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St. Benedict's College. Atchison. Kan. 

And they read in the book of the law of God 
distinctly and plainly to be understood: and they 
understood when it was read — II. Esdras, VIII.. 8. 






,v/ r 

Copyright. 1895, 
By St. Benedict's College. 



Of St. Benedict's College, 

vhose ardent interest in the noble science and art of 

expression has encouraged us in our labor, 

and to ail students of Elocution, 

we respectfully dedicate 

this volume. 


Elocution is a science and an art. When the art 
absorbs the science, naturalness will be the result, for 
"art at its highest and nature at its truest are one/' 

Some professors of this noble art. when asked what 
method they use. simply reply: "We follow nature." 
If the question were put to us, our answer would be the 
same. We would, however, make our answer more de- 
finite by stating, that to follow nature, is not to follow 
individual whims and eccentricities, but to speak in a 
manner worthy of our subject and concordant to its 
sentiments. The venerable watch-word "Be Natural." 
thus resolves itself into "Speak Properly.' 1 

Those that claim to be disciples of nature usually for- 
get the scientific part of elocution, and. hence, discard 
all rules. Their entire theory consists of two words: 
"Be natural." We also say, by all means, be natural. 
But if there are no rules to teach us how to be natural, 
how can we acquire this open sesame to the grand dom- 
ains of expression? How can we determine the line 
where nature ceases, and affectatoin begins* If there 
are no rules governing delivery, we can neither praise a 
speaker for the highest merits, nor censure him for the 
grossest defects. Happily, we have rules, which far 
from making us unnatural, guide us back to nature's 
paths from which we have deviated. 


"Those rules of old discovered not devised 
Are Xature still, but Nature methodized : 
Unerring nature, still divinely bright, 
One clear, unchanged, and universal light, 
Life, force, and beauty, must to all impart 
At once the source, the end, and test of art ; 
Art from that fund each just supply provides, 
Works without show and without pomp presides." 

To state anew "those rules of old," in a comprehen- 
sive form, for the benefit of college students, is the ob- 
ject of the present volume. The principles laid down 
do not claim novelty as a recommendation. Like all 
principles, they derive their value not from their old- 
ness or newness, but from their truth. They have stood 
the test of ages, and been the faithful guides of many 
eloquent speakers. 

There are several text-books of elocution deserving- 
high commendation, but they are only adapted to spe- 
cial schools of Elocution and Oratory, where hours each 
day may be devoted to the subject. They are also ill- 
suited to the intellectual powers of beginners as they 
deal from the start in technicalities, philosophical anal- 
yses, etc. 

It has been our object throughout to retain only es- 
sential theory, and even to condense that, to avoid tech- 
nical terms as far as may be, and to give copious choice 

All literature, we are justly told, 

"Should to one of these four ends conduce: 
For wisdom, piety, delight, or use." 

Each of the four have many select representatives 
throughout the volume. Most of our examples appear 
for the first time in an elocution book. The}' have been 
chosen from Catholic sources. We do not wish, there- 


by, to depreciate any of the noble names of literature, 
or rob them of deserved prominence. We only wish 
to remove writers of merit from cobwebbed shelves, 
where their beauties have too long been obscured by 
dust and silence. It is hoped that the tidbits given, 
while they delight the mind with their beauty and ele- 
vate and refresh it with wholesome truths, will also ex- 
cite a craving for more. Hence. Ave have given the 
names of works and authors. Only selections recom- 
mended by intrinsic worth should be memorized. Stu- 
dents should be required to seek additional examples 
from other sources. Turning the leaves of our popular 
readers at random they will be greeted by apt selections 
from Milton, Sir Walter Scott, Thackeray, Bulwer Lyt- 
ton, Dickens. Ruskin, Longfellow, Macaulay, Tennyson, 
Webster. Clay. Burke, etc. 

The arrangement of subjects in an elocution book is 
always attended with difficulties. As regards logical 
order, it resembles the alphabet. If G were placed be- 
fore B, and Y before C, the alphabet would not suffer. 
Before we can read well we must know all the letters. 
for Z sometimes precedes his extreme brother A, and 
O not seldom introduces the egotist, I. It is the same 
in elocution. Vocal elements that are treated last may 
enter a given selection earlier, and characterize it more 
than some treated in the fore-part of the book. Until 
the}' are all mastered, we cannot read well. , If the ar- 
rangement we have given does not accord with any pro- 
fessor's views, it will be an easy task to change the or- 
der and take any section or chapter that expedience ad- 
vises or circumstances require. As it stands, we suggest 
the following order: 

I. Class, Breathing. Action. Articulation, and the sim- 
pler Gestures. 


II. Class, Gesture, Force, and Delsarte's Laws of 


III. Class, Pitch, Inflexion. Quality, and Planes of 


IV. Class, Emphasis, Gestures of Different Members. 

and Pause. 

V. Class, The remainder of the book. 

With all of these review, review, review. 

Concert drills are recommended for economizing time 
and labor. In this way each student will receive some 
practice every class hour. It is only by practice skill 
may be acquired. A student may be able to tell you 
very accurately how a certain selection should be spoken 
and luhy it should be so rendered, dut this will avail 
him but little as an orator, if he does not, by diligent 
practice, attain the power of doing it gracefully. 

One selection mastered thoroughly is better than 
numberless ones imperfectly studied. 

Class criticism may be employed to produce worthy 
emulation. It makes speaker and hearer vigilant. 

The book does not claim to be exhaustive or perfect. 

••Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see, 
Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be." 

Hence, kindly criticism, for the improvement of future 
editions, will be gratefully received. 

We acknowledge indebtedness to Maurice Francis 
Egan, LL.D., Rev. Alfred Young, C.S. P., Eleanor C. 
Donnelly, and others for the generous permission grant- 
ed us to quote from their writings. 

If the principles herein laid down further the pow- 
er of human speech, kindle the tires of eloquence slum- 
bering in many a youthful bosom, give to College grad- 

uates a trusty vehicle to convey truth ana a strong 
weapon to defend right, the irresistible weapon — grace- 
ful delivery — the fondest hopes of the authors will be 


September 14. 1895. 


Preface .... 

Index . . .... 

Index to Selections . 
Chapter I . — Breathing. 

I. What is Breathing . 
II. Proper method 
III. Breathing Exercises 
Ch apte r 1 1 . — A ( TI< >N . 

i. Definition of Action 
II. Position 
III. Attitude 
Chapter 1 1 1 . — Articulation. 

I. Elementary Sounds 
11. Consonant Elements 
III. Exemplification of Vowel-Qua 
[V. Difficult Combinations 
Chapter I V. — Gesture. 

I. Delsarte's Definition 
II. Relaxation 
111. Exercises in Relaxation 
Chapter V. — Force. 

I. Forms of Force 
II. Degrees of Force 
111. Use of Force 
Chapter VI. — Deesarte's Laws of Gesttj 
I. Explanation of Laws 



. XIV 















. 59 
. 63 




Chapter VII.— Pitch. 

I. Divisions of Pitch 


II. Uses of Each Division 


Chapter VIII. — Inflexion. 

I. Kinds of Inflexion 


II. Rules for Rising Inflexion 


III. Rules for Failing, and Circumflex 

Inflexions .... 


Chapter IX. — Quality. 

I. Kinds of (Quality , . . 


II. Pure Tone 


III. The Orotund 


IV. The Aspirate .... 


V. The Guttural 


VI. The Pectoral ..... 


VII. The Falsetto 


VIII. The Nasal . . . 


Chapter X . — Planes of Gesture. 

I. Scale of Not ilion . 

1 < m; 

II. Significance of Various Planes 


III. Miscellaneous Examples 

i 1 6 

Chapter XI. — Emphasis. 

I. Difference between Emphasis and 

Accent ..... 


II. Rules underlying Emphasis 


III. Modes of Emphasis 


IV. Observations ..... 


V. Unemphatic Words 


VI. Climax . . . . . 


Chapter XII. Gestures of Different Members. 

I. The Head 


II. Nine Attitudes of the Eye 


III. The Mouth 



Chapter XIII. — Pause. 

I. Influence of the Pause . . .163 

II. Length of the Pause . . . 164 

III. Rules for Pausing- .... 166 
Chapter XI V. — Poetic Reading. 

I. Various Feet ..... 176 

II. Poetic Pauses 179 

Chapter XV . — Personation. 

I. Rules for Personation . . 1ST 
C h a pt e r X V 1 . — Ton e Color. 

I. What it Embraces-. . . .192 

II. What it is Due to . . . 194 

111. Its Necessity 195 

Selections 202 


L J aKe 



Action, Cicero on 


Action, Quintilian on .... 


Action, St. Francis of Sales on 


Anticlimax ..... 

. 154 


. 16 

Articulation. Barber on 

. 16 

Articulation, Exercises in 

. 19 

Ascending Gesture .... 

. 107 

Attitude, Definition of 

<• n 

Attitude, First . . . .'.'.. 


Attitude, Second .... 

. 13 

Attitude, Third . 


Attitude, Fourth .... 


Backward Oblique .... 

. itie 

Breathing- . ... . 


Breathing, Exercises in ... 


Breathing, Kofier on 


Breathing, Correct Mode of 


Clasped Hands ..... 

. 107 

Climax . .... 

. 154 

Clinched Hands ..... 

. 107 

Consonants . .... 

. 18 

Delsartc's Laws ..... 

. 05 

Descending Gesture .... 

. 100 

Elementary Sounds. Tabic of 

. 17 

Emotions, Cultivation of 

. 49 



Emphasis, Modes of 

Emphasis, Kales of 

Eyes . 

Eyes, Attitudes of 

Eyes in Reading . 

Excited Position . 

Force, as a Mode of 

Force, Definitions of 

Force, Degrees of 

Force, Energetic 

Force, Impassioned 

Force, Moderate 
Force, Subdued . 
Force, Forms of 
Force, Effusive 

Force. Explosive 
Force, Expulsive 
Force. Judicious Use <»1 
Force, Dr. Rush on 
Gesture. Definition of 
Gesture of Different Me 
Gesture. Delsarte's Lnw 
Law of Altitude 
Law of Duration 
Law of Force 
Law of Opposition 
Law of Succession 
Law of Velocity 
Gesture. Planes of 
Hand. Quintilian on 
Head . 



s of 


























Head. Attitudes of 
Horizontal Gesture 

Index Hand . 

Inflexion, Circumflex 
Inflexion, Fa 1 lino- 
Inflexion, Rising 
Inflexion, as a Mode of 
Lateral Gesture 
Members. Gestures of 
Military Position 

Notation of Gesture 

Pause, Csestiral 
Pause. Influence of 
Pause, Rules for 
Pitch . 
Pitch, High 
Pitch, Low 
Pitch, Middie 
Planes of Gesture 
Poetic Reading 
Position, First 
Position. Second 
Position, Third 
Position of Fingers 
Prone Hand 
Quality, Aspirate 





Quality, Falsetto 
Quality. Guttural 
Quality. Nasal 
Quality. Orotund . 
Quality. Pure Tone 
Quality. Pectoral 
Relaxation .... 
Relaxation, Exercises for Arms 
Relaxation, Exercises for Hand a 
Relaxation. Exercises for Leu- 
Relaxation, Exercises for Neck 
Relaxation. Exercises for Torso 
Rhythm .... 

Supine Hand 

Time as a Mode of Emphasis 
Tone Color .... 
Tone Color. Examples of 
Unemphatic Words 
Unexcited Position 
Vertical Hand. The 









JEgeon's Speech. Shakespeare 
Antonio's Consolers. Shakespeare 
Army of the Lord. The. Adelaide A.Procter 
At the Seashore. Father Faher 

Bard's Story. The. Maurice F. Egan . 
Called and Chosen. Eleanor C. Donnelly 

Cassius Inciting Brutus to Conspiracy. Sha 
speare .... . . 

Catholicism and the Religions of the World. 

Condition of Ireland. The. T. F. Meagher 
Day's Changes. A. Rev. J. Ba lines 
Decoration Day Oration. Bourke Cochran 

Rev. Alfred Young, 

C. Mangan 

Drunkard's Death. The 

C.S.P. . 
FaistatTs Lantern and Troops 
Four idiot Brothers; The. 
(xheber's Glen, The. Moore. . 
Gualherto's Victory. Eleanor C. Donnelly 
Hamlet's Plan to Catch the King. Shakespeare 
Hamlet Upbraids the Queen. Shakespeare 
Homeless. ■ Ade. aide A . Procter 
Hotspur's Death. Shakespeare 
LaM of the Xarwhale. The. John Boyle O Keid_\ 
Night in June, A. Maurice F. Egan 






2< 14 
2( >8 


Scene from ' k King Henry VJ.," Third Part. 

Shakespeare . . . . . .269 

Scene from "The Merchant of Venice.' 1 Shake- 
speare . . . . . . .267 

Scene from "The Dream of Grerontias.' 1 Newman '2.~>7 
Twenty Grolden Years Ago. J.C. Mangan 271 

William Shakespeare. Maurice F. Egan . '2S(\ 

Wolsey's Advice lo Cromwell. Shakespeare . 2-M> 



Although it may seem strange, nay. unnatural, thai 
Breathing — that which anyone practices uninterrupted- 
ly — that which was the beginning of life, and is its 
continuity, — must be studied; still, there arc certain 
canons which govern respiration for focal ends, the 
observance of which is not arbitrary. 

The unstudied breathing by which life is sustained is 
insufficient for vocalization. Voice is the result of an 
air-shock on the vocal ligaments. The amount of air 
that we unconsciously inhale for the support of life. 
answers admirably its specific purpose, hut is inade- 
quate for speaking. 

Manifestly, therefore, if we desire to use our voice. 
we must learn to breathe more copiously. 

Breathing consists of Inspiration and Expiration. 
Both are arts; both must be acquired. 

A speaker who has not learnt to inhale correctly will 
never possess a rich, substantial voice. One that has 
mastered inhalation but neglects expiration, will soon 
find his breath-expenditure greater than his receipts, and 
will early end his career as a speaker with a ruined. 
bankrupt voice. We must have an income, or the 
outcome will be— inevitable failure. 


We can never afford to run out of breath when we 
are speaking, for then, silence will ensue, painful alike 
to speaker and hearer. Among the various methods of 
breathing the one recommended most by good results is 
this: ''First, feel that the diaphragm -region — the 
waist— expands . This expansion is caused by the down- 
ward contraction of the diaphragm. Secondly, at the 
same time feel an incipient expansion of the whole 
trunk-region, from the lowest point of the abdomen to 
the highest point of the Chest and Collar-bone. This 
Expansion is felt in the entire circumference of the 
trunk, as a complete oneness of action, not in sections 
or broken. Thirdly, whether the amount of breath ta- 
ken be great or small, whether a half or a full expan- 
sion be required, it must always be done with the com- 
bined breathing-apparatus and with oneness of action. 
The difference between half and full, long and short 
breaths, is not in method, but in time and the amount 
of expansion. This is the only correct, natural, 
healthy way of breathing, for by this method the 
whole of the lungs is used and ventilated and thus kept 
healthy.'' — Leo Kofler. 

It is obvious, from the above, that diaphragmatic, 
or abdominal breathing, is the proper method. The di- 
aphragm must control the breath, otherwise the un- 
reined air will rush to the throat, and, in its hurry to 
gain freedom, will make the tones "breathy,' 1 or. if the 
throat endeavors to control the efflux of the air, the ef- 
fort will necessarily stiffen the muscles of the throat, 
and ''throaty" tones will be the result. Each one may 
experience this by trying the following exercise. 

Take a few heavy inspirations as you would when 
nearly spent with running: note the effect on the dia- 
phragm. You will observe it pulsates; now, if, while 


taking one of the rapid gulps of air, you stop quickly, 
you will feel the diaphragm grasp the air to check its 
exit. Never allow the throat to share this office with 
the diaphragm — for the diaphragm has been assigned 
the office by nature, and nature never permits an infrac- 
tion of her laws to go unpunished. 

Unless the breath is under perfect control, pure tone 
is an impossibility; for in its production all the air that 
is liberated must be converted into sound. 

The nose, unless obstructed, is the medium of inspi- 
ration. Avoid the pernicious inversion, of which too 
many are guilty, of using the nostrils as channels to 
convey your sentiments to long-suffering audiences, and 
the mouth to convey air and dust to short -enduring or- 
gans. An All-wise Providence has arranged the nose 
so that it warms and "filters' 1 the air before it reaches 
the more delicate organs. Whereas the mouth, not 
being intended for inspiration, carries the cold air di- 
rectly to the delicate membrane, thereby causing hoarse- 
ness, and eventually serious throat and lung-ailments. 

Inspiration and Pausing in -peaking go hand in hand; 
neither should be indulged where they interfere with 
the sense of the phrase. Nevertheless, never make any 
effort to sustain a tone, or complete a sentence, when 
the air in the lungs is well-nigh exhausted. A! way- 
stop at the approach of fatigue. 

Let the student practice the following Exercises with 
due moderation: as enthusiastic disciples, by violent 
practice, might overtax the respiratory muscles and do 
themselves irreparable injuries. 

Exercise 1. 

Stand erect, shoulders back and down — in which po- 
sition they should remain during the whole exercise — 


till the lungs comfortably by very short inhalations and 
then quickly empty them in one blast. 

Exercise II. 

Fill the lungs with one energetic draught, then emit 
the air in jets. 

Exercise III. 

Inhale and utter ah and a , alternately. Employ half 
the breath on ah, the other half on a. Pronounce a h 
high and forcible, a low and subdued. 

Exercise IV. 

Inhale deeply, prepare the lips as you would say 
"who,'' then exhaust the lungs with pun's. 

Exercise V. 

Place thumbs on costal, fingers on abdominal mus- 
cles, bending profoundly forward empty the lungs; in 
assuming erect position, inhale vigorously, retain the 
air-supply a few moments, then expel it vocally, with 

abdominal impulses, in the form of u h, uh. uli. 

Exercise VI. 

Repeat directions of the preceding number and use 
the ail in alternating uh, ah, in aspirate and pure tones. 

Exercise VII. 

Assume an erect attitude, heels together, toes turned 


outward from id to 90 degrees apart. This is the* "drill 
position/' With hands lightly pressed on the chest, till 
the lungs gently and emit the air in a lustrous prolonga- 
tion of the syllable sil. 

Exercise VIII. 

Take preceding position, inspire energetically, run 

the speaking gamut upward, employing the word "up;" 
increasing gradatim the tone's intensity. 

Exercise IX. 

Vary the preceding exercise by running the speaking 
gamut downward, using the word "down," gradually 
decreasing the force. 

Exercise X. 

Repeat No. VIII., accompanying the raise for each 
tone with a corresponding movement of each arm and 
wrist, so that, when the rounding note of the octave is 
reached, the arms be extended upward to their utmost. 

Exercise XI. 

Leaving the arms extended as No. X. required, re- 
peat Xo. IX.. and, with each descension in tone, lower 
the arms with a gentle wave of the wrist, so that, on 
the concluding '"down," the arms reach the sides as for 
"drill position." 

Exi rcise XII. 

Take position as indicated in No. V1L, inspire deep- 
ly, tap the chest gently with the finger-tips in order to 


drive the air into all the lung-cells, then, let the air 
escape in a sound showing weariness, as a-uh. 

Exercise XIII. 

Observe the preliminaries of No. V. ; when the lungs 
are well inflated, expend the air with explosive force on 
the sentence. 

"Arise, ye more than dead!"— Dry den. 
or, "Rise, O Sun of Justice, rise!" — Bev. James Kent Stone. 

Exercise XIV. 

Comply with the injunctions of No. VII.; when the 
lungs are well expanded, summon your brightest smile 

and laugh out the vowels i, e, e, a, a, o, o, o, u. u, 
a low tone; occasionally introduce an open vowel. 

This exercise is characteristically adapted to 
strengthen the throat, invigorate and make more elastic 
the vocal ligaments, deepen and mellow the voice. 

Exercise XV. 

Inflate the lungs fully, utter o, a, ou, in a soft, pure 
tone; continue until the air supply is nearly consumed, 
then prolong the sound of o, gradually merging it into 
oo, and diminishing the force as the air-supply lessens, 
until, with the last thin current, sound weds itself to 

[A breathing exercise should introduce every elocution hour.] 

Examples where copious Breathing is required. 

"Oh, perverse children of men, who refuse truth when of- 
fered you, because it is not truer! Oh. restless hearts and 


fastidious intellects, who seek a gospel more salutary than 
the Redeemer's, and a creation more perfect than the Crea- 
tor's! God, forsooth, is not great enough for you: you have 
those high aspirations and those philosophical notions, in- 
spired by the original Tempter, which are content with noth- 
ing that is, which determine that the Most High is too lit- 
tle for your worship, and His attributes too narrow for your 
love. Satan fell by pride : and what was said of old as if of 
him, may surely now, by way of warning, be applied to all 
who copy him : "Because thy heart is lifted up, and thou hast 

said, I am God, and I sit in the chair of God, whereas 

thou art a man and not God, and hast set thy heart as if it 

were the heart of God, therefore I will bring thee to 

nothing, and tliou shalt not be, and if thou be sought for. 
thou shalt not be found any more forever.' "- Newman. 

"Ah! why then wake my sorrow, and bid me now count o'er 
The vanished friends so dearly prized- -the days to come no 

The happy days of infancy, when no guile our bosoms knew, 
Nor reck'd we of the pleasures thai with each moment flew? 
'Tis all in vain to weep for them —the past a dream appears: 
And where are they -the loved, the young, the friends of boy- 
hood's years?" 

lit /•. < 'harles Meehan. 

••St. Paul was a vessel of election to bear the good odor of 
Christ into the palaces of kings! A torrenl of eloquence 
flowing into one barren fields of a vain philosophy, to fertilize 
and adorn! A rich exhibition of virtue, winning by its beau- 
ty, attracting by its symmetry, and exciting to activity by 
emulation! A glowing meteor of benediction, dissipating 
the clouds, and warming the hearts of the beholders to chari- 
ty on earth, that they might be fitted for glory in heaven!'* 

Bishop England. 




By Action we understand that part of Elocution which 
speaks to the eye. 

Cicero, perhaps the greatest orator that ever lived, 
says on this subject: u It is of little consequence that 
you prepare what is to be spoken, unless you are able 
to deliver your speech with freedom and grace. Nor is 
even that sufficient, unless what is spoken be deliv- 
ered by the voice, by the countenance, and by the gest- 
ure in such a manner as to give it a higher relish. " 
And again: *Tt is hardly possible to express of how 
great consequence is the manner in which the orator 
avails himself of tones of voice, gesture, and the expres- 
sion of the countenance. For even indifferent speak- 
ers, by the dignity of their action, have frequently 
reaped the fruits of eloquence; whilst those whose lan- 
guage is that of an orator, often on account of the 
awkwardness of their action, have been reckoned indif- 
ferent speakers. 

Quintilian says: "If delivery can produce such an 
effect as to excite anger, tears, and solicitude in sub- 
jects we know to be fictitious and vain, how much more 
powerful must it be when we are persuaded in reality? 
Nay, I venture to pronounce that even an indifferent 
oration, recommended by the force of action, would 
have more effect than the best, if destitute of this en- 
forcement." St. FRANCIS of Sales, who by his preach- 


ing of the Word of God drew tens of thousands into 
the true fold of Christ, gives studied delivery a very de- 
cided commendation when he says, "that the most 
eloquent composition, badly delivered, will produce little 
or no effect; whilst a very mediocre speech, eloquently 
delivered, will often he attended with the most striking 
results." And this is only natural, for good delivery 
makes the impression deeper and more lasting. 

Many labor under the false idea, that the orator is 
horn, not made. They proclaim against all attempts at 
acquiring oratory. They say it makes one artificial; 
and still there is not a single orator of any renown who 
was not aided by art. The greatest orators of ancient 
times were Cicero and Demosthenes. Both of these 
were assiduous in the study of the minutest details of 
the art. DEMOSTHENES was not gifted by nature. The 
preeminence he acquired in a nation of orators was the 
work of years of close application. His practice and 
belief agreed with Cicero's,— that to be an orator 
something more was needed than to be born. With 
regard to the idea that the study of Elocution tends to 
create an unnatural mode of delivery, we hold that it is 
only true where the art is impt r/< ctly acquired. It is 
the same in all the arts. The man who has taken 
but a few lessons in painting, will not be true to 
nature in his pictures. No one condemns the pictorial 
art on this account. It is just as inane to condemn 
elocution on a judgment formed from hearing one 
who is yet in the primer of Elocution. The real erf of 
elocution lies in concealing art. Following up a line 
of argument based on the assertions of some. Demos- 
thenes should have been the worst of orators, since 
he pursued this study further than any other ancient 
or modern speaker. 


Amongst modern orators, we may point with nation- 
al pride to Henry Clay, the prince of American speak- 
ers. He early began to prepare for the success he 
afterwards attained. He acknowledges the pains he 
took to acquire oratory. "I owe my success in life," 
he says, "to one single fact, namely, that at an early 
age I commenced and continued for some years, the 
practice of daily reading and speaking the contents of 

some historical or scientific book It is to this early 

practice of the art of all arts that I am indebted for 
the primary and leading impulses that stimulated my 
progress, and have shaped and moulded my whole 
destiny. V In short, no man who has attained even pass- 
ing renown as an orator will admit that the study of 
action is not a positive necessity for success in oratory. 

These remarks are inserted here, as the hue and cry 
of ignorance has arisen against this part of the study 
of oratory in particular. Let the student of oratory 
heed rather the words of Shakespeare than those of men 
whose delight it is to carp: 

'•Pleads he in earnest ! Look upon his face, 

His eyes do drop no tears : his prayers are jest ; 

His words come from his mouth, ours from our breast: 

He prays but faintly and would be denied; 

We pray with heart and soul.'* 

We will treat this division of Elocution under the fol- 
lowing heads, — Position, Relaxation, Delsarte's Laws, 
and Planes of Gesture. To these we subjoin a few re- 
marks on the limits of Personation. 



The study of Position is the tirst point we call atten- 
tion to, as it is the first point which catches the eye when 
a speaker appears. Is he ungraceful in his bearing? If 
so, he has implanted in the minds of the audience a 
point against him at the very start. The old saying has 
it. "first impressions are generally lasting/* It holds 
good here as well as anywhere — hence, the importance 
of this subject. . 

In laying down rules for Position, elocutionists have 
in view two points — the correct and expressive balance, 
or poise of the body, and a becoming appearance. 

There arc Three Positions. We shall call them the 
Unexcited, the Excited, and the Military. Each of these 
forms the basis of one or more attitudes. By Attitude 
is meant the enlargement of a Position. In the Unexcited 
Position, the speaker stands erect in an easy, dignified 
manner, with the hands hanging naturally at the sides, 
and the feet nearly together. The weight of the body 
should be principally on the ball of the left foot, and 
the right should be three or four inches in advance. 
The left limb is straight: the right, slightly bent at the 
knee. As a change and rest, reverse the position, 
throwing the weight on the right and placing the left in 

It is used in all unexcited speech, such as narration 
and the portrayal of the gentler emotions. As an exam- 
ple, we insert the following. 

From Essay on Criticism. 

Of all the causes which conspire to blind 
Man's erring- judgment, and misguide the mind. 


What the weak head with strongest bias rules. 
Is pride, the never-failing vice of fools. 


The First Attitude is only the enlargement of the 
first position. The feet should be separated some dis- 
tance, thus giving a firmer basis. A rest and change 
from this attitude is made by advancing the left foot 
and throwing the weight of the body on the right. 
The first attitude is used while giving utterance to 
grandeur, heroism, and strong oratorical thought. As 
an example on which to practice, an excerpt from the 
speech of Hon. J. K. Chandler on the Know Nothing 
Movement is here inserted. 

"If. Mr. Chairman. I had not long been a member of this 
House, I might startle at the risk of presenting myself as the 
professor of a creed evil spoken of. But I know the House is 
composed of gentlemen. I stand here alone in defence of 
my faith, but I stand in the Congress of the nation.. I 
stand for truth and my soul is undaunted." 

In the Second Position, the Excited, the left foot is 
advanced and most of the weight is thrown on the ball. 
The right heel'is entirely off the floor, and the ball of 
the right foot, touching the floor, balances the body. 
The left leg is slightly bent at the knee. A rest is 
taken by reversing the position, bringing the right foot 
to the front, etc. The body is inclined forward as if 
about to take a step. The Excited Position is assumed 
in an}' speech implying vainest a^eal and solicitude., 
and, also, as ••Practical Elocution" says: '•When the 
speaker is impelled by some emotion which causes him 
to step forward toward his audience, as if to get nearer 
to them that he may impart, with more power and 
emotion, that which he utters." 


Example . 

From Romeo and Juliet. Act II, 

But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? 
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun, 


The Second Attitude differs from the second position in 
extension and also in the position of the feet. The left 
is extended as in the second position, but the right does 
not balance on the ball. It is planted firmly on the 
floor. The whole body leans forward as in the Excited 
position, and the muscles arc rigid, forming straight 
lines and angles rather than curves. This attitude nia\ 
also be reversed. It is correctly used in defiant threat- 
ening and very emphatic thought. Practice on \\\\> 

From The Merchant of Venice. Act III. 

Salarino. Why I am sure, if he forfeit, tliou wilt not take 
bis flesh: what's that good for? 

Shylock. Emphatic. To bait fish withal : if it will feed noth- 
ing else, it will feed my revenge. The villain) von teach me, 
I will execute: audit shall go hard, but 1 will better the 
instruction. — JShakespean . 

The Third Attitude is based on the Kxcited position 
likewise. The weight is thrown on the left foot. The 
right leg is straight; the left, bent at the knee. The 
right foot is forward and separated from the left by a 
space of about twice the length of the foot. The body 
inclines backward. This attitude is generally used in 
dramatic oratory where horror or extreme terror are to 
be expressed. As an example, Brutus* speech where he, 
sees the ghosl of Caesar, is appropriate. 


From Julius Caesar. Act IV. 

Brutus. How ill this taper burns. Hal who comes here? 
I think it is the weakness of my eyes 
That shapes this monstrous apparition. 
It comes upon me. — Art thou anything? 
Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil, 
That mak'st my blood cold, and my hair to stare? 


In the Third Position which we call the Military, 
the heels are together or nearly so. We can describe it 
best by saying it is the soldier's position. The weight 
of the body is about equally divided on each foot. The 
elocutionist finds most use for this position iu personat- 
ing characters, and in practicing breathing exercises, 
etc. In personating the feeble and broken-hearted 
Aegeon, standing before the court of Solinus, this posi- 
tion would be suitable. 

From The Comedy of Errors. Act I. 

Aegean. A heavier task could not have been imposed. 
Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable : 
Yet, that the world may witness, that my end 
Was wrought by fortune, not by vile offence, 
I'll utter what my sorrow gives me leave. 


In the Fourth Attitude, which is based on this position. 
the feet are widely separated. It is principally used in 
personations, and is expressive of impudence, selfasser- 
tion, etc. As an example on which to practice, we cite 
Falstaff's words, when asked to give a reason for one of 
his monstrous assertions. 


From King Henry IV. First Part, Act II, 

Poms. Come, your reason, Jack, your reason. 

Palstaff. What, upon compulsion? No; were I at the strap- 
pado or all the racks in the world, I would not tell you on 
compulsion. Give you a reason on compulsion! if reasons 
were as plenty as blackberries, I would give no man ;i reason 
upon compulsion, I, — Shakespeare. 




Articulation, derived from articulare = to divide into 
single members or joints, to furnish with joints, hence, 
to utter distinctly, giving each joint its due value and 
prominence, demands precedence, being the basis of 
just Elocution. 

Jonathan Barber says: "Students of elocution 
should always attend to articulation as the primary 
object; and in the first instance, it should be prosecuted 
alone, as a distinct branch of the art, and prosecuted 
until perfection in it is attained. " 

The acquisition of an accurate and distinct articula- 
tion is wholly mechanical. It demands nothing* more 
than industry and persevering elementary practice. 
Wherein does it consist? 

'Tn just articulation, the words are not hurried 
over, nor precipitated syllable over syllable; nor, as it 
were, melted together into a mass of confusion. They 
should neither be abridged nor prolonged, nor swal- 
lowed, nor forced; they should not be trailed nor 
drawled, nor let slip out carelessly. They are to be 
delivered out from the lips as beautiful coins, newly 
issued from the mini; deeply and accurately impressed, 
perfectly finished, neatly struck by the proper organs, 
distinct, indue succession and of due weight." — Austin's 
( 'Iiirnuoiuid .. 


Although it is impossible to classify all the elements 
of syllables and words exactly, the following classifi- 
cation will be found comprehensive and accurate enough 
for cultivating the articulator}' organs. Theory, how- 
ever, will prove useless, unless swallowed up in prac- 

Practice, and practice only, in every department of 
elocution, is the magic watchword that insures success. 

Elementary Sounds 


as in 

(J" I'll. 

a i 

s in 

jlJid )'OS. 

e e a 

s in 









ran . 


In hit. 







pn mil r. 
















ou = a glide from a to oo, i><>n>. 

u = a compound of T and oo , student. 

i = a glide from a to i, prize. 

a = a vanish in i or e, ray. 

o = a vanish in oo or oo , hones. 

18 elements of expression, vocal and physical. 
Oral Consonant Elements. 



Place of Articulation. 


Lips and teeth 

Tongue and teeth 

Tongue and hard palate (forward) 
Tongue and hard palate (back) . . . 
Tongue, hard, and soft palate. . . . 

Tongue and soft palate 

Various places 



z, r 
zh, i 

Consonants are styled Momentary and Continuous, be- 
cause the mute consonants, surds as well as sonants, are 
incapable of any appreciable duration; whereas the con- 
tinuants maybe sustained until the breath expires. 

Consonants delivered with impeded tone, owing to 
their tone quality, are called "sonants;" consonants 
produced with breath sounds only, and those made by 
mute action, are called surds, because they are "tone- 

For the oral consonants, the passage through the nose 
must be wholly obstructed. It is the property of the 
soft palate to do this by being pressed like a valve on 
the wall of the pharynx, thus clearing the passage into 
the mouth. 

The nasal consonants, m, n. ng, which are solely 
"sonants," require the soft palate to be depressed, thus 
cutting off the passage to the mouth and rendering it 


necessary for the air to escape through the nostrils; 
e.g., twang, sing, wrong, lamb, etc. 

The examples which follow have been culled with 
careful hand from Catholic gardens, and form a bou- 
quet, exhaling the most wholesome fragrance. 

While the specific object for their insertion was the 
exemplification of vowel-quality, withal, the teacher 
will find a broad held wherein his pupils may prorita b]y 
explore for specimens of various kinds of Pitch, Force, 
Stress, Emphasis, etc. 

Vowels having identical sounds or closely allied, 
have been combined; for their correct pronunciation 
AVebster's dictionary will afford the rules. 

An answer, not that you long for, 
But diviner, will come one day; 

Your eyes are too dim to see it, 
Yet strive, and wait, and pray. 

Adelaide A. Procter. 

Weep on, weep on, your hour is past, 

Your dreams of Pride are o'er: 
The fatal chain is round you cast 

And you are men no more. 
In V(/m the hero's heart hath bled, 

The sage's tongue hath warned in vain 
Oh. Freedom! once thy flame hath tied, 

It never lights again! 

Faith's meanest deed more favour bears 
Where hearts and wills are weigh'd, 


Than brightest transports, choicest prayers^ 
Which bloom their hour and fade. 

Heaven but faintly warms the breast 
That beats beneath a broider'd veil : 

And she who comes in glittering vest 
To mourn her frailty, still is frail. 

Those hearts of ours— how strange! how strange! 
How they yearn to ramble, and love to range 
Down through the vales of the years long gone, 
Up through the future that fast rolls on. 

Father By an. 

God is in all places; therefore, we owe Him respect in all 
places. There is no place in the universe which is nob con- 
secrated by the presence of His majesty: and in what place 
soever I am. I may say with Jacob: "'This place is holy, 
and I knew it not." 

A. E. 

I've lived to know my share of joy. 

To feel my share of pain, 

To learn that friendship's self can cloy; 

To love, and love in vain; 

To feel a pang and wear a smile, 

To tire of other climes; 

To like my own unhappy isle. 

And sing the gay old times! 

Old times! Old times! 

The very earth, the steamy air 
Is all with fragrance rife ; 

And grace and beauty every where 
Are flushing into life. 


'Do you ask me the place of this valley, 
To hearts that are harrowed by care? 
It lieth afar between mountains, 
And God and his Angels are there : 
And one is the dark mount of sorrow, 
And one the bright mountain of prayer. 

Oh, England's fame ! Oh, glorious name ! 
And one, that France most cherished, 
On marble bare are written there— 
Their names and how they perished ! 
Its summit high against the sky, 
Like sentinel defending, 
Points from the sod to where, with God. 
Their spirits now air blending! 

Joseph K. Foran. 

And mine. O brother of my soul 
When my release shall come ; 

Thy gentle arms shall lift me then. 
Thy wings shell waft me home. 

We trample grass and prize the flowers of May : 
Yet grass is green when flowers do fade away. 

What lend, what people, has tlie sun ever illumined more 
worthy of the heart's deep affection than our own? Here. 
where Nature, who never hastens and never tires, has stored, 
through countless ages, whatever may be serviceable to man. 
divine Providence has given us a country as large as all Eu- 
rope, with a soil more fertile, and a climate more invigorating. 


In the city hallowed by the name of Washington, in the 
capital of the freeest people on earth, the Eoman Catholic 
Church made to our country the magnificent gift of a great 
unversity, where science and art, where religion and morality 
will ever find a home, and where our people will learn the 
grand lesson that loyalty to God means loyalty to the state. 

Had Washington, Franklin, Carroll and their illustrious 
brethren failed in the work which God had laid out for them, 
it would have been a dire calamity to humanity itself. 


Then what this world to thee, my hearty 
Its gifts nor feed thee nor can bless ; 
Thou hast no owner's part 
In all its fleetingness. 

In the dark hour of the night, just before day. 

In the rear of the camp, 'twas marching my beat 

When a gentle voice murmured, "Forgive them. I pray, 

For this, O my Lord! I bow at thy feet." 

To the tent of the penitent I moved on tiptoe, 

I thought some mortal was stricken with grief. 

'Twas a Sister of Charity, face all aglow. 

Praying for us and our country's relief. 

John F. Scanlan. 

Every one has some sweet face 
Prisoned in a picture case, 
Or by memory's magic art 
Photographed upon the heart: 
And we all in gloomy days. 
Steal apart and on them gaze. 

Michael O'G 


Now from the overcrowded streets, 
Whose torrid heat the city parches, 

The multitudes seek cool retreats 
By breezy shores or woodland arches. 

W. 1). Kelly. 

It dawned on my soul like a picture of light, 
Or a star that illumines the azure of night, 
Sparkling and beautiful, winsome and fair 
The pink of perfection of all that were there. 

John Curran K<<</<i,t. 


Tiie temple is a cross: its centre the tabernacle, and Christ 
is adored forever in the divinest symbol of His love, which is 
borne upward on aerial spires far above all monuments of hu- 
man pride, shedding benediction and gentler life through the 
world's waste. 

Seek thy salve while sore is green. 
Fester'd wounds ask deeper lancing: 
After-cures are seldom seen. 
Often sought, scarce ever chancing : 
In the rising stifle ill, 
Lest it grow ((gainst thy will. 

Bobert Southwell 

Another year — the curfew rings : 

Fast cover up each coal. 

The old year dies, the old year dies. 

The bells its requiem toll. 

A pilgrim year has reached its shrine, 

The air with incense glows: 

The spirit of another year 

Comes forth from long repose. 

Thomas O'Hagan. 


A. 6. 

Swift fly the years, and rise th' expected morn ! 
O, spring to light, auspicious babe be born! 


O Religion of peace! thou hast not like other systems, incul- 
cated the precepts of hatred and discord; thou hast %aught> 
men nothing but love and harmony. 

In awe she listened, and the shade 

Passed from her soul away: 
In low and trembling voice she cried, 

"Lord help me to obey!" 

The waves were white, and red the morn 

In the noisy hour when I was born. 

And the whale it whistled, and the porpoise rolled. 

And the dolphins bared their backs of gold; 

And never was heard such an outcry wild 

As welcomed to life the ocean child! 

All nature manifests the infinite skill of its Author. 

See how pale the moon rolls 

Her silver wheel ; and, scattering beams afar 
On earth's benighted souls, 

See wisdom's holy star ; 
Or, in his fiery course, the sanguine orb of war. 

Star of the deep I when angel lyres 

To hymn thy holy name essay, 
In vain a mortal harp aspires 
To mingle in the mighty lay I 
Mother of God ! one living ray 
Of hope our grateful bosom tires, 
When storms and tempests pass away, 
To join the bright immortal choirs.. 
^Ive Maris Stella I 


Fall in ! fall in ! fall in ! Every man in his place 
Foil in ! fall in ! fall in! Each with a cheerful face 
Fall in! fall in! 

Plow calm, how beautiful comes on 
The stilly hour, when storms are gone; 
When warring winds have died away. 
And clouds beneath the glancing ray. 
Melt off. and leave the land and sea 
Sleeping in bright tranquillity,— 
Fresh as if day again were born, 
Again upon the lap of morn. 

In some things all, in all things none are crossed: 
Few all things need, and none have "1! they wish. 
Unmingled joys here to no man befall; 
Who least hath some; who most hath never rtll. 

A O o\V 

Anxiou> thoughts in endless circles roll, 

Without a centre where to fix the soul: 

In this wild maze their vain endeavors end: 

How can the less the greater comprehend? 
Or finite reason reach infinity? 

For what could fathom (rod were more than He. 

Peace o'er the world her olive wend extend. 
And white-robed Innocence from heaven descend. 
Hark! a glad voice the lonely desert cheers:— 
••Prepare the way! a God. a God appears!" 
••A God, a (fed!*' the vocal hills reply: 
The rocks proclaim tir approaching Deity. 


Knowledge is the light which comes down from the throne 
if the Eternal. 


Passed from this world with sin and sorrow rife. 
A world unfitted for a soul like hers— 
Pure in each sphere— as sister, mother, wife— 
To mingle with God's holiest worshippers, 
And round his throne to join the myriad throng 
Who praise His holy name in ceaseless song! 

./. 0. (.'urt in. 


Down, down they come— those fruitful 
Those earth-rejoicing drops! 
A momentary deluge pours, 
Then thins, decreases, stops. 

Freedom all solace to man gives; 
He lives at ease who freely lives. 

The beginning of matter, the elements into which it may 
ultimately be resolvable, how the cycles of the heavenly bod- 
ies began, the unspeakable intricacy of their checks and 
counter-checks, the secular aberrations and secular correc- 
tions of the same, the secret of life, the immateriality of the 
soul, where physical science ends,— all these questions are dis- 
cussed in a thousand books in a spirit and tone betokening 
the most utter forgetfulness that we" are little creatures, who 
got here> God help us I where He chooses and when. — Father 
F<<h< r. 

And the music floats down the dim valley 
Till each finds a word for a wing: 
That to men. like the doves of the deluge. 
The message of peace they may bring. 


E, EE, I. 

They shall safely steer who see ; 
Sight is wisdom. Come to me! 

Hunted elsewhere, God's Church with thee found rest :— * 
Thy future's Hope is she— that queenly Guest. 

Oh be not thine such strife! there heaves no sod 
Along thy f/elds, but hides a hero's head: 
And when you charge for freedom and for God 
Then-then be mindful of the mighty dead ! 
Think that your field of battle is the bed 
Where slumber hearts, that never feared a foe 
And while you feel, at each electric tread. 
Their spirit through your veins indignant glow, 
Strong be your sabre's sway for freedom's vengeful 

Oli, might I see but once again, as once before, 

Through chance or wile, that shape awhile, and then no 

Death soon would heal my griefs! This heart, now sad 

and sore. 
Would beat anew a little while, and then no more! 

Ah! tlius when Death shall close the scene, may Heaven's 

eternal Spring 
Around the soul her fadeless wreaths her sacred roses tling: 
And when she looks in triumph back, will not her world of 

Seem happier, for the gloom that rests on all that's found in 


Dear emblem of my native land, 

My fresh fond words kept fresh and gre^n , 

The pressure of an unfelt hand 

The kisses of a lip unseen 


A throb from my clear mother's heart — 
My father's smile revived once more— 
Oh. youth! oh. love! oh. hope! thou art, 
Sweet shamrock, from the Irish shore! 


The Saviour's image sanctifies the ancestral hall, the closet 
and bed-chamber; it is the subject for the exercise of the 
highest genius in the imitative arts: it is worn next to the 
heart in life: it is held before the failing eyes in death. 

The whole universe is a temple filled with the glorious pres- 
ence of the Deity. 

Not always full of leaf, nor even spring : 
Not endless night, nor yet eternal day, 
The saddest birds a season find to sing : 
The roughest storms a calm may soon allay. 
Thus, with succeeding terms God tempereth all : 
That man may hope to rise, yet fear to fall. 

But ah! on sudden, Famine's breath brought direful desola- 
tion : 

Whilst tyrants cast their cruel laws around the dying nation. 

And spurn'd the wasted, wither'd poor, for help, for mercy 

The Saxons smiled with joy to hear that Celtic sons were dy- 

O ! grant that when again 

A year had ties, 
And 'mid the haunts of men 

My time lias sped, 
My retrospective look 

May not rebuke. 


E, I, U. 

Fairer the inward perfection of a soul which God has re- 
newed, than all the gorgeous but evanescent loveliness of 
earth's most lovely scenes. 

See! see! th" Eternal Hands 
Put on her radiant crown, 

And the sweet Majesty 
Of mercy sitteth down. 

Forever and for ever 
On her predest'n'd throne! 

Softly woo away her breath, 

Gentle Death! 
Let her leave thee with no strife 
Tender, murmuring, mournful Life! 

Every word has its own spirit- 
True or false — that never dies; 
Every word man's lips 'nave uttered 
Echoes in (rod's skies, 

From vast Niagara's gurgling roar 
To Sacramento's golden shore. 

From east to western wave. 
The blended vows of millions rise. 

Their voice re-echoes to the skies 
•The Union we must save!" 

Serve, then, that King, immortal and so full of mercy, who 
will value a sigh and a glass of water given in His name, more 
than all others will ever do the effusion of all your blood: and 
begin to date the time of your useful services from the day on 
which you shall have given yourself to a master so beneficent. 

Bossw K 


The Lord knows best : He gave us thirst for learning; 
And deepest knowledge of bis work betrays 
No thirst left waterless. Shall our soul-yearning 
Apart from all things be a quenchless blaze? 

John Boyle O'Reilly. 


Generosity, tenderness, and refinement of nature are espe- 
cially cherished by poesy; while the hardier virtues, courage, 
perseverance, and self-sacrifice, the constituents of the heroic 
character, have at all times been the great objects to which 
it directs our admiration. 

Deny me wealth, far, far remove 

The lure of power or name ; 
Hope thrives in straits, in weakness, love, 

And, faith, in this world's shame. 

He beheld his wife and his infant weep for unknown joy: 
soon yielding to an irresistible impulse, he fell at the foot of 
the cross, and mingled torrents of tears with the regenerating 
waters that were poured upon his head. 

Has there been any form of government ever devised by 
man to which the religion of Catholics has not been accommo- 

Man must not be permitted altogether to despise himself; 
lest, believing, with the impious, that life is but a game in 
which hazard reigns, he follow without rule and without 
guidance, the will of his blind desires. 



Lead kindly light, amid the encircling gloom 

Lead thou me on ! 
The night is dark, and 7 am far from home: 

Lead thou me on! 

Ye heavens! from high the dewy nectar pour. 
And in soft silence shed the kindly shower. 

Rise ! for the day is passing. 

And you lie dreaming on; 

The others have buckled their armour 

And forth to the fight are gone. 

O source of uncreated light. 
The Father's promised Paraclete! 
Thrice holy fount, thrice holy fire. 
Our hearts with heavenly love inspire; 
Come and thy sacred unction bring 
To sanctify us while we sing. 

Yet higher powers must think though they it) tine 
When sun is set, the little stars will shine. 

Vain are thy offerings, vain thy sighs 
Without one gift divine. 
Give it, my child, thy heart to me, 
And it shall rest in mine! 


The Catholic procession is the overflowing of religious joy. 
beyond the vessel that usually contains it. It is the mystical 
stream which Ezechiel saw flowing from the Altar of the holy 
place, and issuing abroad, through the temple gates: deepen- 


mg and swelling, as it flows along, till it becomes a mighty 
torrent, bounding forward in exultation, and making a joyful 
noise as the sound of many waters, 

lie from thick films shall purge the visual ray. 
And on the sightless eye-ball pour the day : 
"Tis He tlv obstructed paths of sound shall clear 
And bid new music charm th" unfoldmg ear. 

Why should I shiver beside the dim river 
Which the feet of Christ have coasted? 
For the angel of death can deh'ver 
Grief-laden souls that are yearning to soar. 

Oh! land of sorrows. Inm'sfail! the saddest, yet the fairest ! 
Though ever-fruitful are thy breasts — though green the 

garb thou wearest. 
/n vain thy children seek thy gifts, and fondly gather round 

thee ; 
They live as strangers midst thy vales smce dark oppression 

bound thee. 

Rev. Ambrose Butler. 


What an awful stale of mind must a man have attained, 
when he can despise a mother's counsel! Her very name is 
identified with every idea that can subdue the sternest mind: 
that can suggest the most profound respect, the deepest and 
most heart felt attachment, the most unlimited obedience* 

Humility is one of the most difficult of virtues, both to 
attain and to ascertain. Ancient civilization had not the 
idea, and had no word to express it: or rather, it had the /dea.. 
and considered it ;i detect of mind, not a virtue, so that the 
word which denoted it conveyed a reproach. Newman. 


O. then, let thy magical lingers glide lightly. 
The slumbering strings rouse to melody true. 
And thy own gentle voice chime with every vibration 
As on fragrant flowers falls the soft soothing dew: 

Bev. Michael B. Brown, 


Soar ii]) my soul unto I liy rest, 
Cast off this loathsome load; 
Long is the death of thine exile, 
Too long thy strict abode. 

The old proverb "Charity begins a1 home" so often quoted 
aiid so little understood, means this: the tirst act of charity 
is like the expansion of the circle in the water; ii springs 
from its centre, it cannot overleap i lie intermediate space. 
Depend upon it. therefore, that if our hearts conceive gfeal 
thoughts of charity, and of some work at a distance, while 
we are not doing the work of charity which lies at our feet> 
it is a mere illusion. 

Still, still in those wilds may young Liberty rally, 
And send her strong shout over mountain and valley 
The star of the west may yet rise in its glory, 
And the land that was darkest, be brightest in story. 

In this sweet spot the loved are sleeping; 
The sculptured angel pure as snow, 
Is. like the living mourner, weeping 
For those who rest in death below! 
On the white marble fond affection. 
Above the buried and the cold. 
Hath traced— ah mournful retrospection^ 
Their praise in characters of gold. 


Oil no, — not a heart that e'er knew him but mourns. 
Deep, deep, o'er the grave, where such glory is shrined- 
O'er a monument fame will preserve, 'mong the urns 
Of the wisest, the bravest, the best of mankind! 

o, oo, u. 

Those hearts of ours—what fools! what fools ! 
How they laugh at wisdom her cant and rules ! 
How they waste their powers, and, when wasted, grieve 
For what they have squandered but can not retrieve. 

Father Ryan. 

Oh I well was it said, tho' the king rule the nation, 
Tho' the making of laws to the statesman belongs. 
Who reigns first, who reigns last in the hearts of creation 
Is the god-given poet who maketh our songs. 

Eleanor C Donnelly.. 

Are our hearts lighter for the roses bloomy 
Or sad life fairer for their odorous breath? 
Or tangled threads upon Fate's busy loom, 
More deftly straightened by the hands of death? 

Suva T. Smith* 

O, 00>~ V- 

That mother viewed the scene of blood; 
Her six unconquer'd sons were gone ; 
Fearless she viewed- beside her stood 
Her last— her youngest— dearest one :. 
lie looked upon her and lie smiled; 
Oh ! will she save that only child'?- 


Her loyal subjects, low and high, 
Full many a costly tribute bring ; 
The glories of her kingdom, I, 
Her humble poet laureate sing, 

E. J. McPheUp, 

Trust not him thy bosom's weal, 
A painted love alone revealing: 
The show, without the lasting zeal: 
The hollow voice, without the feeling. 

Gerald Griffin, 

O, U. 

I had a dream : yes: some one softly said: 

■•He's gone: and then a sigh went round the room. 

And then I surely heard a priestly voice 

Try Subvenite ; and they knelt in prayer." 


Jitdge not: the workings of his brain 
And of his heart thou canst not see 
What looks to thy dim eyes a stain 
In God's pure light may only be 
A sear, brought from some well-won field. 
Where thou wouldst only faint and yield. 

Hours are golden links. God's token. 
Reaching heaven; hut one by one 
Take them, lest the chain be broken 
Ere the pilgrimage be done. 

Ther's nothing dark, below, above, 
But in its gloom I trace thy love. 
And meekly wait that moment when 
Thy touch shall turn all bright again. 


Truth can understand error, but error cannot understand 

Another year— with tears and joys 

To form an arch of love, 
Another year to toil with hope 

And seek for' rest above ; 
Another year winged on its way 

Eternity the goal 
Another year — peace in its train, 

Peace to each parting soul. 

It is a day to date from, when we first come to see, that the 
very fact of God having created its is in itself a whole magnif- 
icent revelation of eternal love, more safe to lean upon than 
what we behold, more worthy of our trust than what we 
know, more utterly our own than any other possession we 
can have. — Father Faber. 

OI, OY. 

''Then ye tarry with me," cried the gypsy in jo//, 
"And ye make of my dwelling your home. 
Many years have I prayed that the Israelite boy 
(Blessed hope of the Gentiles) would come." 

To leafless shrubs the flow'ring palms succeed, 
Tlie od'rous myrtle to the noisome weed. 
The lambs with wolves shall graze the verdant mead. 
And boys in flow'ry bands the tiger lead. 


While I, embroidering here with pleasant to/1 
My imaged traceries around my name. 
This banner weave (in part from hostile spoil), 
And pay my fealty to thy highest claiml 

( 'ardinal Wiseman . 


ou, ow. 

A vacant hour is always the devil's hour. When time hangs 
heavy, the wings of the spirit flap painfully and slow. Then 
it is that a book is a strong tou-er, nay a very Church, with 
angels lurking among the leaves, as if they were so many 

In the stillness of awe and wonder, a clear bold voice cried 
out, from a group near the door: ••Impious tyrant, dost thou 
not see, that a poor, blind Christian- hath more power over 
life and death than thou or thy cruel masters"/ 

Away, away! our hearts are gay. 
And free from care, by night and day. 
Think not of summer pleasure: 
The merry bells ring gayly out 
Our lips keep time with song and showl 
And laugh in happy measure. 

The sea! the sea! the open seaJ 

The blue, the fresh, the ever free ! 

Without a mark, without a bound, • 

It runneth the earth's wide regions round: 

It plays with the clouds; it mocks the skies: 

Or like a cradled creature lies. 

Ye fields of changeless green. 

Cover'd with living streams and fadeless nWers, 

Thou paradise serene. 

Eternal joyful hours 

My disembodied soul shall welcome in thy bowers. 

May never was the month of love 

For May is full of flowers 
But rather April wet by kind. 

For love is full of showers. 

Robert Southwells 



From harmony, from heavenly harmony. 

This universal frame began : 

From harmony to harmony 

Through all the compass of the notes it ran. 

The diapason closing full in man. 

Dry den. 

The spirit of the world can call to order sin which is not 
respectable. It can propound wise maxims of public decency, 
and inspire wholesome regulations of police. Or. again, 
there it is, with high principles on its lips, discussing the re- 
ligious vocation of some youth, — while it urges discreet de- 
lay — and more considerate submissiveness to those who love 
him, and have natural rights to his obedience. 

Father Faher. 


The pure, pale star of the autumn eve 
Beams from the blue like an angel's eye. 
And softly the wayward wavelets heave 
And sink on the strand with a weary sigh ! 

Justice pales, truth fades, stars fall from heaven: 
Hitman are the great whom we revere ; 
No true crown of honor can be given, 
Till the wreath lies on a funeral bier. 

Oh! His rest will be with you in the congress of the great. 
Who are purified by sorrow, and are victors over fate: 
Oh, (rod's rest will be with you, in the corridors of Fame, 
Which were jubilant with welcome, when Death called out 
your name. 


And hark! I hear a singing: yet in sooth : 
I cannot of that imtsic rightly say 
Whether I hear or touch, or taste the tones. 
O, what a heart-subduing melody! 



There has not been a sound to-day 
To break the calm of nature 
Nor motion, I might almost say. 
Of life or living creature. 

League not with him in friendship's tie, 
Whose selfish soul is bent on pleasure; 
For he from joy to joy will fly, 
As changes fancy's tickle measure. 

Behold her. ye worldly! behold her, ye vain! 
Who shrink from the pathway of virtue and pain 
Who yield up to pleasure your nights and your days 
Forgetful of service, forgetful of praise. 

Gerald Griffin. 

For disciplining the organs, and for acquiring fa- 
cility in the distinct enunciation of difficult combina- 
tions, the following exercises are invaluable. 
bd, robb'd, sobb'd niobb'd. 

He was mobb'd by men whose doctrine was, 
"Might makes Right." 
bst, dubb'st, webb'st, dfubb'st. 

Why dubb'st thou wise— a dullard? 


biz, marbles, troubles, foibles. 

The foibles of life tickle the sides of Mirth, 
blst, trembl'st, assembl'st, enfeebl'st. 

Thou enfeebl'st the cause by temporizing, 
bid, mumbl'd, fumbl'd, humbl'd. 

'Tis but the humbl'd plaint of pride, 
bldst, nibbld'st, gabbld'st, dissembld'st. 

Dissembld'st thou, or didst thou tell the truth? 
bz, tubes, fobs, robes. 

Oh robes of the rich and great! Your texture often 
dazzles and bedims the eyes of justice! 
dlst, meddPst, handl'st, addl'st. 

Thou meddl'st with all affairs, save thine own. 
did, paddl'd, wheedl'd, fondl'd. 

Many were the fools he wheedl'd. 
didst, dwindl'dst. fondl'dst, kindl'dst. 

Thou kindl'dst in the breast of youth a flame that 
ne'er will die. 
dnd, glad'n'd, quick'n'd, slack'n'd. 

The sweet whisperings of grace glad'n'd his heart 
and quick'n'd his fervor. 
dnz, burd'ns. lad'ns, gladd'ns. 

Guilt burd'ns the mind, 
dr, dream, drunk, drown, drizzle. 

His dreams were all of fame and wealth — 
His life, devoid of both, 
dst, would'st, drudg'ds't, hadst. 

When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov'dst hint 
I letter 
Than ever thou lov'dst Cassius. 
dth, width, breadth. 

The breadth of the world will not satisfy ambition. 
dths, hundredths, thousandths, wraths, breadths. 


Six widths of one only equalled four breadths of 
the other, 
dzh, allege, ledge, fledge. 

Allege not reasons to which you give no credence 
yourself . 
dzhd, privileged, enrag'd, gorg'd. 

His barbarity could he gorg'd with blood alone. 
flst, rifl'st, shunTst. muffl'st. 

Thou shunTst in vain the cards of error; they al- 
ways come forth with counterfeit value on their faces, 
and can only take the meanest tricks. 
fldst, rifTd'st, shuffl'd'st, rnuffl'd'st. 

Thou rifTd'st the homes of the weak and unprotect- 
ed, and coumtM'st it an honorable deed? 
fnz, tough'ns. putfins, deaf'ns. 

The religion of Christ sofVns the heart of the most 
barbarous nation, 
fnd, fright 'n'd, strength n'd. height n'd. 

In vain that cause is strength n'd that has not jus- 
tice and truth for its basis. 
fts, handicrafts, drafts, rafts. 

And lo! the crafts are mercilessly seized by hun- 
gry waves that roar themselves hoarse with glee as they 
view the floating timbers of the once united rafts, 
fst, doff'st, scoff'st, quail" st. 

Vile slave! dofl'st thou not thy fusty castor to the 
king thy liege lord and master? 
ftst, ingraft'st. draught's!, waft'st. 

O Patriotism, thou ingraft'st upon the tree of 
liberty the scions of religious toleration! 
fths, fifty-fifths, twelfths. 

Two rifth^ and seven twelfths = fifty nine sixti- 
gd, digg'd, shrugg'd, wagg'd. 



Deep he digg'd into the stubborn earth until greet- 
ed by the glittering ore. 
gdst, tugg'dst, lagg'dst. 

Thou tugg'dst in vain with fortune: the hope of 
riches which thou hugg'dst is illusory, 
gld, strangl'd, spangFd, wrangl'd. 

The captive's hope was strangl'd by the stern de- 
meanor of his judge, 
gist, tingl'st, inveigl'st, struggl'st. 

Thou struggl'st bravely with adversity and wilt 
not be overcome. 

gldst, juggl'dst, jingl'dst, bungl'dst. 
If thou bungl'dst this care 
From thy office forbear, 
gst, bring' st, sing'st, lag'st. 

O childhood! thou bring'st the most fragrant, 
unselfish, and acceptable offerings to the altar of 
kid, tinkl'd, rankl'd, sparkl'd. 

The tiny bells which sweetly tinkl'd. 
Sweet thoughts of home evoked, 
kldst, tinkl'dst, rankl'dst, sparkfdst. 

Thou, mercy, more brightly sparkl'd'st in the royal 
diadem than any precious stone. 
klz, wrinkl's, trickl's, stickl's. 

He stickl's for injustice more zealously than the 
champions of truth for their cause. 
klst, oaokl'st, speckl'st. sprjnkl'st. 

Thou oackl'st, but unlike the cackling of the geese 
of Rome, thine arouses— laughter, 
knd, heark'nd, dark'nd, lik'nd. 

He heark'nd to the voice of mourning, 
And dried the tears of distress, 
kndst, reek'ud'st. heck'nd'st, wak'nd'st. 


Oh, Power! When thou beck'nd'st, flattery and 
hypocrisy, arm in arm, hasten to comply, 
kst, text, ach'st, break' st. 

Thou break'st the laws of heaven and of earth and 
yet thou talk'st of harmony. Harmony begins to pine 
when estranged from order, 
kts, erects, protects, cataracts. 

He erects a monument, which never shall crumble, 
and which the future shall not cease to admire, and 
whereon is written — Spotless Reputation. 
ktst, lock'dst, pick'dst. hack'dst. 

Thou lock'dst thy heart against the gentle knocks 
of grace and now 'tis stony grown. 
ldz, scolds, scalds, unfolds. 

His life unfolds the inward peace and beauty of 
the just, 
ldst, yield'st, mould'st, withhold'st. 

Yield'st thou without a struggle to such a craven? 
lmst, calnfst. embalm'st, overwhelui'st. 

Thou unwritten music of nature, ealnf st the troub- 
led heart and burdened soul. 
lpst, gulp'dst, help'dst, yelp'dst; 

O Charity! thou help'dsi those who' could not help 
lths, commonwealths, filths, healths. 

The glory of commonwealths is bright honor and 
ltst, moult'st, revolt \st. exalt'st. 

Religion! thou exalt'st humanity to the skies, 
lvst. revolv'st. delv'st, absolv'st 

Delv'st thou in knowledge mines 

With hopes of fame or wealth? 
mdst, maim'dst. inllam'dst, defam'dst. 

Thou maim'dst virtue when thou defam'dst R.D. — 


mfs, nymphs, lymphs, triumphs. 

The greatest triumphs are those silent, unpreten- 
tious ones o'er sell. 
mpst, buinp'st, romp'st, damp'st. 

Why damp'st thou youthful enthusiasm? 
mst, proclaim'st, redeem'st, bloom'st. 

Thou proclaim' st thyself valiant thou white-livered 
ndgst, sting'dst, prolong'dst, ring'dst: 

With thy cruelty, thou prolong' dst warfare while 
peace was mourning and imploring for reunion. 
ndzh, cringe, singe, expunge. 

Cringe, cringe sycophants! beneath the glance of 
ndzhd, sing'd, aveng'd, estrang'd. 

His manes aveng'd, he ceased' commerce with 
ntsht, munch'd, pinchVl, quench'd. 

He ne'er quench'd his thirst at the Pierian spring, 
nths, sixteenths, labyrinths, months. 

Months are labyrinths of time, 
ntst, print'st, grunt'st, haunt'st. 

Haunt'st thou the editor with a still-born poem? 
nz, rains, refrains, feigns. 

It rains, it rains, 
The sweet refrains 
Of crystal drops on window panes. 
My heart and soul enchains. 
pldst, sampTdst, crumpi'dst, toppl'dst. 

Thou easily toppl'dst Error's Monument, 
plz, temples, dimples, ripples. 

The buoyant ripples chased one another in glee and 
tiirted with the coquettish sunbeams that peeped 
through the gently-stirring foliage of the tamarind. 


plst, tpppl'st, sampl'st, rippl'st. 

Thrice thou sampl'st the hospitality of thine enemy 
and found it generous and ample, 
pt, hoppVl, kept, equipp'd. 

Ye are all equipp'd? We are. Farewell then, Home! 
with all the charms, which make thee dear, 
pts, adepts, precepts, excepts. 

Adepts are rare, where diligence and persevering 
practice are rare, 
rbdst, disturb'dst, absqrb'dst, curb'dst. 

Thou absorb'dst attention, hut the hearts of thy 
auditors remain cold and clayey, 
rdz, chords, rewards, girds. 

The minor chords of humility breathe greater peace 
and joy than the loftiest majors of exultation, 
rdst, bombard'st, retard'st, disregard'st. 

Disregard'st thou the ingenuous voice of friendship? 
rdzh, purge, surcharge, scourge. 

A scourge should be placed in every loyal American 
hand, to lash the traitor around the Land of Liberty, 
rktst, einbark'dst, perk'dst, smirk'dst. 

Thou embark'dst pilotless in a boundless sen. 
rldst, twirl'dst, purldst, uncurl'dst, 

O Fate, thou uncurl'dst the locks of time! 
rmdst, harin'dst, inform'dst. alarm'dst 

Thou harm'dst not me by depriving me of life, the 
loss is all thine own. 
rndst, yearn'dst, discern'dst. subornMst. 

youth, thou yearn'dst for home — it is thy world! 
rsts, bursts, worsts, thirsts. 

The beacon of faith bursts through the doubtful 
darkness and illumines the perilous way. 
rtst, pervert'st. depart'st, convert'st. 

Depart'st thou without a single word to cheer thee 


on the way? 

rvdst, observ'dst, starv'dst. subserv'dst. 

Avarice thou starv'dst thyself for the sake of that 
which thou shalt not enjoy. 
rvst, starv'st, deserv'st, reservist. 

Thou prudently reserv'st thy strength for the final 
sf, sphacel, sphex. spheral. 

The spheric beauty of the dome evoked the admira- 
tion of all. 
shr, shroud, shrivel, shrift. 

The shroud may soon envelop the graceful form 
we praise, 
skr, scrape, screed, scrimp. 

He was such a scrimp that an)' screed against him 
would be justifiable, 
sks, basilisks, burlesques, masks. 
Doggerel is best adapted to burlesques in poetry, 
skst, bask'st, husk'st, ask'st. 

Husk'st thou the golden ears? 
slst, bustl'st, tussl'st, nestl'st. 

Thou bustl'st around as officiously as a person who 
has knowledge for his guide, 
snz, lessens, heightens, havens. 

The havens of peace are nigh to the turbid waters 
of contention, 
snst, moist' n'st, height' n'st, quick' n'st. 

Thou moist'n'st the brow of suffering with tears 
of sympathy. 
sps, wasps, wisps, cusps. 

It is strange that wasps which feed on the sweets 
of flowers should have such sour dispositions, 
sts, breasts, outcasts, nests. 

On the last day when the breasts of all shall be uu- 


burdened before all, we shalJ know our friends, 
stst, forecast'st, persist'st, overcast'st. 

Forecast'st thou consequences in accordance with 
the dictates of Prudence? 
ths, troths, drouths, wreaths. 

Time had not made one cycle ere their plighted 
troths were broken. 
thd, bequeathed, smooth VI. sheath'd. 

He bequeathed his family that priceless inheritance 
— a noble example, an unsullied name. 
thz, scath's, swath's, tith's. 

He scath's the memory of the man whom he feared 
when living. 
thst, breath'st. loath'st. smoothest. 

Thou loath'st climbing and yet wouldst fain as- 
cend '. 
tlst, whittl'st, battl'st, prattPst. 

Battl'st thou against fortune's decrees^ 
tldst, whittPdst, battl'dst, prattl'dst 

Thou prattl'dst the drowsy hours away, 
tsht, attach'd, sketeh'd, couch'd. 

He that is attach'd truly to virtue's cause must 
be virtuous, 
tshtst, voueh'dst, scmvh'dst, search'dst. 

Voueh'dst thou for the character of X — \ Then 
thine own character needs a voucher, 
vdst, engiavMst, retriev'dst, behoov'dst. 

Thou retriev'dst by thy kindness innumerable 
vlst, swiv'l'st. lev'Pst, revTst. 

Thou rev'I'st while dear ones at home are weeping 
and starving, 
viz, hovels, grovels, travels. 

Visit hovels, and contemplate human misery. 


vz, hives, groves, sleeves, 

The groves are musical with living hives, 
vst, improv'st, eonriiv'st, pav'st. 

Thou improv'st thy mind and heart by closely ob- 
serving the beauties of nature, 
znd,' impris n\l, reas'n'd, seas'n'd. 

It is only the seas'n'd bark that may safely tempt 
the waves, 
znz, treasons, mizzens, emblazons. 

Treasons, treasons! brood of irreli^ion! 




Probably the best definition of gesture ever given is 
that of Delsarte: ''Gesture is the manifestation of 
the being through the activities of the body/' Accept- 
ing this definition, we acknowledge that Gesture should 
come in answer to the inward impulse, or motive, and 
should bfi an outward expression of that motive or 

The student that would rest satisfied with mastering 
a number of formal Gestures, expressive of different 
meanings, would fail to grasp the correct idea of 
gesture. The Gesture must portray some emotion ex- 
isting in the being. If the emotion within does not 
move the speaker to action, he is soulless, and all the 
gestures of a RosciUS would not make a good speaker 
of him. There is. no doubt, such a thine; as the culti- 
vation of those emotions, those impulses to action. 
The training of the soul in virtue, and of the mind in 
the arts and sciences, tends to develop in man keener 
perceptions and stronger emotions. The better our 
lives are. the quicker do we shrink from evil: the more 
thorough our education is, the more easily do we dis- 
tinguish between truth and falsehood. It may be no- 
ticed that artists, owing to their refined sensibilities, 
are more sensitive than others. They have unconsciously 
developed this sensitive nature by close application to 
the niceties and tine points of their art. 


However, the development of the emotions in mail is 
not the chief aim of elocution. Elocution's task is to 
teach the correct, and therefore, the artistic portrayal 
of the emotions. 

Professor Brown, in his "Philosophy of Expression' ' 
says: "A single caution should he whispered in the ear 
of the earnest student of technical gesture- We put 
our suggestions in two apothegms: I. Conscious tech- 
nique kills expression, II, A gesture put on is a 
grimace. It has no art-expression." 

Naturalness in gesture is only present when self is 
suppressed and the inward emotion spurs us on to ac- 
tion. Before you will be able to express the emotions 
of the soul correctly, you must become as the child, 
without self -consciousness. What is truer to nature, 
and at the same time more graceful than the little child! 
It manifests artlessly, and. } T et. artistically. the emotions 
it feels. In applying ourselves to the study of gesture, 
we should copy this model: for here nature speaks 
untrammeled by art. He that is always straining after 
effect, will lose in the impression he would make. We 
must relax instead of straining. We must learn to sup- 
press self, and let the inward emotion give the impulse 
to action, 

A course in the Relaxation of the different muscles 'of 
the body is, therefore, highly necessary in order to lit 
us for portraying the emotions. By Relaxation is 
meant the taking of the will power away from the mus- 
cles and allowing the limb to hang as if dead. We try 
by this means to get rid of self -consciousness in the 
muscles, in order to let nature take its place. In other 
words, it is the relaxation of that tension which opposes 
natural grace of motion. By practice of the exercises 
in relaxation given below, the student will invigorate 

the muscles, and free the joints of the body so that 
each part of it will be, not only free.- but fitted to give 
the most exact response to the promptings of the inner 
man. These exercises are based on the laws laid down 
by Francois Delsarte, the great Catholic philosopher of 
expression. We do not give all that might be given; 
but exercises for the other muscles of the body will 
suggest themselves to the earnest student. Do not be 
backward in practicing them, for relaxation, far from 
producing an artificial mode of expression, enhances it 
vastly by giving the speaker a body titled and eager to 
portray the inmost emotions of the soul spontaneously 
and harmoniously. Diligent practice of the following 
Exercises will tend to remove all awkwardness. 

Exercises in Relaxation. 


Stand with weight of body on right foot. Withdraw 
energy from the muscles of the left leg and swing it by 
a rotary movement of the upper body. Change to left 
foot and go through same motion with right. Practice 
each of the movements given for about thirty seconds. 
Energize from hip to knee-joint and raise the leg having 
lower part relaxed, or decomposed. Drop the leg life- 


Stand in Fourth Attitude. Withdraw energy from 
the neck muscles and let the head drop to the breast. 
Withdraw energy from the torso, or waist, and drop 
the trunk forward as far as it will go. Swing the re- 
laxed part in a rotary motion, the energy coming from 
the lower limbs. 



Decompose the neck and allow the head to drop for- 
ward. Raise and allow it to drop as if lifeless to the 
right and to the left sides and backward. By move- 
ments of the body cause the head to rotate. You must 
be careful not to carry the head to these different di- 
rections. Incline the body that way and let the head 
drop to its place. 


Raise the arms from the side toward each other till the 
lingers touch above the head. Withdraw will-power 
from the muscles and allow them to drop. Raise the 
arms in front and when the hands point to the zenith 
drop lifelessly as before. De-energize arm from shoul- 
der down, and sway the body causing arm to swing 
loosely in all directions. Raise arm from shoulder, 
bend at elbow, causing fore-arm to hang at right angle 
to upper arm, de-energize fore-arm and shake up and 

Hand and Wrist. 

Grasp the right hand firmly with the left, placing left 
thumb on palm of right hand and the fingers of left 
hand on back of right, fieeomxwse ringers of right hand 
and shake vigorously with the left. Exercise the lin- 
gers of left hand in the same manner. Withdraw the 
energy from the right hand and, with palm toward the 
floor, shake up and down by means of the fore-arm mus- 
cles. Hold the hand with the side to the floor. Shake 
on the wrist as before. Hold it with the palm upward 
and shake. Put the left hand through the same relax- 
ing exercises, then both hands at once. 


These exercises should be practiced daily, devoting 
about fifteen minutes of each class hour to the purpose 
for a number of days, until the limbs and joints are 
under the perfect control of the will. Then the out- 
ward expression of the different emotions will be ready 
to be artistically produced. It will no longer be me- 
chanical expression, but nature speaking through the 
unobstructed channels of action. This is true art in 
oratory as defined by the great American. Daniel 
Webster, when speaking of the eloquence of action: 
"It comes, if it come at all, like the outbreaking of a 
fountain from the earth, or the bursting forth of vol- 
canic fires, with spontaneous, original, native force," 




Force is the degree of power with which sound is 
produced on a word or words. 

E very-day experience shows that different sentiments 
require a different use of Force. Dr. Rush, in his ad- 
mirable work on the human voice, speaking- on this 
matter, says: "Secrecy muffles itself against dis- 
covery by a whisper; and doubt, while leaning to- 
ward a positive declaration, cunningly subdues his 
voice, that the impression of his possible error may be 
least exciting and durable. Certainty, on the other 
hand, in the confident desire to be heard, is positive, 
distinct, and forcible. Anger declares itself with ener- 
gy, because its charges and denials are made with a 
wide appeal, and in its own sincerity of conviction. A 
like degree of force is employed for passions congenial 
with anger; as hate, ferocity, revenge. All thoughts 
unbecoming or disgraceful, smother the voice, with a 
desire to conceal even the voluntary utterance of them. 
Joy calls aloud, for companionship in the overflowing 
charity of its satisfaction. Bodily pain, fear and ter- 
ror, are also forcible in their expression; with the doub- 
le intention, of summoning relief, and repelling the of- 
fending cause when it is a sentient being." 

In treating Force, we must consider first, the mode 
of exerting it, or form, and second, the amount of 
force which we employ, or degree. 

FORCE, 55 


The form of force may be Effusive, Expulsive, or 

The Effusive Form manifests itself by a smooth flow 
of sound, avoiding all abrupt and sudden sound. 
As an example from nature we adduce the moaning of 
the wind. 

It is principally used in giving expression to pathos, 
aire, reverence, repose. 

Examples for practice on the Effusive Form. 

From The Lost Chord. 

1 do not know what 1 was playing, 
Or what I was dreaming then : 
But I struck one chord of music. 
Like the sound of a great Amen, 

1 have sought, but ] seek it vainly, 
That one lost chord divine. 
Which came from the soul of the organ, 
And entered into mine. 

It may be that Death's bright ange) 
Will speak in that chord again. 
It may be that only in Heaven 
I shall hear that grand Amen. 

Adelaidt A. V 'rocU r. 

From Hamlet Act III. 
To be. or not to be.— that is the question: 
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to suffer 
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. 
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles. 
And by opposing end them? 



The Expulsive Form of voice is that in which the 
sound is emitted as in conversation, not smooth-flowing 
hut suddenly and quickly. In nature the expulsive 
sound is heard in the gurgling waters of a brook pas- 
sing over some slight obstructions or in the chattering 
of a flock of birds. It is a median between the effusive 
and the explosive, and hence we tind it used in all ordi- 
nary speech, such as descriptive and colloquial language. 

Examples for practice on the Expulsive Form ; 
From Othello. Act II. 

logo. What, are you hurt, lieutenant? 

Cassio. Ay, past all surgery. 

Iago. Marry, heaven forbid! 

Cas. Reputation, reputation, reputation! O! I have lost 
my reputation. I have lost the immortal part of myself, and 
what remains is bestial,— -My reputation, Iago, my reputa- 

Iago. As I am an honest man, I thought you had receiv- 
ed some bodily wound ; there is more offence in that, than in 
reputation. Reputation is an idle and most false imposition, 
oft got without merit, and lost without deserving ; you have 
lost no reputation at all, unless you repute yourself such a 
loser. What, man! there are ways to recover the general 
again; you are but now cast in his mood, a punishment more 
in policy than in malice: even so as one would beat his 
offenceless dog. to affright an imperious lion. Sue to him 
again, and lie's yours. — Shakespeare. 

From The Army of the Lord. 

Where sin and crime are dwelling, hid from the light of day. 
And life and hope are fading at Death's cold touch away. 
Where dying eyes in horror see the long forgotten past: 
Christ's servants claim I lie sinner, and gain his soul at last. 
Where the rich and proud and mighty God's message would 

In warning and reproof His anointed ones stand by : 
Bright are the crowns of glory God keepeth for His own, 
Their life one sigh for heaven, their aim His will alone. 

Adelaide A. Procter. 

From Hamlet. Act III. 

Speak the speech, I pray yon, as I pronounced it to you, 
trippingly on the tongue; but if you mouth it, as many of 
your players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. 
Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus; but 
use all gently: for in the very torrent, tempest, and (as I 
might say) whirlwind of passion, you must acquire and beget a 
temperance, that may give it smoothness. O! it offends me 
to the soul, to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a 
passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the ground- 
lings; who, for the most part, are capable of nothing but inex- 
plicable dumb shows and noise; I would have such a fellow 
whipped for o"er-doing Termagant : it out-herods Herod: pray 
you avoid it —Shakespeare. 

From The Flag and the Cross. 

Lift up the flag, yes. set it high beside yon gleaming Cross. 
Close to the standard of the cause that never shall know loss. 
Lift praising voice, lift pleading hand, the world must hear 

and see 
The soldiers of the Cross of Christ most loyal, dear flag, to 

But wherefore speak of loyalty? Who fears a watching 

When have we flinched or fled from thee since first thou wert 

Carroll and Moylan spoke for us, and Barry on the seas. 
And a third of thy sturdy cradle guard — no Arnold among 

And yet they call us Aliens, and yet they doubt our faith — 
The men who stood not with our hosts when test of faith was 


Who never shed a drop of blood when ours was shed like rain, 
That not a star should fall from thee nor thy great glory 

Eleanor CGrad;/. 

The Explosive Form is illustrated in nature by the 
boom of a cannon, the clang of the smith's hammer and 
the clapping- of hands. In this form of voice the sound 
is emitted with great abruptness. It is most commonly 
used to denote an extreme of joy, hate, defiance, anger , 

Examples for practice on the Explosive Form, 

Hail, St. Gabriel! hail! a thousand hails 
For thine whose music still prevails 
In the world's listening ear! 
Angelic Word! send forth to tell 
How the Eternal Word should dwell 
Amid His creatures here I 

Father Faber. 

From Merchant oi Venice, AH 111, 

Shylock* How now, Tubal"? what news from Genoa*? hast 
thou found my daughter? 

Tubal, I oft came where I did hear of her, but cannot find 

Shy. Why there, there> there, there! a diamond gone, cost 
me two thousand ducats in Frankfort,-— No ill luck stirring, 
but what light's o' my shoulders; no sighs but o' my breath- 
ing: no tears but o' my shedding. 

Tub, Yes, other men have ill luck too. Antonio, as I 
heard in Genoa — 

Shy, What, what, what'? ill luck, ill luck? 

Tub, —hath an argosy cast away coming from Tripolis? 

Shy. I thank God! I thank God! Is it true? is it true? 

Tub. I spoke with some of the sailors that escaped the 

FORCE. 59 

Shy. I thank thee, good Tubal.— Good news, good news! 
ha ! ha ! — Shakespeare. 

From Othello. Act I. 

Othello. Holla ! stand there! 

Boderigo. Signor, it is the Moor. 

Brabantio. Down with him, thief! 

Oth. Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust 
them. — Good signor, you shall more command with years, 
than with your weapons. — Shakespeare. 


Degree, for practical purposes, may be divided into 
Subdued, Moderate, Energetic, Impassioned. 

Peaceful, sad, end tender emotions are correctly ren- 
dered in the Subdued force. 


From The Third Dolor. 

Three days she seeks her Child in vain: 
He Who vouchsafed that holy woe 
And makes the gates of glory pain. 
He, He alone its depth can know. 

She wears the garment He must wear. 
She tastes His Chalice! From a Cross 
Unseen she cries. Where art thou, where:-' 
Why hast Thou me forsaken thus? 

With feebler hand she touches first 
That sharpest thorn in all His Crown 
Worse than the Nails, the Reed, the Thirst, 
•Seeming Desertion's icy frown? 

Aubrey De Vere. 


From The Grave. 

The Grave, it is deep and soundless, 
And canopied over with clouds; 
And trackless and dim and boundless 
Is the Unknown Land that it shrouds. 

Yet everywhere else shall mortals 
For peace unavailingly roam : 
Except through the Shadowy Portals 
Goeth none to his genuine home ! 

And the heart that Tempest and Sorrow 
Have beaten against for years, 
Must look for a sunnier morrow 
Beyond this Temple of Tears. 

/. C\ Manyan. 

From In Memory of His Friend. 

A shadow slept folded in vestments, 

The dream of a smile on his face, 

Dim, soft as the gleam after sunset 

That hangs like a halo of grace 

Where the daylight hath died in the valley, 

And the twilight hath taken its place-- 

A shadow! but still on the mortal 

There rested the tremulous trace 

Of the joy of a spirit immortal, 

Passed up to its God in His grace. 

A shadow ! hast seen in the summer 

A cloud wear the smile of the sun? 

On the shadow of death there is flashing 

The glory of noble deeds done ; 

On the face of the dead there is glowing 

The light of a holy race run ; 

And the smile of the face is reflecting, 

The gleam of the crown he has won. 

Father By an. 


The Moderate differs only in a slight degree from the 
Subdued. It is commonly used in conversation and un- 
excited speech . 


From Julius Caesar. Act IV. 

Brutus. Sheathe your dagger. 

Be angry when you will, it shall have scope ; 
Do what you will, dishonor shall be humor, 
O Cassius ! you are yoked with a lamb, 
That carries anger as the flint bears tire. 
Who, much inforced, shows a hasty spark, 
And straight is cold again, 


The Energetic is used in patriotic, bold and grand 


From The Irish Disturbance Bill, 

If ever I doubted before of the success of our agitation for 
repeal, this bill, this infamous bill, the way it has been re- 
ceived by the House, the manner in which its opponents have 
been treated, the personalities to which they have been sub- 
jected, the yells with which one of them has this night been 
greeted— all these things dissipate my doubts, and tell me of 
its complete and early triumph. Do you think those yells will 
be forgotten? Do you suppose their echo will not reach the 
plains of my injured and insulted country; that they will not 
be whispered in her green valleys, and heard from her lofty 
hills? Oh! they will be heard there! Yes, and they will not 
be forgotten. The youth of Ireland will bound with indigna- 
tion: they will say. "We are eight millions; and you treat us 
thus, as though we were no more to your country than the 
isle of Guernsey or of Jersey l—Damd O'Conmll, 


From An Address to the American Catholic Congress. 

The shadow of an imposing - event begins to move. The 
people of the United States, and of the hemisphere are about 
to celebrate the four hundredth anniversary of the discovery 
of America. We heartily rejoice in this resolve. That tre- 
mendous event, that with reverence I may say the second cre- 
ation, the rinding of a new world, and the vast results that 
have flowed to humanity, can be traced directly to the Catho- 
lic Church and the Roman Catholic Church alone. Protestant- 
ism was unknowm when America was discovered. Let the 
students and the scholars search the archives of Spain, and 
the libraries of Europe, and the deeper the search the more 
glory will adorn the brow of Catholicity. It was a pious 
Catholic who conceived the .mighty thought. It was when 
footsore and down-hearted at the porch of a monastery that 
hope dawned on him. It was a monk who first encouraged 
him. It was a Cardinal who interceded with the sovereigns 
of Spain. It was a Catholic King who fitted out the ships. 
It was a Catholic Queen who offered her jewels as a pledge. 
It was the Catholic Columbus and a Catholic crew that sailed 
out upon an unknown sea where ship had never sailed before. 
It was to spread the Catholic faith that the sublime risk was 
run. It was the prayer to the Blessed Mother that each night 
closed the perils of the day and inspired the hopes of the 
morrow. It was the Holy Cross, the emblem of Catholicity, 
that was carried to the shore and planted on the new found 
world, it was the Sacrifice of the Mass that was the first, 
and for a hundred years, the only Christian offering upon this 
virgin land. — Daniel Dougherty. 

The greatest degree of force, the Impassioned, is 
used in extremes of vehemence, terror, and the fiercer 
passions', also in colling or shouting. 


From Julius Caesar. Act L 

And do you now put on your best attire? 
And do yon now cull out a holiday? 

FORGE. 03 

And do you now strew flowers in his way 
That comes in triumph over Potnpey's bloody 
Be gone! 

Run to your houses, fall upon your knees. 
Pray to the gods to intermit the plague 
That needs must light on this ingratitude. 


From Merchant of Venice. Act III. 

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-ey ? d fool, 

To shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yield 

To Christian intercessors. Follow not ; 

I'll have no speaking; I will have my bond. 


From Macbeth. Act III. 

A vaunt! and quit my sight. Let the earth hide thee! 
Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold : 
Thou hast no speculation in Those eyes, 
Which thou dost glare with. 


Before concluding this chapter, a few words on some 
other matters regarding the use of force are in place. 
Force must be applied judiciously. In a large hall, 
care must he taken that sentences spoken in subdued 
force are audible to the entire audience. In this mat- 
ter, there may be three difficulties to overcome. First, 
the size of the hall, second, the defective acoustics, and 
third, the presence of a large audience. In any of these 
three cases an increase of force is necessary. Besides 
this, you may aid }ourself greatly by speaking more 
slowly and articulating more distinctly. Never allow 


the pitch of voice to increase to a shout, unless some 
particular passage demands it . Speak to those that are 
farthest from you. In this way the sound will he pro- 
jected, and by not shouting you will avoid giving dis- 
gust to those closest to you. A person adapting his 
force to the surroundings can pronounce the strongest 
of invectives in a parlor without offending any one. 

Another tendency to error in force which you must 
avoid is imitation. Do not think that because some 
ideal of yours brings out a passage in thunder tones, 
that you must do the same or fail entirely. Your voice 
may be inadequate to the effort. Ape no man. Use 
your own scale; bestow your force, so that there is a 
reserve power left to you, and be content. The most 
vociferous is by no means the best or the most appreci- 
ated. Everyone is acquainted with the fact that the 
empty wagon rumbles most. 

En order to strengthen your force so that you may be 
heard well in any ordinary assembly, practice daily in 
the middle pitch on some energetic passages. Avoid 
rasping sounds, use the pure tone, and be careful not 
to rise in pitch. Strengthening the foundation, the 
middle pitch, will strengthen your voice along the 
whole range. 




Having familiarized ourselves with the bodily agents 
of expression, we proceed to the laws governing them. 
We give here the laws of Delsarte on the subject. 

Law of Succession. 

"Let your attitude, gesture, and face foretell what 
you would make felt." — Delsarte. 

In other words, facial expression and gesture should 
precede speech. The expression begins at the eye, com- 
municates itself to the faee. and then passes to the rest 
of the body, successively throwing into motion each ar- 
ticulation as it passes down. For instance, along the 
arm it would start with the shoulder and upper arm. 
then follow the elbow and lower arm, lastly wrist, hand, 
and lingers. As a proof that this is the law of nature, 
we refer you to the chi.d. Observe it and you will see 
that on its face is mirrored the pleasure, pain, anger, 
etc.. which stirs it. before it gives those emotions voice. 
The little face often assumes lines of pain, long before 
the voice has given evidence of grief. 

Law of Opposition. 

"When two limbs follow the same direction, they cannot 
be simultaneous without an injury to the law of opposi- 
tion. Therefore, direct movements should be successive, 
and opposite movements simultaneous.' ' 


Iii order to make the law more intelligible we place 
it thus: 

I, Opposite movements should be simultaneous: 

II. Parallel movements should be successive. 

As an example of the I., suppose something- repulsive . 
to be situated to the right oblique of the speaker. In 
making a gesture to show his feeling of disgust toward 
the object, he would move the head to the left, and with 
the right hand make a movement as if to push it away 
from him. The movement of both head and hand 
should be simultaneous. An illustration of the II. part 
of the law may be seen in the salutation of two friends. 
The body bends forward and then onh 7 the hand is ex- 
tended for the other's grasp. Care should be taken that 
these laws be followed or awkward movements will en- 

Law of Duration. 

This law cautions us against multiplying gesture. 
But one gesture is necessary for the expression of a 
single thought. This gesture should be held till the 
thought is completed. Notice, we do not affirm that it 
must be held till the sentence is completed. There may- 
be many modifications of the thought contained in a 
sentence. Until a new impression dawns upon us, the 
gesture must not he changed . 

Law of Velocity. 

•'The rhythm of gesture is proportional to the mass to 
be moved." — Delaarte, 

Interpreting this we have: The velocity of the gesture 
should be proportionate to the thought or emotion « 
Hence grandeur demands gestures of majestic dinien- 


sions. In this law, gesture follows nature as seen in the 
swinging of a pendulum. If a pendulum is set so that 
it swings only a short distance, the motion will be quick; 
place it lower on the rod, and permit it to swing with a 
larger sweep, and the motion is slow. Take the follow- 
ing 3X;impIe from Pope, and notice the change in the 
velocity of gesture. 

When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw, 

The line too labors and the words move slow. 

Not so when swift Camilla scours the plain, 

Flies o'er the unbending corn and skims along the main, 

Law of Altitude. 

Positiveness rises, hesitancy descends. If you are 
absolutely certain of your assertion, the arm will be 
carried straight toward the zenith in testifying to it. If 
you make an assertion with hesitancy, the gesture will 
not proceed above the shoulder line. The more doubt- 
ful you are, the lower is the altitude of the gesture. 
Try the Law of Altitude on the following sentences. 

Possibility. He may be false. 

Assertion. I believe him false. 

Certainty. I have evidence proving him false. 

Absolute Certainty. I swear that he is false. 

In pronouncing these sentences, the first and second 
call for gestures of different altitudes below the shoulder 
line. The third is made above the shoulder line; the last 
points straight to the zenith. 

Law of Force. 

1 'Conscious strength assumes weak attitudes. Con- 
scious weakness assumes strong attitudes.' ' 


The broad base is the physically strong attitude. 
This may be noticed in the child just learning to walk. 
Its legs are spread wide to steady it in moving along. 
Observe, the broad base is used also by one who has 
imbibed too freely. In order to keep from falling, he 
assumes this, the physically strong attitude. It is this 
attitude, likewise, which conscious weakness will assume 
in order to have at least the semblance of strength. On 
the other hand conscious strength has nothing to fear, 
and hence relaxes all tension and show of power. This 
relaxation tends to moderate the position. The bully 
will assume broad gesture and position to put on a 
show of power which, of course, he is conscious he does 
not possess. The athlete, conhdent in his own powers, 
does not need to assume physically strong attitudes, for 
he knows that when the trial comes his strength will 
not be found wanting. Observe these two classes of 
individuals and you will not hesitate as to where the 
strength lies. 

There is a dispute as to how many laws Delsarte 
laid down for gesture. Some of his disciples claim 
nine as the number, others six, and others do not 
give any category. Delsarte died before issuing any 
printed matter. Hence we have no means of certify- 
ing ourselves as to the number. We take the forego- 
ing to be laws in consonance with nature and appli- 
cable to all gesture. Other laws attributed to him we 
omit, as being unnecessary. 




Pitch may be defined as the highness or lowness of the 
voice in the delivery of a sentence. 

We may call the human voice a musical instrument. 
It has, as the piano, three kinds of notes; the high, the 
medium, and the low. Its range is not like that of the 
piano in six or seven octaves, hut generally in a little 
less than two. The voice, in delivery, may not be used 
in the higher, middle or lower registers arbitrarily, hut 
must be confined to that which the nature of the senti- 
ment intended to he expressed, demands. In order, 
therefore, that the student may learn how to use the 
different pitches of voice correctly, for like the piano 
the human voice is an instrument we must learn to play 
on, we subjoin rules for his guidance. 

Pitch is divided into High, Middle, and Low tones. 
Of these the most used is the middle, it being the 
most flexible. Legouve, in his admirable work. "The 
Art of Reading." says: "The middle pitch, in fact, 
is our ordinary voice, and is therefore the best and 
truest delineator of our truest and most natural sen- 
timents. The low notes are not without great power: 
the high notes are occasionally brilliant; but to neither 
should recourse be had frequently; they should be em- 
ployed only when certain unusual effects are to be 
produced — that is to say only exceptionally and spar- 
ingly. As an illustration 1 should compare our high 


notes to cavalry, whose peculiar province is to make 
dashing charges and initiate strong attacks; the low- 
notes I should compare to the artillery, as denoting 
strength, effort, and the putting forth of unusual pow- 
er; but the main body of the army, its real working- 
strength and spirit, the element on which the tactician 
relies the most and employs the oftenest, is the infantry. 
The middle voice is our infantry. The chief precept, 
therefore, which I would most earnestly impress upon 
you is this: to the middle voice accord the supremacy, 
first, last, and always!" 

In the scale, b flat beginning below the leger line, 
the four notes, o, c, d, e, would be the range of the low 
pitch;/, g, a, b, c, would be the middle pitch, and d, e, 
f, g, above, would be the range of the high pitch. 

High Pitch is used to express buoyant, gay, energetic, 
animated, and impassioned thought, and the height of 

Middle Pitch is used to express all unimpassioned 
narrative, and description. 

Low Pitch is appropriate in sentiments of reverence, 
solemnity, grandeur, and gravity. 

Note.— Variations in pitch will be treated under the head of Inflection. 

Examples for practice in High Pitch. 
From Sweet May. 

The summer is come! — the summer is come ! 

With its flowers and its branches green. 
Where the young birds chirp on the blossoming boughs. 
And the sunlight struggles between. 

I). Florence McCarthy. 

From Othello. Act II. 

Oli (rod. that men should put an enemy in their mouths to 
steal away their brains '. that we should, with joy. pleasure. 

PITCH. 71 

"revel, and applause, transform ourselves into beasts!— Shakes* 

From Moore. 

Joy to Ierne, joy, 

This day a deathless crown is won, 

Her child of song, her glorious son, 

Her minstrel boy 

Attains his century of fame, 

Completes his time— allotted zone 

And proudly with the world's acclaim 

Ascends the lyric throne. 

D. Florence McCarthy. 

From The Comedy of Errors. Act V. 

Justice, sweet prince, against that woman there! 
She whom thou gav'st to me to be my wife — 
Beyond imagination is the wrong, 
That she this day hath shameless thrown on me. 


From King Richard II. Act 11. 

Why have those banish'd and forbidden legs 
Dar'd once to touch a dust of England's ground? 
But more than that.— why have they dared To march 
So many miles upon our peaceful bosom. 
Frighting her pale-fac'd villages with war. 
And ostentation of despoiling arms'.-' 


Examples for practice on Middle Pitch. 
From Hamlet. Act III. 

Speak the speech, I pray you. as I pronounced it to you, trip- 
pingly on the tongue : but if you mouth it as many of your 
players do. I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. Xor 
do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus : but use 
all gently. — Shakespeare. 


From Land and Sea Breezes. 

Alone in the night watch, after the sea breeze has sunk to 
rest, I have stood on the deck, under those beautiful skies, 
gazing, admiring, rapt. I have seen there, above the hori- 
zon at once, and shining with a splendor unknown to those 
latitudes, every star of the first magnitude— save only six — 
that is contained in the catalogue of the hundred principal 
fixed stars of astronomers. There lies the city on the sea- 
shore wrapped in sleep. The sky looks solid, like a vault of 
steel set w T ith diamonds. The stillness below is in harmony 
with the silence above, and one almost fears to speak, lest the 
harsh sound of the human voice, should wake up echo, and 
drown the music that tills the soul.— M. F. Maury. 

From Essay on Criticism. 

But see! each Muse, in Leo's golden days, 
Starts from her trance, and trims her withered bays: 
Rome's ancient Genius, o'er its ruins spread, 
Shakes off the dust, and rears his reverend head. 
Then sculpture and her sister arts revive : 
Stones leaped to form, and rocks began to live: 
With sweeter notes each rising temple rung: 
A Raphael painted, and a Yida sung. 


Examples for practice in Low Pitch. 

From Julius Caesar. Act 77. 

It must be by his death; and for my part, 

I know no personal cause to spurn at him. 

But for the general. He would be crowivd : 

How that might change his nature, there's the question. 

It is the bright day that brings forth the adder, 

And that craves wary walking. Crown him?— that: 

And then, I grant, we put a sting in him, 

That at his will he may do danger with. 

Shake&peart . 

PITCH, 73 

From The Pillar Towers of Ireland, 

The pillar towers of Ireland, how wondrously they stand. 
By the lakes and rushing rivers through the valleys of our 

In mystic rile, through the isle, they lift their heads sublime, 
These gray old pillar temples, these conquerors of time ! 

D, F, M'Cartky. 

From Omens Presaging the Downfall of Italy. 

Last night, between the hour of twelve and one 
In a lone aisle of the temple while I walked 
A whirlwind rose, that, with a violent blast, 
Shook all the dome. The doors around me clapt; 
The iron wicket, that defends the vault 
Where the long race of Ptolemies is laid, 
Burst open and disclosed the mighty dead. 


From Hamlet. Ad I 

Ghost. I am thy father's spirit: 
Hoomed for a certain time to walk the night, 
And. tor the day. confined to fast in tires, 
Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature, 
Are burn'd and purged away. 





As in the art of painting we find a ground color, or 
basis, on which to bring ont the lights and shades, so in 
the art of expression. Every man has a certain pitch of 
voice in which he is most agreeable to his hearers and 
most comfortable to himself. This is the ground-tone 
from which he is to build, from which all advancement 
is to be made. We call this pitch the conversational 
tone. The variations from the key-note of this conver- 
sational pitch we call Inflexions. We might then define 
inflexion as: The undulations of the voice on particular 
words to give a certain effect. 

Every piece has a predominating pitch in which it 
should be spoken. It is the judicious variations from 
this pitch, on particular words, which forms the soul of 
good speaking. 

There are Three Inflexions : the Rising ( ' ),. the Fal- 
ling p),and the Circumflex(~). It requires no little 
attention to learn where each is appropriately used, 
yet, a close observance of the fallowing rules will aid 

Rules for the Use of Rising Inflexion. 

i. The Rising Inflexion is generally used whenever a 
question is asked; e. g., 

Hath a dog - money? 


2. The Rising Inflexion is generally used where 
weakness, either mentally or physically, is denoted; 

A beggar who asks an alms says : Please give me a penny. 

3. The Rising Inflexion is used in the expression 
of something about which we are doubting; e. g., 

Is not that a man standing on that great peak far to the 
South of us? 

4. The Rising Inflexion is used in answers that are 
slightly disrespectful, careless, etc.; e. g., 

Did you see him? I did. 

5. The Rising Inflexion is used where the speaker is 
supposed to have all of a succession of particulars in his 
mind when he expresses the first; e. g., 

^ Caesar is said to have been tall, slim, agile, and hardy. 

6. The Rising Inflexion is often used at the end, 
when strong emphasis is used just before the close of the 
sentence; e. g. , 

A very pleasing night to honest men. 

7. The Rising Inflexion is generally used before the 
disjunctive or; e. o-.. 

Will you ride or walk? 

8. The Rising Inflexion is used on the negative in 
all sentences where you have a negation and an affir- 
mation; e. g. , 

I will not go. if he come for me. 

9. The Rising Inflexion is generally used in the 
last but one of a series of clauses; e. g., 

St. Benedict said to Totila: You do much evil: you have 
already done much: cease at length to perpetrate injustice. 


You will actually take Rome; you will cross the sea ; you will 
reign nine years more, and. die in the tenth. 

Rules for Falling Inflexion. 

i. The Falling Inflexion is used in answer to a 
direct question; e. g. , 

Must I endure all this? Aye, more. 

2. The Falling Inflexion is used where strength, 
command, positiveness are asserted; e. g., 

Brutus bay not me, I'll not endure it. 

3. The Falling Inflexion is used where a series of 
particulars suggest themselves one after another as the 
speaker proceeds in his discourse; e. g., 

What a piece of work is man! how noble in reason ! how infi- 
nite in faculties! in form, and moving, how express and 
admirable! in action, how like an angel! in apprehension, 
how like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon of 
a n imals ! — Shakespeare. 

4. The Falling Inflexion is used where the sense is 
completed whether the end of the sentence is reached 
or not; e. g., 

Oh Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb that carries anger as 
the flint bears lire. 

Rules for the Circumflex Inflexion. 

1. The Circumflex .Inflexion is generally used in 
the expression of humor, irony, and sarcasm; e. g., 

I have heard, 
Where many of the best respect in Rome, 


Except immortal Caesar !— speaking of Brutus, 
Haye wished that noble Brutus had his eyes, 


Before I would drown myself for the love of a guinea hen, 
I would change my humanity with a baboon,— Shahespea re, 


Study your selection until you are perfectly acquaint- 
ed with what the author wishes to say. The perfection 
of good speech depends greatly on this principle. Then 
speak the piece as though it were your own. Prac- 
tice on the following examples. 

If it were done when 'tis done, then 't were well 
It were done quickly. 

Is it possible a cur can lend three thousand ducats/ 

No, Cassius; for the eye sees not itself 
But by reflection from some other thing. 

The minor longs to be of age; then to be a man of business; 
then to arrive at honors; then to retire. 

You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things. 

I'd rather be a dog, and bay the moon, than such a Roman. 

Queen. Hamlet, you have your father much offended. 
Hamlet, Madam, you have my father much offended. 





The voice is nature's medium of expression. The 
ha man voice is the vehicle of thought , and feeling, 
the agent of the soul, the bond of union betwixt man 
and man. It may be trained to convey 

"All thoughts, all passions, all delights, 
Whatever stirs this mortal frame." 

The voice, being commonly in harmony with the na- 
ture of its possessor, reveals much character. It is re- 
garded by some as an unfailing index. 'A gruff, disa- 
greeable voice," say they, "makes known a like nature; 
and a sweet, soft, kind voice tells the story of corres- 
ponding inner traits of character." Naturalists that 
have studiously observed dogs, inform us, that each 
dog, as well as each family, has a distinct or peculiar 
bark, which invariably agrees with its well-known dis- 
position and characteristics. The owl and raven are 
universally regarded as birds of evil omen; their voices 
almost justify the view. 

The moderate observation of each one will furnish 
like examples from nature. None will fail to detect the 
mild character of the dove in its plaintive cooing, and 
the loathsome character of the venomous serpent from 
its malignant hiss. No one hesitates to pronounce the 
character of a lamb from its bleating, and a mastiff 
from his bay. 


The same tell-tales of character may be found in u the 
paragon of animals. " There are voices that enchain 
attention, quell opposition, reach and win the heart; 
there are others that estrange, provoke, and almost 

'•Each particular hair to stand on end, 
Like quills upon the fretful porcupine.'' 

The attribute which enables us to distinguish the 
different voices is called Quality, Character, or Timbre 
of voice. 

"The voice is a living aeolian harp. The vocal chords 
are situated in the upper part of the larynx, where the 
air from the lungs, called breath, passes through, and 
brings to phonation the tones conceived in the brain." 

It is susceptible of much cultivation. True, all may 
not attain the same mellowness, fullness, strength, and 
flexibility of vocal power, hut all can improve by judi- 
cious vocal exercise. The voice is exposed to "the 
thousand natural shocks, that flesh is heir to," and, 
hence, must be employed with discretion. 

Perfect organs are little more to the speaker than 
perfect tools to the mechanic — both must practice to 
become skilful in their use. The golden rule of econ- 
omy, never let the expenditure exceed the supply, i> 
especially applicable to the voice. The supply essen- 
tial to every speaker is a supply of breath. Hence, 
correct vocal culture resolves itself into the art of 
correct inspiration and expiration, the difficult art of 

The great value and necessity of a good voice, all ad- 
mit. The sermons with which a Bernard or a Bossuet 
kindled devotion in the hearts of thousands would 
seem insipid, if delivered in leaden tones by a hueless 


voice. Sjtakespearf. knew the value of a cultured 
voice when he said, 

In law what plea so tainted and corrupt, 
But, being season 'd with a gracious voice, 
Obscures the show of Evil? 

The voice is the interpreter of the emotions. Each 
emotion has its distinctive quality. If we would give 
adequate expression to these innumerable emotions, we 
must lie able to govern with 

"giddy cunning 
The melting voice through mazes running, 
Untwisting all the chains that tie 
The hidden soul of harmony." 

The Qualities of Voice are seven: Pure, Orotund, As- 
pirate. Guttural, Pectoral, Falsetto, and Nasal. The 
first three of these have the three forms of Force. Effus- 
ive, Expulsive, Explosive. 

The Guttural, owing to its nature, has no Effusive 
Form. The Pectoral, for a like reason, lacks Explosive 
Form. The Falsetto sometimes uses the Expulsive and 
Explosive Forms. 

The Nasal scarcely enters the province of elevated ex- 
pression. But when we rind an unfortunate that strains. 
all his sayings through his nose, should we meet him 
"when the melancholy days have ('01116,*' he would fil- 
ter his pathos through his nose in the Nasal Effusive 
But should we wipe the tears from his eyes and soothe 
him with sweet words of consolation, he would show 
his gratitude "by telliii us a tale" in the Nasal Ex- 
pulsive. After the "tcde" is finished, the next theme 
is, perhaps, politics. We differ as to the merits of 
certain candidates. He extols his hero with great 
warmth. We bring up his idol's past record, which; 
darkens the picture somewhat. Our nasal friend log* 


es control of his temper and tongue, and pours out a 
torrent of abuse on our favorite, in the Nasal Explosive. 


Pure Tone should be mastered before the others are 
attempted. In it lie all genuine power, compass, and 
endurance. When all the breath summoned for the 
production of a tone is vocalized, the result is Pure Tone. 

"The tones must be brought to the front of the 
mouth: The brightness or bloom of the tone should 
sparkle upon the lips, and the mouth should be filled 
with vibration. The hard-palate is the sounding- board, 
and the. mouth the resonance cavity of the voice." 

The vocal cords must be unconstrained, otherwise the 
voice will be stiff and throaty. Use the throat for a 
channel through which the tone-material merely passes. 

Pure Tone is the exponent of a tranquil state of mind 
and bod}/: it is also used in expressing the tender emo- 
tions, as love, melancholy, cheerfulness, etc. 


From The Bells of Stonyhurst. 

Now fold on fold 

The sunset gold 
Winds every westward vale in splendor: 

And faint and far 

To evening star 
The turrets toll their ditty tender. 

Wild College chimes 

The vanished times 
Live in your magic music air. 

Within my heart 

Old memories start 
And wake anew your Ave Maria. 

P. J. Coleman. 


From "Aristotle's Poetics." 

Revealed Religion should be especially poetical— and it is 
so in fact. While its disclosures have an originality in them 
to engage the intellect, they have a beauty to satisfy the 
moral nature. It presents us with those ideal forms of ex- 
cellence in which a poetical mind delights, and with which 
all grace and harmony are associated. It brings us into a 
new world— a world of overpowering interest, of the sublim- 
est views and the tenderest and purest feelings. The peculiar 
grace of mind of the New Testament writers is as striking as 
the actual effect produced upon the hearts of those who have 
imbibed their spirit. At present we are not concerned with 
the practical, but the poetical nature of revealed truth. With 
Christians, a poetical view of things is a duty,— we are bid to 
color all things with hues of faith, to see a Divine meaning 
in every event, and a superhuman tendency. Even our 
friends around us are invested with unearthly brightness — 
no longer imperfect men, but beings taken into a Divine fa- 
vor, stamped with His seal, and in training for future happi- 
ness. It may be added that the virtues peculiarly Christian 
are especially poetical— meekness, gentleness, compassion, 
contentment, modesty, not to mention the devotional virtues; 
whereas the ruder and more ordinary feelings are the instru- 
ments of rhetoric more justly than of poetry — anger, indigna- 
tion, emulation, martial spirit, and love of independence. — 

From A Night in June. 

O choir of silence, without noise of word! 
A human voice would break the mytic spell 
Of wavering shades and sound ; the lily bell 
Here at my feet sings melodies unheard; 
And clearer than the voice of any bird, — 
Yes even than that lark which loves so well, 
Hid in the hedges, all the world to tell 
In trill and triple notes that May has stirred. 
"O love complete !" soft sings the mignonette : 
"O Heart of All!'' deep sighs the red, red rose: 


"O Heart of Christ!" the lily voices meet 
In fugue on fugue; and from the flag-edged, wet, 
Lush borders of the lake, the night wind blows' 
The tenor of the reeds— '"Love, love complete!" 

Maurice F. Egan. 

From Merchant of Venice. Act V. 

How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! 
Here will we sit, and let the sounds of niusic 
Creep in our ears; soft stillness, and the night, 
Become the touches of sweet harmony. 
Sit, Jessica; look how the floor of heaven 
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold; 
There's not the smallest orb, which thou behold 'st, 
But in his motion like an angel sings, 
Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubim : 
Such harmony is in immortal souls: 
But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay 
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. 


From Criterion. 

Every one ought to choose the profession for which nature 
has most fitted him. This rule is of great importance : it 
has often been neglected and the arts and sciences have suf- 
fered considerably in consequence. Some men imagine that 
the word * -talent" means absolute ability. They suppose that 
a man who possesses abilities for one particular study, must 
likewise possess them for every other study. This is a great 
mistake. Experience teaches that some men have extraor- 
dinary abilities for some one branch of human knowledge, 
whilst in other branches they either do not succeed at all or 
their success will be very limited, notwithstanding the most 

intense application Each talent has its own degree of 

strength and of weakness. There are few men, we might say 
there is not a single man. who would succeed equally well in 
all stations or professions.— Bev. J. Balmes. 


From Bible, Science, and Faith. 

The book of Nature and the hook of the Spirit, although 
appealing to us in different tongues, ever voice the same tes- 
timony and proclaim the same truth. They both, in words 
eloquent and sublime, tell us of a God infinite in wisdom and 
love and perfection, who ordains all things well, and who 

compasses His ends with infinite knowledge and power 

One may indeed reject the truths of the Bible and discard 
the teachings of faith, as the mariner may ignore the saving- 
bell or the friendly pharos, but he does so at his peril. Far 
from gaining anything by this mad assertion of independence 
— an independence which means not liberty and life, but 
rashness and destruction — he inevitably loses, and his loss 
carries with it the loss and death, it may be, of others be- 
sides. There is too much of doubt and uncertainty in the 
world of science for us to decline the undeniable helps of reve- 
lation — too much fog and darkness enveloping many problems 
of philosophy for us to close our eyes to the sun of Truth or 
for us to make naught of the light of God's inspired word. — 
Rev. J. A. Zahm. 

From Books and Reading. 

I have strayed into many fields of literature, and culled 
flowers in many languages, and I can bear witness that, 
whilst there are certain works in other languages which I 
appreciate more highly than works of the same grade in our 
own tongue, still, taking the literature of various countries 
as a whole, there is none of less objectionable character and 
of more elevating tone than is English literature, in its 
grand roll of authors from Widsith, the old English gleeman 
of the fourth century, down to the present laureate. But for 
this boon we are not to thank the Protestantism of England. 
It is rather due to the fact that the roots of English litera- 
ture struck deep in Catholic soil, and the conservative char- 
acter of the English people kept up the Catholic spirit and 
the Catholic traditions long after the very name of Catholic 
had become offensive. That Catholic spirit still lingers in 
the cloistered aisles and corridors of Oxford. It hovers over 


the vacant tomb of Edward the Confessor within the hallow- 
ed walls of Westminster Abbey. It speaks in tower and 
pillared dome throughout the land, "of which every arch has 
its scroll teaching Catholic Wisdom, and every window repre- 
sents some canonized saint." It breathes through the Cath- 
olic prayers still preserved in the Book of Common Prayer. 
It has become transfused into some of the noblest passages in 
Paradise Lost ; the Arianism and the Protestantism are 
Milton's own ; but his magnificent lines clothe many a senti- 
ment of tenderness and sublimity culled from the pages of 
Ca?dmon, St. Avitus, Andreini, the Catholic mediaeval mir- 
acle plays, and Lucifer, the Catholic drama of Vondel, the 
great Catholic and national poet of Holland. — Brother Azarim. 

From Paradise. Canto XXII. 

Astounded, to the guardian of my steps 
I turn'd me, like the child, who always runs 
Thither for succour, where he trusteth most. 
And she was like the mother, who her son 
Beholding pale and breathless, with her voice 
Soothes him. and he is cheer'd : for thus she spake 
Soothing me: knowest not thou, thou art in heav'n? 
And know'st not thou, whatever is in heav'n. 
Is holy, and that nothing there is done 
But is done zealously and well? Deem now, 
What change in thee the song, and what my smile 
Had wrought, since thus the shout had pow'r to 

move thee. 
In which couldst thou have understood their 

The vengeance were already known to thee. 
Which thou must witness ere thy mortal hour. 
The sword of heaven is not in haste to smite. 
Nor yet doth linger, save unto his seeming. 
Who in desire or fear doth look for it. 

Cory's Dante. 

From Martin Luther and His American Worshippers. 

American Catholic Quarterly Review, July, 1884./ 

Modern taste unfortunately— and we may thank Luther's 
teaching for it — is no longer Christian, but pagan. Our her- 


oes. too often nowadays, are made and held up for worship, 
not on the score of religion, virtue, or love of country, but 
because they are of the world, worldly, mouthpieces in word, 
or patterns indeed, of the bad passions and corrupt inclina- 
tions that belong to unregenerate man. They have their use, 
too ; for they are put up by a few bad men, and stand in their 
pedestals mute but eloquent witnesses of the cowardly servil- 
ity that is an unfailing mark of all degenerate communities 
and peoples. Thus Greece of old, in her halls, groves, and 
high-ways, for one bust of Plato or Leonidas, had full twenty 

of Aphrodite, Eros, Priapus and adulterous Jove Luther 

deserves no statue at the hands of the American people, nor 
in their chief city, for his teachings or any influence they 
may have exercised on civil and religious liberty. The idle 
boast that our political liberty has any connection with 
Martin Luther or his Reformation is sufficiently disproved 
by the fact that the liberties of Germany were effectually lost 
after Lutheranism had brought Germany under its influence, 
and nowhere more thoroughly than in Scandinavian Europe, 
where it became supreme without a rival.— Monsignor Cor- 

From Sweet Innisfallen. 

Sweet Innisfallen, long shall dwell 
In memory's dream that sunny smile, 

Which o'er thee on that evening fell, 
When first I saw thy fair isle. 

'Twas light, indeed, too blest for one, 
Who had to turn to paths of care— 

Through crowded haunts again to run, 
And leave thee bright and silent there; 

No more unto thy shores to come 
But on the world's rude ocean tost. 

Dream of thee sometimes as a home 
Of sunshine he had seen and lost. 




The Orotund is a rich, deep, resonant chest-tone. It 
is the Pure Tone amplified. The volume of Pure Tone is 
increased when the sentiments, which Pure Tone con- 
veys, become more elevated. Thus, in expressing our 
esteem, love, or mere admiration, we employ the simple 
Pure Tone. But when esteem heightens to reverence, 
love to adoration, admiration to awe, then the tone 
swells in harmony until it merges into what is called 

The Orotund requires deep breathing, great free- 
dom, and a liberal opening of the vocal apparatus. 


From The Hidden Gem. 

Father! who here this thing of clay didst fashion 

Into Thine Image's terrestrial frame. 

Its dust together hold, or free disperse. 

Where rest my fathers, or as outcasts flung: 

Make it the earthworm's, or the vulture's feast, 

So that from its corruption flash my soul. 

Into the furnace of thy purest fire : 

Or rather, like a pearl, be gently dropped 

Into the abyss of Thy great ocean-bosom, 

To seek in vain for surface, depth, or margin, 

Absorbed, yet unconsumed, entranced, yet free. 

Cardinal Wiseman. 

From The Precious Blood. 

Salvation ! What music is there in that word. — music that 
never tires but is always new. that always rouses yet always 
rests us! It holds in itself all that our hearts would say. It 
is sweet vigor to us in the morning, and in the evening it is 
contented peace. It is a song that is always singing itself 


deep down in the delighted soul. Angelic ears are ravished 
by it up in heaven ; and our Eternal Father himself listens to 
it with adorable complacency. It is sweet even to Him out 
of whose mind is the music of a thousand worlds. To be 
saved! What is to be saved? Who can tell? Eye has not seen, 
nor ear heard. It is a rescue, and from such a shipwreck. It 
is a rest, and in such an unimaginable home. It is to lie 
down forever in the bosom of God in an endless rapture of in- 
satiable contentment. — Father Father . 

From Threnodia Augustalis. 

Be true, O Clio, to thy hero's name 

But draw him strictly so 
That all who view the piece may know 

He needs no trappings of fictitious fame 

For once, O Heaven, unfold thy adamantine book; 
And let his wondering senate see, 
If not thy firm, immutable decree, 
At least the second page of strong contigency. 
Such as consists with wills originally free, 
Let them with glad amazement look 
On what their happiness may be; 
Let them not still be obstinately blind, 
Still to divert the good thou hast designed, 
Or with malignant penny 
To stain the royal virtues of his mind. 


From Paradise. Canto XXX. 

O prime enlightener! thou who gav'st me strength 
On the high triumph of thy realm to gaze! 
Grant virtue now to utter what I kenn'd. 
There is in heav'n a light, whose goodly shine 
Makes the Creates visible to all 
Created, that in seeing him alone 
Have peace; and in a circle spreads so far, 
That the circumference wore too loose a zone 


To girdle in the sun. All is one beam, 

Reflected from the summit of the first, 

That moves, which being hence and vigour takes. 

And as some cliff, that from the bottom eyes 

Its image mirror'd in the crystal flood, 

As if bo admire its brave apparelling 

Of verdure and of flowers; so, round about, 

Eyeing the light, on more than million thrones, 

Stood, eminent, whatever from our earth 

Has to the skies return 'd. 

( fary's Dante, 

From The Bells of Stonyhurst 

Old College bells! 

Your carol swells 
Like angel chords., or voices fairy; 

Within my soul 

I hear you toll 
In fancy still your Ave Maria, 

Old bells, old bells.' 
Your music tells 
Of joyous hours and friendships cherished, 
Of smiles and tears, and golden years 
And dreams and hopes that long have perished. 

Ah. sweet and sad, 
When evening glad 
Gives rest to hearts with toiling weary. 
By memory tolled, 
Sweet bells of old! 
To hear again your Ave Maria. 

P. J. Coleman, 

From St Hereulanus. 

••Perugians. stand! 
Fight for the faith of fatherland ; 
Your leader I : strike, strike for God, 
Your altars and your native socL v 


His voice gives nerves the strength of steel, 
Gives hearts the valor heroes feel ; 
One purpose gleams in every eye : 
. "On to the fight and victory!" 

Brave heart! outstripping e'en the brave, 
You fell, but in your fall you gave 
Example fair of steadfast faith, 
Of dauntless soul, of glorious death. 

By craft, not arms, the city falls, 
The foeman's sentries pace the walls : 
Your veins a city's ransom hold— 
What bliss! you die to save your fold! 

Leo XIII. 

From The Duellist's Honor. 

Upon what ground can he who engages in a duel, through 
fear of ignominy, lay claim to courage? Unfortunate delin- 
quent! Do you not see by how many links your victim was. 
bound to a multitude of others'? Does his vain and idle re- 
signation of his title to life absolve you from the enormous, 
claims which society has upon you for his services,— his 
family for that support of which you have robbed them., 
without your own enrichment? Go, stand over that body: 
call back that soul which you have driven from its tenement; 
take up that hand which your pride refused to touch, not one 
hour ago. You have in your pride and wrath, usurped one 
prerogative of God — you have inflicted death. At least, in. 
mercy, attempt the exercise of another; breathe into those 
distended nostrils,— let your brother be once more a living- 
soul! Merciful Father! how powerless are we for good, but, 
how mighty for evil L Wretched man 1 he does not answer,, 
—he cannot rise. All your efforts to make him breathe are 
vain. His soul is already in the presence of your common 
Creator, Like the wretched Cain will you answer, "Am I 
my brother's keeper?" Why do you turn away from the 
contemplation of your own honorable work? Yes, go far as 
you will, still the admonition will ring in your ears:. It was 
by your hand he fell!— Bishop Khgland* 



The Aspirate is used when the mind is stirred with 
apprehension, when we wish to caution others without 
being overheard, when extremely affrighted . and in ex- 
pressing every form of secrecy. 

It is a breathy quality demanding little or no vocal- 
ity. The production of this quality is an excellent vocal 
exercise, but we should stop before the organs become 
dry, and take o-reat care to economize breath. 


From Macbeth. Act II. 

Macbeth. Whence is that knocking?— 
How is 't with me. when every noise appalls me? 
What hands are here! Hal they pluck out mine eyes. 
Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood 
Clean from my handy Xo! this my hand will rather 
The multitudinous seas incarnadine. 
Making the green one red. 

Re-enter Lady Macbeth. 

Lady M. My hands are of your color; but I shame 
To wear a heart so white. (knock.)! hear a knocking 
At the south entry: — retire we to our chamber. 
A little water clears us of this deed: 
How easy is it. then? Your constancy 
Hath left you unattended. — (fcnocfc.)Hark! more knocking. 
Get on your nightgown, lest occasion call us. 
And show us to be watchers.— Be not lost 
So poorly in your thoughts. 

Macb. To know my deed, 'twere best not know myself. 

Wake Duncan with thy knocking: I would thou couldst! 



From The Dying Christian to His Soul. 

Hark! they whisper : angels say, 
Sister spirit come away. 
What is this absorbs me quite, 
Steals my senses, shuts my sight, 
Drowns my spirits, draws my breath? 
Tell me, my soul, can this be death? 


From The Hidden Gem. 

Bibulus. This way, masters, this way, we are now just at 
the door. 

I. Robber. Which way? 
Bib. Why, this way. 

II. Bob. But which is this way? 
Bib. Follow me, you— 

I. Bob. Gome, no sauce — where are you? 
Bib. Follow your nose, then, straight across the court. 
[They meet in the middle.] 
Here we are at last altogether, now take hold of one an- 
other, and follow me. — Cardinal Wiseman. 

From King John. Act IV. 

Arthur. O! now you look like Hubert : all this while 

You were disguised. 

Hubert. Peace! no more, adieu. 

Your uncle must not know but you are dead : 

I'll fill these dogg'd spies with false reports : 

And, pretty child, sleep doubtless, and secure. 

That Hubert for the wealth of all the world 

Will not offend thee. 

Arth. O fteaven !— I thank you, Hubert. 

Huh. Silence! no more. Go closely in with me: 

Much danger do I undergo for thee. 



From Essay on Satire. 

Each fool to low ambition, poorly great, 
That pines in splendid wretchedness of state, 
Tired in the treacherous chase, would nobly yield, 
And, but for shame, like Sylla, quit the field; 
The demon Shame paints strong the ridicule, 
And whispers close, "The world will call you fool.'' 


From Hamlet. Act I. 

Angels and ministers of grace defend us ! — 

Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damn'd, 

Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from hell, 

Be thy intents wicked or charitable, 

Thou com'st in such a questionable shape, 

That I will speak to thee; I'll call thee, Hamlet, 

King, father, royal Dane ; O, answer me: 

Let me not burst in ignorance! but tell 

Why thy canonized bones, hearsed in death, 

Have burst their cerements! why the sepulchre, 

Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd, 

Hath oped his ponderous and marble jaws. 

To cast thee up again! 

Bhakespea n . 


The etymology of this word gives us a clue to its 
quality. It is derived from the Latin word guttur = 
throat, because it is of the throat, throaty. It is the 
result of a rigid condition of the vocal organs arising 
from the intensity of the passions it manifests. It is a 
gruff, discordant tone, eminently fitted to express ex- 
treme anger, intense rage, deep contempt, and merciless 
revenge. If we would give just expression to our ha- 
tred for detestable things, we must acquire this quality. 


From The Hidden Gem. 

Again and again, I have been vilely used, down to the last 
night! Aye, last night! That was the last drop! That can 
never be blotted out except by one means.— Yes in the in- 
tense solitude of that foul dungeon,— in the Tartarus of that 
broiling furnace — in the murkiness of that endless night- 
still more, in the bitterness of an envenomed soul — in the 
recklessness of despair— yea, through gnashing teeth and 
parched throat — I, Bibulus, vowed revenge — fatal revenge. 
My manacles and gyves rung like cymbals, as my limbs quiver- 
ed while I uttered the burning words ; and a hollow moan, or 
laugh — I know not which — reechoed them through the vault. 
* * * 

And when did an Asiatic heart retract such a vow? When 
did it forego the sweet, delicious thougth — the only luxury of a 
slave — revenge?. . . .Down, ye growling curs of remorse ! Hush! 
hissing worms of conscience ! You are too late— the potion is 
mixed, and the fatal drug cannot be extracted. And then re- 
member Ardea — this afternoon — with its death of a mad 
hound foaming at i^the mouth, or a viper shrivelled up on a 
scorching bank. No; no more qualms. What I am going to 
do is a safe remedy of- all my ills— the easiest way of gaining 
all my ends. — Cardinal Wiseman. 

From Othello. Act III. 

Othello. O, that the slave had forty thousand lives, 
One is too poor, too weak for my revenge. 
Now do I see 'tis true.— Look here, Iago : 
All my fond love thus do I blow to heaven ; ; tis gone.— 
Arise, black vengeance from thy hollow cell! 
Yield up, O love ! thy crown, and hearted throne, 
To tyrannous hate! swell, bosom with thy fraught. 
For 'tis of aspics' tongues! 

Iago. Pray, be content. 

Oth. O, blood, Iago. blood ! 



From The Battle of Knocktuagh. 

Then stept fierce Cathal to the front his Chieftains standing 
nigh : 

"Proud stranger take our answer back, and this our reason 

Our wolves are gaunt for lack of food— our eagles pine away, 

And to glut them with your flesh, lo! we stop you here to- 

"Now, gramercy for the thought!" Calm Sir Hugolin replied, 

And with a steadfast look and mien that wrathful Chieftain 

"Yet should your wild birds covet not the dainty fare you 

Then, by the rood, our Norman swords shall carve them bet- 

ter game!" 

By tJu Author of "Tin monks of Kilcrea." 

From Coriolanus. Act V. 

Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart 

Too great for what contains it. Boy ! O slave'. 

Pardon me. lords, 't is the first time that ever 

1 was forc'd to scold. Your judgments, my grave lords. 

Must give this cur the lie: and his own notion 

i Who wears my stripes, impress'd upon him, that 

Must bear my beating to his gravej shall join 

To thrust the lie upon him. 

I. Lord. Peace both, and hear me speak. 

Cor. Cub me to pieces. Yolsces : men and lads. 
Stain all your edges on me. — Boy! False hound! 
If you have writ your annals true, 't is there, 
That like an eagle in a dove-cote. I 
Flutter'd your Volscians in Corioli: 

Alone I did it, Boy! 



From The Siege of Maynooth. 

"The I}arl heaped favors on thee?" — "Never heaped 

king more on Lord." 
"He loved thee? honored thee?" — I was his heart, his arm, 

his sword!" 
"He trusted thee .?"-=- "Even as he trusted his own lofty soul!" 
"And thou hetrayedst him?" Base wretch! thou knowest the 

traitor's goaU 

"Ho Provost Marshal, hither! Take this losel caitiff hence 
I mark, methinks, a scaffold under yonder stone defence. 
Off with his head! By Heaven, the blood within me boils and 

To look on him { So vile a knave pollutes the air he breathes!" 

J, 0. Mangan. 


The etymology of this word also stands us in good 
stead. It has its origin from 'pectus, the breast, be- 
cause it derives its resonance from the lower part of 
the chest. It is deeper than the Orotund but lacks its 
strength and purity. It is tinged with the Aspirate 
and the Orotund. In the expression of horror x re- 
morse, ait>e, etc., it is very effective. 


From Hell. Canto XXX. 

"O ye,, who in this world of misery, 

Wherefore I know not,, are exempt from pain," 

Thus he began> "attentively regard 

Adamo's woe. When living^ full supply 

Ne'er lacked me of what most I coveted : 

One drop of water now, Alas! I crave. 

The rills, that glitter down the glassy slopes 

Of Casentino, making fresh and soft 

The banks whereby they glide to Arna's stream., 


Stand ever in my view; and not in vain ; 
For more the pictured semblance dries me up, 
Much more than the disease, which makes the flesh 
Desert these shrivell'd cheeks." 

Canfs Dante. 

From God in the Night. 

Deep in the dark I hear the feet of God : 
He walks the world; He puts His holy hand 
On every sleeper— only puts His hand- 
Within it benedictions for each one — 
Then passes on : but ah ! wliene"er He meets 
A watcher waiting for Him, He is glad. 
(Does God like man, feel lonely in the dark?) 
He rests His hand upon the watcher's brow — 
But more than that He leaves His very breath 
Upon the watcher's soul, and more than this. 
He stays for holy hours where watchers pray: 
And more than that. He oftentimes lifts the veils 
That hide the visions of the world unseen. 
The brightest sanctities of highest souls 
Have blossomed into beauty in the dark. 

Father Eyan. 

From God Revealed in Nature. 

God of Christians! it is on the waters of the abyss arid on 
the vast expanse of the heavens that Thou hast particularly 
engraven the characters of Thy omnipotence! Millions of 
stars sparkling in the azure of the celestial dome— the moon 
in the midst of the firmament— a sea unbounded by any shore 
—infinitude in the skies and on the waves— proclaim with 
most impressive effect the power of Thy arm! Never did Thy 
greatness strike me with profounder awe than in those 
nights, when, suspended between the stars and the ocean. 
I beheld immensity over my head and immensity beneath 
my feet ! 

I am nothing: I am only a simple, solitary wanderer, and 
often have I heard men of science disputing on the subject of 


a Supreme Being, without understanding them: but I have 
invariably remarked, that it is in the prospect of sublime 
scenes of nature that this unknown Being manifests Himself 
to the human heart, — Chateaubriand, 


The Falsetto is that thin, shrill voice which we use 
when w^e exceed our natural compass. It is used in 
fright, affectation, screaming, and in petulant emphasis. 
Men sometimes employ this quality of voice in imita- 
ting women and children. 


From Prologue to "The Maiden Queen." 

Women like us passing for men you'll cry. 

Presume too much upon your secrecy 

The ladies we shall not so easily please: 
They'll say, "What impudent bold things are these. 
That dare provoke, yet cannot do us right, 
Like men, with huffing looks, that dare not fight!" 


From The Poet's Little Rival. 

Then the poet leans and listens 

With a quaint and tender air. 

As the bird-like child goes darting 

Through the beautiful parterre. 

"Bravo! Bravo! little poet!" 

(Startled, flushed with love's sunshine:/ 

tk See my poem, papa darling! 

Every word a blossom fine." 

"Sweet" he says: "God bless thee daughter ; 

Ne'er was poem writ like thine!" 

Eleanor (\ Donnelly. 


From Ellen Middleton. 

Julia was standing at the head of the stone steps that I 
have described as forming one of the extremities of the ve- 
randa : and as she placed her foot on one of the moss-covered 
slippery steps she called out, "I'm going down— I'll have my 
own way now.'' I seized her hand, and drawing her back ex- 
claimed, ''Don't Julia!'' on which she said, "You had better 
not tease me : you are to be sent away if you tease me." I 
felt as if a viper had stung me : the blood rushed to my head. 
and I struck her; she reeled under the blow, her foot slipped. 
and she fell headlong down the steps. A voice near me said. 
'•She has killed her!" — Lady Georgiana Fullerton. 

From The Rape of the Lock. 

"Ob, wretched maid!'' She spread her hands and cried. 
While Hampton's echoes, "wretched maid!" replied, 
"Was it for this you took such constant care 
The bodkin, comb, and essence to prepare? 
For this your locks in paper durance bound? 
For this with torturing irons wreathed around? 
For this with fillets strained your tender head, 
And bravely bore the double loads of lead? 
Oods! shall the ravisher display your hair. 

While the fops envy, and the ladies stare? 

And shall this prize, th' inestimable prize, 
Exposed through crystal to the gazing eyes, 
And heighten'd by the diamond's circling rays, 
On that rapacious hand forever blaze? 
Sooner shall grass in Hyde Park circus grow. 
And wits take lodgings in the sound of Bow! 
Sooner let air. earth, sea. to chaos fall. 
Men. monkeys, lapdogs. parrots, perish all!" 



"That nasal twang, 
Heard in conventicle, where worthy men, 


Misled by custom, strain celestial themes 
Through the pressed nostril spectacle— bestrid,'' 

is placed here, not to be acquired — but to be avoided. 
It is the outcome of permitting 1 too much or too little 
air to pass through the nasal passages. Those who 
ma} 7 have acquired this quality from carelessness 
should regard it as a defect, and, hence, begin to over- 
come it. It is chiefly valuable for mimics and imper- 


The student should be required to determine the 
qualities entering into each of the following selections, 
and explain and deliver them according to the foregoing- 

From Nature Proclaims a Deity. 

There is a God! the herbs of the valley, the cedars of the 
mountain bless Him ; the insect sports in His beam ; the bird 
sings Him in the foliage ; the thunder proclaims Him in the 
Heavens, the ocean declares His immensity : man alone has 
said, there is no God! Unite in thought at the same instant 
the most beautiful objects in nature. Suppose that you see. 
at once, all the hours of the day, and all the seasons of the 
year; a morning of spring and a morning of autumn: a night 
bespangled with stars, and a night darkened by clouds: 
meadows enamelled with flowers : forests hoary with snow : 
fields gilded by the tints of autumn,— then alone you will 
have a just conception of tiie universe!— Chateaubriand. 

From Philosophy of History. 

- .Christianity was the connecting power which linked to- 
gether the great community of European nations, not only in 
the moral and political relations of life, but also in science 


and modes of thinking. The Church was like the all embrac- 
ing vault of heaven, beneath whose kindly shelter, those war- 
like nations began to settle in peace, and gradually to frame 
their laws and institutions. Even the office of instruction, 
the heritage of Christian knowledge, the promotion of sci- 
ence, and of all that tended to advance the progress of the 
human mind, devolved to the care of the Church, and were 

exclusively confined to the Christian schools The little 

knowledge that was then possessed, was by the more active 
spirit, and the sound understanding and practical sense of 
the European nations, and their better priesthood, applied 
with general advantage to the interests of society. Science 
was not then, as in the later period of its proud ascendency, 
in open hostility with the pure dictates of faith and the 
institutions of life. On that world so variously excited in 
peace, as in war. and by the different pursuits of art and in- 
dustry, useful knowledge and wholesome speculation descend- 
ed, not like a violent flood, but like the soft distillations of 
the refreshing dew. or the gentle drops of fertilizing rain, 
from the Heaven of faith which over-arched the whole.— 
Frul> rick von Sdilegel. 

From Father Connell. 

Helen heard the noise of a heavy blow, and the long shrieks 
suddenly stopped, subsiding into a low. melancholy cry, fol- 
lowed by deep, deep moans: and a second blow, accompanied 
by a hissing sound of human breath, such as workmen utter, 
when they labor with a hatchet. Perfect silence ensued, for 
a short time, only interrupted by the whispering of the night- 
breeze through the grass, and through the bushes, and by the 
gentle fall of water near at hand. Hasty footsteps entered 
the little hollow, and paused within a few feet of where she 
lay concealed. 

"This is the place he bade us wait for him." said a hoarse, 
deep voice but in cautious tones. 

'"It is." answered another person— and the two words were 
spoken with a shudder. 

"That was a black act." continued the first voice. 

••Oh. it was a bloody deed: Oh. the thought of this night 
will never leave my mind, never, never!" 



From A Sermon on Heaven. 

You have found yourself, perchance, upon a summer day. 
within the sanctuary of some sequestered vale; the tempered 
sunshine rests on all; in the rain-freshened verdure of the 
.tree above you, and of the grass beneath your feet; on the 
smiling hills that enfold you on every side; on the sleeping 
waters of the lake beneath. The air is sweet with the scent 
of flowers, and cooled by the plashing of the shady stream; 
sounds of song are in the sky above, and in the woods and 
thickets around. Though, indeed, you scarcely note each sev- 
eral charm; for it is the unspeakable harmony of all, and its 
unison with the chords of your heart within, that you are 
sensible of as you pant out, in a very rapture of thanksgiving, 
My God, this is heavenly! 

Yes, it is; and thank Him for such a glimpse, into the mir- 
ror, when the very smoothness of unf alien nature is upon it, 
when the Peace of Paradise seems restored, and the uncloud- 
ed smile of its not yet outraged God seems reflected on earth 
that bears as yet no curse. Make the most of such hours, for 
they will quickly pass : the valley will be storm-swept, the 
skies darkened, the verdure, the fragrance, the melody, — all 
will soon go. But that is to remind you that what you have 
seen is an image, and not the reality; it is not to take away 
the lesson that its beauty has taught you, nor to rob you of 
the hope it has kindled in your soul. For the invisible Heav- 
en of God is clearly seen from the created world below, being 
understood through its image in creation. — Archbishop Ryan. 

From Epistle II. Moral Essays. 

Nothing so true as what you once let fall, 
"Most women have no characters at all." 
Papilla, wedded to her amorous spark, 
Sighs for the shades— "How charming is a park V~ 
A park is purchased but the fair he sees 
All bathed in tears— "Oh, odious, odious trees !" 



From To a Tomb. 

What horror at thy sight shoots through each sense! 

How powerful is thy silent eloquence 

Which never natters! Thou instruct 'st the proud, 

That their swoll'n pomp is but an empty cloud, 

Slave to each wind; the fair, those flowers they have 

Fresh in their cheek, are strewed upon a grave. 

Thou tell'st the rich their idol is but earth ; 

The vainly pleased, that syren-like their mirth 

Betrays to mischief, and that only he 

Dares welcome death, whose aims at virtue be. 


From The Necessity of Religion for Society. 

Religion is the only solid basis of society. If the social 
editice rests not on this eternal and immutable foundation, it 
will soon crumble to pieces. It would be as vain to attempt 
to establish society without religion as to erect a palace in 
the air, or on shifting sands, or to hope to reap a crop from 
seed scattered on t lie ocean's surface. Religion is to society 
what cement is to the building: it makes ali parts compact 
and coherent. What principles without religion are binding 
enough to exact of you that obedience which you owe to 
society and to the laws of your country? Es it the dread 
of civil punishment? But the civil power takes cognizance 
only of overt acts. It has no jurisdiction over the heart, 
which is the seat of rebellion, the secret council chamber 
where dark schemes are concocted. The civil power cannot 
enter the hidden recesses of the soul, and quell the tumults 
raging there. It cannot suppress those base calumnies, wdiis- 
pered in the dark, which poison the social atmosphere witli 
their foul breath, and breed hatred, resentment, and death. 
You might as well preserve a tree from decay by lopping off a 
few withered branches whilst allowing the worms to gnaw at 
the roots, as to preserve the social tree from moral corruption 
by preventing some external crimes whilst leaving the heart 
to be worm-eaten by vice.— Cardinal Gibbons, 


From Sursum Corda. 

Homeless hearts! homeless hearts! through the dreary. 

dreary years, 
Ye are lonely, lonely wand'rers, and your way is wet with 

tears ; 
In bright or blighted places, wheresoever ye may roam, 
Ye look away from earth-land, and ye murmur, "Where is 

Homeless hearts! God is Home! 
Father Ryan. 

From Hamlet. Act III. 

Whereto serves mercy, 
But to confront the visage of offence? 
And what's in prayer, but this two-fold force, — 
To be forsetalled ere we come to fall, 
Or pardoned, being down? Then I'll look up; 
My fault is past. But, O. what form of prayer 
Can serve my turn? Forgive me my foul murder I— 
That cannot be ; since I am still possess'd 
Of those effects for which I did the murder. 

My Crown, mine own ambition, and myociueen 

Try what repentance can : What can it not? 

Yet what can it, when one cannot repent? 

O wretched state I O bosom, black as death! 

O limed soul, that, struggling to be free. 

Art more engag'd! Help, angels, make assay ! [steel, 

Bow, stubborn knees! and. heart, with strings of 

Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe ; 

All may be well. 


From 4 f Hereafter.' r 

Is it not sweet to think, hereafter 
When the spirit leaves this sphere, 
Love, with deathless wing will waft her 
To those she long hath mourned, for here? 


Hearts from which 't was death to sever, 
Eyes, this world can ne'er restore, 
There as warm, as bright as ever, 
Shall meet us and be lost no more. 

When wearily we wander, asking 
Of earth and heaven, where are they 
Beneath whose smiles we once lay basking 
Blest, and thinking bliss would stay? 

Hope still lifts her radiant finger 
Pointing to the eternal Home, 
Upon whose portal yet they linger. 
Looking back for us to come. 


From Brutus's Harangue over the Dead Body of Lucretia. 

Thus, thus my friends! fast as our breaking hearts 

Permitted utterance, we have told our story : 

And now, to say one word of the imposture— 

The mask, necessity has made me wear. 

When the ferocious malice of your king,— 

King! do I call him'?— when the monster, Tarquin. 

Slew, as most of you may well remember, 

My father, Marcus, and my elder brother. 

Envying at once their virtues and their wealth. 

How could I hope shelter from his power. 

But in the false face I have worn so long? 

Say — would you seek instructions: would you seek 

What ye should do? Ask ye yon conscious walls 

Which saw his poison'd brother, saw the incest 

Committed there, and they will cry. Bevenge!— 

J. Howard Payne. 




Gesture has three points of direction: Ascending, 
Horizontal, and Descending. Ascending gesture moves 
from the level of the shoulder toward the zenith. Hor- 
izontal gesture is the middle between ascending and 
descending. It is even with the shoulder. Descending 
gesture moves from the shoulder to the nadir. Each 
of these may be made toward the front, the oblique, the 
side or lateral, aiid the backward oblique. 

The Hand has several different positions or uses. The 
principal uses of the hand arc- — the supine, in which the 
palm faces up; the prone, with the palm down; the 
vertical with the palm outward; the index, with the 
index ringer extended and most prominent; the clasped 
and the clinched. Taking the first letter of each of the 
above we have the following concise notation of oesture. 



. .ascending front. 










backward oblique. 



. .horizontal front. 










u backward oblique, 



. .descending front.. 





D. L. .. 

. . descending lateral. 

D. B. 0.. 

u backward o 


R. H. .. 

. . right hand. 

L. H. .. 

. . left hand. 

B. H. . 

. . both hands. 


. .supine. 


. . prone . 


. . vertica 1 . 


. . index. 


. .clasped. 


. . clinched. 

Ascending gesture belongs to the imagination. It per- 
tains to the realms of the ideal, the virtuous, the noble, 
the heavenly. 

Horizontal gesture belongs to the realm of the intellect. 
It is employed in designating geographical localities, etc. 

Descending gesture belongs to the will and is used 
therefore in bold assertion and strong resolution. It is 
also used to express inferiority, the baser passions^ and. 
in general, things that we scorn or hate. 

Front gestures signify nearness. They are more di- 
rect and personal than the others. 

Oblique gestures are less emphatic than front gestures. 
They are used more in generalities. 

Lateral gestures are less emphatic than even the ob- 
lique. They express great extent, universality, etc. 

Backward gesture refers to something past either geo- 
graphieaily or chronologically. 

The supine hand reveals, the prone conceals or imposes, 
the vertical repels, the index points out, the clasped 
strongly entreats, the clinched shows the existence of 
strong passion. 


These significations are not to be looked on as specific. 
They are general and admit of a very liberal interpreta- 
tion. For practice on these different planes of gesture 
and faces of the hand, assume the Unexcited position, let 
the arms hang loosely and entirely deeomjiosed. Now 
raise the arm in the required direction taking care that 
the shoulder leads and each joint unfolds in succession. 
At the emphatic word end the gesture by a quick turn of 
the wrist. This last movement is known as the ictus of 
of the gesture, or the climax. The lingers and thumb 
should have their natural position, i. e., the index 
straight, the thumb straight and somewhat apart from 
the index, the other three lingers relaxed, slightly 
curved. Do not separate the fingers nor bend the thumb 
inward. Carry the right hand through all of the above 
planes of gesture, and as far as practicable, in all the 
different faces of the hand. Practice the left next, and 
then both together in the same way. The descending 
vertical single hand and the double backward oblique 
are not practicable. 

In the sentences given below the abbreviations show 
what gestures are appropriate. Where the hand is not 
mentioned, the right is supposed, and where the use is 
not given, the supine is to be understood. 

The Supine Hand. 

This hand may be used in the expression of almost 
any emotion. In general, it is used to reveal. 

Single Supine Hand. 

D. F. 

I demand my right. 

I submit the matter to your decision. 


D. 0. 

There is no foundation for these assertions. 
What could I do in such a state of health'? 

D. L. 
Away with such trifling! 

To thine own self be true, 

And it must follow as the night the day, 

Thou canst not then be false to any man. 

D. B. 0. 

Away with such an abominable idea. 

Let those who did the deed now look to it. 

H. F. 
Nil'. I appeal to you. for you were present. 
This above all. to thine own self be true. 

H. 0. 

Do you confess so much? G-ive me your hand. 
This is my opinion, gentlemen. 

H. L. 
Search the latest records and you will find it inscribed. 
Not that I loved Caesar less, but that 1 loved Rome more. 

H. B. 0. 
Turning from civilization, he struck out into the jungle. 
His past life now appears to him a dream. 

A. F. 
Oil! Jesus, seize my hand and lead me home. 

But conquered now. and crushed, I look aloft, 
And sorrow leads me. Father, back to thee. 

A. 0. 

The angels of God watch over us ever. 

The same stars look down upon man that looked upon the 
Shepherds on the hilts of Bethlehem. 
A. L. 
The Dipper, great in- size but proportionate to the rest of 


the heavens, is known to everyone. 
The sun, the moon, the stars proclaim His name. 

A. B. 0. 
Our forefathers, men of sterling worth, died for this faith. 
Hurrah! Hurrah! great Caesar comes. 

Both Hands Supine. 
B. H. D. F. 

I am willing to lay clown all I possess, at thy command. 
O, death! where is thy sting? 

B. H. D. 0. 
Behold me at thy feet! 
We can easily afford to grant this. 

B. H. D. L. 
Broad is the way that leacletli to destruction. 
I utterly renounce the supposed advantages. 

B. H. H. F. 
I beg of you to consider the consequences of such a decision. 
Here I stand longing ardently for you. 

B. H. H. 0. 
Friends, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your ears. 
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes. 

B. H. H. L. 
On every side, we behold evidences of the Creator's good- 
The world, from end to end, sends up its praise. 

B. H. A. F. 
Oh, God! we praise thee. 
Oh. sacred Liberty! I lift my hands to thee. 

B. H. A. 0. 
The many stars T see were planted by an almighty hand. 
The gathering clouds, like meeting armies, come on apace. 


B. H. A. L. 

Not a star glittered in all the firmament. 
-Joy, joy! my soul is saved. 

Single Hand Prone. 

The Prone hand is as extensively used as the supine. 
It generally represses and conceals. 
D. F. 

Down, slave, before me and pay your allegiance. 

Even Genius feels rebuked and subdued, as in the presence' 
of higher qualities. 

D. 0. 
The wild rose grew above that unknown grave. 
Let every true patriot repress such a feeling. 

D. L. 
Repentance will cover that sin. 
The noise died away. 

D. B. 0. 
1 despise thy threats of harm to me. 
I utterly contemn and abhor such dealings. 

H. F. 
O Hamlet! speak no more. 
Far ahead we saw the smoke of a great steamer. 

H. 0. 
Friendship has a power. 
To soothe affliction in her darkest hour. 

Peace, dreamer, thou hast done well. 

H. L. 
The landscape fades from view. 

No more shall melancholy brood therein. 

H. B. 0. 
The dread-visitation from God was come upon Gomorrah. 


Looking back to your deeds of yesterday, have you not 
much to dread? 

A. F. 
He has suspended the sword above you. 
Forbear, pollute not that sacred name. 

A. 0. 
Ye gods, withhold your wrath. 

The rising sun put out the stars. 

A. L. 
Do you see that dark cloud over there? 
The top of yon high mount we gained. 

A, B. 0. 
The Decalogue was given amidst Sinai's thunder. 

Xo other institution carries the mind back to the time 
when lions and tigers bounded in the Flavian amphitheaters. 

Both Hands Prone. 
B, H, D. F. 

Here we gently laid him down and covered him. 
I saw before me the mutilated corpse, 

B. H, D. 0. 
Down with ail such sentiments forever. 
Frail men I bow down your necks to His yoke, 

B. H. D. L. 
In the graves of every nation lie unknown heroes. 

Time, in his onward march, destroys all the works of man, 

B. H. H. F. 
On horror's head, horrors accumulate. 

My blessing rest on you. 

B. H. H. 0. 
Night closed over the city. 
Heaven blast your hopes with its heavy eurse.. * 


B. H. H. L. 

O'er all the world darkness reigns supreme. 
Sorrow mantles the whole earth. 

B. H. A. F. 
Withhold the chastisement we deserve. 
Forever blessed be Thy sacred name! 
B. H. A. 0. 
The mantle of darkness lifted, and light was. 
Hover o'er us in the storms of life. 

B. H. A. L. 
From end to end of the universe, God reigns. 
The floor of heaven bestrewn with golden stars. 

The Vertical Hand. 

This hand is used to denote a warding off. The Su- 
pine generally supports, the Prone represses, the Ver- 
tical repels. 

Single Vertical Hand. 
H. F. 

Out of my sight ! 

H. 0. 
Drive back the bold invaders. 

H. L. 
Away with such vile measures. 

H. B. 0. 
Follow not: I'll have no speaking. 

A. F. 
Withhold Thy justice : grant me merry. 

A. 0. 
Oh. Heaven! forbid such a deed. 

A. L. 
Away, delusive phantom! 



A. B. 0. 

Hence, horrible shadow! 
Unreal mockery, hence! 

B. H. F. 

Whence and what art thou, execrable shape? 

B. H. H. 0. 
Far from us be such a thought. 

B. H. H. S. 
Bursts the wild storm of terror and dismay. 

B. H. A. F. 
Avert, O God the frown of thy indignation ! 

B. H. A. 0. 
Angels and ministers of grace, defend us ! 

B. XL A. L. 
Melt and dispel ye spectre doubts. 

The Index Hand. 

This form of gesture is used to limit the designating 
gesture. Compare the following examples and the dif- 
ference of use will he more obvious. 

R. H. H. 0. P. 

Let us go over the whole ground once more! 

R. H. H. F. I. 
Let us dwell on this point in particular. 

L A. F. 
That point is beyond your reach. 
A. 0. 
From yonder point I have often gazed at the sea. 

A. L. 
Do you see the eagle's nest far to our right? 

A. B. 0. 
I ask you to glance at that brightest page in our ( luirchV, 


H. F. 

That point I will prove thus. 

H. 0. 
On yonder house they nailed the placard. 

H. L. 
In that mound lies a forgotten race. 

H. B. 0. 
For proof of this, look to the days of the penal laws of 

D. F. 
Lie there till the bugle arouses thee. 

D. 0. 
Thou creeping serpent, graceful in all thy movements! 

D. L. 
He lay here aside of the road. 

D. B. . 
You remain behind or yon will rue it. 

The Clasped Hand. 

This position denote* great emotion. It is used in 
earnest entreaty, supplication, etc. The fingers of the 
right hand are intertwined with those of the left. 
Ascending and descending front gestures may be made 
with the Clasped Hands. 

A. F. 
For God's sake spare me. 

All is now lost: I await your sentence. 

The Clinched Hand. 

This is used where great emphasis is to be expressed. 
Strong denunciation with threats, desperation, resolu- 
tion, etc.. take this mode of expression. E. g.. 

We will win the day or perish. 


I'll have my bond. 

Witt] this little hand I will crush his power. 

Practice on these sentences, as was mentioned before, 
taking care to grasp the sentiment, and portray it as if 
it were your own. Mechanical gesture will thus be 
avoided. We insert here also a number of extracts 
which the student is to interpret and portray by appro- 
priate gesture. 


He sees in the distance the goal he must attain. 

From Julius Caesar. Act II 

O conspiracy! 
Shamest thou to show thy dangerous brow by night 
When evils are most free? O then, by day, 
W r here wilt thou find a cavern dark enough 
To mask thy monstrous visage? Seek none conspiracy: 
Hide it in smiles and affability; 
For if thou path thy native semblance on, 
Not Erebus itself were dim enough 
To hide thee from prevention. 


From St. Herculanus. 

Down from far Gothland's icy coasts 
Sweep Totila's resistless hosts. 
He dooms Perugia's walls and towers, 
And girds her round with ruthless powers. 



From Hamlet. Act I. 

O that this too too solid flesh would melt, 

Thaw, and resolve itself into a clew! 

Or that the Everlasting had not fixed 

His cannon 'gainst self -slaughter! O God! O God! 

How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable 

Seem bo me all the uses of this world! 

Fie on 't! O fie! 'tis an unweeded garden, 

That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature 

Possess it merely. That it should come to this! 

But two months dead! — nay, not so much, not two; 

So excellent a king; that was, to this 

Hyperion to a satyr: so loving to my mother, 

That he might not beteem the winds of heaven 

Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth ! 

Must I remember? why, she would hang on him. 

As if increase of appetite had grown 

By what it fed on: and yet, within a month,— 

Let me not think on't ; — Frailty, thy name is woman!- 

A little month ; or ere those shoes were old. 

With which she follow'd my poor father's body, 

Like Niobe, all tears; — why she, even she, — 

O heaven! a beast, that wants discourse of reason. 

Would have mourn'd longer, — married with my uncle, 

My father's brother: but no more like my father, 

Than I to Hercules: within a month: 

Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears 

Had left the flushing in her galled eyes. 

She married. 


From Lalla Rookh. 

'•What! while our arms can wield these blades. 
"Shall we die tamely:-' die alone'.-' 
-•Without one victim to our shades, 
"One Moslem heart, where, buried deep. 
"'The sabre from its toil may sleep? 
•■Xo— God of Iran's burning skies! 


"Thou scorn 'st tli' inglorious sacrifice. 
"No— though of all earth's hope bereft, 
"Life, swords, and vengeance still are left. 
"We'll make yon valley's reeking caves 
"Live in the awe-struck minds of men, 
••Till tyrants shudder, when their slaves 
"Tell of the Gheber's bloody glen. 
"Follow, brave hearts! — this pile remains 
"Our refuge still from life and chains; 
"But his the best, the holiest bed, 
"Who sinks entomb'd in Moslem dead!" 


From Antony and Cleopatra. Act V. 

O Antony! 
Have I follow'd thee to this?-but we do lance 
Diseases in our bodies. 1 must perforce 
Have shown to thee such a declining day, . 
Or look on thine : we could not stall together 
In the whole world. But yet let me lament, 
With tears as sovereign as the blood of hearts, 
That thou, my brother, my competitor 
In top of all design, my mate and empire. 
Friend and companion in the front of war, 
The arm of mine own body, and the heart. 
Where mine his thoughts did kindle, that our stars 
Unreconcileable should divide 
Our equalness to this. — 

From Love's Prisoner. 

Reposing in his altar-home — 
Imprison 'd there for love of me— 

My Spouse awaits me ; and I come 
To visit him awhile, and be 

A solace to his loneliness — 

If aught in me can make it less. 



From Richard III. Act I. 

Erroneous vassals ! fche great King of kings 
Hath in the. table of bis law commanded, 
That thon shalt do no murder: will you, then, 
Spurn at his edict, and fulfill man's'? 
Take heed: for he holds vengeance in his hand. 
To hurl upon their heads that break his law. 


From Milly's Expiation. 

There are times when all these terrors 

Seem to facie, and fade away, 
Like a nightmare's ghastly presence 

In tiie truthful dawn of day. 
There are times, too. when before ine 

They arise, and seem to hold 
In the grasp my very being 

With the deadly strength of old, 
Till my spirit quails within me, 

And my very heart grows cold. 

AdelaifU A. Proctt r. 

From The Tempest. Act IV. 

These our actors. 
As I foretold you. were all spirits, and 
Are melted into air. into thin air: 
And. like the baseless fabric of this vision, 
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces. 
The solemn temples, the great globe itself: 
Yea. all which it inherit shall dissolve. 


From Yesterdays. 

Oone! and they return no more, 
But they leave a light in the heart: 

The murmur of waves that kiss a shore 
Will never, I know, depart- 


(^one ! yet with us still they stay, 
And their memories throb through life : 

The music that hushes or stirs to-day, 
Is toned by their calmer strife. 

Father By an. 

From Twelfth Night. Act I. 

If music be the food of love, play on, 
Give me excess of it: that surfeiting, 
The appetite may sicken and so die, — 
That strain again; it had a dying fall: 
O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south, 
That breathes upon a bank of violets, 
Stealing, and giving odor. 


From A Voice from Afar. 

A sea before 
The throne is spread: its pure still glass 
Pictures all earth-scenes as they pass: 

We on its shore 
Share, in the bosom of our rest, 
G-od's knowledge, and are bless'd. 


From Two Gentlemen of Verona. Act V* 

Who by repentance, is not satisfied, - 
Is not of heaven nor earth. 


From The Sister of Charity. 

Her down-bed, a pallet— her trinkets, a bead, 
Her lustre — one taper, that serves her to read : 
Her sculpture— the crucifix nailed by her bed ; • 
Her paintings— one print of the thorn-crowned head : 
Her cushion— the pavement that wearies tier knees: 


Her music— the psalm, or the sigh of disease: 
The delicate lady lives mortified there, 
And the feast is forsaken for fasting and prayer. 

Gerald Griffin. 

From Winter's Tales. Act III. 

But, O thou tyrant ! 
Do not repeno these things ; for they are heavier 
Than all thy woes can stir : therefore betake thee, 
To nothing but despair. A thousand knees 
Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting, 
Upon a barren mountain, and still winter 
In storm perpetual, could not move the gods 
To look that way thou wert. 


From The Diver. 

Soon one of these monsters approached me, and plied 

His hundred feelers to drag 
Me down through the darkness: when, springing aside. 

I abandoned my hold of the coral crag, 
And the maelstrom grasped me with arms of strength, 

And upwhirled and upbore me to daylight at length. 

J. C. Mangan. 

From King Lear. Act III. 

Blow, wind, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow! 
You cataracts and hurricanoes spout 

Till you have drench*d our steeples, drowned the cocks ! 
You sulphurous and thought-executing fires, 
Vaunt couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts. 
Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder. 
Strike flat the thick rotundity o ; the world! 
* * * 

Rumble thy bellyful! Spit, fire! spout, rain! 
^Nor rain. wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters: 
I tax you not. you elements with unkindness, 


I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children, 
Yon owe me no subscription : why then, let fall 
Your horrible pleasure: here I stand, your slave, 
A poor, infirm, weak, and despis'd old man:— 
But yet I call you servile ministers, 
That have with two pernicious daughters join'd 
Your high-engender'd battles 'gainst a head 
So old and white as this, O! O ! 'tis foul ! 


From Stella Matutina. 

Cerulean Ocean, fringed with white, 
That wear'st her colors evermore, 

In all thy pureness, all thy might, 
Resound her name from shore to shore. 

That fringe of foam, when drops the sun 
To-night, a sanguine stain shall wear:— 

Thus Mary's heart had strength, alone, 
The passion of her Lord to share. 

Aubrey Be Vere. 

From Macbeth. Act IL 

Is this a dagger which I see before me, 
The handle toward my hand? come, let me clutch thee: — 
I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. 
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible 
To feeling as to sight? Or art thou but 
A dagger of the mind; a false creation, 
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain? 
I see thee yet, in form as palpable 
As this which now I draw. 
Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going. 
And such an instrument I was to use. 
Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses., 
Or else worth all the rest ; I see thee still ; 
And on thy blade, and dudgeon, gouts of blood.. 


Which was not so before.— There's no such thing: 
It is the bloody business; which informs 
Thus to mine eyes. 


From Ireland's Vow. 

List! scarce a sound can be heard in our thorough-fares— 
Look! scarce a ship can be seen on our streams: 

Heart-crushed and desolate, spell-bound, irresolute, 
Ireland but lives in the bygone of dreams ! 

Irishmen ! if we be true to our promises, 
Nerving our souls for more fortunate hours. 

Life's choicest blessings, love's fond caressings, 
Peace, home and happiness, all shall be ours! 

1). F. M'Carthy. 

From Timon of Athens. Act V. 

Come not to me again : but. say to Athens, 
Timon hath made his everlasting mansion 
Upon the beached verge of the salt flood; 
Which once a day with his embossed froth 
The turbulent surge shall cover; thither come. 
And let my grave-stone be your oracle. — 


From The Penitent Raven. 

The Raven's nest is built with reeds,— 

Sing woe. and alas is me ! 
And the Raven's couch is spread with weeds, 

High on the hollow tree : 
And the Raven himself, telling his beads 
In penance for his past misdeeds. 

Upon the top I see. 


Telling his beads from night to morn. — 

Sing alas ! and woe is me! 
In penance for stealing the Abbot's corn. 

High on the hollow tree. 
Sin is a load upon the breast, 
And it nightly breaks the Haven's rest, 

High on the hollow tree. 

T. D. M'Gee. 

From Titus Andronicus. Act III. 

Hear me, grave fathers! noble tribunes, stay 
For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent 
In dangerous wars, whilst you securely slept: 
For all my blood in Rome's great quarrel shed; 
For all the frosty nights that I have watch 'd: 
And for these bitter tears, which now you see 
Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks: 
Be pitiful to my condemned sons. 


I, who first swathed thee: thy grave-clothes now will bind : 
Giver of Life, thou liest dead before me now: 

Tears laved thee at thy birth; far hotter tears I find 
To wash the death -drops from thy pallid brow. 

From Troilus and Cressida. Act III. 

Honour travels in a strait so narrow, 

Where one but goes abreast : keep then the path : 

For emulation hath a thousand sons. 

That one by one pursue: if yon give way, 

Or hedge aside from the direct forthright, 

Like to an enter'd tide, they all rush by. 

And leave you hindmost. 



From The Hidden Gem. 

Farewell, sycophant! farewell, indeed'? 

No, not yet.— 

There shall be moaning over death in this house, before I 
go to encounter it. After this cruel doom, who wil] blame 
me, if I seek to escape it?. Yet here again comes the question 
— who is doing this? Proculus. Then ought not my vengeance 
to fall on him? Warily, calmly— let us weigh this. 

If Proculus dies — Eusebius would be worse. Now, if Eu- 
phemian dies, it is very different. We know that by his will 
he has released all his slaves. So let him die and I am free. 

But, is this generous? or honorable? tut, tut: who has 
ever been generous, or honorable with me? and am I to begin 
virtues first? Out upon it— no! 

Yefc the thing must be done cautiously, securely. It is an 
ugly thing, is killing, even in revenge. One must throw a 
veil over it — make it appear like an accident, even to one's 
self. Ha! happy combination — I know how at once to pro- 
cure the necessary means, and then— the pilgrim who is go- 
ing to sleep there — Capital! What more likely? He has some 
design, no doubt— and he will be the only person near. A 
train can be easily laid to bring it home to him. — Bravo, Bi- 
bulus, thou art a clever hand at mischief.— By one blow thou 
shalt gain liberty, security and revenge! — Cardinal Wiseman. 

From Coriolanus. Act V. 

Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart 

Too great for what contains it. Boy! O slave!— 

* * # 

Cut me to pieces, Yolsces : Men and lads. 
Stain all your edges on me. Boy! False hound! 
If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there. 
That like an eagle in a dove-cote, I 
Flutter*d your Yolscians in Corioli : 
Alone I did it.— Boy! 



From The Death of Our Lady. 

Weep, living things! of life the mother dies; 

The world doth lose the sum of all her bliss, 
The qeen of earth, the empress of the skies ; 

By Mary's death mankind an orphan is. 
Let nature weep, yea, let all graces moan; 
Their glory, grace, and gifts die all in one. 


From The Merchant of Venice. Act I. 

Signior Antonio, many a time and oft, 
In the Eialto you have rated me 
About my money and my usances : 
Still have I borne it with a patient shrug; 
For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe : 
You call me — misbeliever, cut-throat dog, 
And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine, 
And all for use of that which is my own. 
Well then, it now appears you need my help : 
Go to then ; you come to me, and you say, 
"Shylock, we would have monies ;" you say so; 
You that did void your rheum upon my beard. 
And foot me as you spurn a stranger cur 
Over your threshold ; monies is your suit; 
What should I say to you ! should I not say 
Hath a dog money? is it possible 
A cur can lend three thousand ducats?" or 
Shall I bend low, and in a bondman's key, 
With 'bated breath, and whispering humbleness. 
Say this, — 

"Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last: 
You spurned me such a day; another time 
You called me — dog; and for those curtesies 
I'll lend you thus much monies'? 



From On Hope. 

Dear Hope! earth's dowry and Heaven's debt, 
The entity of things that are not yet ; 

Fair cloud of hrel both siiade and light, 

Our life in death, our day m night; 
Fates cannot rind out a capacity 
Of hurting thee. 


From A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act IV. 

1 was with Hercules and Cadmus once, 
When in a wood of Crete they bay'd the bear 
With hounds of Sparta : never did I hear 
Such gallant chiding; for, oesides tne groves, 
The sKies, tne fountains, exei-y region near 
Seem'd all one mutual cry: I never heard 
So musical a ctiscord, sucu sweet thunder. 


From On Milton. 

Three poets, in three distant ages born, 
Greece, Italy, and England did adorn. 
The first in loftiness of thought surpassed ; 
The next in majesty: in both the last. 
The force of Nature could no further go: 
To make a third, she joined the other two. 


From Much Ado about Nothing, Act V. 

The wolves have prey'd: and look, the gentle day. 
Before the wheels of Ph Debus, round about 
Dapples the drowsy east with spots of gray. 



From Essay on Criticism. 

Still green with bays each ancient altar stands 

Above the reach of sacrilegious hands: 

Secure from flames, from envy's fiercer rage. 

Destructive war, and all involving age. 

See from each clime the learned their incense bring! 

Hear in all tongues consenting pagans ring! 

In praise so just let every voice be joined, 

And fill the general chorus of mankind. 

Hail, bards triumphant! born in happier days. 
Immortal heirs of universal praise! 


From Taming of the Shrew. Act IV. 

For 'tis the mind that makes the body rich; 
And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds. 
So honour peereth in the meanest habit. 
What! is the jay more precious than the lark. 
Because his feathers are more beautiful? 
Or is the adder better than the eel, 
Because his painted skin contents the eyes? 
O, no, good Kate: neither art thou the worse 
For this poor furniture and mean array. 


From A Ballad of Iscander-Beg. 

"St. Michael stands upon my right, 

Therefore I have no fear; 
When he shall cease his holy tight 

My end will then be near." 
Thus spake the brave George Cast riot. 
Albania's Christian knight, 
Who once with Moslems cast his lot, 
(With those who love our Jesus not.^ 


They called him by another name— 

The hateful Moslem crew!— 
Iscander-Beg! They knew his fame, 

And deep that fame they rue. 
To-day. beside the Golden Horn. 
Full many a Moslem dame 
Most sore affrights her latest born 
With that bright name that Christians mourn, 
M, F, Egan. 

From All's Well That Ends Well. Act L 

Be thou blest, Bertram! and succeed thy father 
In manners, as in shape ! thy blood and virtue. 
Contend for empire in thee: and thy goodness 
Share with thy birth-right ! 

Slidk&spean , 

From The Banner of the Holy Family. 

To arms! to arms! for God our King! 
Hark how the sounds of battle ring! 
Unfold the Banner! Raise it high. 
Dear omen of our victory.! 
We come, our hands and hearts we bring; 
We come, and Sion's song we sing 
Unto the Holy Family] 

Father Fdber, 

From As You Like It. Act IL 

All the world "s a stage, 
And all the men and women merely players: 
They have their exits and their entrances; 
And one man in his time plays many parts. 
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, 
Mewling and puking in the nurseVs arms: 
And then, one whining school boy, with his satchel, 
And shining morning face, creeping like snail 
Unwillingly to school : and then, the lover, 



Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad 
Made to his mistress' eye-brow. Then a soldier, 
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, 
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel. 
Seeking the bubble reputation 

Even in the cannon's mouth. And then, the justice : 
In fair round belly, with good capon lined, 
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut, 
Full of wise saws and modern instances; 
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts 
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon : 
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side, 
His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide 
For his shrunk shank : and his big manly voice, 
Turning again towards childish treble, pipes 
And whistles in his sound: Last scene of all, 
That ends this strange eventful history, 
Is second childishness, and mere oblivion: 
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. 


From Rachel in the North. 

Out on the cruel field he lies, dear God! 
Whom three nights gone I pillowed safe and warm. 
Thinking the clown scarce soft enough, — the sod, 
Alas ! the bloody sod now beds his form. 

I watch— I wait. I had such hopes and schemes 
Of what might be if he were home once more. 
Fame! glory ! perish— empty, hollow dreams! 
My glory 's dead. And this, O Heaven, is war ! 

Eleanor C. Donnelly. 

From The Comedy of Errors. Act V. 

Though now this grained face of mine be hid 
In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow, 
And all the conduits of my blood froze up : 


Yet hath my night of life some memory, 
My dull deaf ears a little use to hear : 
My wasting lamp some fading glimmer left, 
All these old witnesses (I cannot err) 
Tell me, thou art my son Antipholus. 


From Campion. Act I. 

Camp. Why did I hide? What was that of mine? 
If Truth must walk erect, oh ! then, my lords. 
Be not so cruel: and straightway destroy 
The bloody edicts that affright her so. 
But once set free the holy word of God : 
"Throw wide these gates, and I will hasten forth 
Through all the streets, by which I hither came. 
In sight of all who sit in darkness there. 
I'll hold erect my head— unfold my heart. 
Which pants to blazon forth the truth of Rome. 
Nay. more, bid come the champions of your Church. 
Free from all wrath, like truly Christian men. 
To hold dispute within the sight of all: 
And let Her Royal Grace herself preside. 
Then she. my lords, and you. and all the court 
Shall know if what I preach do shun the light. 


From Measure for Measure. Act II. 

That in the captain's but a choleric word. 
Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy. 


From Major John Andre. Act II. 

Arnold. Benedict Arnold, thou art a Traitor! Thou hast 
sold thy honor, the blood and freedom of thy countrymen for 
a handful of gold: Great Heavens: has it come to this? Did 
I imagine when I first began my profligate life that it would 
end in treachery? Arnold the Traitor: What a name? And 


shall 1 mine go down to posterity so? Traitor branded on my 
forehead !— Could my gallant father see me now, what would 
he say'?' Me thinks his bones are restless in the cold grave to 
think his son, his once darling boy, has become the cruel be- 
trayer of his people! Arnold the Traitor! So the child, yet 
unborn, will read in his country's history. Generations yet 
to come will learn my name but to curse it as the cause of the 
chains which shackle their freedom. Arnold the Traitor! Is 
it for this thou didst tight and bleed so long? Is it for this, 
thou for five long years didst lead thy countrymen, and see 
them die with a smile upon their lips, because it was for lib- 
erty? Is it for this thou didst cross the country, enter Cana- 
da, brave the once hated British,— mock at its northern cold ! 
Ah! how my soldiers, ill-clothed and starving as they were, 
would greet my hopeful glance! How they once cheered for 
Benedict Arnold! Now they will curse me, execrate the mem- 
ory of their country's betrayer! But hold! The crime is not 
yet consummated; I have still time to retrace my steps — An- 
dre is yet here. I will go to him, cast the money at his feet, 
regain my papers and my honor ! Yet how can I recall my 
plighted word! How pay my debts, how continue my profli- 
gate life, without English money? ISo! I cannot relinquish 
my mode of life! Have I not teen disgraced by /Congress? 
Have not others been preferred before me? Actuated by 
jealousy and secret hatred, my superiors in office, a few 
months ago, removed me from my comfortable quarters in 
Philadelphia, and put me on those hills. Yes, my actions, 
my deeds of valor, my genius, have been undervalued. I have 
suffered insults from the very persons my victories raised to 
power! Money and Revenge! Let others curse me, let future- 
generations spit upon my memory, I will have money! I can- 
not change my manner of living. They may brand my re- 
ward as the price of blood, of liberty; I call it the means of 
pleasure. Arnold thou must go on; to retreat now would be 
the act of a coward! Money and Revenge!— Haiti* 

From Othello. Act III. 

Oth. O, that the slave had forty thousand lives! 
One is too poor, too weak for my revenge. 


Now do I see 't is true. — Look here Iago ; 

All my fond love thus do I blow to heaven : 't is gone.— 

Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow cell ! 

Yield up, O Love ! thy crown and hearted throne, 

To tyrannous hate! swell, bosom, with thy fraught. 

For 't is of aspics' tongues! 


From The Malediction. Act II 

My father has cursed me, and his curse has penetrated the 
marrow of my bones. Where is my father? He lias not yet 
been put to death? What do you wish, Tarik? I was the son 
of Gomez, but thou call'st me Almanzor. I am king of Mur- 
cia ! Let the people offer me homage. Prostrate at my feet, I 
wish to behold them from the summit of my throne. What 
have I said, Lopez? Ha, Ha. Ha! Have you seen Pelagius? 
I will bathe myself in his vile blood: I will plunge my 
hand into the depths of his entrails: I will crush his hoary 
head. How beautiful are the heavens! Mahomet alone is 
great! Why, then, Abdallah, did you not efface these crosses 
from the walls? I was also a Christian! Why does this 
awful cross arise before my eyes? I see— I see the Immac- 
ulate Virgin trampling the crescent beneath her feet— and 
now! oh, hence! awful vision: hence! Ah Lopez, do you see 
the hand that threatens me? 

You, also, does it menace. Come! away! Let us flee. — O 
God! upon the air, upon the walls, upon my heart is written, 
••Cursed! cursed! cursed!" — Lyons. 

From King Richard II. Act III. 

Am I not king? 
Awake, thou sluggard majesty! thou sleep'st. 
Is not the king's name forty thousand names? 
Arm. arm. my name!— A puny subject strikes 
At thy great glory. Look not to the ground. 
Ye favourites of a king : are we not high? 
High be our thoughts. 



From A Panegyric. 

There is an instinct in all humanity to preserve the mem- 
ory of the great. The heroes of this world are not silenced 
when placed in the grave: they live on. Their deeds are 
carved in yielding marble. Emblazoned in gold, they fling out 
to the world from some grand monument the memory of him 
who lies beneath. .But time wears away the stone, and be- 
dims the lustre of the shining letters, and the cold world soon 
forgets who sleeps there. Even the names of the greatest 
become, with the onsweep of ages, a shadow. Who but the 
student is acquainted with the names and deeds of an Alex- 
ander, a Hannibal, a Genghis Kan, a Tamerlane: and yet these 
were names to conjure within days agone ; names that thrilled 
the hearts of nations: names at whose command millions of 
swords outflew. What has become of them? Search the wide 
earth and you will find hardly a stone inscribed to their 
memory. The Catholic Church likewise preserves the 
names of her great, but in a far more effective manner. She 
writes their names above an imperishable altar and bids her 
children store up their deeds within the heart as examples 
for the direction of their own lives.— Williams. 

From Henry VIII. Act III. 

Wolsey. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear 
In all my miseries; but thou hast forc'd me 
Out of thy honest truth to play the woman. 
Let's dry our eyes; and thus far hear me, Cromwell: 
And,— when I am forgotten, as I shall be, 
And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention 
Of me more must be heard of, say I taught thee. 
Say, Wolsey, that once trod tlie ways of glory. 
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor,— 
Found thee a way. out of his wreck, to rise in ; 
A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it. 
Mark but my fall, and that that ruhrd me. 
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition : 
By that sin fell the angels; how can man then. 
The image of his Maker, hope to win by 't? 


Love thyself last; cherish those hearts that hate thee. 

Corruption wins not more than honesty. 

Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace. 

To silence envious tongues. Be just, and tear not : 

Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, 

Thy God's, and truth's: then, if thou fall'st, O 

Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Seiwe thy king; 
And, — pr'ythee, lead me in; 
There take an inventory of all I have, 
To the last penny: 'tis the king's: my robe. 
And my integrity in Heaven, is all 
I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell, 
Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal 
I serv'd my king, he would not in mine age 
Have left me naked to mine enemies. 

Shakespi zare, 





Any sentence includes one or more important words. 
These vital words of the sentence, these words contain- 
ing the thought, for the expression of which the sen- 
tence has been formed, are termed emphatic, and Em- 
phasis is the agent that confers on them their due 
degree of prominence. 

Emphasis, however, is not an element of expression, 
but is the application of any vocal element to particular 
words or clauses. From this it is manifest that Empha- 
sis employs no uniform method. 

Some aver that the most significant words must al- 
ways receive special force, or energy of voice— there by 
confining emphasis to a monotonous mode, and making' 
it and stress identical . True, emphasis, in a large 
measure, is to words, what accent is to syllables; but 
unlike accent, it does not depend wholly on stress for 
the execution of commands, but can, with equal right, 
call upon any vocal element and be promptly obeyed. 
In short, Emphasis is the sovereign of all elocutionary 
elements, and they may all exclaim. 

Your Highness' part 
Is to receive our duties : and our duties 
Are to your tlirone and state, children and servants; 
Which do but what they should by doing everything, 
S>afe toward your love and honor.. $hal;es»e< 


Hence, whoever has command of emphasis has master- 
dom of elocution. 

That we may be able to give just emphasis, we must 
possess a clear conception of whatever we try to inter- 
pret. This is proven b} T the fact that in unconstrained 
conversation, anyone emphasizes correctly, because he 
understands clearly what he wishes to say. 

Emphasis and Sense are mutually dependent. 

To illustrate this principle, let us apply it to the sen- 

My Teacher is very kind. 

This sentence contains only rive words and. yet, is sus- 
ceptible of live various senses. 

If several boys, from divers schools, should engage in 
conversation concerning their respective teachers, each 
one would "niv"' his teacher. If an inquisitive passer- 
by should catch the last words only, his curiosity would 
be kindled, and, stopping, he would ask "who" was so 
very kiwi? Whereupon the bravest and frankest of the 
group answers. "My teacher." The answer adds fuel 
to the stranger's curiosity, and he immediately asks the 
name of the teacher. Being informed it is Mr. Birch, 
he says with an incredulous air, to the intense satisfac- 
tion of the }^oung spokesman's tittering companions, 
"He must have changed a great deal." 

The just anger of the boy is aroused, and he repeats 
with increased emphasis. "Weil, he is very kind." The 
memory of the questioner now carries him back to 
former days, when this same kind teacher checked his 
curiosity with the birch of justice, and he responds 
abstractedly. "He gave punishments encugh in his 
younger days, and often 'swayed the rod of empire 
over" — any way a little kindness will not harm him 
or his pupils seriously/' 


The boy, strong in the good cause he is defending, 
unwilling to grant ought that may detract from a teach- 
er whose even kindness has endeared him to all, repeats 
with greater force, "My teacher is very kind." The 
stranger, anxious to leave, for a crowd is gathering, 
desires to confound the hoy by a heavy retort, and 
says, "Owing to his advanced age, perhaps, he is be- 
coming negligent, and possibly lenient. But, my young 
man, there is a vast difference between kindness and 
lenity. Lenity, 3^011 know," 

"'All I know,.' 1 the boy's ardor interrupts, "is that 
my teacher is very kind."' 

The stranger's curiosity seems satisfied; he departs, 
and the young hero is champion of the field. The 
weapon he used was just emphasis. Each change of 
emphasis, in the above sentences, effected a like change 
of meaning; proving that Emphasis and Sense are 
mutually dependent. 

Let us now examine the sentence, 

Love is stronger than the grave; jealousy, more 


As it stands, love, stronger, grave, jealousy,, and cruel, 
would receive emphasis. But if some misanthrope 
should deny the first part of your statement, you would 
immediately display the firmness of your conviction 
in what you said by affirming, "Love is stronger than 
the grave." If some one asked you to point out brief- 
ly wherein love differed from jealousy, 3011 would say. 

Love is stronger than the grave: jealousy, more cruel. 
Analyze the following sentence similarly. — 
That man deserves lasting renown. 
What will the meaning lie if you place the chief em- 


phasis on man, on that, on renown? What word would 
you emphasize and hoiv. to indicate that your hero mer- 
its lasting- fame, although it will scarcely be accorded 

Similar sentences should he given by the teacher in 
order to accustom the students to "emphatic" anal- 
ysis. ■ 

The following rules are offered to assist the student in 
in rinding the emphatic words. While no infallible 
rules can be given, correct emphasis being the product 
of good brain-work, yet, the rules here presented will 
be found welcome and able aids . 

i. Words containing the leading ideas must receive 
capital emphasis; whereas, those expressing matter com- 
paratively unimportant should be subordinated. 


I have done my duty: I stand acquitted to my conscience 
and my country : I have opposed this measure throughout ; 
and now I protest against it as harsh, oppresive. uncalled for, 
unjust : as establishing an infamous precedent, by retaliating 
crime against crime: as tyrannous, cruelly and vindictively 
tyrannous.— O'ConneJ. 

2. The Chief emphasis is conferred on the words 
which finish the new picture or idea. 


The beautiful world hath its mountains and plains.— 31. S. 

By the soft blue waters of Lake Lucerne stands the Chapel 

of William Tell.— T. F. Meagher. 


3. Words expressing or implying contrast deserve 


He raised a mortal to the skies ; 

She drew an angel down. 

It was midnight when I listened. 
And I heard two voices speak ; 
One was harsh, and stern, and cruel, 

Dry den. 

And the other soft and weak. 

Adelaide A. Procter. 

To err is human ; to forgive, divine. — Pope. 

Fear carries us out of ourselves, shame confines us within 
the round of our own thoughts. — Newman. 

I said an elder soldier, not a better.— Shakespeare. 

From Creator and Creature. 

Look how the splendors of the Divine Eature gleam far 
and wide, nay infinitely, while the trumpets of heaven blow, 
and the loud acclaims of the untiring creatures greet with 
jubilant amazement the Living Vision! See how Eternity and 
Immensity entwine their arms in inexplicable embrace, the 
one filling all space, the other outliving all time; the one 
without quantity or limit, the other without beginning, end, 
or duration. Behold the understanding and the will, the 
one forever lighting up with such meridian glory the pro- 
found abysses of God's uncircumscribed Truth and illimitable 
Wisdom; the other enfolding for ever in its unconsuming 
tires the incomprehensible life of God, His infinite oceanlike 
expanse of being, and every creature of the countless Worlds 
that from His life draw their own. — Father Faber. 


Get wealth and place, if possible with grace. 

If not, by any means get wealth and place. — Pope. 

The contrast in the above couplet is implied. The 
poet desires us to secure wealth, and a good position in 
society, if possible, honestly, so that we may not forfeit 
grace; but, if we find it impossible to gain wealth and 
honor by fair means, we should, according to the poet, 
make use of any means to attain our purpose. 

4. Words essential to the idea which the sentence 
tries to convey, are emphatic when first introduced; 
but occurring afterward, are unemphatic because they 
have already made the intended impression on the 


From a Munster vale they brought her 
From the pure and balmy air. 
An Ormand peasant's daughter 
With blue eyes and golden hair. 
They brought her to the city. 
And she faded slowly there: 
Consumption has no pity 
For blue eyes and golden hair. 

K I). WUMam& 

Exception to No. 4. 

Words repeated to deepen the effect on the mind are 
rendered with increased emphasis. 



By foreign hands thy dying eyes were closed, 
By foreign hands thy decent limbs composed, 
By foreign hands thy humble grave adorn'd, 
By strangers honour 'd and by strangers mourn "d! 


Happy, happy, happy pair! 

None but the brave, 

IN one but the brave, 

None but the brave deserve the fair. 


5. The indispensable words of sentences are always 
emphatic; words which can be omitted without destroy- 
ing the clearness, are unemphatic. 

But here I am to speak what I do know.— Shakespeare. 

AVe might omit "but," "lam/ 1 and "do, 1 ' from this 
sentence, and still be able to gather from the context 
the meaning. It would read: "Here to speak what I 
know.' 1 You will observe it is not classic English, bat 
still the sense is not impaired. Hence, the words that 
may be omitted are unemphatic. 

An exception to the foregoing occurs when such words 
as "nevertheless, 11 "at all," "whatever." 1 "notwith- 
standing, 1 ' etc., are found in a sentence, as they arc 
especially introduced for emphasis. 

I Have Kept Nothing Whatever. 

Nothing, in this sentence, is plainly the most import- 
ant word, for we may say, "I have kept nothing," and 
the meaning will not suffer: yet, "whatever" receives 


the chief emphasis. Such words are called "oratorical 
words" and largely resemble combinations like Declar- 
ation of Independence, Grand Army of the Republic, 
Catholic Knights of America. Fellow of the Royal So- 
ciety of Antiquaries, etc. 


The Grand Army of the Republic embraces a body of he- 
roes whose names and deeds are inscribed on Liberty's palm. 
— Sullivan. 

AYe mast tre:it the underlined words as a word of 
nine syllables, giving equal weight to u Grand," "Ar- 
my," "RepwMic," passing gently over the other sylla- 
bles as we do over unaccented syllables in other words. 

But after we have discovered the emphatic words, 
the question arises, how shall we deliver them in order 
to give them the prominence they deserve? 

We must pronounce them in accordance with the 
sentiment they express. 



Time, i. e. . dwelling somewhat longer on certain 
words, is used as a mode of emphasis to express tender 
feeling, sublimity, solemnity, admiration, etc. It. can 
only be used with words possessing long quantity. 


From King Henry VIII. Act III. 

So farewell to the little good you bear me. 
Farewell, a long farewell to all my greatness, 
This is the state of man ; to-day he puts forth 
The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, 
And bears his blushing honors thick upon him;. . . . 

O, how wretched 
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors! 


From Elegiac Stanzas. 

Oh, let not tears embalm my tomb.— 
None but the dews at twilight given! 
Oh, let not sighs disturb the gloom, — 
None but the whispering winds of heaven I 


From King John. Act III, 

Constance. Father Cardinal, I have heard you say. 
That we shall see and know our friends in heaven :. 
If that be true, I shall see my boy again ; 
For, since the birth of Cain, the first male child.. 
To him that did but yesterday breathe. 
There was not such a gracious creature born. 
But now will canker sorrow eat my bud. 
And change the native beauty from his cheek,. 
And he will look as hollow as a ghost : 

And so he'll dte ; and, rising so again 

I shall not know him ; therefore, never, never, 

Must I behold my pretty Arthur more. 

Sh(/k< s/)< an . 


From Adventures of Telemachus. Book XIV. 

Telemaclius had long been disturbed in the night by dreams 
in which he saw his father Ulysses. The vision never failed 
to return at the end of the night, just before the approach of 
the Aurora, with her prevailing tires, to chase from heaven 
the doubtful radiance of the stars, and from the earth the 

pleasing delusion of sleep From these pleasing dreams 

Telemachus always awoke dejected and sorrowful . While one 
of them was recent upon his mind he cried out: " O my 
father! O my dear father Ulysses! the most frightful dreams 
would be more welcome to me than these. Those representa- 
tions of felicity convince me that thou art already descended 
to the abodes of those happy spirits whom the gcds reward 
for their virtue with everlasting rest. I think I behold the 
fields of Elysium! Must I then, O my father , see thee no 
more forever'? How dreadful is the loss of hope ! — Fenelon. 

Force is used with the sterner emotions and in the ex- 
pression of impassioned thought. 

The following examples offer opportunity for em- 
phasis by Time and Force. Let the student indicate the 
emphatic words and the means of emphasis. 

From Threnodia Augustalis. 

Calm was his life and quiet was his death. 

Soft as those gentle whispers were 

In which the Almighty did appear: 

By the still voice the prophet knew him there. 

That peace which made thy prosperous reign to shine, 

That peace thou lea vest to thy imperial line. 

That peace, oh happy shade, be ever thine! 



From Nature Superior to Science. 

In all physical science we can only be the servants and 
disciples of nature. She must be the absolute mistress, and 
she will not yield one tittle of power to us. By submission 
alone to those laws, which she herself has taught us, can we 
overcome her. Let me now, in order to put this view more 
strikingly before you, imagine a conversation, such as has 
often, I dare say, taken place, especially at the commence- 
ment of steam locomotion, in almost every part of the world. 
We will suppose a person, by way of introducing the conver- 
sation, saying of the steam engine: "What a wonderful in- 
vention; how marvelous; to what a pitch has science been 
brought; how completely has she mastered nature and her 
laws! We have destroyed space, W T e have cheated time, we 
have invented a piece of mechanism which we have endowed 
with almost vital power, to which we have given all but 
intelligence; and how proudly it goes on its way! 

"Hold!" says one who has been listening to this boastful 
speech; "hold! look at yon cloud ; it is heavy with thunder. 
See those flashes, which already break through it — those 
bright lances, each tipped with tire, destructive beyond all 
the power of man: see their direction toward us ! Suppose 
that by a law of nature, which you have not repealed, one of 

those strike,, and make a wreck of that proud monster 

"Nay," says a third; ''I will not consent to a trial like that. 

It is not thus, in a vengeful form, that I will put into 

contrast that great production of man's ingenuity and the 
power of nature. No; I will take the most harmless, the 
most gentle, the most tender thing in her, and I will put 
that against the other. 

What is softer, more beautiful, and more innocent than 
the dew-drop, which does not even discolor the leaf upon 
which it lies at morning; what more graceful, when, multi- 
plied, it makes its chalice of the rose, adds sweetness to its 
fragrance, and jewels to its enamel'?. . . .Expose the steam-en- 
gine but to the action of this little and insignificant agent 
and the metal, although you made a compact with it that it 
should be bright and polished, cares more for the refreshment 
from those drops of dew than it does for you. and it absorbs 


them willingly Every polished rod, so beautiful and fair, 

is blotched and gangrened. A few drops from heaven have 
conquered the proudest work of man's ingenuity and skill. — 
Cu rdinal Wiseman. 

Inflexion is one of the most valuable servants of em- 
phasis; the rules laid down elsewmere govern its use. 

Pause, or Phrasing, as a mode of emphasis, is reserved 
for a separate chapter. 

Let the student apply the preceding rules to the ex- 
amples here given. 


From Coriolanus. Act. III. 

You common cry of curs! whose breath I hate 
As reek o' the rotten fens, whose loves I prize 
As the dead carcasses of UDburied men 
That do corrupt my air, I banish you : 
And here remain with your uncertainty: 
Let every feeble rumour shake your heart- ! 
Your enemies, with nodding of their plumes. 
Fan you into despair! Have the power still 
To banish your defenders : till, at length, 
Your ignorance (which linds not till it feels . 
Making not reservation of yourselves 
(Still your own foesi. deliver you. as most 
Abated captives, to some nation 
That won you without blows. Despising 
For you. the city, thus I turn my back : 
There is a world elsewhere. 

Shakespea re. 

From Mores Catholici. 

The middle ages were ages of the highest grace to men- 
ages of faith — ages when all Europe was Catholic; when vast 
temples were seen to rise in every place of human concourse. 


to give glory to God, and to exalt men's souls to sanctity: 
when houses of holy peace and order were found amidst 
woods and desolate mountains— on the banks of placid lakes, 
as well as on the solitary rocks in the ocean; ages of sanctity 
which witnessed a Bede, ah Alcuin, a Bernard, a Francis, and 
crowds who followed them as they did Christ; ages of vast 
and beneficent intelligence, in which it pleased the Holy 
Spirit to display the pow T er of the seven gifts in the lives 
of an Anselm, a Thomas of Aquinum, and the saintly flocks 
whose steps a cloister guarded : ages of the highest civil 
virtue, which gave birth to the laws and institutions of an 
Edward, a Lewis, a Suger: ages of the noblest art, which 
beheld a Giotto, a Michael Angelo, a Kaffaele, a Domenichino; 
ages of poetry, which heard an Avitus, a Casdmon, a Dante, a 
Shakespeare, a Calderon; ages of more than mortal heroism, 
which produced a Tancred and a Godfrey; ages of majesty, 
which knew a Charlemagne, an Alfred, and the sainted youth 
who bore the lily; ages, too, of England's glory, when she 
appears, not even excluding a comparison with the Eastern 
empire, as the most truly civilized country on the globe; 
when the sovereign of the greater portion of the Western 
world applied to her schools for instructors— when she sends 
forth her saints to evangelize the nations of the world, and 
to diffuse 'spiritual treasure over the whole world— when 
heroes flock to her court to behold the models of reproachless 
chivalry, and emperors leave their thrones to adore at the 
tombs of her martyrs!— Kenelm H. Bighy. 

From The Exile's Return. 

The friends whom I loved and cherished have passed away, 
ay ! every soul. The warm hearts and loving eyes that cheer- 
ed my boyhood are gone,— the living friends are lost to sight, 
and I miss their enlivening presence, oh! how much !— but 
the inanimate friends— the old familiar scenes remain. I 
have taken up my abode in the very house of my nativity- 
ruined it is, and desolate, yet it is the shell which contained 
the kernel of my affections. The fields are as green, the sky 
as changeful, the mountains as grand, the sacred valley as 
lonesome and solemn, and, above all, the faith and piety of 


the people is still blie same, simple, earnest, nothing doubt- 
ing, all-performing. Where I herded my goats, a peasant 
boy, I muse, an old and wrinkled man, on the path of life I 
have trodden. I stand at the opposite end of existence, and 
ask myself what is the difference. I have had since what 
is called "position," I have wealth still — ay! a fortune, 
but what of that — I am old, friendless, childless, and alone, 
burdened with harrowing recollections, and ready to sink in- 
to the grave, unhonored and unknown. — Mrs. Sadlier. 

From History of Rome. 

Coriolanus no sooner beheld Yeturia attired in mourning, 
her eyes bathed in tears, and with a countenance and motion 
that spoke her sinking under a load of sorrow, than he ran 
hastily to her; and not only calling her mother, but adding 
to that word the most tender epithets, embraced her, wept 

pver her, and held her in his arms to prevent her falling 

When some time had been allowed to those silent tears of joy, 
which often flow plenteously at the sudden and unexpected 
meeting of persons dear bo each other, Yeturia entered upon 
the business she had undertaken. After many forcible ap- 
peals to his understanding and patriotism, she exclaimed : 
"What frenzy, what madness of anger transports my son ! 
Heaven is appeased by supplications, vows, and sacrifices: shall 
.mortals be implacable? O Marcius, refuse me not the only 
request, I ever made to thee; I will never importune thee 
with any other. Cease thy immoderate anger; be reconciled 
to thy country: this is all I ask; grant me but this, and we 
shall both be happy. Freed from those tempestuous passions 
which now agitate thy soul, and from all the torments of 
self-reproach, thy days will flow smoothly on in sweet sereni- 
ty of conscious virtue : And as for me, if I carry back to 
Borne the hopes of an approaching peace, an assurance of thy 
being reconciled to thy country, with what transports of joy 
shall I be received! In what honor, in what delightful re- 
pose, shall I pass the remainder of my life! What immortal 
glory shall I have acquired!" 

The Yolscian officers, not able unmoved to behold this 
scene, burned away their eyes : But Coriolanus passionately 


cried out: "Ah! Mother, what art thou doing'?" And ten- 
derly pressing her hand he added in a low voice, "Rome is 
saved, but thy son is lost!"— Nathaniel Hook. 



Obs. 1. The degree of force, the length of time, the 
height or depth of inflexion, on emphatic words, must be 
chiefly determined by the taste and judgment of the 
reader, aided by the character of the selection. 

For mere narration, the emphasis will be moderate. 
When feeling is united to the narration, the words 
expressing the emotion are brought out with more 
vigor and sparkle. 

The following is a choice example of narration en- 
livened by emotion. 

From Lalla Rookh. 

There stood— but one short league away 

From old Harmozia's sultry bay — 

A rocky mountain, o'er the sea 

Of Oman beetling awfully; 

A last and solitary link 

Of those stupendous chains that reach 

From the Caspian's reedy brink 

Down winding to the Green Sea beacli 

Thither the vanquished Hafed led 
His little army's last remains; — 
"Welcome, terrific glen!" he said, 
"Thy gloom, that Eblis' self might dread, 
Is heaven to him who flies from chains!" 

E3IPHAS1S. 151 

O'er a dark narrow bridge-way, known 

To him and to his chiefs alone. 

They crossed the chasm and gained the towers— 

"•This home," he cried, ' ; at least is ours ;. . . . 
Here — happy that no tyrants 's eye 
Gloats on our torments- we may die!" 


Obs. 2. In most sentences, the tone of the voice is 
gradually elevated until the emphatic word is reached, 
and then the voice increases its speed, and gives the 
remaining words in descending. 


c \ 










We find the same in pronouncing words, for example, 
application^ he is coming. 

p v; 

O n 

Y 4 <f 

' Incomprehensibility = He said that you belied him. 

Obs. S. In very solemn address and in speaking of 
sombre, repulsive, or despicable things, the tone descends 
on the emphatic word. 


What though for ages it droops in the dust, 
Shall it droop thus forever? jSTo! KoI God is just. 

Father By an. 

From Richard III. Act I. 

O! I have pass'd a miserable night, 
So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights 
That, as I am a Christian faithful man, 
I would not spend another such a night. 
Though it were to buy a world of happy days. 
So full of dismal terror was the time. 


From Othello. Act II. 

O God ! that men should put an enemy in their mouths, to 
steal away their brains! that we should, with joy. revel, 
pleasure, and applause, transform ourselves into beasts! 



Obs. Jf. Emphasis is too precious to lavish. If you 
make all the words emphatic, the specific aim of empha- 
sis is lost. 

Prepositions, conjunctions, etc., are useful as links of 
speech, but alone they possess no meaning. It is absurd, 
therefore, and shows a very dull speaker, to emphasize 
"ands," and k 'ofs," and "ins," and "fors," every time 
they occur. 

Do not say, 

I will never submit to such tyranny. 

The smaller number of words which you may empha- 
size without detriment to the meaning and tenor of the 
sentence — the better. 



The student should now be able to render the em- 
phatic words. The unemphatic members of the sen- 
tence may still puzzle him. The analysis of the follow- 
ing sentence aims to remove this perplexity. 

Daily practice in elocution makes the voice smooth. 

In this sentence the particles u in" and "the" should 
be obscured; the other words receive only sufficient 
stress to make them yield their meaning distinctly. 
Xote the difference when a word demanding special em- 
phasis is introduced. 

Daily practice in elocution makes even a strident voice 

Here, "strident" differs as much in emphasis from 



• 'daily/' "practice," etc., as do they from the particles. 
These unemphatic words are to he pronounced with the 
same force, relatively, as the unaccented syllables of 


Indispensable.=0 how beautiful ! 

Maladministrati on. = Where are you going? 



The Climax, or orator's ladder, is such a disposition 
of words, clauses, or sentences, that each successive 
member transcends its predecessor in force and impress- 
iveness. Quintiiian's rule was, "that a weaker assertion 
or proposition should never come after a stronger one." 

A vivid climax of considerable length is a telling test 
of elocutionary attainment. In its delivery we must 
utilize the best of voice and action we can afford. 

Keen discretion must govern its pronunciation, so 
that we may not exhaust our vocal power before "cap- 
ping' 1 the climax. 

The voice should ascend in harmony with the devel- 
opment of thought and feeling. 

Sometimes, the desired effect may be produced, by 
culminating the climax with an intense whisper. 

The Anti-climax, the reverse of the climax, is used to 
hurlesque y to disparage, etc. Pope used it very success- 
fully when he styled Lord Bacon, 

The greatest, wisest, meanest of mankind. 


Examples of Climax. 
From Macbeth. Act IV. 

I conjure you, by that which you profess, 

(Howe'er you come to know it) answer me: 

Though you untie the winds, and let them light 

Against the Churches; though the yesty waves 

Confound and swallow navigation up; 

Though bladed corn be lodg'd, and trees blown down : 

Though castles topple o'er their warder's heads ; 

Though palaces and pyramids do stoop 

Their heads to their foundations; though the treasure 

Of nature's germins tumble all together, 

Even till destruction sicken, answer me 

To what I ask you. 


From Prologue to Addison's Cato. 

To wake the soul by tender strokes of art, 
To raise the genius, and io mend the heart ; 
To make mankind in conscious virtue bold, 
Live o'er each scene, and be what they behold ; 
For this the Tragic Muse first trod the stage : 
Commanding tears to stream through every age: 
Tyrants no more their savage nature kept, 
And foes to virtue wonder'd how they wept. 


From Richard III. Act I. 

Then, came wandering by 
A shadow like an angel, with bright hair 
Dabbled in blood; and he shrieked aloud,— 
•'Clarence is come,— false, fleeting, perjur'd Clar- 



From Lectures on Justification. 

The Apostles spread their nets for disciples, and caught 

thousands at a cast And when these had entered the 

Church, many of them, doubtless, would wax cold in love, 
and fall away ; but still, those who had the seed of God with- 
in them, would become neither offences in the Church, nor 
apostates, nor heretics: but would find day by day, as love in- 
creased, increased experience, that what they had ventured 
boldly, amid conflicting evidence, of sight against sight, and 
reason against reason, with many things against it, but more 
things for it, they had ventured well. The examples of 
meekness, cheerfulness, contentment, silent endurance, pri- 
vate self-denial, fortitude, brotherly love, perseverance in 
well-doing, which would from time to time meet them in 
their new kingdom,— the sublimity and harmony of the 
Church's doctrine,— the touching and subduing beauty of her 
services and appointments, — their consciousness of her vir- 
tue, divinely imparted, upon themselves, in subduing, purify- 
ing, changing them,— the bountifulness of her alms-giving.— 
her power, weak as she was and despised, over the statesmen 
and philosophers of the world, — her consistent and steady 
aggression upon it, moving forward in spite of it on all sides 
at once, like the wheels in the Prophet's vision, and this in 
contrast with the ephemeral and variable outbreaks of sec- 
tarianism, — the unanimity and intimacy existing between 
her widely separated branches,— the mutual sympathy and 
correspondence of men of hostile nations and foreign lan- 
guages,— the simplicity of her ascetics, the gravity of her 
Bishops, the awful glory shed around her Martyrs, and the 
mysterious and recurring traces of miraculous agency here 
and there, once and again according as the Spirit willed, — 
these and the like persuasives acted on them day by day. 
turning the whisper of their hearts into an habitual convic- 
tion, and establishing in the reason what had been begun in 
the will. — Newman. 




Each part of the human body is expressive. We have 
already treated of the hand and found it capable of ex- 
pressing almost any emotion, that may present itself. 
Quintilian says of the hand that. *' while other limbs 
assist the speaker, the hands speak for themselves. 
Fordo we not demand, promise, call, dismiss, threaten, 
entreat, abhor, fear, ask, deny, with them? Do we not 
indicate joy. sadness, doubt, acknowledgement, remorse, 
measure, multitude, number and time with them? Do 
the}' not arouse courage? Do they not mourn, repel, 
consent? Do they not express admiration and shame? 
This is the language which in the great diversity of 
tongues among all races and peoples. 1 have in common 
with all men. " No further commentary on the use of 
the hands is necessary. 

The feet and legs are sufficiently treated in the chap- 
ter on action. 

The Head. 

There are few gestures of the head. The movement 
of the head denoting yes or no. denying or giving as- 
sent, is the one most commonly used. 

i. The Erect Head is the attitude of repose. It de- 
notes calmness and attention: e. o-.. 

Well, let him continue: we are listening. 


2. The Bowed Head signifies thoughtfullness, reflec- 
tion: e. g., 

From Hamlet. Act III. 

To be or not to be,— that is the question : 
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer 
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune; 
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, 
And, by opposing, end them? 


3. The Lifted Head is expressive of joy, vivacity, 
vehemence, self sufficiency, etc.; e. g. , 

From The Merchant of Venice. Act I. 

Gratiano. Let me play the fool : 
With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come, 
And let my liver rather heat with wine, 
Than my heart cool with mortifying groans. 
Why should a man whose blood is warm within 
Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster? 


4. The Advanced Head denotes eagerness, curiosity, 
etc.; e. g., 

Really, were you the person I met? 

5. The Head pivoted toward an object is significant 
of kindly feeling toward it; e. g., 

I am glad to see you. 

Pivoted from the object denotes disgust for it; e.g., 

I cannot bear the sight of you. 

6. The Head drawn back from anything denotes 
surprise, distrust, or harshness; e. g., 


From The Hidden Gem. 

"Ignotus, I implore you, speak. — Still silent? 
Speak, or I must believe your guilt. No answer? 
Have I then ta'en a viper to my bosom, 
Whom worthy I had deemed to be a son? 
A faithless robber for a holy man? 
And have five years of seeming piety, 
Of feigned austerity, and sham religion, 
Been but a hypocrite's deep preparation 
For vilest treachery, and meanest crime? 
Who will believe again in human virtue, 
If this be true. 

Cardinal Wiseman. 

7. The Head is thrown entirely back and down in 
great despair, agony \ and prostration; e. g., 

Oh, God, my last hope is gone! 

8. The Head thrown entirely forward and down sig- 
nifies shame, despair, etc.; e.g., 

Yes. 1 burn with shame to own it; I followed his bad example. 

9. The Head inclined toward the side expresses care- 
lessness, trustfulness, familiarity; e. g., 

Whether he go or stay is immaterial to me. 

The Eyes. 

The Eye has been called "the window of the soul/' 
Through it we see the emotion which stirs the soul. It 
first communicates the thought. It is capable of more 
subtle expression than any other organ. The general 
rule which should govern the eye might be worded 
thus: Keep the eye to the audience. Even in reading. 

kthis is necessary. The eve should he so practised that 


ster used to practice this by walking around a table on 
which was placed an open book, and. taking in, whilst 
facing the book, enough to continue speaking as he 
went around. With some practice, this can be brought 
to such a degree of perfection that the eye will, during 
entire sentences, look steadily at the audience. 

There are nine attitudes of the eye. 

i. The Normal eye looking "straight ahead and rest- 
ing easily on any object. It is expressive of calmness. 
Practice on the following example. 

From The Merchant of Venice. Act IV. 

Antonio. I do oppose 

My patience to his fury, and am arm'd 
To suffer with a quietness of spirit, 
The very tyranny and rage of his. 


2. The Normal Eye with raised brow is expressive of 

contempt; e. g. , 

You intend to force me. do you? 

3. Eye wide open with brow drawn down denotes 
anger; e. g. , 

From The Comedy of Errors. Act II. 

Now, as I am a Christian, answer me, 
In what safe place you have bestow'd my money, 
Or I shall break that merry sconce of yours, 
That stands on tricks when I am indispos'd. 
Where is the thousand marks thou hadst of me"? 


4. Eye opened wide with raised brow signifies aston- 
ishment; e. g., 

Et tu. Brute? — Shakespeare. 


5. Eye slightly closed with brow down indicates 
thought; e . g. . 

Yes, if I recollect rightly, it was ten days ago. 

6. Eye opened with slightly lowered brow expresses 
firmness; e. g. , 

Must I budge? Must I observe you? Must I stand and crouch 
under your testy humor?— Shakespeare. 

7. Eye partly closed with the brow normal speaks 
of drowsiness; e. g. , 

Oh, for the days of childhood, I long for them once more. 

8. Eye nearly closed with raised brow denotes ma- 
lignity > and contempt of opposition; e. g., 

You thought to enchain me by your cunning hypocrisy. 

9. Eye open with normal brow denotes indefinite 
thought, day-dreaming, stupor, and such like states 
of the mind; e. g. , 

How long I strolled beside the stream 
I do not know, nor may 1 say. 

Father Ryan. 

The Mouth. 

The Mouth, too, is a great agent of expression. To 
convince yourself of this, place one hand over the mouth 
and give to the eye and upper part of the face the most 
sinister expression possible. Kow look in your mirror 
and you will not be able to tell from the features 
whether the expression is one of close scrutiny or of 

The positions of the mouth, combined with the jaw 
and chin, are principally as follows; 1. Jaw firm, lips 
tightly closed denote tension, firmness, etc. 2. Jaw drop- 
ped, lips wide open; terror. 3. Chin protruded; anger. 


4. Lips compressed; concentration of mind. 5. Cor- 
ners drawn up, — joy; corners down, sorrow. These po- 
sitions of the mouth without the agreement of the other 
features would not he expressive of the emotions we 
have mentioned. Consonance is necessary. Do not as- 
sert with the hand and deny with the head. 




Many sentences, besides subject and predicate, con- 
tain certain subordinate ideas expressed in clauses and 
phrases. To show the relation between these governing 
and dependent parts, and to prevent uncertainty of 
reference. Pauses are used. These rhetorical pauses 
often coincide with the printer's pauses — hut. some- 
times, they are at variance. We often pause in reading, 
where no punctuation mark may lie found, and must 
frequently disregard the grammatical pause, or sacrifice 
the sense. 

The judicious reader will use the punctuation marks 
merely as guides to point out the meaning of the author. 
The old rule, to count one, at a comma; two. at a semi- 
colon: three, at — etc. ; together with its counterpart, let 
the voice always fall at c period, never, at a comma, is 
now. happily, retained by only a few. We know that 
the voice often rises at a period, and sinks at a comma: 
or for that matter, where no punctuation mark is nec- 
essary; and. that the pause at a comma, is sometimes 
greater than at a semicolon, colon, or period. 

The influence of the Pause in expression is boundless. 
Silence, often, speaks louder than words. Force, clear- 
ness, and dignity of phrases depend largely upon the 
Pause. We can tell from a reader's Pauses whether he 
understands his author. 


"A speaker is known by his ands and his ors 
Those stitches that fasten his patch-work together." 

■ The pause is necessary both for the reader and the 
hearer. For the reader, it is a physical necessity; lie 
must stop for breath supplies. For the hearer, it is a 
mental necessity; he cannot grasp the thoughts unless 
they are presented separately, and time given him to 
perceive their relation. 

The Length of the Pause is controlled by the character 
of the selection. In vehement expression, it will be very 
brief; in solemn utterance, long. Normal sentiments 
take the happy medium. 


From Eleonora. 

Look on thy tender pledges left behind; 
And, if thou canst a vacant minute find 
From heavenly joys, that interval afford 
To thy sad children and thy mourning lord. 

Dry den 

From A Memory. 

Yea! dreams that vied with angels' flight'? 
And, soaring, bore my heart away 
Beyond the far star-bounds of night, 
Unco the everlasting day. 

Father Byaw; 

From The Collegians. 

The spirit of the scene produced its effect upon the mind of 
Hardress himself, who , yielding to its influence, adopted a 
degree of gaiety that surprised and delighted all who were 
interested in his fortunes. 

It is true, that from time to time, a fear struck at his heart, 
like the shock of an alarm, and the glassy eyes of a corpse 

PAUSE. 165 

seemed at intervals to sfcare at him from among the crowd. 
But he turned his eyes and his thoughts away to happier ob- 
jects, and, as if in defiance of the ghastly interruption, be- 
came more gay than before.— Gerald Griffin. 

If we follow the punctuation in the above examples, 
we must pause before and after the underlined words: 
and in the first, and in the second, who and and in the 
third. But by doing so, we give the words undue 
prominence and thereby impair the sense. We make 
''and" stand alone, endowing it with an independence 
of which it is incapable. Our ears may be accustomed 
to hear sentences rendered in this manner — for faulty 
readers abound — and hence do not object to such vio- 
lations. But the custom of making vacuums, by 
separating words that are inseparable, is abhorred by 
nature, and condemned by the judicious, as a vile cus- 
tom — "honour'd in the breach. '* Evidently, we must 
pass over the printer's pauses and put together what he 
has put asunder. 

A right moral state of heart is the formal and scientific 
condition of a poetical mind. — Newman. 

In this sentence no punctuation is required: yet, in 
its delivery, we would not fail to pause as follows: 

A right moral state of heart [| is the formal j and scientif- 
ic condition || of a poetical mind. 

The Reformation | in its results | has been unfavorable to 
literature. Its immediate effect was j to destroy the literary 
spirit. Erasmus said I that wherever it prevailed, | letters 
went to ruin. Hallam remarks \ that "the first effects of the 
great religious schism in Germany | were not favorable to 
Classical literature." — Brother Azarias. 


Here, the punctuation demands few pauses; the read- 
er, however, will not neglect those marked. 

i. Pause before relative pronouns, and adverbs of 
time and place that convey the idea of a relative. 

^Only pauses exemplifying tbe particular rule will be indicated.) 

From Creator and Creature. 

There is something awful in the enduring love of God. 
something | which overshadows the spirits of creatures so ca- 
pricious and inconstant as ourselves. He will not easily sur- 
render to His enemies a creature j whom He has borne in His 
bosom like a nurse from the beginning. Into the least of His 
blessings he pours an endless love. There are no infirmities 
which He disdains, no prayers | which He disregards.— Father 
Fa her. 

From Passing Footsteps. 

One other foot, through the shadows goes by, and I listen 

again : 
; Tis the step of a man grown aged among his fellow-men; 
'Tis a weary while | since a mother | tirst guided those 

stumbling feet, 
They have grown unfit for this busy mart | where the 

world's strong pulses beat. 

Eleanor C. Donnelly. 

2. Whatever intervenes between the subject and its 
predicate, between the verb and its object, should be 
separated from each by pauses. 

From The Turf Shall be my Fragrant Shrine. 
Thy heaven, | on which 'tis bliss to look, | 
Shall be my pure and shining book, 
Where 1 shall read, \ in words of flame, j 
The glories of thy wondrous name. 


From A Tempest at Sea. 

The mountains and valleys. | with their bold lineaments 
and luxurious verdure, | are beautiful : but theirs is not like 
the beauty of the ocean, for here all is life and movement. — 
A rchMshop Hughe.*. 

3. A succession of adjectives, in natural order, takes 
a pause after each save the last. 

From The Merchant of Venice. Act III. 

Look on beauty, 
And you shall see 'tis purchased by the weight; 
Which therein works a miracle in nature, 
Making them lightest that wear most of it: 
So are those crisped snaky golden locks. 
Which make such wanton gambol with the wind, 
Upon supposed fairness, often known 
To be the dowry of a second head 
The scull, that bred them, in the sepulchre. 


From The Story of Ireland. 

The earl marshal returned with the unwelcome news to the 
king, who rlew into a rage! What! He the great. . the court- 
ly, the puissant, and gorgeous King Richard of England, 
thus haughtily treated by a mere Irish prince ! By the glory 
of William the Conquerer. this astounding conduct should 
meet a dreadful chastisement! — Alexander M. Sullivan. 

From The Republic. 

Loyalty is the highest, noblest, and most generous of 
human virtues, and is the human element of that sublime 
charity which, the inspired Apostle tells us is the fulfilment 
of the law. There is nothing great, generous, ) good. | or 
heroic. 1 of which a truly loyal people are not capable, and 
nothing mean. , base, cruel. | brutal | criminal. | detestable. | 
not to be expected of a really disloyal people. — Ore.sf<s A. 


4. A series of nouns belonging to one verb requires a 
pause after each. 


Faith, | Justice, j Heaven itself, | now quit their bold, 
When to false fame the captive heart is sold. 


From Catholic and Protestant Countries Compared. 

To what do we owe our knowledge of the ancient classics at 
the present day but to the indefatigable literary zeal of the 
Catholic priesthood— of popes, j bishops, [ priests, j and above 
all of the monks — in collecting, preserving, and transcribing 
these highly-prized treasures'? Who produced and who care- 
fully preserved the Book of books — the Holy Bible, especially 
the Bible of Christians— the New Testament? From what 
source has flowed forth the all precious and profoundly learn- 
ed writings of the long line of fathers, ] doctors, 1 theologi- 
ans, j and historians J of Christianity? He would be a venture- 
some defamer indeed who would dare call in question the 
debt that the world owes the Catholic Church on the 
score of the cultivation of letters, as the controversialist 
would be no less venturesome to attempt to frame an excuse 
for the attacks made upon literary culture by the early Re- 
formers and the wanton destruction of untold thousands of 
books and manuscripts in hundreds of libraries by these 
vandals who sprang up all over Great Britain, I Germany, 1 
and in other countries f where Protestantism in its bigoted 
and ignorant wrath strove by lire, ) sword, | and robbery | to 
wipe from off the face of the earth every vestige of what had 
been the most glorious monuments of Christendom. — Alfred 

From Epistle VI. (Imitations of Horace.) 

This vault of air, J this congregated ball, | 
Self-centred sun, I and stars | that rise and fall. 
There are, my friend! whose philosophic eyes 
Look through and trust the ruler with his skies ; 

PAUSE. 169 

To him commit the hour, | the day,| the year, \ 
And view this dreadful all without a fear. 


5. When we wish to make a word very emphatic, we 
should pause before and after it. 


From King John. Act III. 

O, Austria thou dost shame 
That bloody spoil: | thou slave, J thou wretch, j 
thou coward ; J 

Thou little valiant, great i in villany ! 

What I a fool 1 art thou. 

A ramping fool ; j to brag, land stamp, | and swear, 1 

Upon my party! 

Thou { wear a lion's hide! j doit 
it for shame, 
And hang | a calf's-skin on those recreant limbs. 


From Brutus. 

Go to the tomb where lie his murder'd wife. 
And the poor queen, who lowd him as her son, 
Their unappeased ghosts will shriek, J Revenge! j 
The temples of the gods, the all-viewing heaven, — 
The gods themselves, — will justify the cry, 
And swell the general sound— I Revenge! f Revenge! 

./. Howard Payne. 

It would be an easy task to multiply grammatical re- 
lations that require a pause before or after, or both, but 
as they are all subject to a general rule, it is unneces- 
sary. A uniform observance of the following rule will 
result in correct pausing: 

Never make a pause which injures the sense. 


Any pause so introduced is from the purpose of 
speaking, "whose end, both at first, and now. was, and 
is, "to convey meaning. 

Still follow sense of every art the soul: 
Parts answering parts shall slide into a whole. 


Require the students to indicate the pauses in the 
following selections. 


From The Dream of Home. 

Who has not felt how sadly sweet 
The dream of home, the dream of home. 
Steals o'er the heart, too soon to fleet, 
When far o'er sea or land We roam? 
Sunlight more soft may o'er us fall, 
To greener shores our bark may come: 
But far more bright, more dear than all, 
That dream of home, that dream of home. 

Ask of the sailor youth when far 
His light bark bounds o*er ocean's foam 
What charms him most, when evening's star 
Smiles o'er the wave? to dream of home. 
Fond thoughts of absent friends and loves 
At that sweet hour around him come; 
His heart's best joy where'er he roves, 
That dream of home, that dream of home. 


From The History of England. 

If we estimate the character of a sovereign by the test of 
popular affection, we must rank Edward the Confessor among 
the best princes of his time. The goodness of his heart was 

PAUSE. 171 

adored by his subjects, who lamented his death with tears 
of undissembled grief, and bequeathed his memory as an ob- 
ject of veneration to their posterity. The blessings of his 
reign are the constant theme of our ancient writers ; not, in- 
deed, that he displayed any of those brilliant qualities, which 
attract andmiration, while they inflict misery. He could not 
boast of the victories he had achieved: but he exhibited the 
interesting spectacle of a king, negligent of his private inter- 
ests, and totally devoted to the welfare of his people; and, by 
his labors to restore the dominion of the laws; his vigilance 
to ward off foreign aggression; his constant, and ultimately 
successful, solicitude to appease the feuds of his nobles; if he 
did not prevent the interruption, he secured, at least, a long- 
er duration of tranquillity than had been enjoyed in England 
for half a century. He was pious, kind, and compassionate: 
the father of the poor, and the protector of the weak : more 
willing to give than to receive; and better pleased to pardon 

than to punish Hence he appeared to shine with purer 

light amid the gloom with which he was surrounded: and 
whenever the people under the despotism of the Norman 
Kings, had any opportunity of expresing their real wishes, 
they constantly called for "the laws and customs of the good 
King Edward.''— Lingard. 

From St. Thomas of Canterbury. 

Lords, I know you ; 
What done ye have, and what intent ere yet 
Yon sun that rises weeping sets this night: 
And therefore bind I with this charge your souls : 
If any secular court shall pass its verdict 
On me. your lord, or ere that sin be sinned, 
I bid you flee that court: if secular arm 
Attempt me. lay thereon the Church's ban, 
Or else against you I appeal to Borne. 
To-day the heathen rage— I fear them not : 
If fall I must: this hand, ere yet I fall. 
Stretched from the bosom of a peaceful gown 
Above a troubled king and darkening realm. 
Shall send God's sentence forth. My lords, farewell! 

Aubrey Be Vere. 


From The Bridal of the Year. 

And the artist, too — the gifted — 
He whose soul is heavenward lifted 
Till it drinketh inspiration 
At the fountain of the skies; 
He, within whose fond embraces 
Start to life the marble graces; 
Or, with god-like power presiding, 
With the potent pencil gliding, 
O'er the void chaotic canvas 
Bids the fair creations rise! 
And the quickened mass obeying 

Heaves its mountains; 

From its fountains 
Sends the gentle streams astraying 
Through the vales, like Love's first feeling- 
Stealing o'er a maiden's heart : 
The Creator — 
Imitator — 
From his easel forth doth start, 
And from God's glorious nature learns anew his art I 

I). F. M'Carthy. 

From - Occasional Sermons. 

I need not tell you, how suddenly the word of truth came 
to our ancestors in this island and subdued them to its 
gentle rule, how the grace of G-od fell on them, and, with- 
out compulsion, as the historian tells us, the multitude be- 
came christian; how, when all was tempestuous, and hopeless, 
and dark, Christ like a vision of glory came walking to them 

on the waves of the sea The fair form of Christianity 

rose up and grew and expanded like a beautiful pageant 
from north to south; it was majestic, it was solemn, it was 
bright, it was beautiful and pleasant, it was soothing to the 
griefs, it was indulgent to the hopes of man; it was at once a 
teaching and a worship; it had a dogma, a mystery, a ritual 
of its own; it had an hierarchical form. A brotherhood of 
holy pastors, with mitre and crosier and uplifted hand, walk- 

PAUSE. 173 

ed forth and blessed and ruled a joyful people. The crucifix 
headed the procession, and simple monks were there with 
hearts in prayer, and sweet chants resounded, and the holy 
Latin tongue was heard, and boys came forth in white, 
swinging censers, and the fragrant cloud arose, and Mass was 
sung, and the saints were invoked ; and day after day, and in 
the still night, and over the woody hills and in the quiet 
plains, as constantly as sun and moon and stars go forth in 
heaven ; so regular was the stately march or blessed services 
on earth, high festival, and gorgeous procession, and sooth- 
ing dirge, and passing bell, and the familiar evening call to 
prayer : till he who recollected the old pagan time, would 
think it all unreal that he beheld and heard, and would con- 
clude, he did but see a vision, so marvelously was heaven let 
down upon earth, so triumphantly were chased away the 
tiends of darkness to their prison below. 

Such was the change which came over our forefathers: such 
was the Religion bestowed upon them, bestowed on them as 
a second grant, after the grant of the territory itself; nay, it 
might almost have seemed as the divine guarantee or pledge 
of its occupation. And you know its name: there can be no 
mistake; you know what that religion was called. It was 
called by no modern name — for modern religions then were 
not. You know what religion has priests and sacrifices, and 
mystical rites, and the monastic rule, and care for the souls 
of the dead, and the profession of an ancient faith, coming 
through all ages, from the Apostles. There is one, and only 
one religion such: it is known everywhere: every poor boy in 
the street knows the name of it: there never was a time, 
since it first was, that its name was not known, and known 
to the multitude. It is called Catholicism — a world-wide 
name, and incommunicable: attached to us from the first: 
accorded to us by our enemies: in vain attempted, never 
stolen from us. by our rivals. Such was the worship 
which the English people gained when they emerged out of 
paganism into gospel light. In the history of their convers- 
ion. Christianity and Catholicism are one: they are in that 
history, as they are in their own nature, convertible terms. 
— Newman. 




Poetry and music in early days were united. They 
are still allied, though many have tried to sunder them. 
Music informs lyric poetry. Dryden tells us, ""The 
charm of poetry our souls bewitch, 11 and Shakespeare. 
u Much is the force of heaven-bred poesy. " Rob poetry 
of its magic rhythm, however, and you deprive it of its 
witchery and force. Poetry is an art, and like sculpture, 
architecture, painting, and music, its effects are premed- 
itated. If we do not by diligent study discover the 
end for which a poet employs a certain metre, certain 
words, certain blendings, we will fail to bring out his 
intention. In preparing a poem tor recitation, do the 
same as you should do in prose: First find out the au- 
thor's meaning; the meaning is always of primary im- 

But poets (not poetasters), always arrange their 
words so that we cm bring out the meaning in sweet, 
melodious numbers. ''The great masters require of the 
reader only that he should understand their meaning 
and deliver it with proper accentuation; then they will 
answer for the prosody coming right." — Buskin: Ele- 
ments of English Prosody. Rhythm is a chief source of 
poetic charm. Anyone derives pleasure from observing 
rhythmical motions in nature. The uudulatory fields 
of grain before the harvest; the graceful swaying of 


leafy boughs in summer's welcome breezes; the rippling 
of singing rivulets over the hardy pebbles; the playful 
waves chasing one another toward the strand, will 
arouse pleasurable emotions in the most insensible. 

The rhythm of nature derives its beauty from the 
recurrence of like motions at measured intervals of 
space or time. "The wave swells and then sinks, mak- 
ing a crest and a hollow, visible to the eye. A succes- 
sion of crests and hollows forms a rhythm." Rhythm, 
therefore in poetry is the harmonious result of stressed 
syllables at regular intervals. It is not necessary to 
chant the words or to fall into "sing-song, ?1 "the false 
gallop of verse," to bring out this rhythm. If we read 
true poetry, the rhythm and meaning will always accord. 
If we read doggerel or "splay-foot verse, "we may read 
it for the jingle, as sense does not enter largely into 
such pieces. The poet's choice of metre is not arbitra- 
ry. He must suit the metre to the thought. 

Oil. lost, for ever lost — no more 
Shall Vesper light our dewy way 
Along the rocks of Crissa's shore, 
To hymn the fading fires of day. 


My brother's breast was warm with truth. 
Was bright with honor's purest ray: 
He was the dearest, gentlest youth — 
Ah, why then was he torn away'? 


Compare these stanzas with the following: 

From The Bridal of the Year. 

But the Bride— the Bride is coming! 
Birds are singing, bees are humming: 


Silent lakes amid the mountains 

Look but cannot speak their mirth; 
Streams go bounding in their gladness. 
With a Bacchanalian madness ; 
Trees bow down their heads in wonder, 
Clouds of purple part asunder, 
As the Maiden of the Morning ; 
Leads the blushing Bride to Earth! 
Bright as are the planets seven— 
With her glances 
She advances 
For her azure eyes are Heaven ! 
And her robes are sun-beams woven, 
And her beauteous bridesmaids are 
Hopes and Wishes — 
Dreams delicious — 
Joys from some serener star, 
And Heavenly-hued Illusions gleaming from afar! 

D. F. M'Carthy. 

Why did not Moore employ the same metre for his 
theme as M'Carthy! 1 Because the tripping metre so 
aptly used by the latter, would be ill-suited to the slow 
tones of grief, in fact, would burlesque sorrow. It will 
avail the poet little, however, to harmonize metre and 
subject, if the reader does not imitate him. A knowl- 
edge of versification is indispensable for the higher 
effects of poetical reading. A brief presentation of the 
feet most commonly used is all that we can convenient- 
ly introduce. 

A poetic foot may be composed of two or three syl- 

Dissyllabic Feet. 

Iambus, second syllable accented, as amaze. 
Trochee, first u u " sylvan. 

Spondee, both syllables lt kk moonbeam. 


For farther information the student is referred to 
some treatise on versification. The ancient names for 
the feet have been retained, but we should remember 
that the feet in English are not long and short but 
accented and unaccented. 

Trissyllabic Feet. 

Dactyl, first syllable accented, as dutiful. 

Amphibrach, second syllable accented, as remember. 

Anapest, third syllable accented, as recollect. 

The Iambus, the Trochee, the Dactyl, and the Anapest 
are called primary feet. A poem may be formed of 
any of ths>e without recourse to blending. The follow- 
ing examples are given to illustrate the melody peculiar 
to each kind. 


Rash dream|er return! O ye winds of the main 
Bear him back to his own peaceful Ara again. 


Farewell, | a long | farewell | to all | my greatness. 



No pearl evler lay un'der Omans | green wliter. 



From Lines. 

The world | is sweet. I and fair, j and bright, | 

And joy aboundeth everywhere, 

The glorious stars crown every night, 

And thro' the dark of ev ? ry care 

Above us shineth heaven's light. 

Father Ryan. 



From Give Place. 

Joy so I true and | tender, 

Dare you not abide'? 
Will you spread your pinions 

Must you leave our side? 
Nay, an Angel's shining grace 

Waits to fill your place! 

Adelaide A. Procter. 


From Sister of Charity. 

Sister of | Charity, | child of the | ho-li-est, 
O for thy living soul ardent as pure. — 
Mother of orphans and friend of the lowliest- 
Stay of the wretched, the guilty, the poor. 

B. I). Williams. 


Sweet vale | of Avo|ca ! how calm | could I rest 
In thy bosom of shade, with the friends I love best, 

Where the storms that we feel in this cold world should 

And our hearts like thy waters be mingled in peace. 

It is unnecessary to preserve one species of feet 
throughout a poem. Hence, in reading poetry, if you 
find, that, by observing the preponderant metre of a 
given poem, you violate accent or emphasis, scan the 
line, to see whether the poet has introduced another 
kind of feet. 


That heals the wound and cures not the disgrace.— Shakes- 


If we read this verse as though it contained all iambic 
feet we will emphasize "the" in the fourth foot, which 
is plainly wrong. If we scan the line, we will discover 
the fourth foot to be a pyrrhic. 

That heals | the wound, | and cures | not the | disgrace. 


Eye nature's walks, shoot folly as it flies, 
And catch the manners living as they rise. 

According to the scheme of the verse, u as"in the first 
and the second line, should receive .-tress. Scan the 
lines, however, and you will find the poet introduced 

Here is a stanza including three kinds of feet, with 
varying position. 

From The Turn of the Leaf. 

Poor tiny leaf, still so green. Oh! how 
Can you forsake thus your native bough? 
The sun still willing to shine around 
And yet forsooth you sink to the ground! 

Kenelm Henry Digby. 

Another source of melody in verse, is the Final and 
Caesural pause. The Final pause is especially necessary 
in lyric poetry where the length of the lines vary. 
Surely the poet did not make one line longer or 
shorter than another from mere caprice; and what he, 
on the printed page, addresses to our eye. we must con- 
vey to the hearer, by means of the final pause. Where 
the concluding word of a line is closely ' related to the 
initial word of the succeeding verse, make a delicate 
suspension, or poise of the voice on it. using it as a 
pivot. In this way you will keep the lines distinct, and 


not impair the sense. Lord Karnes, the eminent Scotch 
critic, attributes the great variety of modulation con- 
spicuous in English verse to pauses and accents, and 
warns the reader, that unless he attends to these, he will 
fail to appreciate the richness and variety of English 

The Csesural pause occurs about the middle of the 
verse. It is soon determined in a selection, but when 
once found, should not be followed blindly. It often 
varies . 


Thus, if eternal justice H rules the ball | 
Thus shall your wives, || and thus your children fall. 


His peers, upon this evidence, 
Have found him guilty of high treason. || Much 
He spoke, and learnedly, for life : but all 
Was either pitied in him, or forgotten. 


'Tis with our judgments as our watches : tf none 
Go just alike, yet each believes his own. 


What the weak head with strongest bias rules 
Is pride; (| the never-failing vice of fools. 


The nations have fallen, || and thou art still young 
Thy sun is bub rising, || when others are set; 
And though slavery's cloud ||o'er thy morning hath hung, 
The full noon of freedom || shall beam round thee yet. 
Erin, oh Erin, || though long in the shade, 
Thy star will shine out || when the proudest shall fade. 



What if the foot, || ordain 'd the dust to tread, 
Or hand, to toil, || aspired to be the head? 
What if the head, || the eye, or ear, repined 
To serve mere engines || to the ruling mind? 
Just as absurd, || for any part to claim 
To be another, || in this general frame: 
Just as absurd || to mourn the task or pains 
The great directing mind of all || ordains. 


All the foregoing is strengthened by the testimony of 
Legouve: "When you read a poet, read him as a poet. 
Where there is rhythm let that rhythm be heard! When 
the verses are painting and music, be a painter and a 
musician when you read them!" 

The following examples, containing various melodies, 
are added for the student to analyze. 

From To-day. 

To-day is bright with golden gleams of spring. 
To-day is fair, and all our sweet hopes sing; 
But night comes down, and then our day is done. 

It is not always bright, nor always spring, 
And sunny seasons are the ones that bring 
Most sudden showers : and the light is gone. 

Live in the sunlight, in the fair to-day ! 
To-morrow keeps to-morrow, and the way 
May, in a moment, lose the light of sun! 

Maurice F. E<j<<n. 

From Their Story Runneth Thus. 

He sat beside that lonely grave for long, 
He took its grasses in his trembling hand, 


He toyed with them and wet them with his tears. 

He read the name again and still again, 

"What means it all? Can this be Ethel's grave? 
I dreamed her soul had fled. 
Was she the white dove that I saw in dream 
Fly o'er the sleeping sea so long ago? 

The convent bell 
Rang sweet upon the breeze, and answered him 
His question. And he rose and went his way 
Unto the convent gate : long shadows marked 
One hour before the sunset, and the birds 
Were singing Vespers in the convent trees. 
As silent as a star-gleam came a nun 
In answer to his summons at the gate; 
Her face was like the picture of a Saint, 
Or like an angel's smile;. . . .her lips were pale and worn 
By ceaseless prayer ; and when she sweetly spoke, 
And bade him enter, 'twas in such a tone 
As only voices own which day and night 
Sing hymns to God. 

She locked the massive gate. 
He followed her along a flower-fringed walk 
That, gently rising, led up to the home 
Of virgin hearts. 

Father Byan. 

From Lalla Rookh. 

But, hark ! the vesper call to prayer, 
As slow the orb of daylight sets, 
Is rising sweetly on the air, 
From Syria's thousand minarets! 
The boy has started from the bed 
Of flowers, w r here he had laid his head. 
And down upon the fragrant sod 
Kneels, with his forehead to the south, 
Lisping the eternal name of God 
From Purity's own cherub mouth, 
And looking, while his hands and eye- 
Are lifted to the glowing skies, 


Like a stray babe of Paradise, 

Just lighted on that flowery plain, 

And seeking for its home again. 

Oh! 't was a sight — that Heaven— that child — 

A scene which might have well beguiled 

Even haughty Eblis of a sigh 

For glories lost and peace gone by! 

And now felt he. the wretched man 

Reclining there— while memory ran 

O'er many a year of guilt and strife, 

Flew o'er the dark flood of his life, 

Nor found one sunny resting-place, 

Nor brought him back one branch of grace? 

••There was a time." he said, in mild 

Heart-humbled tones— "thou blessed child! 

When, young and haply pure as thou, 

1 looked and prayed like thee — but now—" 

He hung his head— each nobler aim, 

And hope, and feeling, which had slept 

From boyhood's hour, that instant came 

Fresh o'er him. and he wept— he wept! 

Blest tears of soul-felt penitence! 
In whose benign redeeming flow 
Is felt the first, the only sense 
Of guiltless joy that guilt can know. 


From Philip and Mildred. 

Lingering fade the rays of daylight, and the listening air is 

Voice of bird and forest murmur, insect hum and quivering 

Stir not in that quiet hour: through the valley, calm and 

All is hushed and loving silence watch the slow departing 

Till the faint last western cloudlet, faint and rosy, eases 



And the blue grows deep and deeper where one trembling 

planet shines, 
And the day has gone forever — then, like some great ocean 

The sad night wind wails lamenting, sobbing through the 

moaning pines. 
Such, of all day's changing hours, is the fittest and the 

For a farewell hour— and parting looks less bitter and more 

blest ; 
Earth seems like a shrine for sorrow, Nature's mother voice 

is sweetest, 
And her hand seems laid in chiding on the unquiet throb- 
bing breast. 

Adelaide A. Procter. 

From Absalom and Achitophel. 

Surrounded thus with friends of every sort, 

Deluded Absalom forsakes the court, 

The admiring crowd are dazzled with surprise 
And on his goodly person feed their eyes. 
His looks, his gestures and his words he frames 
And with familiar ease repeats their names. 
Thus formed by nature, furnished out with arts, 
He glides unfelt into their secret hearts, 
Then with a kind compassionating look, 
And sighs bespeaking pity ere he spoke, 
Few words he said, bub easy those and lit, 
More slow than Hybla-drops and far more sweet. 
''I mourn, my countrymen your lost estate, 
Though far unable to prevent your fate: 
Behold a banished man, for your dear cause 
Exposed a prey to arbitrary laws! 
Yet oh that I alone could be undone, 
Cut off from empire and no more a son ! 
Now all your liberties a spoil are made 
Egypt and Tyrus intercept your trade 
And Jebusites your sacred rites invade. 
My father, whom with reverence yet I name. 


Charmed into ease is careless of his fame ; 
Exalts his enemies, his friends destroys, 
And all his power against himself employs. 
He gives, and let him give, my right away : 
But why should he his own and yours betray? 
Youth, beauty, graceful action seldom fail, 
But common interest always will prevail : 
And pity never ceases to be shown 
To him who makes the people's wrongs his own. 

Dry den. 

The Pilgrims of the Night. 

Hark! hark! my soul, angelic songs are swelling 
O'er earth's green fields and ocean's wave-beat shore; 
How sweet the truth those blessed strains are telling 
Of that new life when sin shall be no more! 

Chorus. Angels of Jesus 
Angels of light. 
Singing to welcome* 
The pilgrims of the night! 

Darker than night, life's shadows fall around us. 
And. like benighted men. we miss our mark: 
God hides Himself, and grace hath scarcely found us, 
Ere death finds out his victim in the dark. 

Onward we go, for still we hear them singing, 
Come, weary souls! for Jesus bids you come! 
And through the dark', its echoes sweetly ringing, 
The music of the Gospel leads us home- 
Far, far away, like bells at evening pealing, 
The voice of Jesus sounds o'er land and sea, 
And laden souls, by thousands meekly stealing. 
Kind Shepherd! turn their weary steps to Thee. 

Rest comes at length : though life be long and dreary, 
The day must dawn, and darksome night be past : 
All journeys end in welcomes to the weary. 
And heaven, the heart's true home, will come at last. 


Cheer up, ray soul! faith's moonbeams softly glisten 
Upon the breast of life's most troubled sea: 
And it will cheer thy drooping heart to listen 
To those brave songs which angels mean for thee. 

Angels! sing on, your faithful watches keeping, 
Sing us sweet fragments of the songs above ; 
While we toil on, and soothe ourselves with weeping. 
Till life's long night shall break in endless love. 

Father Faber. 




We can hardly pass over this subject, as it is one 
which is so often offended against by persons who are 
otherwise fair elocutionists. As rules which must be 
observed, we insert the following: 

1 . Personation is not allowed unless the direct speech 
of a person is given. In such a sentence as, 

"She tore from braids of long black liair 

The gems that gleamed like star-light there,'" etc.. 

you are not allowed to go through a motion indicative of 
tearing them from your own hair. In the following ex- 
ample, notice the personation does not commence till 
you arrive at the direct speech. Then raise the hand 
as if grasping a scepter, and point, at the same time 
assuming majestic voice. 

From Heart of Bruce. 

The king sighed slightly, and his eyelids sank; 
Later his eyes unclosed : and with strong voice 
And hand half raised as if it grasped a scepter, 
He spake :" "Yon case of silver is a reliquary — 
Seal thou therein my heart when dead I lie: 
In the Holy Land inter it." 

Aubrey De Vere. 

In speaking of another's limb, face, mouth, etc.. do 
not point or refer to your own: e. o\. 


No voice brought a word of solace to soothe that kind heart 
breaking within him now. On his brow he felt the death- 
damp. — Williams. 

2. Personation is often in place where, although no 
direct speech is used, the selection is intensely dramatic. 
This is on account of our sympathy with the situation. 
We see some one we love in a terrible crisis, and we 
involuntarily portray his actions, allow him to speak, as 
it were, through our organs of expression. As an ex- 
ample of this, Copee's "Night Watch 1 ' will serve. 
Irene de Grandfief sees lying wounded before her the 
man who murdered her lover. She must tend him and 
administer a potion regularly to prevent fever. Her 
wrongs burn within her, and, for a time, she hesitates. 
After a terrible struggle, she overcomes self, and with 
eyes ever bent on her crucifix fulfils her duty. Though 
much of the latter part of the piece is not in direct 
speech, still personation would be proper on account of 
the dramatic intensity .—Another example wouM be the 
following: The tenement was ablaze. The clang of the 
fire bells, the shouts of the spectators, the roaring of 
the flames above, and of the engines below 7 in the street 
was deafening. Suddenly there appeared far above, out 
of reach of the ladders, a woman holding an infant. 
Flames were licking the easement of the window below. 
In a few moments she would be enwrapped in them. 
The eye \ of th.3 crowd are upon her. Their hearts go out 
to her in her terrible peri'. Oh. for a means of saving* 
her and her precious burden! And is she to be made a 
holocaust to the fire-king? A moment more and that 
creeping red flame wi.i lie around her! Oh, God! is 
there no hand to snatch her from that hell around^ 

3. The elocutionist is not allowed the liberties of 


the actor. The character may be personated when we 
have the direct speech, but we are not permitted to 
use accessories. In reciting the lines of Falstaff, di- 
rected to the grand jurors, whom he has waylaid, we 
are not allowed the use of a sword. We may stab at 
the imaginary juror as he lies trembling on the ground, 
but FalstafTs mighty weapon must be relegated to the 
property man. Leave such portrayal to the actor. 
Elocution calls for no properties. 

4. Where a personation occurs within a persona- 
tion, the speaker is not allowed to drift from one into 
the other. The subordinate one is to be spoken in the 
maimer in which the principal personation is character- 
ized. In the selection, * 'The Old Surgeon's Story," an 
old surgeon tells of a youth's interview with his moth- 
er. In rendering this selection, it would be ridiculous 
for the reciter to use the tones of voice of the mother 
and child. The oid surgeon is the one who speaks, even 
where he brings in the direct words of the mother and 
child. His personality can not be lost sight of during 
the entire selection. It is the prominent character. 
Assuming the voice or action of any other party would 
be ti mistaken interpretation of the poem. Those who 
wilt ponder Hamlet's advice to the players, and thence- 
forward closely follow it, will scarcely violate the rules 
of personation. 

From Hamlet. Act III. 

Speak the speech, I pray you. as I pronounced it to you, 
trippingly on the tongue: but if you mouth it. as many of 
your players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. 
^Tor. do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus; but 
use all gently: for in the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may 
say. whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a 


temperance that may give it smoothness. O, it offends me to 
the soul to liear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a pas- 
sion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the ground- 
lings, who for the most part, are capable of nothing but 
inexplicable dumb-shows and noise. I could have such a 
fellow whipped for o'erdoing Termagant: it out-herods Her- 
od: pray you, avoid it. Be not too tame neither, but let your 
own discretion be your tutor: suit the action to the word, the 
word to the action; with this special observance, that you 
o'erstep not the modesty of nature: for anything so overdone 
is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first and 
now, was and is, to hold, as't were, the mirror up to Nature : 
to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the 
very age and body of the time his form and pressure. Now, 
this overdone, or come tardy of, though it make the unskil- 
ful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve : the censure 
of the which one must, in your allowance, o'erweigh a whole 
theatre of others. O, there be players, that I have seen play, 
and heard others praise, and that highly, not to speak it pro- 
fanely, that, neither having the accent of Christians, nor the 
gait of Christian, pagan, nor Turk, have so strutted and bel- 
lowed that I have thought some of Nature's journeymen had 
made men and not made them well, they imitated humanity 
so abominably.— Shakespeare. 




The power of some painters is so great, that, by one 
stroke of the brush, they can change the nature of a 
picture. They can convert a dismal scene into a smil- 
ing one, a weeping into a laughing child. 

We can as quickly and completely color an emotion 
by means of vocal quality. Fame tells us, that "the 
speaker's palette is as rich and varied as that of the 
painter. Besides its lights and shadows, its broken 
tones and brilliant colors, it possesses infinite varieties 
of rhythm and timbre that may be combined to produce 
endless effects/' 

In order to do this, we must color the words to fit the 
thought they express, we must make the sound "seem 
an echo to the sense.* ' 

The following from Moore's — "Puck The Fairy,* 1 
can only be justly rendered in a light, jaunty, delicate 
manner corresponding with its mirthful flow. 

To a miser's bed, where he snoring- slept 
And dreamt of his cash. I slily crept: 
Chink, chink o'er his pillow like money I rang, 
And he waked to catch-but away I sprang, 
Singing. I am the sprite 
Of the merry midnight, 

Who laugh at weak mortals, and love the moon- 


Observe how inappropriate the bright, (jay colors 
of the former would be to express the following from 
' "The Homeless Poor. 

There black waters in their luring silence 
Under loathsome ashes crawl and creep, 
There the rats and vermin herd together, 
There God's poor ones sometimes come to sleep. 

In slow darkness creeps the dismal river 
From its depths looks up a sinful rest, 
Many a weary, baffled, hopeless wanderer 
Has it drawn into its treacherous breast. 

Adelaide A. Procter. 

This cheerless picture requires vocal colors sombre as 
"the dismal river.'' 

All writers of merit since Homer's day have under- 
stood the charm and potency of words whose sound 
echoes their sense. Dante acknowledges this when he 

' Could I command rough rhymes and hoarse, to suit 
That hole of sorrow, o'er which every rock 
His linn abutment rears, then might the vein 
Of fancy rise full springing. 

This desire of accomodating the sound to the sense 
has given birth to many words whose sound corresponds, 
resembles, or suggests the thing signified. 

Hence Tone Color embraces not only correspondence 
of sound and sense, but also resemblance and suggest- 
iveness. Among the following words may be found 
examples of each. 

Gush, whirl, cool, moan, whirring, slender, rugged, 
thunder, rough, shriek, ripple, sigh, cackle, weary, 
jar, click, clash, clink, tick, clang, rumble, clatter, 
boom, tinkle, bang, flutter, dash, grumble, clack, gfrowl, 


clap, croak, roar, hiss, shiver, chirp, rustle, twitter, 
patter, linger, whizz, buzz, murmur, splash, chuckle, 

Pope, by introducing words of this nature, artfully 
imitates the sound made by a bowstring in delivering an 

The string let fly, 
Twang'd short and sharp like the shrill swallow's cry. 

In his translation of the Iliad he imitates the felling 
of trees thus: 

Loud sounds the axe, redoubling strokes on strokes, 
On all sides round the forest hurls her oaks 
Headlong. Deep echoing groan the thickets brown, 
Then rustling, crackling, crashing, thunder down. 

Pope again says. 

When the tide rushes from her rumbling caves 
The rough rock roars: tumultuous boil the waves. 

The efforts of a dull author are thus suggested by the 
same poet. 

Just writes to make his barrenness appear, 
And strains from hard-bound brains eight lines a year. 

Shakespeare says very delicately of queen Mab, 

She comes 

In shape not bigger than agate stone 

Drawn by a team of little atomies : 

Her whip of cricket bone, the lash of film. 

He says again. 

The shard-borne beetle with his drowsy hums 
Hath rung night's yawning peal. 

The effect which certain words, in the foregoing 
examples, produce, must be attributed to their vowel 


and consonant colors. Certain sounds are expressive 
of certain emotions. Sad strains of music Avill affect 
us with an "ecstasy of woe 1 ' akin to that awakened by 
the artirtic recitation of a pathetic poem. 

Sherman says, ' 'There is one particular set of sounds 
employed in groans, another in murmurs of pleasure 
or applause. It is clear that by the use of syllables or 
sounds from the one set or the other, the mind of the 
reader may be affected through suggestion of the re- 
spective emotion, and the author's meaning as contained 
in his words greatly strengthened and intensified. " 

When the thought is lively and sparkling, hard conso- 
nants and heavy vowels will be in the minority; but 
liquid consonants and light vowels will be scarce when 
the thought is more serious and vigorous. 

Weighty subjects usually depress the voice and are 
expressed in words containing fuller vowel colors. This 
is the reason we find it easier to pronounce some words 
in a low, others in a high pitch; e. g., toll, ring. 

Professor Tolman gave a very elaborate classification 
of vowel and consonant colors in the March number of 
the Andover Review, 1S87. The vowels at the bottom 
of his scale, oo (wood, pull), o (gore), oo (gloom), aw 
(awe), etc., he says "are peculiarly fitted to express 
solemnity, awe, horror, and deep grief, also slowness of 
motion, and extreme or oppressive greatness of size." 

The vowels he has at the top of the scale, i (little), e 
(met), a (mat), etc., are used especially in words ex- 
pressing uncontrollable joy and delight, excessive gaye- 
ty, triviality, rapid movement, delicacy, and physical 

"The surd mutes, p, k, t, express boldness, precipita- 


tion, unexpectedness, vigor, determination, explosive 
passion, and forcible and startling effects of all kinds . 
They must be the initial consonants of accented sylla- 
bles to have their full expressional value." U Z and zh 
are rich, pleasant colors, as in easy, luxurious, azure, 
pleasure. L and r smooth, especially 1, express above 
all others softness, smoothness, lingering love and long- 

We must never hope to tind whole poems strongly 
colored. Nor would such monotony be desirable. Only 
the emphatic parts receive appropriate tints. One word 
ma}' give life and hue to a whole sentence. We should 
imitate the authors and not distribute light and shade 
too heavily. 

Complete control of Tone Color is necessary for the 
production of artistic results. 

"When loud surges lash the distant shore 

The hoarse rough verse should like the torrent roar." 

How much more effective will not "the hoarse rough 
verse" be if delivered in a concordant voice! 

"Soft is the strain when zephyr gently blows 

And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows'," 

and so should the voice How in >oft, persuasive tones 
enhancing and impressing the author's beauties. 

From The Temple of Fame. 

O'er the wide prospect as I gazed around. 
Sudden I heard a wild promiscuous sound. 
Like broken thunders that at distance roar, 
Or billows murmuring on the hollow shore: 
Then gazing up. a glorious pile beheld. 


Whose tow'ring summit ambient clouds concealed. 
High on a rock of ice the structure lay, 
Steep its ascent, and slipp'ry was the way ; 
The wondrous rock like Parian marble shone, 
And seemed, to distant sight, of solid stone. 


From Hell. Canto IX. 

And now there came o'er the perturbed waves 
Loud-crashing, terrible, as if of a wind 
Impetuous, from conflicting vapours sprung, 
That 'gainst some forest driving all its might, 
Plucks off the branches, beats them down and hurls 
Afar ; then onward passing proudly sweeps 
Its whirlwind rage, while beasts and shepherds fly. 

Gary's Dante. 

From Midsummer Night's Dream. Act 11. 

Fairies' Song. 

I. Fai. You spotted snakes, with double tongue 
Thorny hedge-hogs, be not seen, 

Newts, and blind-worms, do no wrong; 
Come not near our fairy queen. 
Philomel with melody, 
Sing now your sweet lullaby : 
Lulla, lulla, lullaby ; lulla, lulla, lullaby : 
Never harm, 
Nor spell nor charm. 
Come our lovely lady nigh ; 
So, good night, with lullaby. 

II. Fai. Weaving spiders come not near 
Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence; 
Beetles black, approach not near : 
Worm, nor snail, do no offence. 



From Odyssey. III., 118. 

Two craggy rocks projecting to the main, 
The roaring winds tempestuous rage restrain; 
Within, the waves in softer murmurs glide, 
And ships secure without their halsers ride. 

Pope's Translation. 

From Alexander's Feast. 

Now strike the golden lyre again; 

A louder yet, and yet a louder strain, 

Break his bands of sleep asunder, 

And rouse him like a rattling peal of thunder. 

Hark, hark, the horrid sound 

Has raised up his head ; 

As awaked from the dead, 

And amazed, he stares around. 

Revenge. Revenge, Timotheus cries, 

See the Furies arise : 

See the snakes that they rear 

How they hiss in their hair. 
And the sparkles that flash from their eyes! 

Dry den. 

From Macbeth. Act IV. 

For a charm of powerful trouble 
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. 
Double, double toil and trouble, 
Fire burn and cauldron bubble. 


From The Temple of Fame. 

But straight the direful trump of slander sounds ; 
Through the big dome the doubling thunder bounds : 
Loud as the burst of cannon rends the skies, 
The dire report through every region flies, 


In every ear incessant rumours rung, 
And gathering scandals grew on every tongue. 
From the black trumpet's rusty concave broke 
Sulphureous flames and clouds of rolling smoke ; 
The poisonous vapour blots the purple skies, 
And withers all before it as it flies. 


From Lalla Rookh. 

Loud rings the ponderous ram against the walls; 
Now shake the ramparts, now a buttress falls, 
But still no breach— "Once more, one mighty swing 
Of all your beams, together thundering !" 
There— the wall shakes— the shouting troops exult, 
"Quick, quick discharge your weightiest catapult 
Right on that spot, and Neksheb is our own !" 
*T is done— the battlements come crashing down, 
And the huge wall, by that stroke riven in two, 
Yawning, like some old crater, rent anew, 
Shows the dim desolate city smoking through. 


From a Song for St. Cecilia's Day. 

The trumpet's loud clangor 
Excites us to arms 
With shrill notes of anger 
And mortal alarms. 
The double double double beat 
Of the thundering drum 
Cries, hark! the foes come; 
Charge, charge, 't is boo late to retreat. 


From The Fairies of Knockshegowna. 

In the noon of night, o'er the stormy hills, 

The fairy minstrels play, 
And the strain, replete with fantastic dreams, 


On the wild gust flits away. 
Then the sleeper thinks, as the dreamful song 

On the blast to his slumber comes, 
That his nose as the church's spire is long, 

And, like its organ hums! 

And when they spread their filmy wings 

In the dim moon's waning ray. 
Strange meteors dance, and the glittering rills 

Seem show 'ring iiery spray, 
And deep when booms the solemn toll 

Of the distant cloister bells, 
The clang, and the clash, and the tambour roll 

Of their midnight music swells. 

B. D.. Williams, 

From The Virgin Mary's Bank. 

Out burst the pealing thunder, and the lightning leap'd 

about ; 
And rushing with his watery war, the tempest gave a shout; 
And that vessel from a mountain wave came down with 

1 hund'ring shock ; 
And her timbers flew like scatter*d spray on Inchidony's 


Then loud from all that guilty crew one shriek rose wild and 

But the angry surge swept over them, and husb'd their 
gurgling cry: 

And with a hoarse exulting tone the tempest pass'd away. 

And down, still chafing from their strife, th" indignant wa- 
ters lay. 

./. J. Callanari. 

From A Memory. 

Low in the west gleam after gleam 
Glowed faint and fainter, till the last 
Made their dying day a living dream. 
To last as Ions- as life shall last. 


And in the arches of the trees 
The wild birds slept with folded wing, 
And e'en the lips of the summer breeze, 
That sang all day, had ceased to sing. 

And all was silent save the rill 
That rippled round the lilies' feet, 
And sang, while stillness grew more still 
To listen to the murmur sweet. 

And now and then it surely seemed 
The little stream was laughing low, 
As if its sleepy wavelets dreamed 
Such dreams as only children know. 

Sweet sang the stream as on it pressed, 
As sorrow sings a heart to sleep; 
As a mother sings one child to rest, 
A nd for the dead one still will weep. 

Father By an. 


<(sc5 T • 


< r-^r 1 ^ o v-T^ 11 ^"^ 




A Night in June. 


Rich is the scent of clover in the air, 
And from the woodbine, moonlight and the dew 
Draw liner essence than the daylight knew; 
Low murmurs and an incense everywhere! 
Who spoke? Ah! surely in the garden there 
A subtile sound came from the purple crew 
That mount wistaria masts, and there's a clue 
Of some strange meaning in the rose-scent rare: 
Silence itself has voice in these June nights — 
Who spake? Why, all the air is full of speech 
Of God's own choir, all singing various parts; 
Be quiet and listen : hear — the very lights 
In yonder town, the waving of the beech. 
The maples' shades, — cry of the Heart of hearts! 


On such a night spoke raptured Juliet 

From out the balcon; and young Rosalind, 

Wandered in Arden like the April wind; 

And Jessica the bold Lorenzo met; 

And Perdita her silvered lilies set 

In some quaint vase, to scent the prince's mind 

With thoughts of her; and then did Jaques find 

Sad tales, and from them bitter sayings get. 

To all of these the silence sang their thought; 

To all of these it gave their thought new grace: 

Soprano of the lily, roses 1 lone 

And passionate contralto, oak boughs' bass — 

All sing the thought we bring them, be it fraught 

With the sad love of lovers' or God's own. 



This sweetness and this silence fill my sou*] 
With longing and dull pain, that seem to break 
Some cord within my heart, and sudden take 
Life out of life: and then there sounds the roll 
Of wheels upon the road, the distant toll 
Of bells within the town : these rude things make 
Life wake to life; and all the longings shake 
Their airy wings,— swift fly the pain and dole. 
Again the silence and the mute sounds sweet 
Begin their speaking; I alone am still. 
What are you singing, O you starry flowers 
Upon the jasmine!! — "'Void and incomplete. 1 ' 
And you, clematis? — ''Void the joys that fill 
The heart of love until His Heart is ours." 


O choir of silence, without noise of word! 
A human voice would break the mystic spell 
Of wavering shades and sounds; the lily bell 
Here at my feet sings melodies unheard; 
And clearer than the voice of any bird. — 
Yes, even than that lark which loves ho well. 
Hid in the hedges, all the world to tell 
In trill and triple notes that May has stirred. 
4 '0 Love complete!" soft sino-s the mignonette; 
w *0 Heart of All!" deep sighs the red. red rose; 
"O Heart of Christ!" the lily voices meet 
In fugue on fugue; and from the flag-edged, wet. 
Lush borders of the lake, the night wind blows 
The tenor of the reeds — "Love, love complete." 

Maurice F. Egdn. 


Hamlet Upbraids the Queen. 

Hamlet. Now, mother, what's the matter!' 

Queen. Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended. 

Ham. Mother, you have my father much offended. 

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

Ham. Go, go; you question with an idle tongue. 

Queen. Why, how now, Hamlet! what's the matter 

Have you forgot met 

Ham. No, by the rood, not so: • 

You are the Queen, your husband's brother's wife; 
And — would it were not so!— you are my mother. 

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

Ham. Come, come, and sit you down; you shall not 
You go not till I set jou up a glass 
Where you may see the inmost part of you. 

Queen. What wilt thou do? thou wilt not murder 
me ? — 
Help, help, ho! 

Ham. Leave wringing of your hands; peace! sit you 
And let me wring your heart: for so I shall, 
If it be made of penetrable stuff; 
If damned custom have not brass' d it so, 
That it is proof and bulwark against sense. 

Queen. What have I done, that thou darest wag thy 
In noise so rude against met 

Ham. Such an act 

That blurs the grace and blush of modesty; 
Cads virtue hypocrite; takes off the rose 


From the fair forehead of an innocent love, 

And sets a blister there; makes marriage- vows 

As false as dicers' oaths: O, such a deed 

As from the body of contraction plucks 

The very soul; and sweet religion makes 

A rhapsody of words: Heaven's face doth glow; 

Yea this solidity and compound mass. 

With tristful visage, as against the doom, 

Is thought-sick at the act. 

Queen. Ah me, what act, 

That roars so loud and thunders in the index? 

Ham. Look here upon this picture, and on this. 
The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. 
See what a grace was seated on this brow; 
Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself; 
An eye like Mars, to threaten and command; 
A station like the herald Mercury 
New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill; 
A combination and a form indeed, 
Where every god did seem to set his seal, 
To give the world assurance of a man: 
This was your husband. Look you now what follows: 
Here is your husband; like a mildew'd ear. 
Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes? 
Gould you on this fair mountain leave to feed. 
And batten on this moor? Ha! have you eyes? 

Queen. O Hamlet, speak no more! 

Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul: 
And there I see such black and grained spots 
As will not leave their tinct. 

O, speak to me no more! 
These words like daggers enter in mine ears: 
No more, sweet Hamlet! 

Ham. A murderer and a villain; 


A slave that is not twentieth part the tithe 
Of your precedent lord; a Vice of kings; 
A cutpurse of the empire and the rule, 
That from a shelf the precious diadem stole. 
And put it in his pocket! 

Queen. No more! 

Ham. A king of shreds and patches, — 
Enter the Ghosi. 
Save me and hover o'er me with your wings. 
You heavenly guards! — What would your gracious fig- 
ure \ 

Queen. Alas, he's mad! 

Ham. Do you not come your tard} T son to chide. 
That, lapsed in time and passion, lets go by 
Th' important act of your dread commands 
O. say! 

Ghost. Do not forget, This visitation 
Is but to whet thy almost-blunted purpose. 
But, look, amazement on thy mother sits: 
O, step between her and her fighting soul! 
Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works . 
Speak to her, Hamlet. 

Ham. How is't with you. lady' 

Queen. Alas, how is't with you. 
That you do bend your eye on vacancy, 
And with tlf incorpora! air do hold discourse? 

Whereon do you look^ 

Ham. On him, on him! Look you how pale he 
His form and cause conjoined, preaching to stones. 
Would make them capable. — Do not look upon me; 
Lest with this piteous action } t ou convert 
My stern affects: then what I have to do 
Will want true color: tears, perchance, for blood. 


Queen. To whom do you speak this? 

Ham. Do you see nothing there? 

Queen. Nothing at all; yet all that is 1 see. 

Ham. Nor did yon nothing hear? 

Queen. No, nothing but ourselves 

Ham. Why. look you there! look, how it steals 
My father, in his habit as he lived! 
Look, where he goes, even now. out at the portal! 

[Exit Ghost. 

Queen. This is the very coinage of your brain: 
This bodiless creation ecstasy 
Is very cunning in. 

Ham. Ecstasy! 

My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time. 
And makes as healthful music: 'tis not madness 
That I have utter'd: bring me to the test. 
And I the matter will re-word; which madness 
Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace. 
Lav not that flattering unction to your soul. 
That not yo ir trespass but my madness speaks: 
It will but skin and film the ulcerous place. 
Whilst rank corruption, mining all within. 
Infects unseen. Confess yourself to Heaven; 
Repent what's past, avoid what is to come. 
And do not spread the compost on the weeds. 
To make them ranker. Forgive me this my virtue; 
For in the fatness of these pursy times 
Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg. 
Yea. courb and woo for ieave to do him good. 

Queen. O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in twain. 

Ham. O. throw away the worser part of it. 
And live the purer with the other half. 
Good nio-ht, mother. — Hamlet. Act III. 



It is cold, dark midnight, yet listen 

To that patter of tiny feet! 
Is it one of your dogs, fair lady, 

Who whines in the bleak cold street? 
Is it one of your silken spaniels 

Shut out in the snow and the sleet * 

My dogs sleep in their baskets, 
Safe from the darkness and snow; 

All the beasts in our Christian England, 
Find pity wherever they go — 

(Those are only the homeless children 
Who are wandering to and fro) . 

Look out in the gusty darkness, — 
1 have seen it again and again. 

That shadow, that nits so slowly 

Up and down past the window-pane: — 

It is surely some criminal lurking 
Out there in the frozen rain? 

Nay, our criminals are all sheltered, 
They are pitied and taught and fed : 

That is only a sister-woman 

That has got neither food nor bed, — 

And the night cries. w \Sin to be living," 
And the River cries. w> Sin to be dead." 

Look out at that farthest corner 

Where the wall stands blank and bare: — 
Can that be a pack which a Pedler 


Has left and forgotten there? 
His goods lying out unsheltered 

Will be spoilt by the damp night air. 

Nay;- — goods in our thrifty England 
Are not left to lie and grow rotten, 

For each man knows the market value 
Of silk or woollen or cotton .... 

But in counting the riches of England 
I think our Poor are forgotten . 

Our Beasts and our Thieves and our Chatties 

Have weight for good or for ili; 
But the Poor are only His image, 

His presence, His words, His will; — 
And so Lazarus lies at our door-step 

And Dives neglects him still. 

Adelaide A. Procter. 

Hotspur's Death. 

Hotspur. If I mistake not thou art Harry Monmouth. 

Prince. Thou speak'st as if I would deny my name. 

Hot. My name is Harry Percy. 

Prince. Why, then I see 

A very valiant rebel of that name. 
I am the Prince of Wales; and think not, Percy, 
To share with me in glory any more; 
Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere; 
Nor can one England brook a double reign, 
Of Harry Percy and the Prince of Wales. 


Hot. Nor shall it, Harry; for the hour is come 
To end the one of us; and would to God 
Thy name in arms were now as great as mine! 

Prince, I'll make it greater ere I part from thee; 
And all the budding honors on thy crest 
ril crop to make a garland for my head. 
Hot, I can no longer brook thy vanities. 

[They fight. 
Enter Falstaff. 

Fat Well said, Hal! to it, Hal! Nay, you shall find 
no boy's play here,- — I can tell you. 
Re-enter Douglas; he fights with Falstaff, who falls 
down as if he were dead, and exit Douglas, Hotspur 
is wounded, and falls. 

Hot, Q Harry, thou hast robb'd me of my youth! 
I better brook the loss of brittle life 
Than those proud titles thou hast won of me; 
They wound my thoughts worse than thy sword my flesh : 
But thoughts the slaves of life, and life Time's fool, 
And Time that takes survey of all the world. 
Must have a stop. O, I could prophesy, 
But that the earthy and cold hand of death 
Lies on my tongue; no, Percy, thou art dust. 
And food for— 

Prince. For worms, brave Percy; fare thee well 
great heart! 

Ill-weaved ambition, how much art thou sunk! 
When that this body did contain a spirit, 
A kingdom for it was too small a bound; 
But now two paces of the vilest earth 
Is room enough. This earth that bears the dead 
Bears not alive so stout a gentleman. 
If thou wert sensible of courtesy ,, 


I should not make so dear a show of zeal: 
But let my favours hide thy mangled face; 
And, even in thy behalf, I'll thank myself 
For doing these fair rites of tenderness. 
Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to Heaven! 
Thy ignominy sleep with thee in the grave, 
But not remember'd in thy epitaph! — 

[Sees Falstaff on the ground, 
What, old acquaintance! could not all this iiesh 
Keep in a little life? Poor Jack, farewell! 
I could have better spared a better man : 
O, I should have a heavy miss of thee. 
If I were much in love with vanity! 
Death hath not struck so fat a deer to-day, 
Though many dearer, in this bloody fray. [Exit. 

Fed. [Bising.] Ha! 'twas time to counterfeit, or that 
hot termagant Scot had paid me scot and lot too. Coun- 
terfeit! I lie; I am no counterfeit: to die, is to be coun- 
terfeit; for he is but the counterfeit of a man who hath 
not the life of a man: but counterfeit dying, when 
a man thereby liveth. is to be no counterfeit, but the 
true and perfect image of life indeed. The better part 
of valour is discretion: in the which better part 1 
saved my life. — I am afraid of this gunpowder Percy, 
though he be dead: how, if he should counterfeit too, 
and rise? by my faith. I am afraid he would prove the 
better counterfeit. Therefore I'll make him sure; yea, 
and I'll swear I kill'd him. Why may not he rise as 
well as li Nothing confutes me but eyes, and nolxxVy 
sees me. Therefore, sirrah, with a n^w wound in your 
thigh, come you along with me. 

[Takes Hotspuk on Ms back. 


Reenter Prince Henry and Lancaster. 

Prince. Come, brother John; full bravely hast thou 
Thy maiden sword. 

Lancaster. But, soft! whom have we here 2 

Did you not tell me this fat man was dead? 

Prince. I did; I saw him dead, breathless and bleed- 
Upon the ground. — 
Art thou alive? or is it fantasy 
That plays upon our eyesight? I pry thee, speak; 
We will not trust our eyes without our ears: 
Thou art not what thou seem'st. 

Fed. Xo, that's certain; I am not a double man: but 
if I be not Jack Falstafl', then I am a Jack. There is 
Percy! (Throwing his body down), if your father will 
do me any honour, so; if not, let him kill the next 
Percy himself! I look to be either earl or duke. I can 
assure you. 

Prince. Why, Percy I kill'd myself, and saw thee 
dead . 

FaL Didst thou?— Lord, Lord, how this world is 
given to lying! — I grant you I was down and out of 
breath; and so was he; but we rose both at an instant, 
and fought a long hour by Shrewsbury clock. If I may 
be believed, so: if not, let them that should reward 
valour bear the sin upon their own heads. I'll take it 
upon my death, I gave him this wound in the thigh: if 
the man were alive, and would deny it, zounds, I 
would make him eat a piece of my sword. 

Lan. This is the strangest tale that ever I heard. 

Prince. This is the strangest fellow, brother John. — 
Come, bring your luggage nobly on your back; 


For my part, if a lie may do thee grace, ' 
I'll gild it with the happiest terms I have.— 
The trumpet sounds retreat; the day is ours. 
Come, brother, let's to tlr highest of the field, 
To see what friends are living, who are dead. 

The First Part of King Henry IV., Act V. 

At the Seashore. 

A child's first sight of the ocean is an era in his life. 
It is a new world without him, and it awakens a new 
world within him. There is no other novelty to be 
compared with it, and after life will bring nothing at 
all like it. A rapid multitude of questions rush upon 
the mind; yet. the child is silent, as if he needed not an 
answer to any of them. They are beyond answering: 
and he feels that the sight itself satisfies him better than 
any answer. Those great bright outspread waters! the 
idea of God is the onl}^ echo to them in his mind; and 
now henceforth he is a different child, because he has 
seen the sea. 

So is it with us when we sit by the ocean of creative 
love. Questions throng upon us; problems start upon 
all sides; mysteries intersect each other. Yet so long as 
we are children, are childlike in heart and spirit, the 
questions are not difficulties. Either they answer, them- 
selves, or they do not need an answer, like questions 
which are exclamations only; or we would rather not 
have an answer, lest peradventure some high thing 
should be lowered or some holy thing be made common. 
To gaze — to gaze is all we desire. The fact that so 
punch is mystery to us. is no trouble. It is love. That 


is enough. We trust it, We would almost rather it 
was not made plainer. It would be darker if it were. 
Whereas now, though it is indistinct, it is tranquillizing 
also, like the beauty of a summer night. We have 
thoughts which cannot be put into words, but it seems 
to us as if they more than answered all difficulties. How 
the broad waters iiow and shine, and how the many- 
headed waves leap up to the sun and sparkle, and then 
sink down into the depths again, yet not to rest; and, 
placid as the azure expanse appeals, how evermore it 
thunders on the hard white sand, and fringes the coast 
with a bewitching silver mist! Why should we ever stir 
from where we are? To look on the sea seems better 
than to learn the science of its storms, the grandeur of 
its steadfastness, or the man}' moods of its beautiful 
mutabilities. The heathen called the sea-spirit father. 
There was much in the thought. But when we cease to 
be children and to be childlike, there is no more this 
simple enjoyment. We ask questions, not because we 
doubt, but because, when love is not all in all to us, we 
must have knowledge, or w T e chafe and pine. Then a 
cloud comes between the sun and the sea, and that ex- 
panse of love, which was an undefined beauty, a confused 
magnificence, now becomes black and ruffled, and 
breaks up into dark wheeling currents of predestina- 
tion, or mountainous waves of divine anger and judicial 
vengeance; and the white surf tells us of many a sunken 
reef, where we had seen nothing but a smooth and 
glossy azure plain, rocking gently to and fro, as un- 
ruffled as a silken banner. 

We shall be children once again, and on the same 
shore, and we shall theu never leave it more, and we 
shall see down into the crystal depths of this creative 
love, and its wide waters will be the breadth and meas- 


ure of our joy, and its glancing splendor will be the 
light of our eternal life, and its soft thunder will be the 
endless, solemn, thrilling music of our beatitude. O 
happy we! but we must be changed first of all, and 
perchance by lire!- — Father Faber, 

The Gheber's Glen. 

But see — he starts — what heard he then \ 

That dreadful shout!— across the glen 

From the land-side it comes, and loud 

Rings through the chasm; as if the crowd 

Of fearful things that haunt that dell, 

its Ghoies and Dives and shapes of heli, 

Had all in one dread howl broke out, 

So loud, so terrible that shout! 

"They come — the Moslems come!" he cries. 

His proud soul mounting to his eyet- — 

"Now spirits of tiie brave, who roam 

Enfranchised through yon starry dome, 

Rejoice, for souls of kindred lire 

Are on the wing to join } T our choir!" 

He said, and, light as bridegrooms bound 

To their young loves, reclimbed the steep 

And gained the shrine. His chiefs stood round; 

Their swords, as with instinctive leap, 

Together, at that cry accurst. 

Had from their sheaths, like sunbeams, hurst, 

And hark! again, again it rings; 

Near and more near its echoings 

Peal through the chasm. Oh! who that then 

Had seen those listening warrior-men, 


With their swords grasped, their eyes of flame 

Turned on their chief, could doubt the shame, 

The indignant shame, with which they thrill 

To hear those shouts, and yet stand still.? 

He read their thoughts — they were his own — 

''What! while our arms can wield these blades 

Shall we die tamely? die alone? 

Without one victim to our shades, 

One Moslem heart, where, buried deep, 

The sabre from its toil may sleep? 

No; God of Iran's burning skies! 

Thou scorn 'st the inglorious sacrifice. 

No — though of all earth's hope bereft, 

Life, swords, and vengeance still are left. 

We'll make yon valley's reeking caves 

Live in the awestruck minds of men. 

Till tyrants shudder, when their slaves 

Tell of the Gheber^s bloody glen. 

Follow, brave hearts!— this pile remains 

Our refuge still from life and chains; 

But his the best, the holiest bed, 

Who sinks entombed in Moslem dead!" 


Cassius Inciting Brutus to Conspiracy. 

Oassii.ts, Will you gx> see the order of the course? 

Brutus. Not L 

Cass. I pray you, do. 

Brit, I am not gamesome; I do lack some part 
Of that quick spirit that is in Anthony. 
Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires; 


I'll leave you. 

Cass. Brutus, I do observe you now of late; 
I have not from your eyes that gentleness 
And show of love as I was wont to have: 
You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand 
Over your friend that loves you. 

Bru. Cassius, 

Be not deceived: if 1 have veil'd my look; 
I turn the trouble of my countenance 
Merely upon myself Vexed I am 
Of late with passions of some difference. 
Conceptions only proper to myself. 
Which give some soil, perhaps, to my behaviours; 
But let not therefore my good friends be grieved, — 
Among which number, Cassius be you one, — 
Nor construe any further my neglect, 
Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war. 
Forgets the shows of love to other men. 

Cass. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your 
By means whereof, this breast of mine hath buried 
Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations. 
Tell me. good Brutus, can you see your face? 
Bru. Xo, Cassius; for the eye .sees not itself 
But by reflection from some other things. 

( ( ass. "Tis just: 
And it is very much lamented. Brutus. 
That you have not such mirrors as will turn 
Your hidden worthiness into your eye. 
That you might see } r our shadow. 1 have heard, 
Where many of the best respect in Rome. — 
Except immortal Caesar, — speaking of Brutus, 
And groaning underneath this age's yoke. 
Have wished that nobie Brutus had his eyes. 



Bru. Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius. 
That you would have me seek into myself 
For that which is not in me? 

Cass. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepared to hear: 
And, since you cannot see yourself 
So well as by reflection, I, your glass 
Will modestly discover to yourself 
That of yourself which you yet know not of. 
And be not jealous on me, o-entle Brutus: 
Were I a common laugher, or did use 
To stale with ordinary oaths my love 
To every new protester; if you know 
That I do fawn on men, and hug them hard. 
And after scandal them; or if you know 
That I profess myself, in banqueting. 
To all the rout, then hold me dangerous. [Sliout. 

Bru. What means this shouting* I do fear the people 
Choose Caesar for their king. 

Cass. Ay, do you fear it? 

Then must I think you would not have it so. 

Bru. I would not, Cassius; yet I love him well. 
But wherefore do you hold me here so long? 
What is it that you would impart to me? 
If it be aught toward the general good, 
Set honour in one eye and death T the other, 
And I will look on death indifferently; 
For let the gods so speed me as I love 
The name of honour more than I fear death. 

Cass, I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus, 
As well as I do know your outward favour. 
Well, honor is the subject of my story. 
I cannot tell what you and other men 
Think of this life; but for my single self^ 
I had as lief not be as live to be 


In awe of such a thing as I myself. 

I was born free as Caesar; so were you. 

We both have fed as well; and we can both 

Endure the Winter's cold as well as he: 

For once upon a raw and gusty day. 

The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores, 

Caesar said to me, Barest thou, Gassius, now 

Leap in with rite into this angry flood. 

And swim to yonder point? Upon the word, 

Accoutred as I was, I plunged in. 

And bade him follow: so indeed he did. 

The torrent roar'd and we did buffet it 

With lusty sinews, throwing it aside 

And stemming it with hearts of controversy: 

But, ere we could arrive the point proposed, 

Caesar cried. Help me, Cassws, or I sink! 

1, as iEneas, oar great ancestor. 

Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder 

The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tiber 

Did I the tired Caesar: and this man 

Is now become a god; and Cassius is 

A wretched creature, and must bend his body. 

If Caesar carelessly but nod on him. 

He had a fever when he was in Spain: 

And when the tit was on him I did mark 

How he did shake: 'tis true, this god did shake: 

His coward lips did from their colour fly; 

And that same eye. whose bend doth awe the world. 

Did lose his lustre. I did hear him groan: 

Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans 

Mark him, and write his speeches in their books, 

Alas, it cried. Give me some drink, Titinius, 

As a sick girl. — Ye gods, it doth amaze me. 

A man of such a feeble temper should 


80 get the start of the majestic world, 

And hear the palm alone. [Shout. 

Bru. Another general shout! 
I do believe that these applauses are 
For some new honours that are heap'd on Caesar. 

Cass. Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world 
Like a Colossus; and we petty men 
Walk under his huge legs, and peep about 
To find ourselves dishonourable graves. 
Men at some time are masters of their own fates: 
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, 
But in ourselves, that we are underlings 
Brutus and Gcesar: what should be in that Ccesar? 
Why should that name be sounded more than yours ( 
Write them together, yours is as fair a name; 
Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well: 
Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with them, 
Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Ccesar. 
Now, in the names of all the gods at once, 
Upon what meat doth this our Ca?sar feed. 
That he is grown so great? Age, thou art shamed! 
Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods! 
When went there by an age, since the great flood. 
But it was famed with more than with one man? 
When could they say, till now, that talkVl of Rome, 
That her wide walls encompassed but one man? 
Now is it Rome indeed, and room enough, 
When there is in it but one only man. 
O, you and 1 have heard our fathers say 
There was a Brutus once that would have brook'd 
Th' eternal Devil to keep his state in Rome, 
As easily as a king! 

Bru. That you do love me, I am nothing jealous; 
What you would work me to, I have some aim: 


How I have thought of this, and of these times, 
1 shall recount hereafter; for this present, 
I would not, so with love I might entreat you, 
Be any further moved. What you have said, 
I will consider; what you have to say, 
I will with patience hear; and find a time 
Both meet to hear and answer such high things. 
Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this: 
Brutus had rather be a villager 
Than repute himself a son of Rome 
Under these hard conditions as this time 
Is like to lay upon us. 

Cass. I am glad that my weak words 
Have struck but thus much show of fire from Brutus. 

Wulius Gcesar, Act I. 

Decoration Day Oration. 

I am profoundly impressed with the change which 
has come over the character of the day we celebrate. 
Founded in the gloom of War. it has come to be a day of 
glorious recollection and of patriotic anticipations. 
Time, which spares neither grief nor joy, has so modi- 
fied the sorrows of this nation as to enable us to smile 
through our tears over the glorious prospect which lies 
before us. Our hearts beat with quickening gratitude 
to the heroic dead whose exalted patriotism has assured 
us our destiny. 

The character of a nation is often known by its festi- 
vals. The character of the festival we celebrate to-day 
is the most unique in the history of the world. We 
celebrate in all its entirety the sublime epoch when fi- 


clelity to the republic triumphed over the dangers that" 
comprised the civil war, and we emerged from the con- 
flict radiant with the light of liberty established and 
indestructible American institutions with the undying 
vigor of American patriotism . 

The conflict in which we engaged was nd n.rde by the 
generation in which we lived. It was a legacy handed 
down by the fathers of the republic after the foreign 
invader had been driven out. 

But the Union soldier was great in peace as well as 
in war. His course was marked by a heroism greater 
than that of any other soldier in the world, for his was 
not merely a triumph of arms; it was not merely a con- 
clusion of physical triumph. It was a triumph of heart 
and mind, for the Union soldier won the love of the foe 
that he vanquished. To-day, throughout the length 
and breadth of the country, there is a love for the flag 
of the Union. The victory of the Union soldiers was 
unique among the victories which have been won in war- 
fares of the world. This festival celebrates all that he 
did and all that he was. All that he was is unique, for 
this is not essentially a military memorial alone. To- 
day the union stands not defended by armed force or 
by frowning fortresses. Its foundations are laid in the 
hearts of our citizens. South as well as North, and it 
will be durable and eternal because of that foundation. 
But although the vigor of the Union soldier in taking 
up arms was creditable to him. he also deserves credit 
for the manner in which he laid down his arms. Nev- 
er before 1 did victorious army so lay down its arms at 
the behest of rulers without the slightest disturbance 
throughout the length and breadth of the land. 

The lesson which this day teaches above all others is 
that no matter what difficulties may arise, the patriot- 


ism of this republic will be able to surmount them. 
Xo matter what clangers ma}' threaten our institutions 
there is always to be in reserve the American patriotism 
sufficient to solve every question and surmount every 
difficulty. The victory of the Union soldiers proved 
the capacity and the power of this patriotism which un- 
derlies American citizenship. Xo sooner had the smoke 
lifted from Southern battlefields: no sooner had the 
rivers that had run red with blood once more resumed 
their course clear and pellucid to the sea. and the South 
was seen humbled, than the men of the X'orth turned 
with charity and brotherly love to the aid of the men 
with whom they had fought. The victor}' which was 
achieved for the Union was thus made a permanent one 
for the union of these States. 

Trie greatest or English writers ha- said that all 
human institutions are but phantoms disappearing with 
the dawn — if not of this day. at lea>t of another. AVe 
have had abundant experience of this in nations that 
have gone before. We are told that the barbarians 
that swept down from the North upon the O.d World 
were impelled by hunger; that they were unable to 
carry on agriculture, and swooped down upon civili- 
zation not so much for the conquest as for bread. And 
we are told that in this day and in our cities there are 
great bodies of men that are hungering for bread, ready 
to be led to the work of destruction by anarchists. 
But I have no fear of any such result for this country 
when I see the faces of these men who have once done 
their country a service. The ranks of patriots are re- 
cruited from the poorest quarters, and from the tene- 
ment house go forth men to become great and good 
citizens. The safety of the State is to be found in the 
intelligence and patriotism of the common people, and 


upon this we can rely for protection. There are all 
over this country, unknown and unsuspected heroes 
who, when occasion should demand it, would become 
Grants and Shermans and Sheridans. 

The lesson of the Union was not ended in 1865. The 
The mission of the Union soldier did not close with the 
war. It continues to-day as a patriotism which is the 
best security of the government. We are reminded of 
the survivors as we turn to-day from the graves of the 
brave men who were the heroes of the war. 

On the Capitol at Washington, surmounting the great 
dome where Congress is in session, there may be seen a 
bright light high above all else on the building. And 
as you recede from the place, and the turrets and fluted 
columns of the edifice disappear in the darkness,, the 
light at the top seems to be higher and higher, and 
finally seems to blend with the horizon until Anally only 
this light marks the temple of freedom of our beloved 
government. And, as we celebrate this Decoration 
Day, looking back on the martyrs of the civil war, 
their deeds shall be to us the brilliant light which shall 
grow ever brighter and illumine the pathway of the 
republic to liberty, prosperity, and happiness .—Hon. 
W. Bourke Cochran. 

Hamlet's Plan to Catch the King. 

Hamlet. O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I ! 
Is it not monstrous, that this player here, 
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, 
Could force his soul so to his own conceit. 
That from her working all his visage wannM; 


Tears in his eyes, distraction in's aspect, 

A broken voice, and his whole function suiting 

With forms to his conceit? and all for nothing! 

For Hecuba! 

What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba. 

That he should weep for her? What would he do, 

Had he the motive and the cue for passion 

That I have? He would drown the stage with tears 

And cleave the general ear with horrid speech; 

Make mad the guilty, and appall the free. 

Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed 

The very faculties of eyes and ears. Yet I, 

A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak, 

Like John-a dreams, impregnant of my cause, 

And can say nothing; no, not for a king 

Upon whose property and most dear life 

A damnM defeat was made. Am I a coward? 

Who calls me villain? breaks my pate across? 

Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face? 

Tweaks me by th" nose.' gives me the lie T the throat, 

As deep as to the lungs? who does me this? 


'Swounds. I should take 't; for it cannot be 

But I am pigeon-livered. and hick gall 

To make oppression bitter; or, ere this. 

I should have fatted all the region: kites 

With this slave's offal. Bloody, blood}' villain! 

Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain! 

O vengeance! — 

Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave, 

That I, the son of a dear father murder'd, 

Prompted to my revenge by Heaven and Heil, 

Must, like a trull, unpack my heart with words, 


And fall a — cursing, like a very drab, 
A scullion! 

Fie upon't foh! About, my brain! — I've heard 
That guilty creatures sitting at a play 
Have by the very cunning of the scene 
Been struck so to the soul, that presently 
They have proclaimed their malefactions; 
For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak 
With most miraculous organ. I'll have players 
Play something like the murder of my father 
Before mine uncle: I'll observe his looks; 
I'll tent him to the quick; if he but blench. 
I know my course. The spirit that I have seen 
May be the Devil : and the Devil hath power 
T' assume a pleasing shape; yea, and perhaps. 
Out of my weakness and my melancholy, — 
As he is very potent with such spirits. — 
Abuses me to damn me. IT1 have grounds 
More relative than this: the play's the thing 
Wherein I 1 11 catch the conscience of the King. 

Hamlet. Act 1L 

The Bard's Story. 

(The Prince of this legend was the husband of Ethna, who 1 
sister Fid alma, also a princess of Meath ? saw St. Patrick eel 
Mass one morning by a river. They were attracted by the sigb.1 
swered their questions and baptised them.) 

Love makes man's life a glory; hate, a hell; 
A warning to all warriors, this 1 tell: 

Strongest of the Fini, he, the Prince, alone 
Knelt by the river, sad. and made his moan. 


His lands were wide, his people staunch and true, 
And in his palace four fair children grew . 

His wife was Ethna. Princess mild of Meath, 
Graceful and tall, a lily in its sheath. 
The Mass was said each day beneath his roof, 
And evil from his household held aloof. 

And he had seen great Patrick when he came. 
At Paschal time, and lighted Christian flame. 
And he had seen the saint make poison good 
By words of prayer, while hatred near him stood. 

And only in defence of clan and life. 
Since he had learned of Christ, had he made strife. 
But though his cattle grazed ii] richest green, 
Black spots and red spots by the river's sheen: 

And though his bards his prowess daily sang, 
His moans beside the reedy river rang 
At fall of night — some piercing loud and shrill, 
Others that brought to hearers death-like chill. 

"Forgive, forgive!" he murmured: "old forgive! 
Hoic run I bear my load of sin and live? 
Oh! words of fire you spoke, great Patrick. Saint, 
Ere the clear stream had washed,from me sin's taint. 

'Even Red Conn, the slayer of your kin, 
Forgive, forgive, if you would heaven win. ' 
'He slew in// men.' 'Forgive." the Saint replied. 
•Though through his wrath your clansmen oft have 
died. ' 


'Forgive, 5 he said, 'i/e laughed my threats to scorn!' 
'Forgive, forgive! and win eternal morn." 
'Forgive Red Conn, and hurt him not. I pray; 
Your sister's son is he. Forgive, I say.' 

'Let me but tight for Christ with sword and brand — * 
'Thou canst not tight th} r sin with carnal hand. ' 
And then I promised; and the water flowed, 
And all my heart with lov r e for Patrick glowed. 

Conn came not near me; hid he dark and deep 
In marsh and bog where strange, wild creatures sleep. 
Once, when I thought of clansmen cold and dead, 
Killed by his hand ere he to bogs had tied, 

My wrath awoke, but dying soon in peace, 

It to my better musings gave release. 

Peace made me proud. One day I chased the deer, 

And found my enemy crouched low in fear 

Among the fern. I made a bound at him : 
He tied, not lighting, to the river's brim. 
Pale, worn, he was; my hatred quick awoke 
13ut in my heart the voice of Patrick spoke. 

'Forgive, forgive!' I heard the whisper run 
All through the reeds. 'Remember Mary's son. 1 
I listened not: I drove Conn to his knee; 
His eyes were like a deer's in agony. 

.My brain was drunk with rage, my blood was tire. 
His death — the death of Conn was my desire. 
His eyes were all that spoke; the whispering leaves 
Said, 'Oh, foro-ive; great Patrick for you grieves.' 


I struck him down, and then looked in his face. 

Christ! O God! how I did lose Thy grace! 

T saw his face! 'Twas Conn's no more! O sight! 
Wouldst Thou hadst shriveled me, O Lord of light! 

1 saw His face, as He is on the cross! 
There he lay prone upon the sodden moss. 

The blood was His, not Conn's, that reddened all 
The little shallows where the reeds grew tall.' 

And, as the world shall last, the legends say, 
Sweet Ethna's husband moans his life away. 
Among the reeds his sighing all ma}' hear; 
And may it such grace-losing make us fear! 

For Love makes life a glory; Hate is vain. 
Except to wound our Saviour's heart again. 

Maurice F. Egan. 

Falstaff's Lantern and Troops. 

Enter Falstaff and Bardolph. 
FaUtaff. Bardolph, am 1 not fallen away vilely since 
this last action? do J not bate? do I not dwindle? Why, 
lam withered like an old apple-john. Well, I'll repent, 
and that suddenly, while I am in some liking; I shall be 
out of heart shortly, and then 1 shall have no strength 
to repent. An I have not forgotten what the inside of 
a church is made of, I am a peppercorn, a brewer's 
horse: the inside of a church! Company, villainous 
company, hath been the spoil of me. 


Bardolph. Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot 
live long. 

Fed. Why there is it: come, sing me a song; make 
me merry. I was as virtuously given as a gentleman 
need to be: virtuous enough: swore little; diced not 
above seven times a week; paid money that I borrowed 
— three or four times; lived well, and in good compass: 
and now I live out of all order, out of all compass. 

Bard. Why you are so fat, Sir John, that you must 
needs be out of all compass — out of all reasonable com- 
pass, Sir John. 

Fed. Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my life: 
thou art our admiral, thou bearest the lantern in the 
nose of thee; thou art the Knight of the Burning Lamp. 

Bard. Why, Sir John, my face does you no harm. 

Fed. No, I'll be sworn; I make as good use of it as 
many a man doth of a death's-head or a memento mori: 
I never see thy face. but I think upon hell-tire, and 
Dives that lived in purple; for there he is in his robes, 
burning, burning. If thou wert any way given to vir- 
tue, I would swear by thy face; but thou art altogether 
given over; and wert indeed but for the light in thy 
face, the son of utter darkness. When thou ran'st up 
Gad's-hill in the night to catch my horse, if I did not 
think thou hadst been an ignis fatuus or a ball of wild- 
tire, there's no purchase in money. (J, thou art a per- 
petual triumph, an everlasting bonfire-light! Thou hast 
saved me a thousand marks in links and torches, 
walking with thee in the night from tavern to tavern: 
but the sack that thou hast drank me would have 
bought me lights as good cheap at the dearest chand- 
ler's in Europe. I have maintains! that salamander of 
yours with tire any time this two-and thirty years. But, 
Bardolph, you should see my troops. If I be not 


ashamed of my soldiers. I am a soused gurnet. I have 
misused the king's press terribly. I have got, in ex- 
change of a hundred and fifty soldiers, three hundred 
and odd pounds. I press'd me none but good house- 
holders, yeomen's sons; inquired me out bachelors, such 
as had been a^k'd twice on the banns; such a commodity 
of warm slaves as had as iief hear the Devil as a drum; 
such as fear the report of a caliver worse than a struck 
fowl or a hurt wild-duck. I press'd me none but such 
toast-and-butter, with hearts in their bodies no bigger 
than pins'-heads, and they have bought out their servi- 
ces; and now my whole charge consists of ancients, cor- 
porals, lieutenants, gentlemen of companies, slaves as 
ragged as Lazarus in the painted cloth, where the glut- 
ton's dogs lick his sores; and such as, indeed, were 
never soldier^, but discarded unjust servingmen. young- 
er sons to younger brothers, revolted tapsters, and 
ostlers trade-fallen; the cankers of a calm world and a 
long peace; ten times more dishonourable ragged than 
an old-faced ancient: and such have I. to till up the 
rooms of them that have bought out their services, that 
you would think tint I had a hundred and tifty tattered 
prodigals lately come from swine-keeping, from eating 
daft' and husks. A mad fellow met me on the way. and 
told me I had unloaded all the gibbets, and press'd the 
dead bodies. No eye hath seen such scare-crows. I'll 
not march through Coventry with them. that's flat: nay, 
and the villains march wide betwixt the legs as if they 
had gyves on: for. indeed. I had the most of them out 
of prison. There is but a shirt and a half in all my 
company: and the half shirt is but two napkins tack'd 
together and thrown over the shoulders like a herald's 
coat without sle?ves: and. the shirt, to say the truth, 
stolen from mv host at Saint Alban's. or the red-nose 


innkeeper of Daventry. But that's all one; they'll line 
linen enough on every hedge. 

The First Part of King Henry IV, Act IV. 

The Last of the Nar whale. 

Ay, ay, 111 tell you, shipmates, 
If you care to hear the tale. 
How myself and the royal yard alone 
Were left of the old Nar whale. 

A stouter ship was never launched 

Of all the Clyde-built whalers; 

And forty years of a life at sea 

Haven't matched her crowd of sailors. 

Picked men they were, all young and strong. 

And used to the wildest seas, 

From Donegal and the Scottish coast, 

And the rugged Hebrides. 

Such men as women cling to, mates. 

Like ivy round their lives; 

And the day we sailed the quays were lined 

With weeping mothers and wives. 

They cried and prayed, and we g*ave 'em a cheei\ 

In the thoughtless way o' men; 

God help them, shipmates — thirty years 

They've waited and prayed since then. 

We sailed to the North, and I mind it well, 
The pity we felt, and pride. 
When we sighted the din's of Labrador 
From the sea where Hudson died. 


We talked of ships that never came back, 

And when the great floes passed; 

Like ghosts in the- night, each moonlit peak 

Like a great war -frigate's mast, 

"T was said that a ship was frozen up 

In the iceberg's awful breast, 

The clear ice holding the sailor's face 

As he lay in his mortal rest. 

And I've thought since then, when the ship came 

That sailed for the Franklin band, 
A mistake was made in the reckoning 
That looked for the crews on land. 
'"They're floating still," I've said to myself, 
"And Sir John has found the goal; 
The Erebus and the Terror, mates, 
Are icebergs up at the Pole!" 

We sailed due North, to Baffin's Bay, 

And cruised through weeks of light, 

"T was always day, and we slept by the bell. 

And longed for the dear old night. 

And the blessed darkness left behind. 

Like a curtain round the bed; 

But a month dragged on like an afternoon 

With the wheeling sun o'erhead. 

We found the whales were farther still, 

The farther north we sailed; 

Along the Greenland glacier coast, 

The boldest might have quailed. 

Such Shapes did keep us company, 

Xo sail in all that sea. 

But thick as ships in Mersey's tide 

The bergs moved awfully 


Within the current's northward stream; 
But, ere the long day's close, 
We found the whales and filled the ship 
Amid the friendly noes. 

Then came a rest: the day was blown 

Like a cloud before the night; 

In the south the sun went redly down — 

In the north rose another light: 

Neither sun nor moon, but a shooting dawn. 

That silvered our lonely way; 

It seemed we sailed in a belt of gloom, 

Upon either side, a day; 

The north wind smote the sea to death; 

The pack-ice closed us round— 

The Narwhale stood in the level fields 

As fast as a ship aground. 

A weary time it w r as to wait. 

And to wish for spring to come, 

With the pleasant breeze and the blessed sun. 

To open the way toward home. 

Spring came at last, the ice-fields groaned 

Like living things in pain; 

They moaned and swayed, then rent amain. 

And the Narwhale sailed again . 

With joy the dripping sails were loosed,. 

And round the vessel swung; 

To cheer the crew^ full south she drew. 

The shattered floes among. 

We had no books in those old days 

To carry the friendly faces; 

But I think the wives and lasses then* 


Were held in better places. 

The face of sweetheart and wife to-day 

Is locked in the sailor's chest, 

But aloft on the yard, with the thought of home. 

The face in the heart was best. 

Well, Avell — God knows, mates, when and where 

To take the things He gave; 

We steered for home — but the chart was His, 

And the port ahead — the grave ! 

We cleared the noes: through an open sea 

The Narwhale southward sailed, 

Till a day came round when the white fog rose. 

And the wind astern had failed. 

In front of the Greenland glacier line 

And close to its base were we; 

Through the misty pall we could see the wall 

That beet'.ed above the sea. 

A fear like the fog crept over our hearts, 

As was heard the hollow roar 

Of the deep sea thrashing the cliffs of ice 

For leagues along the shore. 

The years have come, and the years have gone, 

But it never wears away — 

The sense I have of the sights and sounds 

That marked that wof ul day. 

Flung here and there at the ocean's will. 

As it flung the broken iloe — 

What strength had we 'gainst the tiger sea 

That sports with a sailor's woe? 

The lifeless berg and the lifeful ship 

Were the same to the sullen wave. 


As it swept them far from ridge to ridge. 

Till at last the Nar whale drave 

With a crashing rail on the glacier wall, 

As sheer as the vessel's mast— 

A crashing rail and a shivered yard: 

But the worst, we thought, was past. 

The brave lads sprang to the fending work. 

And the skipper's voice rang hard: 

" Aloft there — one with a read}- knife — 

Cut loose that royal yard!" 

I sprang to the rigging: young I was, 

And proud to be first to dare; 

The yard swung free, and I turned to gaze 

Toward the open sea, o'er the field of haze. 

And my heart grew cold, as if frozen through, 

At the moving Shape that met my view — 

Christ! what a sight w T as there! 

Above the fog, as I hugged the yard, 

1 saw that an iceberg lay — 

A berg like a mountain, closing fast — 

Not a cable's length away! 

I could not see through the sheet of mist 

That covered all below. 

But I heard their cheery voices still, 

And I screamed to let them know. 

The cry went down, and the skipper hailed, 

But before the word could come, 

It died in his throat, and I knew they saw 

The Shape of the closing Doom ! 

No sound but that— but the hail that died 
Came up through the mist to me; 


Thank God, it covered the ship like a veil, 

And I was not forced to see — 

But I heard it, mates: Oh, I heard the rush, 

And the timbers rend and rive, 

As the yard I clang to swayed and fell. 

I lay on the ice alive! 

Alive! O Lord of Mercy! ship and crew and sea 

were gone! 
The hummocked ice and the broken yard, 
And a kneeling man — alone! 

A kneeling man on a frozen hill. 

The sounds of life in the air — 

All death and ice — and a minute before 

The sea and the ship were there! 

I could not think they were dead and gone, 

And 1 listened for sound or word: 

But the deep sea roar on the desolate shore 

Was the only sound 1 heard. 

mates, I had no heart to thank 
The Lord for the life He gave; 

1 spread my arms on the ice and cried 
Aloud on my shipmates' grave. 

The brave, strong lads, with their strength in 

I called them name by name; 
And it seemed to me from the dying hearts 
A message upward came — 
Ay. mates, a message, up through the ice 
From every sailor's breast: 
"Go tell our mothers and wives at home 
To pray for us here at rest. 


Yes, that's what it means; 'tis a little word; 
But, mates, the strongest ship 
That ever was built is a baby's toy 
When it comes to an Arctic Nip. 

John Boyle O'Reilly. 

Catholicism and the Religions of the World. 

How different are all religions that ever were, from 
the lofty and unchangeable Catholic Church! They 
depend on time and place for their existence, they live 
in periods or in regions. They are children of the soil, 
indigenous plants, which readily flourish under a cert- 
ain temperature, in a certain aspect, in moist or in dry, 
and die if they are transplanted. .. .There is but one 
form of Christianity possessed of that real internal uni- 
ty which is the primary condition of independence. 
Whether you look to Russia, England, or Germany, 
this note of divinity is wanting. In this country espe- 
cially, there is nothing broader than class religions; the 
established form itself is but the religion of a class. 
There is one persuasion for the rich, and another for 
the poor; men are born in this or that sect; the enthusi- 
astic go here, and the sober- -minded and rational go 
there. They make money, and rise in the world, and 
then they profess to belong to the Establishment. This 
body lives in the world's winter, and the other would 
melt away in the summer. Not one of them undertakes 
human nature: none compasses the whole man; none 
places all men on a level; none addresses the intellect 
and the heart, fear and love, the active and the contem- 
plative. It is considered, and justly, as an evidence for 


Christianity, that the ablest men have been Christians; 
not that all sagacious or profound minds have taken 
up its professions, but that it has gained victories 
among them, such and so man} 7 , as to show that it is 
not the mere fact of ability or learning which is the 
reason why all are not converted. 

Such too is the characteristic of Catholicity; not the 
highest in rank, not the meanest, not the most refined, 
not the rudest, is beyond the influence of the Church; 
she includes specimens of every class among her child- 
ren. She is the solace of the forlorn, the chastener of 
the prosperous, and the guide of the wayward. She 
keeps a mother's eye for the innocent, bears with a 
heavy hand upon the wanton, and has a voice of majes- 
ty for the proud. She opens the mind of the ignorant. 
and she prostrates the intellect of the most gifted. 
These are not words; she has done it, she does it still, 
she undertakes to do it. All she asks is an open .field, 
and the freedom to act. She asks no patronage from 
the civil power; in former times and places she has 
asked it; and, as Protestantism also, has availed herself 
of the civil sword. It is true she did so. because in 
certain ages it has been the acknowledged mode of act- 
ing, the most expeditious, and open at the time to no 
objection, and because, where she has done so, the 
people clamoured for it and did it in advance of her; 
but her history shows that she needed it not. for she 
has extended and flourished without it. She is ready 
for any service which occurs; she will take the world as 
it comes; nothing but force can repress her. See. my 
brethren, what she is doing in this country now; for 
three centuries the civil power has trodden down the 
goodly plant of grace, and kept its foot upon it; at 
length circumstances have removed that tyranny, and 


lo! the fair form of the Ancient Church rises up at 
once, as fresh and as vigorous as if she had never 
intermitted her growth. She is the same as she was 
three centuries ago, ere the present religions of the 
country existed; you know her to be the same; it is the 
charge brought against her that she does not change; . 
time and place effect her not, because she has her 
source where there is neither time nor place, because 
she comes from the throne of the Illimitable, Eternal 
Grod , — Newman, 

Wolsey's Advice to Cromwell. 

Wolsey. Farewell, a long farewell, to all my great- 
ness I 
This is the state of man : To-day he puts forth 
The tender leaves of hope: to-morrow blossoms, 
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him; 
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost, 
And— when he thinks, good easy man, full surely 
His greatness is a-ripening — nips his root, 
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured, 
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, 
This many summers in a sea of glory; 
But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride 
At length broke under me; and now has left me. 
Weary and old with service, to the mercy 
Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me. 
Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye: 
I feel my heart new open\L O, how wretched 
Is that poor man that hangs ort princes' favours! 
There is, betwixt the smile we would aspire to. y 


That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, 
More pangs and fear than wars or women have; 
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, 
Never to hope again. -r- 

Enter Cromwell, amazedly. 

Why, how now 7 , Cromwell! 

Crom. I have no power to speak, sir. 

Wol. What, amazed 

At my misfortunes? can thy spirit wonder 
A great man should decline? Nay, and you weep, 
I'm fall'ii indeed. 

Crom. How does your Grace? 

Wol. Why, well; 

Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. 
I know myself now; and I feel within me 
A peace above all earthly dignities. 
A still and quiet conscience. Tiie king has cured me, 
I humbly thank his Grace; and from these shoulders, 
These ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken 
A load would sink a navy, too much honour. 
O 'tis a burden. Cromwell, 'tis a burden 
Too heavy for a man that hopes for Heaven! 

Crom. I'm glad your Grace has made that right use 
of it. 

Wol, I hope I have: Tm able now, methinks — 
Out of a fortitude of soul I feel — 
T 1 endure more miseries and greater far 
Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer. 
What news abroad? 

Crom. The heaviest and the worst 

Is your displeasure with the king. 

Wol. God bless him! 

Crom. The next is, that Sir Thomas More is chosen 
Lord Chancellor in your place. 



Wol. That's somewhat sudden: 

But he's a learned man. May he continue 
Long in his Highness' favor, and do justice 
For truth's sake and his conscience? that his bones, 
When he has run his course and sleeps in blessings, 
May have a tomb of orphan's tears wept on 'em! 
What more? 

Crom. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome, 
Installed Lord Archbishop Canterbury. 

Wol. That's hews indeed. 

Crom. Last, that the Lady Anne, 

Whom the king hath in secrecy long married, 
This day was view'd in open as his queen, 
Going to chapel; and the voice is now 
Only about her coronation. 

Wol. There was the weight that pull'd me down. 


The king has gone beyond me: all my glories 

In that one woman I have lost forever: 

No sun shall ever usher forth mine honors. 

Or gild again the noble troops that waited 

Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell; 

1 am a poor fall'n man, unworthy now 
To be thy lord and master; seek thy king; 
That sun, I pray, may never set! I've told him 
What, and how true thou art: he will advance thee: 
Some little memory of me will stir him — 

I know his noble nature — not to let 
Thy hopeful service perish too: good Cromwell, 
Neglect him not; make use now, and provide 
For thine own future safety. 

Crom. O my lord. 

Must I, then, leave you?, must I needs forego 
So good, so noble, and so true a master? 


Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron, 
With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord. 
The King shall have my service; but my prayers 
For ever and for ever shall be yours. 

Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear 
In all my miseries; but thou hast forced me. 
Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. 
Let's dry our eyes: and thus far hear me, Cromwell; 
And when I am forgotten, as I shall be, 
And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention 
Of me more must be heard of — say. I taught thee, 
Say, Wolsey — that once trod the ways of glory, 
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honours — 
Found thee a way. out of his wreck to rise in; 
A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it . 
Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me. 
Cromwell I charge thee, fling away ambition: 
By that sin fell the angels; how can man, then. 
The image of his Maker, hope to win by't? 
Love thyself last; cherish those hearts that hate thee: 
Corruption wins not more than honesty. 
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, 
To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not: 
Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's. 
Thy God's, and truth's: then, if thou fall's t,0 Cromwell, 
Thou fall'st a blessed martyr! Serve the king; 
And, — pr'ythee, lead me in: 
There take an inventory of all I have. 
To the last penny: 'tis the king's: my robe. 
And my integrity to Heaven, is all 
I dare now call my own. O Cromwell. Cromwell! 
Had I but served my God with half the zeal 
I served my king. He would not in mine age 
Have left me naked to mine enemies. 

King Henry VIII., Act III. 


iEgeon's Speech. 

2Ege. A heavier task could not have been iinpos'd. 
Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable? 
Yet, that the world may witness, that my end 
Was brought by fortune, not by vile offence, 
I'll utter what my sorrow gives me leave. 
In Syracusa was I born; and wed 
Unto a woman, happy but for me, 
And by me too, had our hap been bad. 
With her I iiv'd in joy: our wealth increas'd, 
By prosperous voyages 1 often made 
To Epidamnum: till my factor's death, 
And the great care of goods at random left 
Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse: 
From whom my absence was not six months old, 
Before herself (almost at fainting under 
The pleasing punishment that women bear) 
Had made provision for her following me. 
And soon, and safe, 'arrived where I was. 
There had she not been long, but she became 
A joyful mother of two goodly sons; 
And, which was strange, the one so like the other, 
As could not be distinguished but by names. 
That very hour, and in the self-same inn, 
A poor mean woman was delivered 
Of such a burden, male twins, both alike. 
Those, for their parents were exceeding poor, 
I bought, and brought up to attend my sons. 
My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys, 
Made daily motions for our home return: 
Unwilling I agreed. Alas, too soon we came aboard! 
A league from Epidamnum had we sail'd, 


Before the always- wind-obeying deep 

Gave any tragic instance of our harm: 

But longer did we not retain much hope; 

For what obscured light the heavens did grant 

Did but convey unto our fearful minds 

A doubtful warrant of immediate death; 

Which though myself gently would have embrac'd, 

Yet the incessant weepings of my wife, 

Weeping before for what she saw must come, 

And piteous plain ings of the pretty babes, 

That mourn'd for fashion, ignorant what to fear, 

Forc'd me to seek delays for them and me. 

And this it was, — for other means were none. — 

The sailors sought for safety by our boat, 

And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us. 

My wife, more careful for the latter-born, 

Had fastened him unto a small spare mast. 

Such as sen -faring men provide for storms: 

To him one of the other twins was bound. 

Whilst I had been like heedful of the other. 

The children thus dispos'd. my wife and I, 

Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd, 

Fasten'd ourselves at either end the mast; 

And floating straight, obedient to the stream, 

Were carried towards Corinth, as we thought. 

At length the sun, gazing upon the earth, 

Dispers'd those vapours that offended us. 

And by the benetit of his wish VI light 

The seas wax'd calm, and we discovered 

Two ships from far making amain to us, 

Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this : 

But ere they came. — O, let me say no more! 

Gather the sequel by that went before. 


Duke. Nay, forward, old man; do not break off so. 
For we may pity, though not pardon thee. 

JZge. O, had the gods done so, I had not now 
Worthily ternrd them merciless to us! 
For, ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues, 
We were encounter' d by a mighty rock, 
Which being violently borne upon, 
Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst; 
So that in this unjust divorce of us 
Fortune had left to both of us alike 
What to delight in, what to sorrow far. 
Her part, poor soul! seeming as burdened 
With lesser weight but not with lesser woe, 
Was carried with more speed before the wind. 
And in our sight they three were taken up 
By fishermen of Corinth as we thought. 
At length another ship had seized on us; 
And knowing whom it was their hap to save, 
Gave healthful welcome to their shipwreckVl guests; 
And would have reft the fishers of their prey, 
Had not their bark been very slow of sail, 
And therefore homeward did they bend their course. — 
Thus have you heard me several from my bliss. 
And by misfortune was my life prolonged. 
To tell sad stories of my own mishaps. 

The Comedy of Errors, Act I. 

The Four Idiot Brothers. 

Dried, as 'twere, to skeleton chips, 
In the Madhouse found I Four: 
From their white and shrivelled lips 


Cometh language never more. 
Ghastly, stony, stiff, each brother 
Gazes vacant on the other; 

Till the midnight hour be come: 
Bristles then erect their hair, 
And the lips all day so dumb 
Utter slowly to the air, 

"Dies irce, dies ilia, 

Solvet sceclum in far ilia." 

Four bold brothers once were these, 
Kiotous and reprobate, 
Whose rakehellish revelries 
Terrified the more sedate. 
Ghostly guide and good adviser 
Tried in vain to make them wiser. 

On his deathbed spake their sire — 
**Hear your father from the tomb! 
Rouse not God's eternal ire; 
Ponder well the dav of doom, 

"Dies iree, dies ilia, 

Solvet sceclum in favilla." 

So spake he and died: The Four 
All unmoved beheld him die. 
Happy he! — his labors o'er. 
He was ta'en to bliss on high. 
While his sons, like very devils 
Loosed from Hell, pursued their revels- 
Still they courted each excess 
Atheism and Vice could dare; 


Ironhearted, feelingless, 
Not a hair of theirs grew grayer. 
"Live," they cried, '"while life enables! 
God and devil alike are fables!" 

Once at midnight as the Four 

Riotously reeled along, 

From an open temple-door 

Streamed a flood of holy song. 

"Cease, ye hounds, your yelling noises!" 

Cried the devil by their voices. 

Through the temple vast and dim 
Goes the unhallowed greeting, while 
Still the singers chant their hymn. 
Hark! it echoes down the aisle — 

"Dies irce, dies ilia, 

Solvet sceclum in favilla." 

On the instant stricken as 

By the wrath of God they stand, 

Each dull eyeball Axed like glass. 

Mute each eye, unnerved each hand, 

Blanch their hair and and wan their features, 

Speechless, mindless, idiot creatures! 

And now, dried to the skeleton chips, 
In the Mad-cell sit the four, 
Moveless; — from their blasted lips 
Cometh language never more. 
Ghastly, stony, stiff, each brother 
Gazes vacant on the other; 


Till the midnight hour be come; 
Bristles then erect their hair, 
And their lips, all day so dumb, 
Utter sloAvly to the air, 

"Dies irce, dies ilia, 

Solvet sceclum in favilla." 

J. G. Manga n. 

The Army of the Lord. 

To tight the battle' of the Cross, Christ's chosen ones 

are sent, — 
Good soldiers and great victors. — a noble armament. 
They use no earthly weapon, they know not spear or 

Yet right and true and valiant is the army of the Lord. 

Fear them, ye mighty ones of earth; fear them ye 

demon foes; 
Slay them and think to conquer, but the ranks will 

always close: 
In vain do earth and Heii unite their power and skill to 

They light better for their wounds, and they conquer 

when they die. 

The soul of every sinner is the victory they would gain; 

They would bind each rebel heart in their master's gold- 
en chain: 

Faith is the shield they cany, and the two-edged sword 
they bear 



Is God's strongest, mightiest weapon, and they call it 
Love and Prayer. 

Where the savage hordes are dwelling by the Ganges' 

sacred tide, 
Through the trackless Indian forests, St. Francis is their 

Where crime and sin are raging, to conquer they are 

They do conquer as they go, for St. Philip leads them 


They are come where all are kneeling at the shrines of 

wealth and pride. 
And an old and martyred Bishop is their comrade and 

their guide: 
To tell the toil-worn negro of freedom and repose, 
O'er the vast Atlantic's bosom they are called by sweet 

St. Rose. 

They are gone where Love is frozen, and Faith grown 

calm and cold, 
Where the world is all triumphant, and the sheep have 

left the fold, 
Where His children scorn His blessings, and His sacred 

Shrines despise, 
And the beacon of the warriors is the light in Mary's 

The bugle for their battle is the matin bell for prayer; 
And for their noble standard Christ's holy cross they 

bear . 
His sacred name their war-crv, 'tis in vain what ye can 



They must conquer, for your Angels are leaguing' with 
them too. 

Would you know, O World, these warriors? Go where 

the poor, the old, 
Ask for pardon and for heaven, and you offer food and 

With healing and with comfort, with words of peace 

and prayer, 
Bearing His greatest gift to man, — Christ's chosen 

priests are there. 

Where sin and crime are dwelling, hid from the light 

of day, 
And life and hope are fading at death's cold touch away, 
Where dying eyes in horror see the long-forgotten past. 
Christ's servants claim the sinner, and gain his soul at 


Where the rich and proud and mighty God's message 

would defy. 
In warning and reproof His anointed ones stand by: 
Bright are the crowns of glory God keepeth for his 

Their life one sigh for heaven, and their aim His will 


And see sweet Mercy's sister, where the poor anfl 

wretched dwell. 
In gentle accents telling of Him she loves so well; 
Training young hearts to serve their Lord, and place 

their hope in Heaven, 
Bidding her erring sisters love much and be forgiven. 


Aucl where in cloistered silence dim the brides of Jesus 

' dwell, 
Where purest incense rises up from every lowly cell, 
They plead not vainly, — they have chosen and gained 

the better part. 
And given their gentle life away to Him who has their 

heart. ' 

And some there are among us — the path which they 

have trod 
Of sin and pain and anguish has led at last to God: 
They plead, and Christ will hear them, that the poor 

slaves who pine 
In the black dungeon they have left, may see His truth 


O, who can tell how many hearts are altars to His 

From which the silent prayer ascends through patient 

nights and days. 
The sacrifice is offered still in secret and alone, 
O World, ye do not know them, but He can help His 


They are with us, His true soldiers, they come in power 

and might; 
Glorious the crown which they shall gain after the 

heavenly fight; 
And you, perchance, who scoff, may yet their rest and 

glory share, 
As the rich spoil of their battle and the captives of their 



O, who shall tell the wonder of that great day of rest, 
When even in this place of strife His soldiers are so 

O World, O Earth, why strive ye? join the low chant 

they sing, — 
' l O Grave, where is thy victory! O Death, where is thy 


Adelaide A. Procter, 

Antonio's Consolers. 

Enter Antonio, Salarino, and Solanio. 

Anto. In sooth, I know not why I am so sad: 
It wearies me, you say it wearies you; 
But how I caught it, found it, or came by it, 
What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born, 
I am to learn: 

And such a want- wit sadness makes of me, 
That I have much ado to know myself - 

Salar. Your mind is tossing on the ocean; 
There, where your argosies with portly sail, — 
Like signiors and rich burghers of the flood. 
Or. as it were, the pageants of the sea, — 
Do overpeer the petty traffickers. 
That curtsy to them, do them reverence. 
As they fly by them with their woven wings. 

Solan. Believe me, sir, had I such venture forth. 
The better part of my affections would 
Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still 
Plucking the grass, to know where sits the wind. 
Peering in maps for ports, and piers, and roads; 
And eveiy object that might make me fear 


Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt 
Would make me sad. 

Salar. My wind, cooling my broth, 

Would blow me to an ague, when I thought 
What harm a wind too great might do at sea. 
I should not see the sandy hour-glass run. 
But I should think of shallows and of flats; 
And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand. 
Vailing her high-top lower than her ribs, 
To kiss her burial. Should I go to church, 
And see the holy edifice of stone. 
And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks, 
Which, touching but my gentle vessel's side, 
Would scatter all her spices on the stream; 
Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks. 
And, in a word, but even now worth this, 
And now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought 
To think on this, and shall I lack the thought, 
That such a thing bechanced would make me sad? 
But tell not me; I know Antonio 
Is sad to think upon his merchandise. 

Anto. Believe me, no; I thank my fortune for it. 
My ventures are not in one bottom trusted. 
Nor to one place; nor is my whole estate 
Upon the fortune of this present year: 
Therefore my merchandise makes me not sad. 

Salar. Why, then you are in love. 

Anto. Fie; fie! 

Salar. Not in love neither? Then let's say you're 
Because you are not merry; and 'twere as easy 
For you to laugh and leap, and say you're merry 
Because you are not sad. Noav, by two-headed Janus, 
Nature hath framed strange fellows in her time: 


Some that will evermore peep through their eyes, 

And laugh like parrots at a bag -piper; 

And others of such vinegar aspect, 

That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile, 

Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable. 

Solan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble kins- 
Gratiano, and Lorenzo. Fare ye well: 
We leave you now with better company. 

Salar. I would have stay'd till I had made you 
If worthier friends had not prevented me. 

Auto. Your worth is very dear in my regard. 
I take it, your own business calls on you, 
And you embrace th' occasion to depart. 

Enter Bassanio. Lorenzo and Gratiano. 

Salar. Good morrow, my good lords. 
Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh? say, 
when { 
You grow exceeding strange: must" it be so? 

Salar. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours. 
{Exeunt Salarino and Solanio. 
Luren. My Lord Bassanio. since you've found An- 
We two will leave you: but at dinner-time, 
I pray you. have in mind where we must meet. 
Bass. I wili not fail you. 
Grat. You look not well. Signior Antonio, 
You have too much respect upon the world: 
They lose it that do buy it with much care. 
Believe me, you are marvellously changed. 

Anto. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano; 
A stage, where every man must play a part, 


And mine a sad one. 

Grat. Let me play the Fool: 

With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come; 
And let my liver rather heat with wine 
Tnan my heart cool with mortifying groans. 
Why should a man, whose blood is warm within, 
Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster? 
Sleep when he wakes? and creep into the jaundice 
By being peevish? I tell thee what, Antonio, — 
I love thee, and it is my love that speaks, — 
There are a sort of men whose visages 
Do cream and mantle like a standing pond; 
And do a wilful stillness entertain, 
With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion 
Of Wisdom, gravity, profound conceit; 
As who should say, I am Sir Oracle, 
And when I ope my lips, let no dog bark! 

my Antonio! I do know of these, 
That therefore only are reputed wise 
For saying nothing; who, I'm very sure, 

If they should speak, would almost damn those ears, 

Which, hearing them, would call their brothers fools. 

I'll tell thee more of this another time: 

But tish not, with this melancholy bait, 

For this fool gudgeon, this opinion. — 

Come, good Lorenzo. — Fare ye well, awhile: 

I'll end my exhortation after dinner. 

Loren. Well, we will leave you, then, till dinner- 

1 must be one of these same dumb-wise men. 
For Gratiano never lets me speak. 

Grat. W r ell, keep me company but two years more, 
Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue. 


Anto. Farewell: I'll grow a talker for this year. 
Grat. Thanks, i' faith; for silence is only commend- 
able . 
In a neat's tongue dried, and a maid not vendible. 
The Merchant of Venice, Act I. 

Selection from "The Dream of Gerontius." 

I went to sleep; and now I am refreshed. 
A strange refreshment: for I feel in me 
An inexpressive lightness, and a sense 
Of freedom, as I were at length myself. 
And ne'er had been before. How still it is! 
I hear no more the busy beat of time, 
No, nor my fluttering breath, nor struggling pulse; 
Nor does one moment differ from the next. 
I had a dream; yes:- — some one softly said 
"He's gone; and then a sigh went round the room. 
And then I surely heard a priestly voice 
Cry ''Subvenite;" and they knelt in prayer. 
I seem to hear him still: but thin and low. 
And fainter and more faint the accents come. 
As at an ever- widening interval. 
Ah! wjience is this! 1 What is this severance? 
This silence pours a solitariness 
Into the very essence of my soul; 
And the deep rest, so soothing and so sweet. 
Hath something too of sternness and of pain. 
For it drives back my thoughts upon their spring- 
By a strange introversion, and perforce 
I now begin to feed upon myself, 
Because I have nought else to feed upon. — 

258 Elements of expression, vocal and physical. 

Aid I alive or dead? I am not dead. 

But in the body still; for I possess 

A sort of confidence, which clings to mc. 

That such particular organ holds its place 

As heretofore, combining with the rest 

Into one symmetry, that wraps me round 

And makes me man; and surely I could move, 

Did I but will it. every part of me. 

And yet I cannot to my sense bring home, 

B}/ very trial, that I have the power. 

'Tis strange, I cannot stir a hand or foot. 

I cannot make my lingers or my lips 

By mutual pressure witness each to each. 

Nor by the eyelid's instantaneous stroke 

Assure myself I have a body still. 

Nor do I know my very attitude, 

Nor if I stand, or lie, or sit. or kneel. 

So much I know, not knowing how I know. 

That the vast universe, where I have dwelt. 

Is quitting me, or I am quitting it. 

Or I or it is rushing on the wings 

Of light or lightning on an onward course. 

And we e'en now are million miles apart. 

Yet. . . .is this peremptory severance 

Wrought out in lengthening measurements of space. 

Which grow and multiply by speed and* time? 

Or am I traversing infinity 

By endless subdivision, hurrying back 

From finite towards infinitesimal, 

Thus dying out of the expansive world? 

Another marvel: some one has me last 
Within his ample palm: 'tis not a grasp 


Such as they use on earth, but all around 
Over the surface of my subtle being, 
As though I were a sphere and capable 
To be accosted thus, a uniform 
And gentle pressure tells me I am not 
Self-moving, but borne on my way. 
And hark! I hear a singing, yet in sooth 
I cannot of that music rightly say 
Whether I hear or touch or taste the tones. 
Oh what a heart subduing melody! 

Newman . 

A Day's Changes. 

It was a beautiful morning in April; Eugene had risen 
at an early hour, and having mechanically taken a small 
volume from a shelf of his library he. without opening- 
it. went out to the balcony in front of his house to gaze 
on the magnificent landscape of the surrounding coun- 
try. What a love'y aurora it was! what a glorious be- 
ginning of a genial day! Away in the far East appears 
the sun in the horizon, and clothing the lessening clouds 
that gently move on in the ether with his golden rays, 
gives them the most charming coloring; on the world he 
sheds the shining day that, burnished, plays on rocks, 
and hills and towers, and the wandering streams. Earth 
brightens up at his coming, birds salute his approach 
in melodious tunes, the peasant goes to his field with a 
heart light and glad, and sings of happiness and of love. 
Eugene gazes on the charming scene with indescribable 
pleasure; his tranquil, happy, peaceful soul, is easily 
t< niched by scenes so sweet and charming. He enjoys 


excellent health, possesses a large fortune, his family 
affairs are in excellent condition, his friends are never 
more happy than when they are able to give him pleas- 
ure. No violent passion agitates his bosom, his sleep 
during the night was placid and tranquil, and was inter- 
rupted only by the break of day; he is only awaiting 
the hour for resuming the ordinary course of his agree- 
able occupations. 

At last he opens his book; it is a romantic novel. A 
wretched man, whom the world has not understood, is 
disgusted with life; he curses society, curses the human 
race, curses heaven and earth, the present, the past, the 
future; he curses God, he curses himself. Tired of gaz- 
ing on a sun that has for him no pleasant smile, tired of 
a world that gives him only sorrow and anguish, weary 
of a miserable existence that weighs so heavily on his 
spirits and crushes his heart beneath its insupportable 
burden, he has resolved to rid himself of his misery hy 
putting an end to his life. See him standing on the 
brink of the fatal precipice! already the sad "farewell" 
is written in his portfolio; he turns his feverish head, 
his pallid countenance, his blood shot eyes, his distorted 
features, wildly around; before accomplishing the fatal 
deed, he remains for a moment absorbed in gloomy si- 
lence, meditates on the destinies of man, on the cruel 
injustice of society. "This is exaggerated," impatient- 
ly exclaims Eugene, ''there is indeed, much evil in the 
world, but not all that is in the world is evil. Virtue 
is not yet banished from the face of the earth; I myself 
know many persons whom 1 could not. without doing 
them gross injustice, set down as wicked. This is in- 
tolerable, it is as false in philosophy as it is disgusting 
in literature. 11 Thus Eugene reasoned in his own mind 
and good naturedly he closed his book, banished from 


his mind these unpleasant images, and allowed his soul 
to be once more transported by the contemplation of the 
charming sceneiy around him. 

Hours pass away; the time for commencing his daily 
labor arrives. At the very outset it seems that the curs- 
es of the suicide seem to have fallen on Eugene. 

The weather has undergone a change; it will not be 
at all as pleasant a day as the early morning indicated; 
heavy dark clouds appear in the sky and threaten rain. 
Eugene goes to his work; his umbrella is an insufficient 
protection against the rain that pours down in torrents. 
The v^iiy that leads to his place of business is narrow 
and dirty; a coachman drives along with furious speed. 
Eugene is splashed with mud; he must retrace his steps 
and return home. He is angry; he does not utter the 
horrible blasphemies of the suicide, but the prayer 
which he says for the horses and their driver, will sure- 
ly not do either a considerable amount of good. Life 
is, after all. not quite as pleasant as he fancied in the 
morning; yet it is tolerable. His philosophy darkens 
with the weather. However, the sun has not yet gone 
down in the West. It generally happens that one mis- 
fortune follows in the footsteps of another. Eugene has 
forgotten thetirst misadventure of the day, his thoughts 
are again set on business, aud he goes to the house of a 
friend from whom he expects important communica- 
tions regarding a business transaction. Here he is re- 
ceived coolly: the friend tries to evade ail conversation 
on the chief points in question: pressing atf'airs. he 
pretends, will not allow him time to talk over the mat- 
ter just now. 

Eugene takes leave, somewhat displeased at the turn 
the affair has taken; vague suspicions arise in his mind, 
he tortures his brains in order to discover what it all 


can mean, when suddenly he meets another friend, who 
is able and willing to clear up the mystery. Be on your 
guard, Eugene, says the friend, in very few words; he 
on your guard, or you will fall a victim to the infamous 
perfidy of Mr. X. He thinks at once of the steps to be 
taken to prevent the impending misfortune. He goes to 
different friends to obtain information about the state of 
affairs. All sympathize with him in his misfortune, but 
all agree that it is now beyond remedy. All he can do, 
is to be resigned to his fate. Eugene returns to his 
home, retires into his private apartment and allows 
himself to be transported by the cruel pain of seeing his 
fairest hopes frustrated, his social position desperately 
changed, and all his brilliant prospects for the future 
inseparably ruined. On the table lies the volume he 
had read in the morning. The sight of it recalls to his 
mind the reflections he had made in reading it. Oh! 
how miserably deceived you were, he exclaims, when 
you imagined that the infernal descriptions contained in 
that book were mere exaggerations! It cannot be de- 
nied that that man was right. It is horrible, desperate, 
unpardonable, yet it is true. Man is a depraved mon- 
ster, society a cruel stepmother, a heartless executioner, 
who takes pleasure in insulting and tormenting his 
wretched victims, and scorns them at the very moment 
that he covers them with ignominy and shame, to which 
death itself would he preferable. There is no fidelity 
in friendship, no gratitude, no generosity, no true virtue 
on earth; all is egotism, self-interest, falsehood, treach- 
ery! Eugene was disturbed in his monologue by a 
gentleman who, relying on his title of friendship, took 
the liberty of entering his apartment without the foi- 
niality of being announced. 

"Good day, my dear Eugene; I hear that you have 


been badly imposed on." 

"Well, what can be doner* 

"It is really too bad!" 

"Yes. but so goes the world. 

"Bat there is no time to be lost, we must remedy the 
misfortune. ..." 

"Remedy? it is impossible!" 

''The remedy is very simple. 

"I am surprised at your way of talking." 

"All depends on ready money, your taking the first 
mail-coach and arriving at D. before he will arrive 
there. " 

"Yes. but that is impossible in my present circum- 
stances; the scoundrel knows that I have spent all my 
ready money in that accursed transaction; he knows 
that I have none whatever at my disposal now; he 
knows how utterly impossible it would be for me to 
overtake him." 

"But suppose that the money was ready for you." 

"Let us not joke about the matter." 

•"Listen, my dear Eugene. A few friends and my- 
self met together to discuss that affair, which you know. 
One of the company related the serious misfortune that 
had befallen you, and the disastrous consequences it 
must entail on your family. You can easily imagine what 
an impression the unpleasant news made on us. I re- 
quested leave of my friends to sever my connection with 
that project, that I might be free to place my own re- 
sources at your disposal. All instantly followed my 
example, and declared their readiness to run the risk of 
postponing their operations till you come out triumph- 
antly from this difficulty ." 

"I cannot agree to it." 

•'But you must!" 


"But if these gentlemen, whom I do not even 
know. .". . " 

"This was all foreseen. Get ready, take the first 
stage. In this portfolio you will find the money you 
need. Farewell, my dear Eugene." 

The portfolio was placed on the table, beside the fa- 
tal book. Eugene is ashamed of having so hastily 
hurled his anathemas at society. The hour for the de- 
parture of the stage leaves him no time to philosophize, 
but he feels that his philosophy has assumed a less des- 
perate aspect. On the following morning the sun will 
arise more gloriously than to-day; the birds will sing as 
merrily as ever; the peasant will go forth to his work, 
and Eugene will see things as he saw them before his 
unpleasant adventures. Within twenty-four hours, 
nothing has changed in nature or society, but the philo- 
sophy of Eugene has traversed an immense space, 
returning, like the planet, to the point from which it 
had started, — Rev. J. Balmes. 

The Drunkard's Death. 

I stood beside the death-bed of a man 

Whom drink had slain; 
And saw a soul depart as I'd ne'er wish 

To see again. 
In throes of agony, a human blight. 

In sense, a clod, 
Struggled with death, a sick'ning, awful sight: 

Then went to God. 
It pained my heart to see the stark bare room, 

And rotten floor 


Gaping with greasy rat holes, dark and foul, 

And hingeless door. 
The fireless hearth with dreary cinders strewn, 

Blank, cold and dead; 
The heap of filthy straw and stinking rags 

That made the bed; 
Old bottles, battered tins and broken ware. 

The cupboard had; 
Empty of food, it bore a thin, starved look, 

Hungry and sad; 
The crazy windows rattling with the wind, 

And shattered wall: 
Within, without, all things with dirt begrimed — 

Dirt over ail. 

But when I saw the man unhinged of sense, 

A shattered wreck: 
His darkened, sin-grimed soul departing hence; 

I could not check 
The rising tear that glimmered in my eye, 

Nor hush the thought, 
That here was one who better to this world 

Had ne'ei been brought. 
His heated brain with wild delirium raved; 

His blood-shot eyes 
Glared like a hunted beast's, while from his mouth 

Came savage cries. 
"Away!" he shrieked, with frantic look, "away!" 

Ye fiends from hell! 
Let go my throat. Begone! Dont strangle me, — 

Hark! there's a bell! 
It rings! rings! rings for Mass. I never go; 

Leave me to sleep! 
To sleep! I cannot sleep in flames like these 



That o'er me creep. 
I'm all on tire. It scorches me to death. 

Bring water here! 
Bring floods, and drown me in their cooling depths! 

Yon devils jeer 
And gibe upon me with a mocking laugh 

And gnashing teeth; 
Take off this net. These cords around my throat 

Won't let me breathe. 
No! No! have mercy! Do not chain me yet. 

I crave an hour, 
A minute to be free! What have I done, 

That worms devour 
My flesh and heart and brain? These scalding 

Burn me to death. 
These parching winds, these endless desert sands 

Dry up my breath! 
One drop of water for my burning tongue! 

With thirst I sink. 
Sweet water! heavenly streams! flow not so fast, 

I cannot drink. 

What spirit damned from out the shades of hell 

Is lurking here^ 
Ha! ha! I know you well. 1r Tis you who sold 

Me gin and beer . 
Dost want my soul? Was.'t not enough to take 

My very life? 
And help me starve the children' — break the heart 

Of my poor wife? 
You are the man who on my ruin fed; 

As vampire bat 


That gluts itself on blood, so you on me 
Grew rich and fat. 

Help! help! I cannot breathe this stifling air. 
These hellish fumes; 

This biting adder gnaws my life away 

And soul consumes!" 

The midnight moon was shining in the sky, 

Cold, clear, and pale; 
The winds, without, like ghosts in pain, moaned 

A long, weird wail . 
A passing cloud a heavy shadow cast 

Upon the bed. 
He struggled, grasped the air, then upright stood; 

And fell back, dead! 
Rev. Alfred Young, G. S. P. 

Scene from "The Merchant of Venice." 

Enter Solanio and Salarino. 

Solan. Xow. what news on the Kialto? 

Solar. Why. yet it lives there uncheck'd. that Anto- 
nio hath a ship of rich lading wreck 'd on the narrow 
seas; the Goodwins, I think they call the place; a very 
dangerous flat and fatal, where the carcasses of many a 
tall ship lie buried, as they say, if my gossip Report be 
an honest woman of her word. 

Solan. I would she were as lying a gossip in that as 
ever knapp'd ginger, or made her neighbours believe 


she wept for the death of a third husband. But it is 
true, without any slips of prolixity, or crossing the 
plain highway of talk, that the good Antonio, the 
honest Antonio, — O, that 1 had a title good enough to 
keep his name company! — 

Solar. Come, the full stop. 

Solan. Ha, — what say'st thou? — Why the end is, he 
hath lost a ship. 

Salar. I would it might prove the end of his losses. 

Solan. Let me say amen betimes, lest the Devil cross 
my prayer; for here he comes in the likeness of a Jew. 

Enter Shylock. 

How now. Shylock! what news among the merch- 
ants ? 

Shy. You knew, none so well, none so well as yon, 
of my daughter's flight. 

Salar. That's certain: I, for my part, knew the tailor 
that made the wings she flew withal. 

Solan. And Shylock, for his own part, knew the 
bird was fledg'd; and then it is tlte complexion of them 
all to leave the dam. 

Shy. She is damn VI for it. 

Salar. That's certain, if the Devil may be her judge. 

Shy. In Antonio I have another bad match; a bank- 
rupt, a prodigal, who dare scarce show his head on the 
Rialto; — a beggar, that was used to come so snug upon 
the mart. Let him look to his bond; he was wont to 
call me a usurer; — let him look to his bond: he was wont 
to lend money for a Christian courtesy;— let him look 
to his bond. 

Salar. Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt not 
take his flesh: what's that good for? 

Shy. To bait fish withal: if it will feed nothing else, 


it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced me, and 
hinder' d me half a million; laugh' d at my losses, mock'd 
at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my bargains, 
cooled mj friends, heated mine enemies; and what's 
his reason? I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? hath not 
a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, pas- 
sions^ 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 3-011 wrong us, shall we 
not revenged if we are like you in the rest, we will re- 
semble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what 
is his humility? revenge: if a Christian wrong a Jew, 
what should his sufferance be by Christian example? 
why, revenge. The viliaiuy you teach me, I will exe- 
cute, and it shall go hard, but I will better the instruc- 
tion. — Shakespeare. 

Scene from King Henry VI., Third Part. 

Enter Rutland, and Ids Tutor. 
Hut. Ah! whither shall I fly to 'scape their hands? 
Ah tutor! look, where bloody Clifford comes. 

Enter Clifford and Soldiers. 

Glif. Chaplain, away: thy priesthood saves thy life. 
As for the brat of this accursed duke, 
Whose father slew my- father, he shall die. 

Tut. And I, nay lord, will bear him company. 

CI if. Soldiers, awav with him. 


Tut. Ah, Clifford! murder not this innocent child. 
Lest thou he hated both of God and man. 

Exit, forced off by Soldiers. 

Clif. How now! is he dead already? Or. is it fear. 
That makes him close his eyes? — I'll open them. 

Rut. So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch 
That trembles under his devouring paws: 
And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey. 
And so he comes to rend his limbs asunder. — 
Ah, gentle Clifford! kill me with thy sword. 
And not with such a cruel threatening look. 
Sweet Clifford! hear me speak before I die: 
I am too mean a subject for thy wrath; 
Be thou reveng'd on men, and let me live. 

Clif. In vain thou speak'st, poor boy: my father's 
Hath stopped the passage where thy words should 

Rut. Then let my father's blood open it again: 
He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him. 

Clif. Had I thy brethren here, their lives, and thine, 
Were not revenge sufficient for me. 
No: if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves. 
And hung their rotten coffins up in chains, 
It could not slake mine ire, nor ease mine heart. 
The sight of any of the house of York 
Is as a fury to torment my soul 
And till I root out their accursed line, 
And leave not one alive, I live in hell. 
Therefore — 

Rut. O, let me pray before I take my death. — 
To thee I pray: sweet Clifford, pity me! 

Clif. Such pit}- as my rapier's point affords. 

Rut. I never did thee harm: wh} T wilt thou slay met 


dlif. Thy father hath. 

Rut. But 'twas ere I was born . 

Thou hast one son, for his sake pity rue, 
Lest, in revenge thereof, sith God is just, 
He be as miserably slain as I. 
Ah! let me live in prison all my days, 
And when I give occasion of offence, 
Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause. 

CI if. No cause? 
Thy father slew my father: therefore, die. 

[Clifford stabs him: 

But. Diifaciant, laudis summa sit Ista tuce! [Dies. 

Rut. Plantaganet! I come. Plantaganet! 
And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade, 
Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood 
Congealed with this do make me wipe off both. 


Twenty Golden Years Ago. 

O. the rain, the weary, dreary rain. 
How it plashes on the window-sill! 
Night. I guess too. must be on the wane. 
Strass and Gass around are grown still 
Here I sit. with coffee in my cup— 
Ah! 'twas rarely 1 beheld it now 
In the tavern where I loved to sup 
Twenty golden years ago. 

Twenty years ago, alas! — but stay — 
On my life, 'tis half-past twelve o'clock! 
After all the hours do slip away — 


Come, here goes to burn another block! 
For the night, or morn, is wet and cold; 
And my fire is dwindling rather low:— 
I had fire enough, when young and bold 
Twenty golden years ago . 

Pear! I don't feel well at all, somehow: 
Few in Weimar dream how bad I am; 
Floods of tears grow common with me now, 
High-Dutch floods, that Reason cannot dam . 
Doctors think I'll neither live nor thrive 
If I mope at home so — I don't know — 
Am I living now? I was alive 
Twenty golden years ago , 

Wifeless, friendless, liaggonless, alone, 
Not quite bookless, though, unless I choose. 
Left with nought to do, except to groan, 
Not a soul to woo, except the muse — 
O! this is hard for me to bear, 
Me, who whilome lived so much en haut y 
Me, who broke all hearts like china-ware, 
Twenty golden years ago! 

Perhaps 'tis better; — time's defacing waves, 
Long have quenched the radiance of my brow — 
They who curse me nightly from their graves, 
Scarce could love me were they living now; 
But my loneliness hath darker ills — 
Such dun duns as Conscience, Thought and Co., 
Awful Gorgons! worse than tailor's bills 
Twenty golden years ago! 


Did I paint a fifth of what I feel, 

how plaintive you would ween I was! 
But I won't, albeit I have a deal 
More to wail about than Kerner has! 
Kerner \s teai\s are wept for withered flowers, 
Mine for withered hopes, my scroll of woe- 
Dates, alas! from youth's deserted bowers, 
Twenty golden years ago! 

Yet, may Deutschland's hurdlings flourish long, 
Me, I tweak no beak among them; — hawks 
Must not pounce on hawks; besides, in song 

1 could once beat all of them by chalks. 
Though you find me as I near my goal. 
Sentimentalizing like Rousseau, 

O! I had a grand Byronian soul 
Twenty golden years ago! 

Tick — tick, tick — tick! — not a sound save Time's, 
And the windgust as it drives the rain — 
Tortured torturer of reluctant rhymes, 
Go to bed. and rest thy aching brain! 
Sleep! — no more the dupe of hope or schemes; 
Soon thou sleepest where the thistles blow — 
Curious anticlimax to thy dreams 
Twenty golden y T ears ago! 

J. G. Mangan* 

Called and Chosen.* 

Still runs the river past the broken wall 
Where Claude and 1 were wont to sit of old, 

: H. L. Kilner & Co., Philadelphia, Publishers. 


Watching the limped water slide and fall 
Over the dam, — a sheet of molten gold: 
What time the clouds, like fairies gayly dressed, 
Built up their glorious castle in the west; 

Our sketch-books idly open on our knees; 

The smell of wall-liowers tilling all the air; 
'Twas dreamy joy to watch whole argosies 

Of gorgeous dragon-flies make shipwreck there; 
And bees 2*0 diving with their foolish heads 

Into intoxicating lily-beds. 

"Sweet idleness!'' said Claude; and then he drew 

His smiling lips into a graver line, 
And looked out with his earnest eyes of blue 

To where the rosy river ran like wine: 
"0 purple-dragon flies! O golden bees! 
To you belongs this life of summer ease, — 

But not to me" — and then his face grew broad 

With purest purpose, and his eyes oave out 
Great placid rays, as if the stars of God 

Within their azure heaven wheeled about; — 
"Except a man deny himself,' 1 he said; 
And then broke off and drooped his classic head. 
Again: "The kingdom suffers violence, 

And naught save violence shall win the prize. 
Dost comprehend, dear heart, the mystic sense?' 3 

I shivered, as with cold, and hid mine eyes; 
And all the glorious skies and glowing stream. 
Swept into shadow, like a broken dream. 


That was five years ago. To-day, beside 

The ruined wall, I sit alone and study 
The same rich sunset clouds, the same swift tide, 

Glassing the mill-dam with its ripples ruddy; 
But on my lap, 'twixt folded hands, there lies 
An open letter, traced 'neath foreign skies. 

Dominican and priest, where Lacordaire's 
First white-robed friars preached and prayed and 

He that was Claude, now Father Saint Pierre, 
Speaks from the written page as from the dead: 

And, joyous as a lover at the tryst. 

Sighs ardently to shed his blood for Christ. 

() happy Claude! O happier Saint Pierre! 

O happiest of all the souls that take 
The cross of self denial up, and bear 

It bravely to the end for Christ's sweet >ake! 
Sail on, gay dragon-Hies! hum on. bright bees! 
We envy not your life of honeyed ease. 

Eleanor G. Donnelly. 

The Condition of Ireland. 

The war of centuries is at a close. The patronage 
and proscriptions of Ebrington have failed. The pro- 
crastination and economy of Russell have triumphed. 
Let a thanksgiving be proclaimed from the pulpit of 
St. Paul's. Let the Lords and Commons of England 
vote their gratitude to the vicious and victorious econ- 


omisti Let the guns of Loudon Tower proclaim the tri- 
umph which has cost, in the past, coffers of gold and 
torrents of blood, and, in this year masses of putrefac- 
tion to achieve. England! your great difficulty is at an 
end: your gallant and impetuous enemy is dead. Ire- 
land, or rather the remains of Ireland are yours at last. 
Your red ensign floats, not from the Custom Houee. 
where you played the robber; not from Limerick wall, 
where you played the cut throat; but it flies from a 
thousand graveyards, where the titled niggards of your 
cabinet have won the battle which your soldiers could 
not terminate. Go; send your scourge steamer to the 
western coast to convey some memorial of your con- 
quest; and in the halls where the flags and cannon you 
have captured from a world of foes are grouped togeth- 
er, there let a shroud, stripped from some privileged 
corpse, be for its proper price displayed. Stop not 
there; change your war crest; America has her eagle; 
let England have her vulture. What emblem more tit 
for the rapacious power whose statesmanship depopu- 
lates, and whose commerce is gorged with famine prices? 
That is her proper signal. But whatever the monarch 
journalists of Europe may say. Ireland, thank God, is 
not clown yet. 

She is on her knee; but her hand is clinched against 
the giant, and she has yet power to strike. 

Last year from the Carpathian heights, we heard the 
cry of the Polish insurrectionists: "There is hope for 
Poland, while in Poland there is a life to lose. 1 '' True it 
is, thousands upon thousands of our comrades have 
fallen: but thousands upon thousands still survive: and 
the fate of the dead shall quicken the purposes of tl e 
living. The stakes are too high for us to throw up the 
hand until the last card has been played; too high for 


us to throw ourselves in despair upon the coffins of our 
starved and swindled partners. A peasant population, 
generous and heroic, a mechanic population, honest and 
industrious, is at stake. 

They cannot, must not, be lost. — T. F. Meagher. 

Gualberts's Victory.* 

A mountain pass so narrow that a man 
Riding that way to Florence, stooping, can 
Touch with his hand the rocks on either side. 
And pluck the flowers that in the crannies hide. 

Here, on Good Friday, centuries ago. 
Mounted and armed, John Gualbert met his foe: 
Mounted and armed as well, but riding down 
To the fair city from the woodland brown. 
This way and that, swinging his jeweled whip, 
A gay old love-song on his careless lip. 
And otj his charger's neck the reins loose thrown. 

An accidental meeting: but the sun 

Burned on their brows, as if it had been one 

Of deep design, — so deadly w;is the look » 

Of mutual hate their olive faces took; 

As (knight i v courtesy forgot in wrath), 

Neither would yield his enemy the path 

"Backr* cried Gualberto. "Never!" yelled his foe. 
And on the instant, sword in hand, they throw 
Them from their saddles, nothing loath. 
And fall to lighting, with a smothered oath. 

A pair of shapely, stalwart cavaliers, 
Well- matched in stature, weapons, weight, and years. 

; EL L. Kilner & Co., Philadelphia, Publishers 


Theirs was a long, tierce struggle on the grass, 
Thrusting and parrying up and down the pass; 
Swaying from left to right, in combat clenched. 
Till all the housings of their steeds were drenched 
With brutal gore: and ugly blood-drops oozed 
Upon the rocks, from head and hand contused. 
But at the close, when Gualbert stopped to rest, 
His heel was planted on his foeman's breast; 
And looking up, the fallen courtier sees, 
As in a dream, gray rocks and waving trees 
Before his glazing vision faintly float, 
While Gualbert" s sabre glitters at his throat. 

iw Now die. base wretch ! v the victor fiercely cries. 

His heart of hate outflashing from his eyes: 

''Never again, by the all-righteous Lord! 

Shalt thou, with life, escape this trusty sword,— 

Revenge is sweet!' 1 And upward gianced the steel. 

But ere it fell,— dear Lord! a silvery peal 

Of voices chanting in the town below. 

Grave, ghostly voices chanting far below. * 

Rose, like a fountain's from spires of snow, 

And chimed and chimed to. die in echoes slow. 

In the sweet silence following the sound, 

Gual berto and the man upon the ground 

Glared at each other with bewildered eyes 

(The glare of hunted deer on leached hound); 

And then the vanquished, struggling to arise. 

Made one last effort, while his face grew dark 

With pleading agony: "'Gualberto! hark! 

The chant — the hour — thou know'st the olden fashion. 

The monks below intone our Lord's Passion. 


Oh! by this cross!' 1 — and here he caught the hilt 
Of Ghialbert's sword, — "and by the Blood once spilt 
Upon it for us both long years ago, 
Forgive — forget— and spare a fallen foe!"' 

The face that bent above grew white and set 

(Christ or the Demon? — in the balance hung): — 

The lips were drawn, — the brow bedewed with sweat, — 

But on the grass the harmless sword was Hung: 

And stooping down the hero, generous, wrung 

Tiie outstretched hand. Then, lest he lose control 

Of the but half -tamed passions of his soul, 

Fled up the pathway, tearing casque and coat 

To ease the tempest throbbing at his throat; 

Fled up the crags, as if a fiend pursued, 

And paused not till he reached a chapel rude. 

There in the cool, dim stillness, on his knees, 
Trembling, he flings himself, and. startled, sees 
Set in the rock a crucifix antique, 
From which the wounded Christ bends down to speak: 

iC Thou hast done well. Gualberto. For My .sake 
Thou didst forgive thine enemy: now take 
My gracious pardon for thy times of sin, 
And from this dot/ a better life begin." 

White flashed the angels* wings above his head. 
Rare, subtile perfumes through the place were shed; 
And golden harps and sweetest voices poured 
Their glorious losannas to the Lord. 
Who in that hour, and in that chapel quaint, 
Changed by His power, by His dear love's constraint, 
Gual bert the sinner into John the saint. 

Eleanor C. Donnelly. 


William Shakespeare. 

Tradition says that Shakespeare was ever gentle to 
those oi the persecuted Faith of his fathers: and his 

plays show it His speech is ''saturated with the 

Scriptures.' 1 How x could he help it? Had he not in the 
schoolroom gazed every day on the painted story of the 
Cross, and read everywhere, in spite of Henry VIlFs 
barbarity, the symbolism of the church which had filled 
the life of England before the Reformation with the 
beauty of God's word. Though the statues of the saints 
were broken, and their figures in the stained glass win- 
dows defaced, the -church of the Holy Trinity, still 
pointed with its spire towards heaven. Even in Shake- 
speare's later time, all remembrance of the Sacramental 
Presence could not have faded out of Stratford. We 
can imagine Shakespeare walking in the gloaming to- 
wards this old church, with its Gothic windows and 
fretted battlements. The glow-worms waver near him 
as he comes through the avenue of green lime trees, 
near the beech- and yew-shaded graveyard. He has 
come by the shining Avon, from k, the lonesome mead- 
ows beyond where the primroses stand in their golden 
banks among the clover, and the frilled and fluted bell 
of the cowsiip, hiding its single drop of blood, closes its 
petals as the night comes down.' 1 He pauses in the 
nave of the church and there in the soft glow 7 , cast by 
the last shaft of glory from the setting sun, he sees that 
vacant place where, his father has told him, the taber- 
nacle had been. It is gone. Perchance an old woman, 
who had seen the Faith in its glory, lies prostrate, sob- 
bing before the despoiled altar whence her God has been 
torn. And then he murmurs, with his own dying Queen 
Katharine i 


"Spirits of peace, where are you'? Are you all gone 
And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye?" 

— And, folding his hands at his back, he passes back 
through that sweet-scented lane, whose blossoms shall 
fall on his own coffin ere long. His eyes are soft and 
hazel; his cheeks are not as ruddy as when he laid the 
cloth for his father and mother in earlier days; his fore- 
head is dome-like; he wears his customary suit of scar- 
let and black. 80 he goes to New Place, for warden he 
has so long worked, to the demure Judith who waits 
for him, to his little chubby cheeked grandchild, Bess 
Hall. The antlers in the entry, the silver tankards on 
the sideboard, of which his wife and Judith are so 
proud, show dimly in the failing night; he murmurs 
the new song he has lately made for his play of "Cym- 
beline. ,, 

"Fear no more the heat 0' the sun. 
Nor the furious winter's rages: 
Thou thy worldly task has done. 
Home art gone and ta'en thy wages."' 

A swan glides slowly to her nest among the reeds of 
the Avon. "The crimson drops i* the bottom of the 
cowslip," are now quite hid from the sight of the swal- 
low that westward flies across the meadows. William 
Shakespeare, whom God gifted so gloriously, passes 
with the sadness of the gloaming in his soul. 

••And the rest is silence."' 

Maurice F. Egan.