Chapter III: Appendix: A. Exercises in Vocalization and Articulation 306 (2)

_Great_ things were ne'er begotten in an hour.

But _now_ no sound of laughter was heard among the foes.

As already shown on page 21, the emphasis, in the case of implied contrast, is brought out by the circumflex inflection.

=Shading= and =Perspective=. These deal with the relative importance of words, phrases, or clauses. According as an idea suggested by a word or group of words is regarded as principal or subordinate, the voice either projects it or holds it in the back-ground as an artist shades his picture:

And, though the legend does not live,--for legends lightly die--
The peasant, as he sees the stream in winter rolling by,
And foaming o'er its channel-bed between him and the spot
Won by the warriors of the sword, still calls that deep and
dangerous ford
The Passage of the Scot.

The principal statement, "The peasant still calls that deep and dangerous ford the Passage of the Scot," is projected or emphasized by higher pitch and stronger force, the thought being sustained, and the connection made between "The peasant" and "still calls" by means of the rising inflection. The subordinate statements, "though the legend does not live" and "as he sees the stream in winter rolling by ... sword," are kept in the back-ground by slightly lower pitch and moderate force. The parenthetical clause, "for legends lightly die," is subordinate to the subordinate statement and is thrown still more into the back-ground in the same way as the preceding.

Strictly speaking, the term "shading" is used to indicate the value of individual phrases or clauses; "perspective," to indicate the values of several phrases or clauses viewed relatively.

The =quality=, or timbre, of the voice reveals the speaker's emotions, their character, number, and intensity. The voice is affected by the muscular texture of the throat, just as the tone of an instrument is affected by the texture of the material of which it is made. This muscular texture is affected by nerve and muscular vibrations which are caused by emotion, the result of mental impressions. Whatever be the quality of voice peculiar to the individual, it is greatly modified by his emotions. The man of few emotions has few vocal vibrations; hence his monotonous voice. The man whose emotions are habitually cruel, has a harsh, hard muscular texture through contraction of the muscles; hence the hard voice. It is plain that the natural voice is an index to the character. If the imagination and soul are cultivated, the voice will gain in richness and fulness. If, in reading that which expresses the sublime, noble, and grand, the imagination is kindled, the voice will express by its vibrations the largeness of our conception. This full, rich voice is called the _orotund_:

These are the gardens of the Desert, these
The unshorn fields, boundless and beautiful,
For which the speech of England has no name--
The prairies.

For as the heaven is high above the earth, so great is his mercy
toward them that fear him.
As far as the east is from the west, so far hath he removed our
transgressions from us.

In thinking of what is stern, severe, harsh, cruel, or base, the muscles of the throat contract and produce the rigid, throaty tone known as the _guttural_:

On what compulsion must I? Tell me that.

"Curse on him!" quoth false Sextus
"Will not the villain drown?
But for this stay, ere close of day,
We should have sacked the town!"

Certain states of mind, such as awe, caution, secrecy, fear, etc., produce in greater or less degree an aspirated or "breathy" quality, called the _whisper_ or _aspirate_:

When Jubal struck the chorded shell,
His listening brethren stood around,
And, wondering, on their faces fell
To worship that celestial sound.

The red rose cries, "She is near, she is near;"
And the white rose weeps, "She is late;"
The larkspur listens, "I hear, I hear;"
And the lily whispers, "I wait."

The atmosphere of hush and repose expresses itself by a partial whisper:

Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!

It must not be supposed that the whisper is always associated with moderate or with weak force as in the preceding examples. Strong force is used with the whisper to express intensity of feeling or vehemence:

Whispering with white lips: the foe! they come! they come!

Hush, I say, hush!

Other emotional states have their corresponding qualities of voice, such, for example, as the quality of oppressed feeling and the quality expressing agitation.

To conclude: it must be carefully borne in mind that the reader should never strive to produce a certain quality apart from the emotion which should precede. By force alone, for example, he will succeed in producing mere sound without the quality. Nor are any of the examples given above, in dealing with the various elements of vocal expression, intended for practice in voice gymnastics apart from the preliminary state of which they are the vocal expression. They are intended merely as illustrations of the laws which govern correct speech.

* * * * *

THE HIGH SCHOOL READER

THE BANNER OF ST. GEORGE

Words by Shapcott Wensley: music by Sir Edward Elgar

It comes from the misty ages,
The banner of England's might,
The blood-red cross of the brave St. George,
That burns on a field of white!
It speaks of the deathless heroes 5
On fame's bright page inscrolled,
And bids great England ne'er forget
The glorious deeds of old!

O'er many a cloud of battle
The banner has floated wide; 10
It shone like a star o'er the valiant hearts
That dashed the Armada's pride!
For ever amid the thunders
The sailor could do or die,
While tongues of flame leaped forth below, 15
And the flag of St. George was high!

O ne'er may the flag beloved
Unfurl in a strife unblest,
But ever give strength to the righteous arm,
And hope to the hearts oppressed! 20
It says to the passing ages:
"Be brave if your cause be right,
Like the soldier saint whose cross of red
Still burns on your banner white!"

Great race, whose empire of splendour 25
Has dazzled the wondering world!
May the flag that floats o'er thy wide domains
Be long to all winds unfurled!
Three crosses in concord blended,
The banner of Britain's might! 30
But the central gem of the ensign fair
Is the cross of the dauntless Knight!

--_By permission of the publishers, Novello & Co._

PREPARATORY--Divide the poem into two parts, giving to
each part a descriptive title.

What feelings are aroused by this poem?

What lines in stanzas i and iv call up a mental picture
of the flag?

What three phrases in stanza i suggest the important
ideas to be associated with the flag? How does the voice
indicate the importance of these ideas? (Introduction,
p. 8.)

Of what phrases in stanza i is stanza ii only an
elaboration?

What wish is contained in stanza iii? What sentences
express it?

What additional idea does stanza iv add to this wish?

STAR, VALIANT, ARMADA, CENTRAL. Make a distinction in
the sound of the letter _a_ in these words, and
elsewhere in the poem. (Appendix A, 1.)

GEORGE, CROSS, FORGET, FORTH, CONCORD. What sound has
the letter _o_ in each word? (Appendix A, 1.)

Articulate with energy the final consonantal
combinations of all such words as: ENGLAND'S, BURNS,
SPEAKS, INSCROLLED, FLOATED, HEARTS, DASHED, LEAPED,
UNBLEST, STRENGTH, DAZZLED, UNFURLED, BLENDED. (Appendix
A, 3.)

* * * * *

JEAN VALJEAN AND THE BISHOP

From "Les Miserables"

At the bishop's house, his housekeeper, Mme. Magloire was saying:

"We say that this house is not safe at all; and, if Monseigneur will permit me, I will go on and tell the locksmith to come and put the old bolts in the door again. I say, than a door which opens by a latch on the outside to the first comer, nothing could be more horrible; and then Monseigneur has the habit of always saying: 'Come in,' even at midnight. But, my goodness, there is no need to even ask leave----"

At this moment there was a violent knock on the door.

"Come in!" said the bishop.

The door opened.

It opened quickly, quite wide, as if pushed by some one boldly and with energy.

A man entered.

That man we know already; it was the traveller we have seen wandering about in search of a lodging.

He came in, took one step, and paused, leaving the door open behind him. He had his knapsack on his back, his stick in his hand, and a rough, hard, and fierce look in his eyes. He was hideous.

The bishop looked upon the man with a tranquil eye. As he was opening his mouth to speak, doubtless to ask the stranger what he wanted, the man, leaning with both hands on his club, glanced from one to another in turn, and, without waiting for the bishop to speak, said, in a loud voice:

"See here! my name is Jean Valjean. I am a convict; I have been nineteen years in the galleys. Four days ago I was set free, and started for Pontarlier; during these four days I have walked from Toulon. To-day I have walked twelve leagues. When I reached this place this evening I went to an inn, and they sent me away on account of my yellow passport, which I had shown at the Mayor's office, as was necessary. I went to another inn; they said, 'Get out!' It was the same with one as with another; nobody would have me. I went to the prison and the turnkey would not let me in. I crept into a dog kennel, the dog bit me, and drove me away as if he had been a man; you would have said that he knew who I was. I went into the fields to sleep beneath the stars, there were no stars. I thought it would rain, and there was no good God to stop the drops, so I came back to the town to get the shelter of some doorway. There in the square I laid down upon a stone; a good woman showed me your house, and said: 'Knock there!' I have knocked. What is this place? Are you an inn? I have money; my savings, one hundred and nine francs and fifteen sous, which I have earned in the galleys by my work for nineteen years. I will pay. What do I care? I have money, I am very tired--twelve leagues on foot--and I am so hungry. Can I stay?"

"Mme. Magloire," said the bishop, "put on another plate."

The man took three steps and came near the lamp which stood on the table. "Stop," he exclaimed; as if he had not been understood; "not that, did you understand me? I am a galley slave--a convict--I am just from the galleys." He drew from his pocket a large sheet of yellow paper, which he unfolded. "There is my passport, yellow, as you see. That is enough to have me kicked out wherever I go. Will you read it? See, here is what they have put on my passport: Jean Valjean, a liberated convict; has been nineteen years in the galleys; five years for burglary; fourteen years for having attempted four times to escape. This man is very dangerous. There you have it! Everybody has thrust me out; will you receive me? Is this an inn? Can you give me something to eat and a place to sleep? Have you a stable?"

"Mme. Magloire," said the bishop, "put some sheets on the bed in the alcove."

The bishop turned to the man:

"Monsieur, sit down and warm yourself; we are going to take supper presently, and your bed will be made ready while you sup."

At last the man quite understood; his face, the expression of which till then had been gloomy, and hard, now expressed stupefaction, doubt and joy, and became absolutely wonderful. He began to stutter like a madman.

"True? What? You will keep me? you won't drive me away--a convict? You call me monsieur and don't say, 'Get out, dog!' as everybody else does. I shall have a supper! a bed like other people, with mattress and sheets--a bed! It is nineteen years that I have not slept on a bed. You are good people! Besides, I have money; I will pay well. I beg your pardon, M. Innkeeper, what is your name? I will pay all you say. You are a fine man. You are an innkeeper, is it not so?"

"I am a priest who lives here," said the bishop.

"A priest," said the man. "Oh, noble priest! Then you do not ask any money?"

"No," said the bishop, "keep your money. How much have you?"

"One hundred and nine francs and fifteen sous," said the man.

"One hundred and nine francs and fifteen sous. And how long did it take you to earn that?"

"Nineteen years."

"Nineteen years!"

The bishop sighed deeply, and shut the door, which had been left wide open.

Mme. Magloire brought in a plate and set it on the table.

"Mme Magloire," said the bishop, "put this plate as near the fire as you can." Then turning toward his guest he added: "The night wind is raw in the Alps; you must be cold, monsieur."

Every time he said the word _monsieur_ with his gentle, solemn and heartily hospitable voice, the man's countenance lighted up. _Monsieur_ to a convict is a glass of water to a man dying of thirst at sea.

"The lamp," said the bishop, "gives a very poor light."

Mme. Magloire understood him, and, going to his bedchamber, took from the mantel the two silver candlesticks, lighted the candles and placed them on the table.

"M. le Cure," said the man, you are good; "you don't despise me. You take me into your house; you light your candles for me, and I haven't hid from you where I come from, and how miserable I am."

The bishop touched his hand gently and said: "You need not tell me who you are. This is not my house; it is the house of Christ. It does not ask any comer whether he has a name, but whether he has an affliction. You are suffering; you are hungry and thirsty; be welcome. And do not thank me; do not tell me that I take you into my house. This is the home of no man except him who needs an asylum. I tell you, who are a traveller, that you are more at home here than I; whatever is here is yours. What need have I to know your name? Besides, before you told me, I knew it."

The man opened his eyes in astonishment.

"Really? You knew my name?"

"Yes," answered the bishop, "your name is my brother."

"Stop, stop, M. le Cure," exclaimed the man, "I was famished when I came in, but you are so kind that now I don't know what I am; that is all gone."

The bishop looked at him again and said:

"You have seen much suffering?"

"Oh, the red blouse, the ball and chain, the plank you sleep on, the heat, the cold, the galley's screw, the lash, the double chain for nothing, the dungeon for a word--even when sick in bed, the chain. The dogs, the dogs are happier! nineteen years! and I am forty-six, and now a yellow passport. That is all."

"Yes," answered the bishop, "you have left a place of suffering. But listen, there will be more joy in heaven over the tears of a repentant sinner than over the white robes of a hundred good men. If you are leaving that sorrowful place with hate and anger against men, you are worthy of compassion; if you leave it with good-will, gentleness, and peace, you are better than any of us."

--_Victor Hugo_

This lesson can be used as an exercise on Pause
springing from (1) Visualization and Grouping,
(Introduction, pp. 7 and 8); (2) Narrative which breaks
in upon the direct discourse. (Introduction, p. 24.)

THAT MAN WE KNOW ALREADY. (Introduction, p. 11.)

"SEE HERE ... CAN I STAY?" This paragraph is an exercise
on Emphasis. Make a list of the words which are emphatic
(1) because they express new and important ideas, (2)
because of contrast. Why is GALLEYS not emphatic? Where
is the emphasis placed in that sentence?

* * * * *

THE WELL OF ST. KEYNE

A well there is in the west country,
And a clearer one never was seen;
There is not a wife in the west country
But has heard of the well of St. Keyne.

An oak and an elm-tree stand beside, 5
And behind doth an ash-tree grow,
And a willow from the bank above
Droops to the water below.

A traveller came to the well of St. Keyne;
Joyfully he drew nigh, 10
For from cock-crow he had been travelling,
And there was not a cloud in the sky.

He drank of the water so cool and clear,
For thirsty and hot was he;
And he sat down upon the bank, 15
Under the willow-tree.

There came a man from the house hard by,
At the well to fill his pail;
On the well-side he rested it,
And he bade the stranger hail. 20

"Now, art thou a bachelor, stranger?" quoth he;
"For, an if thou hast a wife,
The happiest draught thou hast drank this day
That ever thou didst in thy life.

"Or has thy good woman, if one thou hast, 25
Ever here in Cornwall been?
For, an if she have, I'll venture my life
She has drank of the well of St. Keyne."

"I have left a good woman who never was here,"
The stranger he made reply; 30
"But that my draught should be the better for that,
I pray you answer me why."

"St. Keyne," quoth the Cornish-man, many a time
Drank of this crystal well;
And before the angel summoned her, 35
She laid on the water a spell,--

"If the husband of this gifted well
Shall drink before his wife,
A happy man thenceforth is he,
For he shall be master for life; 40

"But, if the wife should drink of it first,
God help the husband then!"--
The stranger stooped to the well of St. Keyne,
And drank of the water again.

"You drank of the well, I warrant, betimes?" 45
He to the Cornish-man said;
But the Cornish-man smiled as the stranger spake,
And sheepishly shook his head:--

"I hastened, as soon as the wedding was done,
And left my wife in the porch; 50
But i' faith she had been wiser than me,
For she took a bottle to church."

--_Robert Southey_

PREPARATORY.--Select the lines that (_a_) describe the
scene, (_b_) indicate the action, (_c_) give the
dialogue.

Show by recasting this ballad into dramatic form that it
is a miniature drama.

Give examples of Pause springing from (_a_)
Visualization, in ll. 1, 5, 6, 7, 9, 13, 17, 19, (_b_)
narrative which interrupts direct discourse, in ll. 21,
29, 33, 45.

Which are the emphatic words in ll. 2, 3, 4, 10, 11, 14,
21, 29, 31, 38, 45, 46? Give your reasons and show how
they are made emphatic. (Introduction, p. 30.)

l. 3. What is the Inflection on 'country,' l. 3?
(Introduction, p. 17.)

ll. 37-38. Note the Grouping and Pause. (Introduction,
p. 12.)

* * * * *

FAITH, HOPE AND CHARITY

1 Corinthians xiii

Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing. And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.

Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil; rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.

Charity never faileth: but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away. For we know in part, and we prophesy in part. But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away. When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man I put away childish things. For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.

And now abideth faith, hope and charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.

CHARITY, SUFFERETH, PROFITETH. (Appendix A, 8 and 3.)

Show by examples from this selection how completeness
and incompleteness of thought affect the Inflection.
(Introduction, pp. 15 and 16.)

What Inflection does a negative statement usually
require? Give examples from the second paragraph.
(Introduction, p. 17.)

Give examples, from the second paragraph, of momentary
completeness. (Introduction, pp. 15 and 16.)

Select the words which are emphatic because they express
(_a_) new and important ideas. (_b_) contrast.

BEARETH ALL THINGS, ETC. How may the repetition of a
word or phrase affect the Emphasis? (Introduction, pp.
31 and 32.)

How are the principal clauses in the first three
sentences made prominent? (Introduction, p. 33.)

* * * * *

THE LEGEND BEAUTIFUL

From "Tales of a Wayside Inn"

"Hadst thou stayed, I must have fled!"
That is what the Vision said.

In his chamber all alone,
Kneeling on the floor of stone,
Prayed the Monk in deep contrition 5
For his sins of indecision,
Prayed for greater self-denial
In temptation and in trial;
It was noonday by the dial,
And the Monk was all alone. 10

Suddenly, as if it lightened,
An unwonted splendour brightened
All within him and without him
In that narrow cell of stone;
And he saw the Blessed Vision 15
Of our Lord, with light Elysian
Like a vesture wrapped about Him,
Like a garment round Him thrown.
Not as crucified and slain,
Not in agonies of pain, 20
Not with bleeding hands and feet,
Did the Monk his Master see;
But as in the village street,
In the house or harvest-field,
Halt and lame and blind He healed, 25
When He walked in Galilee.

In an attitude imploring,
Hands upon his bosom crossed,
Wondering, worshipping, adoring,
Knelt the Monk in rapture lost. 30
Lord, he thought, in heaven that reignest,
Who am I, that thus Thou deignest
To reveal Thyself to me?
Who am I, that from the centre
Of Thy glory Thou shouldst enter 35
This poor cell, my guest to be?

Then amid his exaltation,
Loud the convent bell appalling,
From its belfry calling, calling,
Rang through court and corridor 40
With persistent iteration
He had never heard before.
It was now the appointed hour
When alike in shine or shower,
Winter's cold or summer's heat, 45
To the convent portals came
All the blind and halt and lame,
All the beggars of the street,
For their daily dole of food
Dealt them by the brotherhood; 50
And their almoner was he
Who upon his bended knee,
Rapt in silent ecstasy
Of divinest self-surrender,
Saw the Vision and the Splendour. 55

Deep distress and hesitation
Mingled with his adoration;
Should he go or should he stay?
Should he leave the poor to wait
Hungry at the convent gate, 60
Till the Vision passed away?
Should he slight his radiant guest,
Slight this visitant celestial,
For a crowd of ragged, bestial
Beggars at the convent gate? 65
Would the Vision there remain?
Would the Vision come again?
Then a voice within his breast
Whispered, audible and clear
As if to the outward ear: 70
"Do thy duty; that is best;
Leave unto thy Lord the rest!"

Straightway to his feet he started,
And with longing look intent
On the Blessed Vision bent, 75
Slowly from his cell departed,
Slowly on his errand went.

At the gate the poor were waiting,
Looking through the iron grating,
With that terror in the eye 80
That is only seen in those
Who amid their wants and woes
Hear the sound of doors that close,
And of feet that pass them by;
Grown familiar with disfavour, 85
Grown familiar with the savour
Of the bread by which men die!
But to-day, they knew not why,
Like the gate of Paradise
Seemed the convent gate to rise, 90
Like a sacrament divine
Seemed to them the bread and wine.
In his heart the Monk was praying,
Thinking of the homeless poor,
What they suffer and endure; 95
What we see not, what we see;
And the inward voice was saying:
"Whatsoever thing thou doest
To the least of Mine and lowest,
That thou doest unto Me!" 100

Unto Me! but had the Vision
Come to him in beggar's clothing,
Come a mendicant imploring,
Would he then have knelt adoring,
Or have listened with derision, 105
And have turned away with loathing?
Thus his conscience put the question,
Full of troublesome suggestion,
As at length, with hurried pace,
Toward his cell he turned his face, 110
And beheld the convent bright
With a supernatural light,
Like a luminous cloud expanding
Over floor and wall and ceiling.
But he paused with awestruck feeling 115
At the threshold of his door,
For the Vision still was standing
As he left it there before,
When the convent bell appalling,
From its belfry calling, calling, 120
Summoned him to feed the poor.
Through the long hour intervening
It had waited his return,
And he felt his bosom burn,
Comprehending all the meaning, 125
When the Blessed Vision said,
"Hadst thou stayed, I must have fled!"

--_Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_

HADST, LIGHTENED, BRIGHTENED, REIGNEST, DEIGNEST,
DIVINEST (Appendix, A, 3.)

ll. 29, 38-39, 78-79. (Appendix, A, 4.)

How can the reader show that the first two lines are
merely introductory?

Divide the poem proper into five parts, giving to each
part a suggestive title. How can the reader make each
part stand out by itself? (Introduction, p. 10.)

Select the principal statement in each stanza and show
how the voice may make it prominent. (Introduction, p.
33.)

What Inflection is placed on the principal statement?
What Inflection on the subordinate phrases and clauses?
(Introduction, p. 15.)

Select examples of momentary completeness from the poem.

ll. 19-22. What is the Inflection on these negative
phrases? (Introduction, pp. 17 and 18.)

What is the Inflection on the various questions
throughout the poem? (Introduction, p. 18.)

* * * * *

THE VICAR'S FAMILY USE ART

From "The Vicar of Wakefield"

1. Whatever might have been Sophia's sensations, the rest of the family was easily consoled for Mr. Burchell's absence by the company of our landlord, whose visits now became more frequent, and longer. Though he had been disappointed in procuring my daughters the amusements of the town, as he designed, he took every opportunity of supplying them with those little recreations which our retirement would admit of. He usually came in the morning; and while my son and I followed our occupations abroad, he sat with the family at home, and amused them by describing the town, with every part of which he was particularly acquainted. He could repeat all the observations that were retailed in the atmosphere of the play-houses, and had all the good things of the high wits by rote, long before they made their way into the jest-books. The intervals between conversation were employed in teaching my daughters piquet, or sometimes in setting my two little ones to box, to make them _sharp_, as he called it; but the hopes of having him for a son-in-law, in some measure blinded us to all his imperfections. It must be owned, that my wife laid a thousand schemes to entrap him; or, to speak it more tenderly, used every art to magnify the merit of her daughter. If the cakes at tea ate short and crisp, they were made by Olivia; if the gooseberry wine was well knit, the gooseberries were of her gathering; it was her fingers that gave the pickles their peculiar green; and in the composition of a pudding, it was her judgment that mixed the ingredients. Then the poor woman would sometimes tell the Squire that she thought him and Olivia extremely of a size, and would bid both stand up to see which was tallest. These instances of cunning, which she thought impenetrable, yet which everybody saw through, were very pleasing to our benefactor, who gave every day some new proofs of his passion, which, though they had not risen to proposals of marriage, yet we thought fell but little short of it; and his slowness was attributed sometimes to native bashfulness, and sometimes to his fear of offending his uncle. An occurrence, however, which happened soon after, put it beyond a doubt that he designed to become one of our family; my wife even regarded it as an absolute promise.

2. My wife and daughters happening to return a visit at neighbour Flamborough's, found that family had lately got their pictures drawn by a limner, who travelled the country, and took likenesses for fifteen shillings a head. As this family and ours had long a sort of rivalry in point of taste, our spirit took the alarm at this stolen march upon us; and notwithstanding all I could say, and I said much, it was resolved that we should have our pictures done too. Having, therefore, engaged the limner--for what could I do?--our next deliberation was to shew the superiority of our taste in the attitudes. As for our neighbour's family, there were seven of them, and they were drawn with seven oranges--a thing quite out of taste, no variety in life, no composition in the world. We desired to have something in a brighter style; and after many debates, at length came to an unanimous resolution of being drawn together, in one large historical family piece. This would be cheaper, since one frame would serve for all, and it would be infinitely more genteel; for all families of any taste were now drawn in the same manner. As we did not immediately recollect an historical subject to hit us, we were contented each with being drawn as independent historical figures. My wife desired to be represented as Venus, and the painter was desired not to be too frugal of his diamonds in her stomacher and hair. Her two little ones were to be as Cupids by her side; while I, in my gown and band, was to present her with my books on the Whistonian controversy. Olivia would be drawn as an Amazon, sitting upon a bank of flowers, dressed in a green joseph richly laced with gold, and a whip in her hand. Sophia was to be a shepherdess, with as many sheep as the painter could put in for nothing; and Moses was to be dressed out with an hat and white feather. Our taste so much pleased the Squire that he insisted on being put in as one of the family, in the character of Alexander the Great, at Olivia's feet. This was considered by us all as an indication of his desire to be introduced into the family, nor could we refuse his request. The painter was therefore set to work, and as he wrought with assiduity and expedition, in less than four days the whole was completed. The piece was large, and it must be owned he did not spare his colours; for which my wife gave him great encomiums. We were all perfectly satisfied with his performance; but an unfortunate circumstance which had not occurred till the picture was finished, now struck us with dismay. It was so very large that we had no place in the house to fix it. How we all came to disregard so material a point is inconceivable; but certain it is, we had been all greatly remiss. The picture, therefore, instead of gratifying our vanity, as we hoped, leaned, in a most mortifying manner, against the kitchen wall, where the canvas was stretched and painted, much too large to be got through any of the doors, and the jest of all our neighbours. One compared it to Robinson Crusoe's long-boat, too large to be removed; another thought it more resembled a reel in a bottle; some wondered how it could be got out. but still more were amazed how it ever got in.

3. But though it excited the ridicule of some, it effectually raised more malicious suggestions in many. The Squire's portrait being found united with ours, was an honour too great to escape envy. Scandalous whispers began to circulate at our expense, and our tranquillity was continually disturbed by persons, who came as friends, to tell us what was said of us by enemies. These reports we always resented with becoming spirit; but scandal ever improves by opposition.

4. We once again, therefore, entered into a consultation upon obviating the malice of our enemies, and at last came to a resolution which had too much cunning to give me entire satisfaction. It was this: as our principal object was to discover the honour of Mr. Thornhill's addresses, my wife undertook to sound him, by pretending to ask his advice in the choice of an husband for her eldest daughter. If this was not found sufficient to induce him to a declaration, it was then resolved to terrify him with a rival. To this last step, however, I would by no means give my consent, till Olivia gave me the most solemn assurances that she would marry the person provided to rival him upon this occasion, if he did not prevent it by taking her himself. Such was the scheme laid, which, though I did not strenuously oppose, I did not entirely approve.

5. The next time, therefore, that Mr. Thornhill came to see us, my girls took care to be out of the way, in order to give their mamma an opportunity of putting her scheme in execution; but they only retired to the next room, whence they could overhear the whole conversation. My wife artfully introduced it, by observing, that one of the Miss Flamboroughs was like to have a very good match of it in Mr. Spanker. To this the Squire assenting, she proceeded to remark, that they who had warm fortunes were always sure of getting good husbands: "But heaven help," continued she, "the girls that have none! What signifies beauty, Mr. Thornhill? or what signifies all the virtue, and all the qualifications in the world, in this age of self-interest? It is not, What is she? but, What has she? is all the cry."

6. "Madam," returned he, "I highly approve the justice, as well as the novelty, of your remarks, and if I were a king, it should be otherwise. It should then, indeed, be fine times for the girls without fortunes: our two young ladies should be the first for whom I would provide."

7. "Ah, sir," returned my wife, "you are pleased to be facetious: but I wish I were a queen, and then I know where my eldest daughter should look for an husband. But now that you have put it into my head, seriously, Mr. Thornhill, can't you recommend me a proper husband for her? She is now nineteen years old, well grown and well educated, and, in my humble opinion, does not want for parts."

8. "Madam," replied he, "if I were to choose, I would find out a person possessed of every accomplishment that can make an angel happy. One with prudence, fortune, taste, and sincerity; such, madam, would be, in my opinion, the proper husband."--"Ay, sir," said she, "but do you know of any such person?"--"No, Madam," returned he, "it is impossible to know any person that deserves to be her husband: she's too great a treasure for one man's possession: she's a goddess! Upon my soul, I speak what I think, she's an angel!"--"Ah, Mr. Thornhill, you only flatter my poor girl: but we have been thinking of marrying her to one of your tenants, whose mother is lately dead, and who wants a manager; you know whom I mean, Farmer Williams; a warm man, Mr. Thornhill, able to give her good bread; and who has several times made her proposals" (which was actually the case); "but, sir," concluded she, "I should be glad to have your approbation of our choice."--"How, Madam," replied he, "my approbation!--my approbation of such a choice! Never. What! Sacrifice so much beauty, and sense, and goodness, to a creature insensible of the blessing! Excuse me, I can never approve of such a piece of injustice. And I have my reasons."--"Indeed, sir," cried Deborah, "If you have your reasons, that's another affair; but I should be glad to know those reasons."--"Excuse me, Madam," returned he, "they lie too deep for discovery" (laying his hand upon his bosom); "they remain buried, rivetted here."

9. After he was gone, upon a general consultation, we could not tell what to make of these fine sentiments. Olivia considered them as instances of the most exalted passion; but I was not quite so sanguine; yet, whatever they might portend, it was resolved to prosecute the scheme of Farmer Williams, who, from my daughter's first appearance in the country, had paid her his addresses.

--_Oliver Goldsmith_

ABSOLUTE, RESOLUTION, INTRODUCED, (Appendix, A, 2.)
VISITS, NATIVE, INFINITELY, CUPIDS, VANITY, GRATIFYING,
MORTIFYING, SANGUINE. (Appendix, A, 8.) UNFORTUNATE,
FORTUNE, VIRTUE. (Appendix, A, 9.)

Show by numerous examples from this selection that the
dependent clause of a sentence takes the rising
Inflection--whilst the principal clause takes the
falling. Which of the two has the heavier shading?
(Introduction, p. 33.)

How are such parenthetical clauses as AS HE DESIGNED, in
the second sentence, kept in the background?
(Introduction, pp. 24 and 27.) Give similar examples
from this selection.

What Inflection is placed on the rhetorical questions in
par. v? (Introduction, p. 19.)

How is the effect of the climax in par. viii brought
out? (Introduction, p. 31.)

* * * * *

THE SOLDIER'S DREAM

Our bugles sang truce--for the night-cloud had lowered
And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky;
And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered,
The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die.

When reposing that night on my pallet of straw, 5
By the wolf-scaring faggot that guarded the slain,
At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw,
And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again.

Methought from the battlefield's dreadful array,
Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track; 10
'Twas autumn--and sunshine arose on the way
To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back.

I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft
In life's morning march, when my bosom was young;
I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, 15
And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung.

Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore
From my home and my weeping friends never to part;
My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er,
And my wife sobbed aloud in her fulness of heart. 20

"Stay, stay with us--rest, thou art weary and worn;"
And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay;
But sorrow returned with the dawning of morn,
And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away.

--_Thomas Campbell_

PREPARATORY.--Describe the picture suggested by this
poem.

Compare the soldier's dream with the vision of _The
Private of the Buffs_ in the hour of danger, or with
_The Slave's Dream_ in Longfellow's poem.

Divide the poem into three distinct parts, giving to
each a descriptive title.

Expand the thoughts contained in the last two lines of
the poem, using, if possible, illustrations from
literature or real life. What feelings do these lines
arouse?

Observe the difficulties of Articulation in ll. 1, 2, 13
and 16. (Appendix A, 6 and 3.)

How can each part of the poem be made to stand out by
itself? (Introduction, p. 10.)

2. SENTINEL STARS. Select other phrases which call up
mental images.

How does the process of mental imagery affect the Time?
(Introduction, p. 12.)

3. How can it be shown that OVERPOWERED and GROUND are
disconnected? (Introduction, p. 7.)

4. Why do we pause after WEARY AND WOUNDED?
(Introduction, p. 10.)

6. Why is there no pause after FAGGOT? (Introduction, p.
11.)

What lines of stanza ii contain the leading thought? How
does the voice indicate this? (Introduction, p. 33.)

9. How is the mind prepared for the description of the
dream?

21. What feeling does the voice express? Does Imitation
play any part here? (Introduction, pp. 5 and 6.)

22. Expand the thought of this line, and show how your
thinking affects the Time. (Introduction, p. 14.)
Compare with the Time of l. 21, and explain the
difference.

* * * * *

VAN ELSEN

God spake three times and saved Van Elsen's soul;
He spake by sickness first, and made him whole;
Van Elsen heard him not,
Or soon forgot.

God spake to him by wealth; the world outpoured 5
Its treasures at his feet, and called him lord;
Van Elsen's heart grew fat
And proud thereat.

God spake the third time when the great world smiled,
And in the sunshine slew his little child; 10
Van Elsen like a tree
Fell hopelessly.

Then in the darkness came a voice which said,
"As thy heart bleedeth, so My heart hath bled;
As I have need of thee 15
Thou needest Me."

That night Van Elsen kissed the baby feet,
And kneeling by the narrow winding-sheet
Praised him with fervent breath
Who conquered death. 20

_-Frederick George Scott_ (_By permission_)

By what means is the introductory line kept distinct
from the rest of the poem? (Introduction, p. 10.)

How does the reader indicate the comparatively long
space of time which elapses between the events of the
first, second, and third stanzas respectively?
(Introduction, p. 9.)

Show that each of the first three stanzas falls
according to meaning, into two parts. How does the
reader indicate this division?

Why should the last two stanzas, in this respect, be
together treated as one of the preceding? Illustrate by
means of Pause.

* * * * *

PIBROCH OF DONUIL DHU

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu,
Pibroch of Donuil,
Wake thy wild voice anew,
Summon Clan Conuil.
Come away, come away, 5
Hark to the summons!
Come in your war array,
Gentles and commons.

Come from deep glen, and
From mountains so rocky, 10
The war-pipe and pennon
Are at Inverlocky.
Come every hill-plaid, and
True heart that wears one,
Come every steel blade, and 15
Strong hand that bears one.

Leave untended the herd,
The flock without shelter;
Leave the corpse uninterr'd
The bride at the altar; 20
Leave the deer, leave the steer,
Leave nets and barges:
Come with your fighting gear,
Broadswords and targes.

Come as the winds come, when 25
Forests are rended,
Come as the waves come, when
Navies are stranded;
Faster come, faster come,
Faster and faster, 30
Chief, vassal, page and groom,
Tenant and master.

Fast they come, fast they come;
See how they gather!
Wide waves the eagle plume, 35
Blended with heather.
Cast your plaids, draw your blades,
Forward each man set!
Pibroch of Donuil Dhu
Knell for the onset! 40

--_Sir Walter Scott_

HERD, UNINTERR'D. What sound has the vowel _e_?
(Appendix A, 1.)

GENTLES AND COMMONS; NETS AND BARGES; FIGHTING GEAR;
BROADSWORDS AND TARGES; FORESTS ARE RENDED; NAVIES ARE
STRANDED. (Appendix A, 3 and 6.)

For Pause read (Introduction, pp. 7 and 8.)

How is the gradually increasing excitement and energy
indicated in Time, Pitch, and Force? (Introduction, pp.
13, 23, and 27.)

* * * * *

THE DAY IS DONE

The day is done, and the darkness
Falls from the wings of Night,
As a feather is wafted downwards
From an eagle in its flight.

I see the lights of the village 5
Gleam through the rain and the mist,
And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me,
That my soul cannot resist:

A feeling of sadness and longing,
That is not akin to pain, 10
And resembles sorrow only
As the mist resembles the rain.

Come, read to me some poem,
Some simple and heartfelt lay,
That shall soothe this restless feeling, 15
And banish the thoughts of day.

Not from the grand old masters,
Not from the bards sublime,
Whose distant footsteps echo
Through the corridors of Time. 20

For, like strains of martial music,
Their mighty thoughts suggest
Life's endless toil and endeavour;
And to-night I long for rest.

Read from some humbler poet, 25
Whose songs gushed from his heart,
As showers from the clouds of summer,
Or tears from the eyelids start;

Who, through long days of labour,
And nights devoid of ease, 30
Still heard in his soul the music
Of wonderful melodies.

Such songs have power to quiet
The restless pulse of care,
And come like the benediction 35
That follows after prayer.

Then read from the treasured volume
The poem of thy choice,
And lend to the rhyme of the poet
The beauty of thy voice. 40

And the night shall be filled with music,
And the cares that infest the day,
Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,
And as silently steal away.

--_Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_

What is the atmosphere of this poem? Compare it in this
respect with _Pibroch of Donuil Dhu_.

How does it differ from the latter in expression, so far
as Time, Pitch, and Force are concerned? (Introduction,
pp. 13, 22 and 26.)

WAFTED, AFTER, MASTERS, POEM, CORRIDORS, SORROW.
(Appendix A, 1.)

Observe the difficulties of Articulation in ll. 3, 11,
15, 18, 22, 26, 28 and 31. (Appendix A, 3 and 6.)

* * * * *

THE SCHOOLMASTER AND THE BOYS

From "The Old Curiosity Shop"

1. The schoolmaster had scarcely arranged the room in due order, and taken his seat behind his desk, when a white-headed boy with a sunburnt face appeared at the door, and stopping there to make a rustic bow, came in and took his seat upon one of the forms. The white-headed boy then put an open book, astonishingly dog-eared, upon his knees, and thrusting his hands into his pockets, began counting the marbles with which they were filled. Soon afterwards another white-headed little boy came straggling in, and after him a red-headed lad, and after him two more with white heads, and then one with a flaxen poll, and so on until there were about a dozen boys in all, with heads of every colour but gray, and ranging in their ages from four years old to fourteen years or more; for the legs of the youngest were a long way from the floor when he sat upon the form, and the eldest was a heavy, good-tempered, foolish fellow, about half a head taller than the schoolmaster.

2. At the top of the first form--the post of honour in the school--was the vacant place of the little sick scholar, and at the head of the row of pegs on which the hats and caps were hung, one peg was left empty. No boy attempted to violate the sanctity of seat or peg, but many a one looked from the empty spaces to the schoolmaster, and whispered to his idle neighbour behind his hand.

3. Then began the hum of conning over lessons and getting them by heart, the whispered jest and stealthy game, and all the noise and drawl of school; and in the midst of the din sat the poor schoolmaster, the very image of meekness and simplicity, vainly attempting to fix his mind upon the duties of the day, and to forget his little sick friend. But the tedium of his office reminded him more strongly of the willing scholar, and his thoughts were rambling from his pupils--it was plain. None knew this better than the idlest boys, who, growing bolder with impunity, waxed louder and more daring--eating apples under the master's eye, pinching each other in sport or malice, and cutting their autographs in the very legs of his desk. The puzzled dunce, who stood beside it to say his lesson out of book, looked no longer at the ceiling for forgotten words, but drew closer to the master's elbow and boldly cast his eyes upon the page. If the master did chance to rouse himself and seem alive to what was going on, the noise subsided for a moment, and no eyes met his but wore a studious and deeply humble look; but, the instant he relapsed again, it broke out afresh, and ten times louder than before.

4. Oh, how some of those idle fellows longed to be outside, and how they looked at the open door and window, as if they half meditated rushing violently out, plunging into the woods, and being wild boys and savages from that time forth. What rebellious thoughts of the cool river, and some shady bathing-place beneath willow-trees with branches dipping in the water, kept tempting and urging that sturdy boy, who sat fanning his flushed face with a spelling-book wishing himself a whale, or a fly, or anything but a boy at school on that hot, broiling day!

5. Heat! Ask that other boy, whose seat being nearest the door gave him opportunities of gliding out into the garden and driving his companions to madness by dipping his face into the bucket of the well and then rolling on the grass--ask him if there were ever such a day as that, when even the bees were diving deep down into the cups of flowers and stopping there, as if they had made up their minds to retire from business and be manufacturers of honey no more. The day was made for laziness, and lying on one's back in green places, and staring at the sky till its brightness forced one to shut one's eyes and go to sleep; and was this a time to be poring over musty books in a dark room, slighted by the very sun itself? Monstrous!

6. The lessons over, writing-time began; and there being but one desk and that the master's, each boy sat at it in turn and laboured at his crooked copy, while the master walked about. This was a quieter time; for he would come and look over the writer's shoulder, and tell him mildly to observe how such a letter was turned in such a copy on the wall, and bid him take it for his model. Then he would stop and tell them what the sick child had said last night, and how he had longed to be among them once again; and such was the schoolmaster's gentle and affectionate manner that the boys seemed quite remorseful that they had worried him so much, and were absolutely quiet; eating no apples, cutting no names, inflicting no pinches, for full two minutes afterwards.

7. "I think, boys," said the schoolmaster, when the clock struck twelve, "that I shall give an extra half-holiday this afternoon."

8. At this intelligence the boys, led on and headed by the tall boy, raised a great shout, in the midst of which the master was seen to speak, but could not be heard. As he held up his hand, however, in token of his wish that they should be silent, they were considerate enough to leave off, as soon as the longest-winded among them were quite out of breath.

9. "You must promise me first," said the schoolmaster, "that you 'll not be noisy, or, at least, if you are, that you'll go away and be so--away out of the village, I mean. I'm sure you wouldn't disturb your old playmate and companion."

10. There was a general murmur in the negative.

11. "Then, pray, don't forget--there's my dear scholars," said the schoolmaster--"what I have asked you, and do it as a favour to me. Be as happy as you can, and likewise be mindful that you are blessed with health. Good-bye, all!"

12. "Thank you, sir," and "Good-bye, sir," were said a great many times in a variety of voices, and the boys went out very slowly and softly.

13. But there was the sun shining and there were the birds singing, as the sun only shines and the birds only sing on holidays and half-holidays; there were the trees waving to all free boys to climb and nestle among their leafy branches; the hay, entreating them to come and scatter it in the pure air; the green corn, gently beckoning toward wood and stream; the smooth ground rendered smoother still by blending lights and shadows, inviting to runs and leaps, and long walks no one knows whither. It was more than boy could bear, and with a joyous whoop the whole company took to their heels and spread themselves about, shouting and laughing as they went.