pages 54 and 82; No. 2, page 63; No. 3, pages 11, 49; No. 4, pages 29, 36, 81.

For orotund, No. 1, page 42; No. 2, page 64; No. 3, page 25; No. 4, page 61.

By different emotions you are prompted to speak words in quick or slow utterance, as in joy or anger you would be prompted to utter words quickly; while in majesty, sublimity, awe, you would speak slowly. You should practise movement, that you may be able to read rapidly and with perfect articulation, and also to read slowly with proper phrasing. In quick movement, read as fast as you can with proper articulation, phrasing, and emphasis. In moderate movement, read as in ordinary earnest conversation. In slow and very slow movement, phrase well, as in these the emphatic words have the longest time given to them, the secondarily emphatic ones less time, and the connecting words the least time; and it is a great art to proportion them rightly. If you do not do the latter, you will drawl.

QUICK MOVEMENT.

1. Â Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!Rescue my castle before the hot dayBrightens to blue from its silvery gray:Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!2. Â But hark! above the beating of the stormPeals on the startled ear the fire-alarm.Yon gloomy heaven's aflame with sudden light;And heart-beats quicken with a strange affright.From tranquil slumber springs, at duty's call,The ready friend no danger can appall:Fierce for the conflict, sturdy, true, and brave,He hurries forth to battle and to save.3.After him came, spurring hard,A gentleman almost forespent with speed,That stopped by me to breathe his bloodied horse.He asked the way to Chester; and of himI did demand what news from Shrewsbury.He told me that rebellion had bad luck,And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold:With that he gave his able horse the head,And, bending forward, struck his armed heelsAgainst the panting sides of his poor jadeUp to the rowel-head; and, starting so,He seemed, in running, to devour the way,Staying no longer question.

1. Â Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!Rescue my castle before the hot dayBrightens to blue from its silvery gray:Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!

2. Â But hark! above the beating of the stormPeals on the startled ear the fire-alarm.Yon gloomy heaven's aflame with sudden light;And heart-beats quicken with a strange affright.From tranquil slumber springs, at duty's call,The ready friend no danger can appall:Fierce for the conflict, sturdy, true, and brave,He hurries forth to battle and to save.

3.After him came, spurring hard,A gentleman almost forespent with speed,That stopped by me to breathe his bloodied horse.He asked the way to Chester; and of himI did demand what news from Shrewsbury.He told me that rebellion had bad luck,And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold:With that he gave his able horse the head,And, bending forward, struck his armed heelsAgainst the panting sides of his poor jadeUp to the rowel-head; and, starting so,He seemed, in running, to devour the way,Staying no longer question.

MODERATE MOVEMENT.

1. Yes, Tom's the best fellow that ever you knew.Just listen to this:â€”When the old mill took fire, and the flooring fell through,And I with it, helpless there, full in my viewWhat do you think my eyes saw through the fire,That crept along, crept along, nigher and nigher,But Robin, my baby-boy, laughing to seeThe shining? He must have come there after me,Troddled alone from the cottage.

2. Oratory, as it consists in the expression of the countenance, graces of attitude and motion, and intonation of voice, although it is altogether superficial and ornamental, will always command admiration; yet it deserves little veneration. Flashes of wit, coruscations of imagination, and gay pictures,â€”what are they? Strict truth, rapid reason, and pure integrity, are the only essential ingredients in oratory. I flatter myself that Demosthenes, by his "action, action, action," meant to express the same opinion.

3. Waken, voice of the land's devotion!Spirit of freedom, awaken all!Ring, ye shores, to the song of ocean!Rivers, answer! and, mountains, call!The golden day has come:Let every tongue be dumbThat sounded its malice, or murmured its fears.She hath won her story;She wears her glory:We crown her the land of a hundred years!

SLOW MOVEMENT.

1. Within this sober realm of leafless treesThe russet year inhaled the dreamy air,Like some tanned reaper in his hour of easeWhen all the fields are lying brown and bare.2. Â As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form,Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm,Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,Eternal sunshine settles on its head.3. Â Father, guide me! Day declines;Hollow winds are in the pines;Darkly waves each giant boughO'er the sky's last crimson glow;Hushed is now the convent's bell,Which erewhile, with breezy swell,From the purple mountains boreGreeting to the sunset shore;Now the sailor's vesper-hymnDies away.Father, in the forest dimBe my stay!

1. Within this sober realm of leafless treesThe russet year inhaled the dreamy air,Like some tanned reaper in his hour of easeWhen all the fields are lying brown and bare.

2. Â As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form,Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm,Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,Eternal sunshine settles on its head.

3. Â Father, guide me! Day declines;Hollow winds are in the pines;Darkly waves each giant boughO'er the sky's last crimson glow;Hushed is now the convent's bell,Which erewhile, with breezy swell,From the purple mountains boreGreeting to the sunset shore;Now the sailor's vesper-hymnDies away.Father, in the forest dimBe my stay!

VERY SLOW MOVEMENT.

1. Toll, toll, toll,Thou bell by billows swung!And night and day thy warning wordsRepeat with mournful tongue!Toll for the queenly boatWrecked on yon rocky shore:Seaweed is in her palace-halls;She rides the surge no more.2. Â Now o'er the drowsy earth still night prevails;Calm sleep the mountain-tops and shady vales,The rugged cliffs and hollow glens.The wild beasts slumber in their dens,The cattle on the hill. Deep in the seaThe countless finny race and monster broodTranquil repose. Even the busy beeForgets her daily toil. The silent woodNo more with noisy form of insect rings;And all the feathered tribes, by gentle sleep subdued,Roost in the glade, and hang their drooping wings.3.My Father, God, lead on!Calmly I follow where thy guiding handDirects my steps. I would not trembling stand,Though all before the wayIs dark as night: I stayMy soul on thee, and say,Father, I trust thy love: lead on!

2. Â Now o'er the drowsy earth still night prevails;Calm sleep the mountain-tops and shady vales,The rugged cliffs and hollow glens.The wild beasts slumber in their dens,The cattle on the hill. Deep in the seaThe countless finny race and monster broodTranquil repose. Even the busy beeForgets her daily toil. The silent woodNo more with noisy form of insect rings;And all the feathered tribes, by gentle sleep subdued,Roost in the glade, and hang their drooping wings.

3.My Father, God, lead on!Calmly I follow where thy guiding handDirects my steps. I would not trembling stand,Though all before the wayIs dark as night: I stayMy soul on thee, and say,Father, I trust thy love: lead on!

Every emotion which you have you feel more or less intensely, and that intensity is expressed through the force of the voice. The degree of force with which you speak will be according to the degree of intensity of emotion; and even in the gentlest tone you can express as forcibly as in the loudest. According to your strength of body and mind, and intensity of feeling, you have been accustomed to express in a strong or feeble voice. Force needs to be practised to enable you to fill a large hall with your gentlest tone, and to make very loud tones without straining of throat. In gentle force, sustain the breath well, as in fulness and power, observing directions there given; and make your tone soft and pure. In moderate force, be as energetic as in earnest conversation. In loud and very loud force, observe directions under "Fulness and Power."

GENTLE FORCE.

1. A noise as of a hidden brookIn the leafy month of June,That to the sleeping woods all nightSingeth a quiet tune.2. O blithe new-comer! I have heard,I hear thee, and rejoice:O cuckoo! shall I call thee bird,Or but a wandering voice?Thrice welcome, darling of the spring!Even yet thou art to meNo bird, but an invisible thing,A voice, a mystery.3. Â Around this lovely valley riseThe purple hills of Paradise;Oh! softly on yon banks of hazeHer rosy face the Summer lays;Becalmed along the azure skyThe argosies of Cloud-land lie,Whose shores, with many a shining rift,Far off their pearl-white peaks uplift.

1. A noise as of a hidden brookIn the leafy month of June,That to the sleeping woods all nightSingeth a quiet tune.

2. O blithe new-comer! I have heard,I hear thee, and rejoice:O cuckoo! shall I call thee bird,Or but a wandering voice?

Thrice welcome, darling of the spring!Even yet thou art to meNo bird, but an invisible thing,A voice, a mystery.

3. Â Around this lovely valley riseThe purple hills of Paradise;Oh! softly on yon banks of hazeHer rosy face the Summer lays;Becalmed along the azure skyThe argosies of Cloud-land lie,Whose shores, with many a shining rift,Far off their pearl-white peaks uplift.

MODERATE FORCE.

1. Robert of Lincoln is gayly dressed,Wearing a bright black wedding-coat:White are his shoulders, and white his crest.Hear him call, in his merry note,Bob-o-link, bob-o-link,Spink, spank, spink!Look, what a nice new coat is mine!Sure there was never a bird so fine.Chee, chee, chee!

2. O young men and women! there is no picture of ideal excellence of manhood and womanhood that I ever draw that seems too high, too beautiful, for your young hearts. What aspirations there are for the good, the true, the fair, and the holy! The instinctive affectionsâ€”how beautiful they are, with all their purple prophecy of new homes and generations of immortals that are yet to be! The high instincts of reason, of conscience, of love, of religion,â€”how beautiful and grand they are in the young heart!

3. She was a darling little thing:I worshipped her outright.When in my arms she smiling lay;When on my knees she climbed in play;When round my neck her arms would cling,As crooning songs I used to sing;When on my back she gayly rode,Then strong beneath its precious load;When at my side, in summer days,She gambolled in her childish plays;When, throughout all the after-years,I watched with trembling hopes and fearsThe infant to a woman grow,â€”I worshipped then, as I do now,My life's delight.

LOUD FORCE.

1. Â Hark to the bugle's roundelay!Boot and saddle! Up and away!Mount and ride as ye ne'er rode before;Spur till your horses' flanks run gore;Ride for the sake of human lives;Ride as ye would were your sisters and wivesCowering under their scalping-knives.Boot and saddle! Away, away!2. News of battle! news of battle!Hark! 'tis ringing down the street,And the archways and the pavementBear the clang of hurrying feet.News of battle!â€”who hath brought it?News of triumph!â€”who should bringTidings from our noble army,Greetings from our gallant king!3. Â And, lo! from the assembled crowdThere rose a shout, prolonged and loud,That to the ocean seemed to say,"Take her, O bridegroom old and gray!Take her to thy protecting arms,With all her youth and all her charms."

2. News of battle! news of battle!Hark! 'tis ringing down the street,And the archways and the pavementBear the clang of hurrying feet.News of battle!â€”who hath brought it?News of triumph!â€”who should bringTidings from our noble army,Greetings from our gallant king!

3. Â And, lo! from the assembled crowdThere rose a shout, prolonged and loud,That to the ocean seemed to say,"Take her, O bridegroom old and gray!Take her to thy protecting arms,With all her youth and all her charms."

VERY LOUD FORCE.

1. "Now, men! now is your time!""Make ready! take aim! fire!"2. Â Up the hillside, down the glen,Rouse the sleeping citizen,Summon out the might of men!Clang the bells in all your spires!On the gray hills of your siresFling to heaven your signal-fires!Oh, for God and Duty stand,Heart to heart, and hand to hand,Round the old graves of your land!3. Â Now for the fight! now for the cannon-peal!Forward, through blood and toil and cloud and fire!Glorious the shout, the shock, the crash of steel,The volley's roll, the rocket's blasting spire!They shake; like broken waves their squares retire.On them, hussars! Now give them rein and heel!Think of the orphaned child, the murdered sire!Earth cries for blood. In thunder on them wheel!This hour to Europe's fate shall set the triumph seal.

1. "Now, men! now is your time!""Make ready! take aim! fire!"

2. Â Up the hillside, down the glen,Rouse the sleeping citizen,Summon out the might of men!Clang the bells in all your spires!On the gray hills of your siresFling to heaven your signal-fires!Oh, for God and Duty stand,Heart to heart, and hand to hand,Round the old graves of your land!

3. Â Now for the fight! now for the cannon-peal!Forward, through blood and toil and cloud and fire!Glorious the shout, the shock, the crash of steel,The volley's roll, the rocket's blasting spire!They shake; like broken waves their squares retire.On them, hussars! Now give them rein and heel!Think of the orphaned child, the murdered sire!Earth cries for blood. In thunder on them wheel!This hour to Europe's fate shall set the triumph seal.

In expressing your emotions, the voice is ejected in various ways; perhaps in a jerky or trembling or flowing manner, as may be, depending on the kind of emotion you feel. This is called "Stress;" and you have learned how, mechanically, to make it. Radical Stress is used when you try to impress upon others your exact meaning. Practise it with that thought in your mind. Median Stress is used in appeal to the best affections, and expresses agreeable emotions. The swell comes on emphatic words. Terminal Stress is used in expressions of anger, petulance, impatience, and the like. Thorough Stress is used in calling to persons at a long distance, but has little place in expression. It is frequently substituted by bad readers or speakers for Median or Terminal Stress. Compound Stress is used in strong passion; and being a compound of Radical and Terminal Stress, and used with circumflex inflections, it combines the meaning of them all, as sarcasm, irony, &c., mixed with anger, impatience, doubt, &c. Tremolo Stress is used in excessive emotion; as joy, anger, sorrow, in excess, would cause the voice to tremble. You should practise this in order to avoid it, as, when Tremolo does notproceed from real excess of feeling, it has a very ludicrous effect. Practise the following exercises by thinking and feeling the idea and emotion.

RADICAL STRESS.

1. Â Hark, hark! the lark sings mid the silvery blue:Behold her flight, proud man, and lowly bow.

2. There is the act of utterance, a condition that exists between you and myself. I speak, and you hear; but how? The words issue from my lips, and reach your ears; but what are those words? Volumes of force communicated to the atmosphere, whose elastic waves carry them to fine recipients in your own organism. But still I ask, How? How is it that these volumes of sound should convey articulate meaning, and carry ideas from my mind into your own?

3. I call upon you, fathers, by the shades of your ancestors, by the dear ashes which repose in this precious soil, by all you are and all you hope to be,â€”resist every object of disunion; resist every encroachment upon your liberties; resist every attempt to fetter your consciences, or smother your public schools, or extinguish your system of public instruction.

MEDIAN STRESS.

1. Â The earth is the Lord's, and the fulness thereof;The world, and they that dwell therein:For he hath founded it upon the seas,And established it upon the floods.

2. Oh divine, oh delightful legacy of a spotless reputation! Rich is the inheritance it leaves; pious the example it testifies; pure, precious, and imperishable the hope which it inspires. Can there be conceived a more atrocious injury than to filch from its possessor this inestimable benefit; to rob society of its charm, and solitude of its solace; not only to outlaw life, but to attaint death, converting the very grave, the refuge of the sufferer, into the gate of infamy and of shame?

3. Â How sleep the brave who sink to restWith all their country's wishes blest!When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,Returns to deck their hallowed mould,It there shall dress a sweeter sodThan blooming Fancy ever trod.By fairy hands their knell is rung;By forms unseen their dirge is sung:There Honor walks, a pilgrim gray,To deck the turf that wraps their clay;And Freedom shall a while repairTo dwell a weeping hermit there.

TERMINAL STRESS.

1. Â I'll have my bond; I will not hear thee speak:I'll have my bond; and therefore speak no more:I'll not be made a soft and dull-eyed fool,To shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yieldTo Christian intercessors.2. Â Nor sleep nor sanctuary,Being naked, sick, nor fane nor capitol,The prayers of priests, nor times of sacrifice,Embarkments all of fury, shall lift upTheir rotten privilege and custom 'gainstMy hate to Marcius: where I find him, were itAt home upon my brother's guard,â€”even there,Against the hospitable cannon, would IWash my fierce hand in his heart.3. Â A plague upon them! Wherefore should I curse them?Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake's groan,I would invent as bitter-searching terms,As curst, as harsh, and horrible to hear,Delivered strongly through my fixÃ¨d teeth,With full as many signs of deadly hate,As lean-faced Envy in her loathsome cave:My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words;Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint;My hair be fixed on end, as one distract;Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban;And even now my burdened heart would break,Should I not curse them.

2. Â Nor sleep nor sanctuary,Being naked, sick, nor fane nor capitol,The prayers of priests, nor times of sacrifice,Embarkments all of fury, shall lift upTheir rotten privilege and custom 'gainstMy hate to Marcius: where I find him, were itAt home upon my brother's guard,â€”even there,Against the hospitable cannon, would IWash my fierce hand in his heart.

3. Â A plague upon them! Wherefore should I curse them?Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake's groan,I would invent as bitter-searching terms,As curst, as harsh, and horrible to hear,Delivered strongly through my fixÃ¨d teeth,With full as many signs of deadly hate,As lean-faced Envy in her loathsome cave:My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words;Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint;My hair be fixed on end, as one distract;Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban;And even now my burdened heart would break,Should I not curse them.

THOROUGH STRESS.

1. "Ho, Starbuck and Pickney and Tenterden!Run for your shallops, gather your men,Scatter your boats on the lower bay!"2. Â "Run! run for your lives, high up on the land!Away, men and children! up quick, and be gone!The water's broke loose! it is chasing me on!"3. Â They strike! Hurrah! the fort has surrendered!Shout, shout, my warrior-boy,And wave your cap, and clap your hands for joy!Cheer answer cheer, and bear the cheer about.Hurrah, hurrah, for the fiery fort is ours!"Victory, victory, victory!"

1. "Ho, Starbuck and Pickney and Tenterden!Run for your shallops, gather your men,Scatter your boats on the lower bay!"

2. Â "Run! run for your lives, high up on the land!Away, men and children! up quick, and be gone!The water's broke loose! it is chasing me on!"

3. Â They strike! Hurrah! the fort has surrendered!Shout, shout, my warrior-boy,And wave your cap, and clap your hands for joy!Cheer answer cheer, and bear the cheer about.Hurrah, hurrah, for the fiery fort is ours!"Victory, victory, victory!"

COMPOUND STRESS.

1. Â Thou slave, thou wretch, thou coward,Thou little valiant great in villany!Thou wear a lion's hide! doff it for shame,And hang a calf's skin on those recreant limbs.

2. Hath not a Jew eyes? hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poison us, do we not die? and, if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?

3. Â Think you a little din can daunt mine ears?Have I not in my time heard lions roar?Have I not heard the sea, puffed up with winds,Rage like an angry boar, chafÃ¨d with sweat?Have I not heard great ordnance in the field,And heaven's artillery thunder in the skies?Have I not in a pitchÃ¨d battle heardLoud 'larums, neighing steeds, and trumpet's clang?And do you tell me of a woman's tongue,That gives not half so great a blow to the earAs will a chestnut in a farmer's fire?

TREMOLO STRESS.

1. Â There's nothing in this world can make me joy:Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale,Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man.2. O men with sisters dear!O 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.3. Â Grief fills the room up of my absent child,Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me,Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,Remembers me of all his gracious parts,Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form:Then have I reason to be fond of grief.

1. Â There's nothing in this world can make me joy:Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale,Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man.

2. O men with sisters dear!O 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.

3. Â Grief fills the room up of my absent child,Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me,Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,Remembers me of all his gracious parts,Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form:Then have I reason to be fond of grief.

The changes from one kind of force to another, or one pitch to another, or one movement to another, or one quality to another, are many in expressive reading; and these changes are called "Transition." To practise it is very useful in breaking up monotony of voice, and adding expressiveness to it. In practice of these short extracts, you are showing the benefit of practice in quality, pitch, movement, and force. Put yourself into the thought and feeling, and vary the voice as that, guided by common sense, may suggest to you.

See "Reading Club," No. 1, pp. 45, 54; No. 2, pp. 5, 101; No. 3, pp. 9, 70, 87; No. 4, pp. 26, 42, 75.

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