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Cnn Elucution be taught 7 This question has heretofore been Hsked through ignorance: 
it shall hereafter he asked, only through folly. Rush's Philosophy of the Human Voice* 





Entered, according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1845, by 

In the office of the clerk of the district court of the United State* in and 
for the eastern district of Pennsylvania. 



THIS work is a system of Theoretical 
and Practical Elocution. It is de- 
signed for the use of Schools and Colleges, 
as well as for the instruction of private 
individuals who desire to improve them- 
selves in the art of reading and speaking. 
The arrangement of the several parts of 
the work is strictly systematic: each is 
discussed in its natural order, and with as 
much brevity as consists with perspicuity. 
The analysis of the vocal elements of 
the English language, and the minute de- 
scription which is given of their organic 
formation, will be found important, not 
only to the American who is desirous of 
accurate knowledge upon this subject, but 
also to the foreigner who is learning to 
speak our vernacular tongue. And the 
engravings, indicating the most favourable 
postures of the mouth in the energetic 
utterance of the elements, will be found 
a valuable auxiliary in the acquisition of 
this knowledge. 



In ordinary works on Elocution, the inflections of the 
voice are given, but not the changes of pitch, which 
constitute melody. In this work, however, not only are 
the inflections and the melody given, but also those tran- 
sitions in pitch, called modulation, or a change of key 
My method of representing the melody and modula 
tions of the speaking voice, is original ; and, I feel con- 
fident, it will prove of singular advantage to the Stu- 
dent in Elocution. 

The part on gesture is extracted, principally, from 
Austin's Chironomia, a work which is extremely rare, 
and one whose great size and expense are insuperable 
obstacles to its general introduction. All, however, 
that is particularly valuable, which the Chironomia con- 
tains on the subject of gesture, is here presented to the 
reader in the compass of a few pages. Austin's system 
of notation of gesture is of great practical utility. 
This will appear evident to the reader when he shall 
have learned that, by its application, all the gestures 
which an orator makes, in the delivery of a discourse, 
may be accurately recorded for his own practice and 
improvement, as well as for the benefit of posterity. 

In the practical part of this work, are Exercises in 
Articulation, Pitch, Force, Time, and Gesture. These 
are important, not only to the Student in Elocution, but 
also to the Stammerer. In training the muscles of 
speech, as well as those of gesticulation, I begin with 
exercises of the most energetic kind; because these 
only will produce the desired effect: by diligently prac- 
tising energetic exercises, the Student soon acquires a 
strength and compass of voice, a distinctness of utter- 
ance, and a freedom and gracefulness of action, which 


he could not attain by practising those of an opposite 

The Exercises in Reading and Declamation have 
been taken from some of the best ancient and modern 
authors ; and they are well adapted to the purposes of 
the Student in Elocution. They are divided into para- 
graphs, and subdivided into sections. The latter divi- 
sion is marked by vertical bars. In concert reading, 
as soon as a section is pronounced by the teacher, the 
members of the class should repeat it together, in the 
proper pitch and time, and with the requisite degree of 
force. When a paragraph shall have been pronounced 
in this way, it should be read singly by each member 
of the class. Sometimes it will be found advantageous 
to let each pupil, in turn, give out a piece, and the other 
members of the class repeat it after him ; the teacher, 
meanwhile, making the necessary corrections. In fine, 
the exercise of reading should be practised in a variety 
of ways according to circumstances. When a piece 
is given out with gesticulation, the members of the class 
should rise simultaneously, immediately after the first 
section is pronounced, and repeat the words and ges- 
ture. As the organs of speech require much training 
to enable them to perform their functions properly, the 
pupil should repeat the same exercise till he can articu- 
late every element, and give to each syllable the pitch, 
force, and time which the sentiment demands. 

The art of reading and speaking is not inferior in 
importance to any branch of learning ; yet there is none 
more generally neglected. While many of the merely 
ornamental branches are cultivated with zealous assi- 
duity, Elocution is allowed, at best, but a feeble sup- 


port. Among the numerous colleges with which our 
country abounds, there is not, perhaps, a single one 
endowed with a professorship of Elocution ! And 
among our numerous public speakers, how small a num- 
ber can deliver a discourse without having half the body 
concealed by a desk or table ! The orators of classic 
Greece never ensconced themselves behind elevated 
desks, nor " stood upon all fours," as some of our public 
speakers do :* they \yere masters of their art. Hence 
they needed no screen to conceal uncouth attitudes and 
awkward gestures from the scrutinizing eye of criti- 
cism ; nor had occasion to present the crown of the 
head, instead of the face, to the audience, to hide the 
blush of ignorance : they exposed the whole person to 
the audience ; they stood erect, in all the dignity of con- 
scious worth; their attitudes were fit models for the 
statuary; their gestures were replete with grace and 
expression ; their elocution defied criticism. 

Let us endeavour to restore Elocution to its former 
place in the department of useful instruction. Nothing 
is wanted but a correct medium, laudable ambition, and 
common industry, to enable our American youth to 
rival those ancient orators whose eloquence, it is said, 
" shook distant thrones, and made the extremities of the 
earth tremble." 


Philadelphia, November 20, 1841. 

* See Figure 1, page 70. 

NOTE. The Figures which illustrate the subject of this work, 
were drawn and engraved by Croome and Minot; the Diagrams 
were engraved by Mumford. 




Introduction 11 

Preliminary Observations 14 

Elocution . 15 



Vocal Gymnastics 15 

Articulation 16 

Elements of the English Language 18 

Classification of the Elements 19 

The Vowels 21 

The Sub-vowels 23 

The Aspirates 25 

The Postures of the Mouth 27 

Defective Articulation 30 

Lisping 32 

Stammering 33 

Pitch 38 

Keys of the Speaking Voice 46 

Inflections 47 

Melody 52 

Modulation 53 

Force 59 

Time 63 



Gesture 69 

Postures of the Body 69 

Postures unfavourable to Vocal Delivery 70 



Postures favourable to Vocal Delivery 71 

Demonstrating on the Black-board 71 

Manner of Holding the Book 72 

Notation of Gesture 73 

Positions of the Feet and Lower Limbs 76 

Positions, Motions, and Elevations of the Arms 84 

Postures and Motions of the Hands 93 

The Head, the Eyes, the Shoulders, and the Body 104 

The Stroke and Time of Gesture 105 

The Classification of Gesture 108 

The Preparation, Transition, and Accompaniment of Gesture. 113 
The Frequency, Moderation, and Intermission of Gesture. . . . 123 
The Qualities of Gesture, and the Gesture suited to different 

modes of Public Speaking 125 

Significant Gestures 129 

Grace 131 

Synoptical Arrangement of the Notation Letters 134 

Application of the Notation Letters 136 

Questions to be answered by the Pupil 159 




Exercises in Articulation, Pitch, Force, Time, and Gesture . . 167 

Table of the Elements of the English Language 167 

Emphasis Melodies 172 

Interrogative Sentences 174 

Force 176 

Modulation 176 

Tremour 177 

Time and Gesture 178 

Method of Beating Time with the Dumb-Bells 178 

Syllable Rhythm 179 

Poetry Rhythm 179 

First Period of Gesture 182 

Second Period of Gesture 183 

Pronunciation 184 

Declamation 184 

Method of Teaching Declamation 185 

Speech of Satan to his Legions, with Gestures 185 

The Miser and Plutus, with Gestures 192 




Account Current Anonymous 358 

Adams and Jefferson Wirt 353 

An Address to a Young Student Knox 356 

Antony's Oration over Cffisar's Body Shakspeare 252 

Apostrophe to Light Milton 228 

Apostrophe to the Queen of Prance Burke 209 

Battle of Hohenlinden Campbell 204 

Battle of Warsaw Campbell 210 

Battle of Waterloo Byron 211 

Brutus's Oration on the Death of Caesar Shakspeare 250 

Casabianca Mrs. Hemans 338 

Cato's Senate Addison 235 

Cato's Soliloquy Addison 248 

Character of Pitt Robertson 286 

Childe Harold's Address to the Ocean Byron 206 

Clarence's Dream Shakspeare 287 

Darkness Byron 232 

Declaration of Independence Jefferson 306 

Douglas's Account of Himself Home 304 

Edward and Warwick 221 

Elegy written in a Country Churchyard Gray 300 

Extract from a supposed Speech of John Adams, in support of 

American Independence Webster 363 

Genius Akenside 321 

God Derzhavin 267 

Greatness Akenside 322 

Hamlet's Soliloquy Shakspeare 249 

Happy Freedom of the Man whom Grace makes Fiee.Cowper 279 

Hyder Ali , Burke 230 

Hymn to the Deity Thomson 262 

Industry necessary to the Attainment of Eloquence Ware 333 

Knowledge De Witt Clinton 364 

Lines supposed to have been written by Alexander Selkirk, dur- 
ing his solitary abode on the Island of Juan Fernandez Cowper 179 

Lochiel's Warning Campbell 217 

Lochinvar Scott 336 

Marco Bozzaris Halleck 213 

Mariner's Hymn Mrs. Southey 298 

Meeting of Satan, Sin, and Death Milton 339 

Moses Smiting the Rock Van Vranken 326 

Motives to the Practice of Gentleness Blair 329 

Night Thoughts Young 315 


Ode on the Passions Collins 256 

Ossian's Address to the Sun 203 

Paper Franklin 325 

Perpetual Adoration Moore 294 

Pitt's Reply to Walpole 319 

Reception of Columbus on his return to Spain W. Irving 349 

Scene from Pizarro Kotzebue 295 

Schemes of Life often Illusory Dr. Johnson 359 

Sincerity Tilhtson 343 

Speech of Cicero against Verres 244 

Speech of Lord Chatham 225 

Speech of Patrick Henry 259 

Speech of Rolla R. B. Sheridan 205 

Speech of Satan to his Legions Milton 201 

Speech of Satan, with Gestures 185 

Tell's Address to the Mountains Knowles 203 

Thanatopsis Bryant 241 

The American Flag Drake <$> Hallcck 328 

The Burial of Sir John Moore Wolfe 281 

The Chameleon Merrick 275 

The Exile of Erin Campbell 280 

The Destruction of Senacherib Byron 335 

The Grave of Franklin Miss C. H. Waterman 305 

The Heavens and the Earth show the Glory and Wisdom of. 

their Creator Goldsmith 282 

The Hermit Beattie 220 

The Importance of Order in the Distribution of our Time Blair 331 

The Invocation Mrs. Hemans 278 

The Journey of a Day Dr. Johnson 311 

The Land that we Live in C. W. Thomson 316 

The Mariner's Dream Dimond 265 

The Miser and Plutus Gay 138 

The Miser and Plutus, with Gestures 192 

The Rose Cowper 181 

The Three Warnings Mrs. Thrale 272 

The Union of the States Webster 345 

Time Van Vranken 327 

To the Ursa Major Ware 290 

Without God in the World Rev. Robert Hall 270 

Wolsey's Farewell to Cromwell Shakspeare 318 

Wolsey's Soliloquy Shakspeare 317 

Woman R. H. Townsend 255 

Woman Campbell 342 


// >^ n> ^^. KS 



A N is designed for action. Na- 
ture has so constituted him, that 
both body and mind require 
daily exercise to develope their 
powers, and maintain them in a 
vigorous and healthy condition. 
The truth of this remark is 
manifest from constant observation and experience those 
who lead active, bustling lives, conjoined with temperance 
and prudence, commonly possess robust frames, and healthy 
constitutions; while the sedentary and the indolent are 
enervated and sickly. 

We find the same results from the exercise of the mental 
faculties. He whose mind is constantly employed in the 
acquisition of knowledge, usually retains his mental facul- 
ties unimpaired to the last. But not so with the man of ease 
and indolence. After the meridian of life, the powers of his 
mind, with those of the body, become weaker, and weaker, 
and he finally leaves the world as he entered it a child. 

The health and strength of the body, therefore, mainly 
depend on the number of muscles that are frequently called 
into action, and the degree of rational exercise through 
which they pass. Now there are few, if any, whose daily 
avocations are so varied as to bring into requisition all the 
muscles of the body : hence the necessity of gymnastic exer- 

The term, gymnastics, in its widest sense, signifies all 
bodily exercises; in a more limited sense, "exercises syste- 
matically adapted to develope the physical powers, and pre- 
serve them in perfection, which constitutes the art of gym* 
nasties properly so called." 



These exercises, when commenced in youth, develope the 
muscles, give agility to the limbs, and promote the various 
lunctions of the animal system: in this way they impart 
strength and consistency to the body, and lay the founda- 
tion of lasting health : and even when commenced in man- 
hood, they invigorate the frame, and brace it against the 
infirmities of age. 

By the frequent and energetic exercise of the muscles, 
they are brought completely under the control of volition, 
which is a powerful auxiliary to every variety of action. 
Hence Gymnastics are not only useful because they exert a 
healthful influence upon the body ; but because they lay a 
good, foundation for the easy acquisition of every mechanic 

From what has been said of Gymnastics in general, it may 
readily be conceived that very important advantages may 
be derived from vocal gymnastics. 

By the term, VOCAL GYMNASTICS, may be understood the 
principles of the human voice as employed in speech and 
song, as well as the training of the organs by which this 
voice is produced. The principles are the science of the 
voice the training, the exercise of the organs, necessary 
to develope their powers, and enable them to act with rapid- 
ity, precision, and effect. 

Vocal Gymnastics give the pupil complete command of 
the muscles of articulation, extend the compass of the voice, 
and render it smooth, powerful, and melodious. They not 
only call forth all the energies of the vocal organs, correct 
stammering, lisping, &c. ; but they invigorate the lungs, and, 
consequently, fortify them against the invasion of disease. 

All the blood, in the course of its circulation, passes through 
the lungs, where it undergoes a change, not only essential 
to health, but also to life. Whenever their function, there- 
fore, is interrupted by debility, or disease, the blood is dete- 
riorated, and the whole system suffers; in fact, the very 
citadel of life is sapped, and nothing but a restoration of 
these organs to their natural condition, will effect a return 
of general health. Indeed, the lungs are of so much impor- 


tance in the animal economy, that the complete suspension 
of their office is followed by speedy dissolution. 

Hence such healthful measures should be adopted as are 
calculated to invigorate the pulmonary apparatus, and ena- 
ble it to maintain its integrity. One of the most hopeful 
expedients for this purpose, is a well-regulated and perse- 
vering course of vocal gymnastics. 

Were we to exercise our voices a few minutes, every day, 
according to just principles, the number of deaths from pul- 
monary affections, especially consumption, I have no doubt, 
would be greatly diminished. 

While Vocal Gymnastics give a keenness to appetite, they 
are a powerful means of promoting digestion. A young 
clergyman entered my Vocal Gymnasium, for the purpose 
of improving his elocution as well as his health. He laboured 
under dyspepsia which was attended with loss of appetite, 
general debility, languor, and dejection of spirits. But in 
twelve days after he commenced the exercises, there was a 
radical change in his mental and physical condition : he had 
become very cheerful ; and, to use his own words, his appe- 
tite was ravenous. Nor is this a solitary case numerous 
others might be cited with the like happy result. 

My pupils have frequently told me that they always feel 
invigorated by the exercises. A gentleman who was for- 
merly a pupil of mine, and who had been in the practice of 
resorting to a common gymnasium for the benefit of his 
health, assured me that he derived more advantage from his 
vocal, than from his athletic exercises. Let the individuals, 
therefore, who visit those gymnasia, designed only for the 
exercise of the limbs, not neglect the equally important 
gymnastics of the pulmonary organs. 


As ELOCUTION is intimately connected with the voice, and 
as every reader may not be prepared to enter upon a minute 
development of its various principles, the following Prelimi- 
nary Observations may be of some advantage. 

Voice is sound, produced by the agitation of air when 
forcibly expelled from the lungs. 

The attributes of the voice, are general and special. The 
general attributes are pitch and force, and are common to 
all voices. The special attributes are those peculiarities 
which render one voice more agreeable, or disagreeable, 
than another, as sweetness, harshness, &c. 

The acuteness and gravity of the voice depend on the 
contractions and dilatations of the vocal tube. 

The degree of loudness of the voice, is in proportion to the 
expulsive effort, and to the resistance which the air meets 
on its passage through the glottis. 

When air is forcibly expelled from the lungs, and not suf- 
ficient resistance given to its egress to produce what is gene- 
rally understood by the term voice, an aspirated, or whis- 
pered sound is the result. 

From voice articulated by the motions of the lips, tongue, 
and other parts of the mouth, is produced oral language. 
Hence oral language is not inaptly termed articulated voice. 

There are two varieties of oral language song, and speech. 
In several respects they resemble each other. Thus the 
notes, both of song, and speech, var)*- in pitch, force, and 
time. The most striking difference between them, is this : 
a note of song is maintained in one range of pitch from its 
commencement to its termination ; but a note of speech is 
varied in pitch during its prolongation. If you prolong the 
letter a, in one range of pitch, thus : 


you will have an example of a note of song. If you Utter it 
interrogatively, and affirmatively, thus : 

a"\ d. 

you will have two varieties of the note of speech : the voice 
in the interrogation, moving from a grave pitch to one more 
acute ; in the affirmation, from acute to grave. 

Perhaps enough has been said by way of preliminaries. 
The principles here mentioned, together with the various 
others, are methodically presented, fully discussed, and dia- 
gramically illustrated, in the course of the work. 



LOCUTION is vocal delivery. 
It may be said to comprise both a 
science f and an art. The science 
embraces the principles which con- 
stitute the basis of reading and 
speaking ; the art, the practical ap- 
plication of these principles. 

Elocution is naturally divided into two parts ; namely, 
Vocal Gymnastics, and Gesture. 

Vocal Gymnastics is the philosophy of the human 
voice, as well as the art of training the vocal organs 
in speech and song. 

Gesture is the various postures, and motions, em- 
ployed in vocal delivery. 



philosophy of the human voice, 
as well as the art of training 
the vocal organs, in speech and 

Vocal Gymnastics is subdi- 
vided as follows : 


2. PITCH, 4. TIME. 
ARTICULATION is the act of forming, with the organs 

of speech, the elements of vocal language. 

PITCH is the degree of the elevation of sounds. 


FORCE is the degree of the loudness of sounds. 
TIME is the measure of sounds in regard to their 



' c forming,with the organs of speech, 
the elements of vocal language. 

These elements may be formed 
separately, as in the utterance of 
the letters of the alphabet, as 
well as conjunctively, as in the 
pronunciation of words. 
By the utterance of the letters of the alphabet is not meant the 
pronunciation of the mere names of the letters, but the formation 
of the various sounds which the letters represent. 

A good articulation is the perfect utterance of the 
elements of vocal language. 

The first step towards becoming a good elocutionist, 
is a correct articulation. " A public speaker, possessed 
of only a moderate voice, if he articulates correctly, 
will be better understood, and heard with greater 
pleasure, than one who vociferates without judgment. 
The voice of the latter may indeed extend to a conside- 
rable distance, but the sound is dissipated in confusion. 
Of the former voice not the smallest vibration is wast- 
ed, every stroke is perceived at the utmost distance to 
which it reaches ; and hence it has often the appear- 
ance of penetrating even farther than one which is 
loud, but badly articulated. 

" In just articulation, the words are not to be hurried 
over, nor precipitated syllable over syllable ; nor, as it 
were, melted together into a mass of confusion : they 


should not be trailed, or drawled, nor permitted to slip 
out carelessly, so as to drop unfinished. They should 
be delivered from the lips as beautiful coins newly 
issued from the mint, deeply and accurately impressed, 
neatly struck by the proper organs, distinct, in due 
succession, and of due weight."* 

Without good articulation, it is impossible to be & 
correct reader, or speaker. Those who have been ac 
customed to pronounce their words in a careless or slo- 
venly manner, will find it difficult, even with their 
best efforts, to utter them distinctly. The organs of 
articulation, for the want of proper exercise, become, 
as it were, paralyzed. The pupil, therefore, at the 
very commencement of his studies, should be conduct- 
ed through a series of exercises, calculated to strengthen 
the muscles of articulation, and render them obedient 
to the will. The best method for effecting these pur- 
poses, is to exercise the voice on the elements of speech ; 
first, on each element separately ; f secondly, on va- 
rious combinations. 

Under the head, PRACTICAL ELOCUTION, will be found a variety 
of Exercises on the Elements of the English language, which are 
calculated to develope the voice, increase its compass, and give 
flexibility to the muscles of articulation. In that part of this work 
of the sounds liable to be omitted or imperfectly articulated, are re- 
presented by italic letters. Hence the reader, if he pay proper 
attention to the subject, will have no difficulty in correcting all 
ordinary defects in his utterance. 

The value of vocal gymnastics cannot be duly appreciated by 
those who have not experienced, or witnessed, their beneficial re- 
sults. But, I feel confident, the time is not far distant when these 
exercises will be considered, by all intelligent persons, an essential 
part of primary instruction. 

* AUSTIN'S CHIRONOMIA, p. 37, 38. 

t " When the elements are pronounced singly, they may re- 
ceive a concentration of the organic effort, which gives them a 
clearness of sound and a definite outline, if I may so speak, at their 
extremes, that make a fine preparative for a distinct and forcible 
pronunciation in the compounds of speech." Rush's Philosophy 
of the Human Voice. 

2* B 




THE Elements of vocal language are the Sounds of 
which words are composed. These sounds are repre- 
sented by graphic characters, called letters. 

The number of letters in the English language, is 
twenty-six ; but the number of elements is thirty-eight. 
Hence, as the number of elements exceeds the number 
of their literal signs, the same letter is employed, in 
different situations, to represent different sounds/ Thus 
a represents four different sounds ; e, two ; i, two ; o, 
three ; u, three ; z, two ; and there are six sounds, each 
of which is represented by two letters ou, ng, sh, wk, 
th in then, and th in thin. - (See p. 19 and 20.) If we 
had a perfect alphabet, every elementary sound would 
be represented by its appropriate character.* 

* That men have accomplished much by furnishing the world 
with literature, art, and science, will be conceded by all. Nor will 
it be denied by any that there remains much to be done to carry all 
human institutions to their acme of excellence. Among the nu- 
merous proofs that our institutions have not attained their highest 
possible degree of perfection, is the fact that the world is now fur- 
nished with as much genius for contrivance, wisdom for invention, 
and judgment for application, as at any former period. He, there- 
fore, who advocates the doctrine of present perfection in human 
productions, suggests, at least, the possibility that that amount of 
mind which is unnecessary to the successful application of the pre- 
sent principles, means, and inventions to their respective purposes, 
is rendered a redundancy by the want of appropriate subjects upon 
which to operate. The English language, though by no means far 
advanced in years, has already been the subject of much concur- 
rent, and individual action ; yet there is hardly one part of it which 
is not marred with defect, or deficiency. Even the English alpha- 
bet suffers from both these imperfections. To attain perfection in 
any thing, is, perhaps, beyond the power of man, especially in the 
medium of communicating his ideas. But although perfection in lan- 
guage can hardly be expected, yet, there is a degree of excellence 
which is not so difficult of attainment as to render all exertion una- 



The elements, as well as the letters by which they 
are represented, are usually divided into two classes, 
Vowels and Consonants. A more philosophical divi- 
sion, however, is into three classes, Vowels, Subvowels, 
and Aspirates. 

The vowels are pure vocal sounds ; their number is 

The subvowels have a vocality, but inferior to that 
of the vowels ; their number is fourteen. 

The aspirates are made with the whispering breath, 
and, consequently, have no vocality ; they are nine in 

Classification of the Elements. 






as heard in ale, day, fate, 

arm, farm, 

all, law, for, 

an, man, idea, 

eve, see, deed, 

end, met, err, 

ile, fly, pine, 

in, pin, 

old, no, more, 

lose, too, move, 

on, lock, not, 

twbe, few, pupil, 

up, her, Imrt, 

full, pull, wolf, 

our, now, flowr, 

and in eie. 
arme, gaz, gaze. 









vailing. There are thirty-eight elements in theEnglish alphabet, and, 
to represent these elements by appropriate characters, we should 
have thirty-eight letters. There is, then, a deficiency in our alphabet 
of twelve letters and he who shall supply this imperfection, will 
be one of the greatest benefactors of the human race. This work 
must be done before our orthography can be rendered consistent, 
our pronunciation natural and uniform, and our language easy of 
acquisition. Until this is accomplished, words must be spelled one 
way, and pronounced another indeed, two languages must be 
learned, instead of one. Should the English language, as some 
confidently expect, become the language of the world, the advan- 
tages in which a complete alphabet would result, can be conceived 
by those only who have duly reflected upon the subject 


SUBVOWELS. English. French. 

b as heard in bow, or&, barb, and in bon. 

d ......... day, bid, did, ..... Dieu. 

......... Zight, all, lull, ..... Zoup 

m ......... mind, storm, maim, ..... won. 

n ......... no, on, nine, ..... won. 

ng ......... song, think, ..... ag-weau (nearly). 

r ...... . . roll, war, rare, ..... roue. 

TH ......... i-nen, wiTH, ..... - 

v ......... vile, Hue, value, ..... uil. 

w ......... wo, went, w>orld, ..... oui (nearly). 

y ......... yoke, yonder, ..... yacht. 

is ......... zone, his, prism, ..... zone. 

J ......... azure, enclosure, ..... jardin. 


f ......... fame, if, drift, ..... /emme. 

h ......... hut, Aence, ..... - 

k ......... /cite, wrecit, kick, ..... cor. 

p ......... pit, up, ..... joapa.r 

s ......... sin, nice, crisp, ..... soeur. 

sh ......... shade, push, flushed, ..... chaise. 

t ......... tin, it, tart, ..... tour. 

th ......... thin, truth, months, ..... - 

wh ......... what, when, which, ..... - 

The reader may ask why C, J, Q, and X, have not been classed 
with the elements. These letters have no sounds which are not 
represented, in the above scheme, by other letters. C has three 
sounds the sound of k, as in cat; that of s, as in cedar, and that 
of sh, as in ocean. J expresses the combined sounds of d and z in 
azure. Q has the sound of k. X, as in exercise, expresses the 
combined sounds of A; and s ; in example, the combined sounds of 
g and 2 in zone ; in anxious, the combined sounds of k and sh. In 
Xenophon, x has the sound of z in zone.* 

* X in Xenophon was pronounced by the ancient Greeks as we 
pronounce x in exercise, thus Ksenophon; and 1 am informed by 
Mr. Castanis, a native of the island of Scio, that the modern Greeks 
BO pronounce it. 




THE vowels are divided into Monothongs, Diph- 
thongs, and Triphthongs. 

The Monothongs consist of one kind of sound through- 
out their concrete movement, and consequently are 
simple elements ; they are represented by the italics in 
the following words : 

arm, all, an, eve, end, in, on, up, full. 

The Diphthongs consist of two vowel sounds, which 
coalesce so intimately that they appear like one uni- 
form sound ; they are represented by the italics in the 
following words : 

ale, tie, lose, tube. 

The diphthong a, as well as i, has a characteristic 
sound for its radical, and the monothong, !, for its van- 
ish. These diphthongs, under certain circumstances 
(for instance, when they are carried through a wide 
range of pitch, as in interrogation with surprise), are 
converted into triphthongs, the third constituent being 
the monothong, e. 

The diphthong 6, as well as u, has a characteristic 
sound for its radical, and the subvowel w, for its vanish. 

The Triphthongs consist of three vowel sounds which 
coalesce so intimately that they appear like one uni- 
form sound ; they are represented by the italics, in the 
following words : 

old, our. 

The first constituent of 6, as well as that of ou, is a 
sound characteristic of this element; and the diph- 
thong 6 constitutes the second and the third constitu- 
ent of these triphthongs. 

The following scheme is an analysis of the diph- 
thongs and triphthongs. The reader will observe that 



the letters which are employed to represent the diph- 
thongs and triphthongs, are used under the head, Con- 
stituents, to represent their radicals only. 

Diphthongs. Constituents. 

cl A I 

i 1 i 

6 6 w 

u ft w 

Triphthongs. Constituents. 
'k* i I fe 


6 6 w 
ou 6 w 

There is one diphthong, and three triphthongs, be- 
sides those already noticed; they are represented by 
the italics, in the following words : 
oil, ay, boy, buoy. 

But, as all their constituents are to be found among 
the fifteen vowels before enumerated, they do not in- 
crease the number of the elements. This may be seen 
by the following analysis : 

Diphthong. Constituents. 
oi I 

Triphthongs. Constituents, 
ay & i 

oy i I 

uoy 6 1 & 

During the utterance of a monothong, the aperture 
of the mouth remains stationary ; but during that of a 
diphthong, or triphthong, the aperture is gradually di- 
minished till the commencement of the last constituent; 
it then remains stationary till the sound is ended. 
This is illustrated by the following diagrams : 

Diagram 1. Diag. 2. Diag. 3. 

The opening of the tube (Diag. 1,) represents the 
aperture of the mouth in the utterance of the mono- 

* I have said that & and 1 are sometimes diphthongs, and some- 
times triphthongs ; hence, above, they appear under both heads. 


thong a, and the length of the tube represents the du- 
ration of the sound. 

The large end of Diag. 2 represents the aperture of 
the mouth in commencing the utterance of the diph- 
thong 6 the portion of the figure between 6 and iv, 
shows the gradual diminution of the aperture of the 
mouth during the utterance of the first constituent, and 
the remaining portion shows the stationary position of 
the aperture of the mouth during the utterance of the 
second constituent. 

The large end of Diag. 3, represents the aperture of 
the mouth in commencing the utterance of the triph- 
thong 6 the portion of the figure between 6 and 6, 
shows the gradual diminution of the aperture of the 
mouth during the utterance of the first constituent 
the portion between 6 and w, shows the gradual dimi- 
nution of the aperture of the mouth during the utter- 
ance of the second constituent ; and the remaining por- 
tion of the figure, the stationary position of the aperture 
of the mouth during the utterance of the third constitu- 



B CONSISTS of a vocal sound and an aspirate. The 
first constituent is formed with the lips closed ; the 
second, by aspirating the vowel u, at the moment of 
their separation.* 

When B is doubled, as in rabbit, the second constituent of the 
first B is omitted. When B is whispered, the second constituent 
only is heard. When words in which B is doubled are whispered, 
the first B is mute. 

D consists of a vocal sound and an aspirate. The 
first constituent is formed with the tip of the tongue 

* Care should be taken not to make the second constituent vocal. 


pressed against the gums of the upper incisory teeth ; 
the second, by aspirating the vowel u at the moment 
of its removal.* 

When D is doubled, as in addition, the second constituent of the 
first D is omitted. When D is whispered, the second constituent 
only is heard. When words in which D is doubled are whispered, 
the first D is mute. 

G consists of a vocal sound and an aspirate. The 
first constituent is formed with the root of the tongue 
pressed against the curtain, or vail of the palate ; f the 
second, by aspirating the vowel u at the moment of its 

When G is doubled, as in haggard, the second constituent of 
the first G is omitted. When G is whispered, the second constitu- 
ent only is heard. When words in which G is doubled are whis- 
pered, the first G is mute. 

L is a vocal sound, made with the tip of the tongue 
pressed against the gums of the upper incisory teeth. 

M is a nasal sound, made with the lips closed. 

N is a nasal sound, formed with the tip of the tongue 
pressed against the gums of the upper incisory teeth. 

NG, as in song, is a nasal sound, formed with the 
root of the tongue pressed gently against the curtain 
of the palate. 

R is a vocal sound, of which there are two varieties. 
The first is called the trilled R, and is made by caus- 
ing the tongue to vibrate against the gums of the upper 
incisor teeth, while the breath is propelled through the 
mouth ; the second is called the smooth R, and is made 
with the tip of the tongue elevated towards the centre 
of the roof of the mouth. R should be trilled when it 
precedes a vowel, as in roll, crush, &c, ; but when it 
follows a vowel, as in air, orb, &c., it should be made 

I have met with a number of individuals who could not trill the 
R, and others who did it with difficulty. Those who cannot trill it 

Care should be taken not to make the second constituent vocal. 
In the language of anatomy, velum pendulum palati. 


in a graceful manner, had oetter not attempt it in public ; let such, 
however, not despair their vocal organs may be rendered flexible 
by frequent and energetic exercise. 

TH, as in then, is a compound of vocality and aspi- 
ration, formed with the tip of the tongue resting against 
the inner surface of the upper incisory teeth. 

V is a compound of vocality and aspiration. It is 
formed with the under lip pressed against the edge of 
the upper incisory teeth. 

W is a vocal sound, formed with the lips contracted 
as in the act of whistling. 

Y is a vocal sound, formed with the lips and teeth a 
little separated. 

Z, as in zone, is a buzzing sound, a compound of vo- 
cality and aspiration. It is formed by pressing the 
tip of the tongue gently against the gums of the upper 
incisors, and forcing out the breath. 

Z, as in azure, is a compound of vocality and aspi- 
ration. It is formed with the tip of the tongue nearly 
in the same position as is z in zone, though dra\vn a 
little further back, and somewhat widened, so as to 
enlarge the aperture formed by its upper surface and 
the roof of the mouth, through which the breath is 



F, LIKE V, is formed with the under lip pressed 
against the upper incisory teeth. 

H is the inceptive part of a vowel sound, aspirated 
in a particular way. H may be uttered in as many 
varieties of ways a.s there are vowels in the language ; 
each requiring the same posture of the mouth, which 
the vowel itself requires. 

K is formed by pressing the root of the tongue against 


the curtain of the palate, and then aspirating the 
vowel u. 

When this element is doubled, as infakle (pronounced flkkl) the 
first k is mute. 

P is formed by closing the lips, and then aspirating 
the vowel u. 

When this element is doubled, as in happy, the first P is mute. 

S is a hissing sound, and, like z in zone, is formed 
with the tip of the tongue pressed gently against the 
gums of the upper incisory teeth. It is nearly the same 
as z in zone aspirated. 

SH is formed with the tongue in the same position 
as is z in azure. SH is nearly the same sound as z in 
azure, aspirated. 

T is formed by pressing the tip of the tongue against 
the gums of the upper incisory teeth, and then aspirat- 
ing the vowel u.* 

When T is doubled, as in attempt, the first T is mute. 

TH, as in thin, like th in then, is formed with the 
tip of the tongue pressed against the upper incisory 
teeth. It is nearly the same sound as the subvowel 
TH aspirated. 

WH is the inceptive part of the vowel u aspirated 
in a particular way. The sound which is produced, 
in the formation of this element, is nearly the same as 
hu, whispered. WH requires the s; posture of the 
mouth that the vowe* u requires. 

That hu and wh are n t identical, may be proved by pronounc- 
ing 1 , alternately, the wo ds hoom and whoom, and observing the 
contrast between them. 

* Although of no practical importance, it may not be uninterest- 
ing to the philosophic reader to know that the, second constituent 
of the subvowels B, D, G, and of the aspirnVt, K, P, T, is formed 
by aspirating the vowel ft only when these elements are uttered 
singly, when they are final, and when they .re followed by a con- 
sonant. When they are followed by a t".\' < . their second consti- 
tuent is formed by aspirating that vowel >s may be rendered 
obvious by pronouncing forcibly, and del ly, the words, Bay, 
Day, Gay, and Kay, Pay, Tay, or any oth^r words, in which B, D, 
G, and K, P, T are followed by vowels. 




AN accurate knowledge of the positions which the 
organs of articulation should assume in the formation 
of the several elements of vocal language, is very im- 
portant to those who would speak with ease and ele- 
gance. To aid the reader still further in the acquisi- 
tion of this knowledge, he is furnished with the various 
postures of the mouth, required in uttering the elements 
energetically, and singly. 

The elements are grouped according to the posture 
in which the mouth should be when they are formed. 
It will be seen that the Diphthongs and Triphthongs 
have each two postures of the mouth one at the 
commencement, the other at the termination of the sound. 

These postures are, of course, more or less modified, 
when the elements are uttered in their various combi- 
nations, and with different degrees of force. 

The pupil should exercise his organs of speech, in the 
most forcible manner, three times a week, and, if pos- 
sible, even every day, on all the elements. The vow- 
els should be exploded from the throat, both interroga- 
tively and affirmatively, in every range of pitch within 
the compass of the voice, and with every possible de- 
gree of force. 

The vowels are exploded in the following manner: 
make a full inspiration, close the glottis, and contract 
the muscles of expiration so as to condense the air in 
the lungs, then utter the element with a sudden and 
forcible emission of the breath. The sounds thus pro- 
duced may be denominated vocal thunder; the effect 
upon an audience! is electrical. 

This exercise strengthens the vocal organs, and ena- 
bles the speaker to be heard at a great distance, with 
very little effort, pr expenditure of breath. It is also 
beneficial to healli'. 



azure 1 






ARTICULATION is defective when one or more ele- 
ments of a word are omitted, or imperfectly formed ; or 
when one element is substituted for another. 

Defective articulation is exceedingly common : per- 
haps there is not one individual in ten thousand whose 
articulation is perfect. This arises from the neglect of 
a proper gymnastic training of the organs of speech in 
childhood. As soon as children are capable of imitating 
sounds, they should be taught the elements of vocal 
language ; and, to facilitate their acquisition of this 
knowledge, they should be made to exercise before a 
mirror, so as to compare the movements of their own 
lips with those of the lips of their instructor. By pur- 
suing this course, a good foundation will be laid for a 
perfect and graceful articulation. 

In that part of this work which ^-"insists of EXERCISES 
IN READING AND DECLAMATION, all, or nearly all, the 
letters representing sounds liable to be omitted, or im- 
perfectly articulated, are italicised. Hence it. is not 
necessary to furnish examples, ar reat of the subject 
minutely, in this place. There a r v, however, some in- 
stances of defective articulation, v aich are not pointed 
out by the italic letters these are so important that 
they deserve special notice. I allude to those cases in 
which one element is substituted for another. The 
remainder of this chapter will be devoted to their con- 

Children are apt to substitute the sound of d for that 
of g in gay ; and the sound of t for that of k, or c in 
cat. Thus, for gay, they say day ; for cake, tate> &c. 

To enable the pupil to correct these faults, I explain 
to him the manner in which the sou* ds of g and k are 


produced they are formed by pressing the root of 
the tongue against the soft palate, and not, like d and 
t by pressing its tip against the gums of the upper 
incisors. I then direct him to pronounce, after me, the 
elements, d, g, and t, k, and the syllables da, ga 9 and 
ta, ka, thus : 

d, g; d,g; d, g; d, g; d, g; d, g; d, g; d, g; d, g. 
t, k ; t, k ; t, k ; t, k ; t, k ; t, k ; t, k ; t, k ; t, k. 

da, ga ; d^, g. ; da, gi ; da, ga ; d&, g& ; d, g ; &c. 

ta, ka; t^, ka; ta, ka; ta, ka; t, k& ; tfe, k ; &c. 

The object of this exercise is to contrast the substituted 
sound with the correct one. 

When this plan does not prove successful, I open my 
mouth as widely as possible, so that the tip of the 
tongue cannot touch the gums of the upper teeth, and 
request the pupil to open his in like manner. I then 
direct him to pronounce, after me, the following sylla- 
bles : 

ga, ga, ga, g ; ge, g ; gl, gl ; g6, g6, g6 ; gu, gu, gu ; gou. 
ka, ka, ka, k& ; kfe, k ; kl, kl ; k6, k6, k6 ; ku, ki, ki ; kou. 
ag, feg, ig, 6g, 6g, oug ; ak, 6k, Ik, 6k, fik, ouk. 

When neither of these schemes proves successful, I 
request the pupil to press his tongue downwards, and 
backwards, with his index finger, while I do the same, 
and pronounce, after me, the syllables in the preceding 
exercise. This I have never known to fail. 

Some children omit the element z, when it follows d, 
and the element . -h when it follows t ; for instance, they 
pronounce John, ?, and Charles, tarles, &c.* My 
method of corm i i ig these defects is to contrast the 
false pronunciation with the true one, as in the follow- 
ing exercise : 

da, d*a; da, .iia : da, d2a; da, dSa; dfe, d2&; &c. 

ta, tsha; ta, t?hA; ta, tsha; ta, tsha ; t, tsh&; &c. 

* J is a compound of d and z in azure; and ch is equivalent to 


The v and w are confounded by some perons ; for 
instance, when they would say vine, they say wine, and 
vice versa. An attention to the proper postures of the 
mouth, in the production of these elements will soon 
enable the pupil to correct this fault.* (See pos- 
tures of the mouth, page 28.) The following exercise, 
founded on the principle of contrast, should be fre- 
quently practised by the pupil, in the most energetic 

v, wi ; vS,, W& ; 4 V&, wli ; v&, wS. ; ve, we ; ve, we ; &c. 
w&, v&; w&, v; w, va ; wa, va; we, ve ; we, ve ; &c. 

In correcting faults in articulation, I often find it 
advantageous to exercise the pupil before a mirror, that 
he may observe the contrast between the movements 
of his own mouth, and those of mine. 


Lisping is the substitution of the sound of th for that 
of some other letter, generally for that of s in sin. 
Thus the words, sale, send, sight, song, &c., are pro- 
nounced thole, thend, thigh t, thong ,, &c. 

The lisper should be told, that, it forming the sound 
of th, the tip of the tongue is pressed gently against 
the inner surface of the upper incisor teeth ; whereas, 
in forming that of s, it is placed, in like manner, against 
the gums of the upper incisor teeth. Hence, to avoid 
making th for s, the tongue should be drawn back a 
little, and its point turned upwar ainst the gums of 
the upper teeth. In the correction >f lisping, the fol- 
lowing exercise may be practised with advantage : 

tha, sa; tha, sa; tha, sa ; tha, sa; J.i , se ; th, th ; &c. 

* A young gentleman recently entered my institution who had 
many faults in his utterance. Among other? was the singular one 
of pronouncing vw for v: for vine, he said vwine; for vale, vwale, 
&c. This, as well as the other numerous faults with which his 
pronunciation was marred, arose from th'-; want of proper instruc- 
tion upon the use of the organs of speech. 


The defects of articulation, in which one element 
is substituted for another, are numerous ; but, as the 
method of treatment is similar in all, it is presumed 
enough has been said to enable the teacher to manage 
them successfully, particularly as appropriate exer- 
cises, for most of them, will be found in the practical 
part of this work. 



STAMMERING is a functional derangement of the or- 
gans of speech, which renders them incapable, under 
certain circumstances, of promptly obeying the com- 
mands of the will. 

In a majority of cases, the cause of this affection 
operates through the medium of the mind. 

Stammering is cured by a regular course of hygienic 
elocution. But, as the disease exists under a variety 
of forms, it requires a variety of treatment. And, as 
the treatment is medico-elocutional, he who would 
apply it successfully, must unite the skill of the elocu- 
tionist with that of the physician. The idea that non- 
medical men are capable of discharging the duties of 
applying the remedies to complicated complaints of 
the human body, is a sui generis in logic, and a bane 
in the practice of the healing art. 

As a full consideration of the subject of stammering 
is not compatible with the design of this work ; and, as 
I am preparing for publication another which will 
treat exclusively of impediments of speech, I shall con- 
clude the present chapter with the following 

Remarks on Stammering, from a Lecture on Elocution 
delivered before the American Lyceum, May 6, 1837, 
by Andrew Comstock, M.D. 

For the last ten years the author of these REMARKS has 
been engaged in an investigation of the philosophy of the 



human voice, with a view to the formation of a system of 
just ELOCUTION, and to the discovery of the true means for 
he has succeeded in his attempt, is not for him to say. His 
system is the result of his own reflection and experience ; 
and, as it is founded in philosophy, it is the only true system. 
The following pages contain the mere outlines of the system. 
The work itself will be presented to the public as soon as 
the author's other labours will permit. 

Stammering or stuttering is a hesitation or interruption of speech, 
and is usually attended with more or less distortion of feature. 
This affection presents itself under a variety of forms ; but my limits 
will not allow me to give a particular description of them. I will 
notice only the most striking. 

In some cases, the stammerer makes an effort to speak, and all 
his breath is expelled without producing vocality ; in others, the 
lips are spasmodically closed : these two forms often occur in the 
same case. Sometimes the stammerer, while speaking or reading, 
loses all power over the vocal organs, and remains some moments 
with his mouth open, before he can recover sufficient energy to 
proceed. In many cases, the stammerer repeats the word imme- 
diately preceding the one he is attempting to pronounce, or he re- 
peats, in a rapid manner, the first element, or the first syllable, of 
the difficult word. 

CAUSES. The predisposing causes are nervous irritability and 
delicacy of constitution. 

The most usual exciting causes are diffidence, embarrassment, a 
fear of not being successful when about to make an effort to speak, 
an attempt to speak faster than the vocal organs can assume the 
proper positions for utterance. Two or more of these causes often 
occur in the same case. Sometimes the habit of stammering is 
acquired by imitation. 

The proximate cause of stammering is a spasmodic action of the 
muscles of speech. 

PROGNOSIS. The probability of a cure depends upon the follow- 
ing circumstances : If the stammerer has a cheerful disposition, is 
distinguished for energy of mind and decision of character, can ap- 
preciate the variations of pitch in speech and song, or, in other 
words, has an ear for music and a taste for elocution, the prognosis 
is favourable. But if he is of a nervous temperament, subject to 
melancholy, irresolute of purpose, incapable of imitation in speaking 
and singing, the prognosis is unfavourable. 

TREATMENT. The stammerer should be impressed with the 
importance, nay, necessity, of giving exclusive attention to the sub- 
ject ; arid he should not be allowed to converse with any one till 


he can speak without stammering. These rules cannot be too 
strongly enforced. I am fully persuaded of this from my own ex- 
perience. Several stammerers, who have placed themselves under 
my care, taking but two or three lessons a week, and attending to 
their usual avocations, have left me disappointed ; while those who 
have given undivided attention to the subject, have been entirely 
relieved. True, many are more or less benefited even by occasion 
ally taking a lesson ; but it is very difficult, by any irregular course, 
to effect a radical cure. The habit of stammering should be ar- 
rested at once; for, while it is continued, how is it possible that the 
habit of speaking correctly can be established ] 

Great pains should be taken to inspire the stammerer with confi- 
dence. He should be convinced that his success depends mainly 
upon his own exertions : that he must pursue the various exercises 
assigned him with indefatigable zeal, with untiring industry ; that 
he has the same organs of speech as other people, and nothing is 
necessary to enable him to use them as well, but a conviction in his 
ability to do so. To think that one can do, gives almost the ability 
to accomplish but to think that one cannot do, virtually takes 
away the ability to do, even where it is ample. 

Stammering is often continued by the subordinate estimation 
which the stammerer puts upon himself. He is too apt to consider 
those around him giants, and himself a dwarf. As this estimation 
of himself serves to perpetuate his disease, it is clear that its reme- 
dy must be found in making himself equal to any: if this mental 
classification into giants and dwarfs must take place, let the stam- 
merers make themselves the giants, and those around them the 

The teacher should study the disposition of his pupil : he should 
persuade him to banish from his mind all melancholy thoughts 
in short, he should do every thing in his power to render his pupil 
cheerful and happy. 

Various athletic exercises should be resorted to daily, to invigo- 
rate all the muscles of voluntary motion, and diminish nervous irri- 
tability. In some cases it may be necessary to have recourse to 
tonics, anti-spasmodics, bathing in salt water, frictions over the 
whole surface of the body, &c., &c. Electricity may be used with 
advantage as a tonic, and also as a means of interrupting the spasm 
of the vocal organs. 

The vocal treatment is deduced from the following circum 
stances : 

1. An ability to sing. 

2. An ability to speak when alone: 

3. And if the stammerer must speak before an audience, the 
smaller the audience and the farther he is removed from it, the 


4. An ability to speak amidst a noise that is sufficient to render 
the human voice nearly or quite inaudible. 

5. An ability to speak better in the dark than in the light. 

6. An ability to speak in a measured manner. 

7. An ability to speak in a drawling manner. 

8. An ability to speak with the mouth more or less distorted. 

9. An ability to speak in any key, either higher or lower than 
that in which the stammerer usually converses. 

10. An ability to speak with a halloo. 

11. An ability to speak when the attention is divided or arrested 
by some object or circumstance more or less irrelevant to the sub- 

12. An ability to speak in concert or simultaneously. Every one 
who has learned to sing, knows how much easier it is to sing in 
concert than alone. All the exercises, therefore, for the cure of 
stammering, should, at first, be conducted in concert. 

Stammering may be considered a fault in elocution, the result of 
defective education, and is confirmed by habit. If children were 
properly instructed in speaking and reading, this affection of the 
vocal organs would, probably, seldom or never occur. Hence, no 
mode of treatment that is not founded in just elocution or the cor- 
rect exercise of the organs of speech for the purposes of vocal ex- 
pression, can be relied on. This must appear obvious to every in- 
telligent and reflecting mind. The stammerer must be taught how 
to give language the pitch, time, and force which the sense requires. 
To effect this, his muscles of speech, which have long been refrac- 
tory, must be trained till they are brought under the control of 
volition, and like a well-rnarshalled troop of soldiers, made to act in 
harmonious concert. 

Oral language may be resolved into certain sounds which are its 
elements. Now there are certain positions of the organs of speech 
more favourable than others for the production of the elements. 
The stammerer should be made thoroughly acquainted with these 
positions, and, in connexion with them, should be required to exer- 
cise his voice in the most energetic manner upon all the elements 
singly, till he can utter them without hesitation. He should also 
utter them in various combinations, not only according to the laws 
of syllabication, but in every irregular way. The vowels should 
be exploded from the throat with great force ; and they should be 
sung, as well as pronounced with the rising and falling inflection, 
through every interval of pitch within the compass of the voice. 

The pupil should be drilled in various exercises whose highest 
peculiarity is time and force. Time may be measured by means 
of the Metronome, by beating with the hand, and by marching.* 

* Also by beating with the dumb-Dens. 


Pitch, time, and force, are the elements of expression, and a proper 
combination of them in reading and speaking, constitutes good elo- 
cution. When, therefore, the stammerer becomes master of these 
elements, as well as the elements of the language, he may com- 
mence speaking and reading. In his first attempts at conversation, 
both teacher and pupil should speak in a deliberate manner, with a 
full, firm tone of voice, and in a very low pitch. 

The stammerer should now commit to memory a short piece 
which requires to be spoken with explosive force; for example, 
14 Satan's speech to his legions." The members of the class should 
stand at a sufficient distance from each other to prevent their hands 
coming in contact when their arms are extended. They should 
then pronounce the speech in concert, after the teacher, and accom- 
pany it with appropriate gesticulation. It should be repeated again 
and again, till each pupil can give it proper expression, both as 
regards voice and gesture. Each pupil should then, in turn, take 
the place of the teacher and give out the speech to the class. To 
prevent the pupil's stammering, while he is performing the teach- 
er's part, the teacher himself should play an accompaniment on the 
violoncello, violin, organ, drum, or some other instrument. At first 
the notes should be made very loud ; but if the effort of the pupil, 
standing out of the class, is likely to be successful, they should gra- 
dually be made softer and softer, and, finally, the accompaniment 
omitted altogether. This piece should be pronounced alternately 
with one which requires to be spoken with long quantity and in a 
low pitch, as " Ossian's Address to the Sun." 

When the pupil has mastered these two kinds of reading, he may 
take up dignified dialogue, and, lastly, conversational pieces. He 
should drawl out difficult words, which are generally those having 
short vowels preceded by labials, dentals, and gutturals. 

In very bad cases of stammering, the pupil should first sing the 
words, then drawl them, then pronounce them with very long quan- 
tity, and thus gradually approximate to common speaking. 

As soon as the pupils can speak without stammering, they should 
recite singly in a very large room, or in the open air, at a distance 
from the audience, which, at first, should consist of the members of 
the class only. A few visiters should be occasionally introduced, 
and the number should be gradually increased. In this way the 
stammerer will soon acquire sufficient confidence to speak before a 
large assembly. In some cases it may be expedient for the stam- 
merer to recite before an audience in a dark room ; but as he ac- 
quires confidence, light should be gradually admitted. 

Stammerers, instead of speaking immediately after inspiration, as 
they should do, often attempt to speak immediately after expiration, 
when, of course, they have no power to speak. The lungs, like a 
bellows, perform their part in the process of speaking, best, when 
plentifully supplied with air. This is an important fact, and should 



be remembered, not only by stammerers, but also by those who have 
occasion to read or speak in public. Loud speaking, long-continued, 
with the lungs but partially distended, is very injurious to these 
organs : it is apt to occasion a spitting of blood, v hich is not unfre- 
quently a precursor of pulmonary consumption. But loud speaking, 
with proper management of the breath, is a healthful exercise : be- 
sides strengthening the muscles which it calls into action, it pro 
motes the decarbonization of the blood, and, consequently, exerts a 
salutary influence on the system generally. [See additional re- 
marks, in Appendix at the end of the volume, where will be found 
an account of the new surgical operation for the radical cure of 
stammering, which has been performed, with more or less success, 
both in Europe and in this country.] 



ITCH is the degree of the eleva- 
tion of sounds. 

As pitch regards the elevation of sounds, 
it respects their acuteness and gravity. I 
use the term pitch in its widest significa- 
tion. In the science of music, it is used 
not only in the sense in which I employ it, 

but it also has a special application : in the 

latter, it is applied to the medium note, the regulating note to 
which instruments are brought by the act of tuning. When ap- 
plied in this sense, it is termed concert-pitch. The note which has 
been adopted, by common consent, as the pitch-note, is A, the open 
note of the second string of the violin : it is written in the second 
space of the treble staff. 

A lax division of pitch is into high and low ; in other 
words, into acute and grave ; (those notes being called 
high, or acute, which are above the natural pitch of 
the voice ; and those low, or grave, which are below it) 
Strictly speaking, the application of high and low, to pitch, is 
without philosophic foundation: it has originated, not from any 

PITCH. 39 

principles in the acuteness and gravity of sound, but from the rela- 
tive position of the notes in the graphic scale. This is obvious 
from the fact that the degrees of the scale may be exemplified in a 
horizontal line, by varying the forms of the graphic notes, as was 
done by the Greeks. 

An exact division of pitch, as demonstrated by the 
diatonic scale, is into tones and semitones.* 

The word tone, as here employed, signifies a certain degree of 
difference in pitch between two notes, as that between the first and 
second note of the scale. But in some cases we use the word tone, 
as synonymous with note; for instance, in some persons the tones 
of the voice are more musical than in others that is, the notes 
of the voice. 

The diatonic scale consists of seven sounds, moving 
discretely from grave to acute, or from acute to grave, 
by different degrees of pitch, of which the semitone 
may be the common measure, or divisor, without a 
fraction. The scale, however, is not complete without 
the octave, which is a repetition of the first note in the 
eighth degree. 

The notes do not ascend by equal degrees of pitch, 
but by tones and semitones ; the semitones occurring 
between the third and fourth, and seventh and eighth. 
The order of the scale, therefore, is as follows : two 
tones and a semitone, three tones and a semitone. And 
should it be desirable to extend the series of sounds, the 
eighth note of the first octave will become the first note 
of the second octave ; the eighth note of the second oc- 
tave, the first note of the third, and so on. 

In teaching the pupil to " raise and fall the eight 
notes," as it is called, the monosyllables, Do, Re, Mi, 
Fa, Sol, La, Si,f may be employed. 

Diag. 4 is a graphic representation of the scale. The 
heavy, horizontal, parallel lines, represent the notes ; 
and the spaces between them, the consecutive intervals 
of the scale. 

* DIATONIC [Greek, Sta, by or through, and fwoj, sound]. 
Ascending or descending by sounds whose proximate intervals are 
not more than a tone, nor less than a semitone. 

t Pronounced D6, RA, M6, Fa, S61, L, Sfe. 














An interval is a difference in pitch. Intervals are 
either discrete, or concrete. A discrete interval is the 
difference in pitch between any two notes which vary 
from each other in acuteness and gravity. A concrete 
interval is that portion of the scale through which the 
voice slides on a concrete of speech. 

The difference in pitch between the first and second 
note of the scale, is called the interval of a tone, or 
second ; between the second and third, a tone ; between 
the third and fourth, a semitone ; between the fourth 
and fifth, a tone ; between the fifth and sixth, a tone ; be- 
tween the sixth and seventh, a tone ; between the se- 
venth and eighth, a semitone. 

The difference in pitch between the first and third 
note of the scale, is called the interval of a third ; be- 
tween the first and fourth, the interval of a fourth ; be- 
tween the first and fifth, the interval of a fifth ; between 
the first and sixth, the interval of a sixth ; between the 
first and seventh, the interval of a seventh ; between 
the first and eighth, the interval of an octave. 

The intervals between the first and third, fourth and 
sixth, and fifth and seventh, are called major thirds ; 
because they contain two tones, or four semitones ; but 
as the intervals between the second and fourth, third 



Diag. 5. 

and fifth, and sixth and eighth, con- 
tain but three semitones, they are de- 
nominated minor thirds. 

In the expression of our thoughts 
by oral language, we employ three 
sorts of voice the natural voice, 
the falsetto voice, and the whispering 
voice, which I shall now attempt to 

The medium compass of the voice, 
in those whose voices have been pro- 
perly cultivated, is three octaves.* 
There is, however, a point of pitch 
at which the voice, in ascending 
the scale, is said to break. This 
point, in a majority of persons, is 
about two octaves above the lowest 
note of the voice. The natural voice 
embraces all the notes below this 
point ; the falsetto, all the notes above 
it. (See Diag. 5.) 

The Italians call the natural voice voce di 
petto, and the falsetto voice voce di testa ;f 
because they suppose the former to come 
from the chest, and the latter from the head. 
This error has arisen from a want of anato- 
mical and physiological knowledge of the 
vocal organs. Voice is never formed in the 
chest, or in the head ; it is always formed in 
the upper part of the larynx, at the aperture 
of the glottis. It is, however, formed higher, 
or lower in the throat, according to its de- 
gree of acuteness, or gravity. At the command of the will, the 
larynx may be elevated, or depressed, and the aperture of the glot- 
tis enlarged, or diminished. The larynx is the most depressed, and 
the aperture of the glottis the most dilated, when the gravest sound 
is formed ; and the larynx is the most elevated, and the aperture 














4 -Fa- 



3 -Mi- 






























P 1 

























* It is said that the ear is capable of perceiving nine octaves, 
f Voce di petto (Ital.), voice from the breast. Voce di testa, 
voice from the head. 



of the glottis the most contracted, when the acutest sound is formed. 
Hence grave sounds appear to come from the chest, and acute ones 
from the head, or roof of the mouth. From this circumstance, no 
doubt, has arisen the error of calling the natural voice voce di petto, 
and the falsetto voice voce di testa. 

The whispering voice does not, like the natural voice 
and the falsetto, owe its peculiarity to pitch, but to the 
absence of what is generally understood by the term 
vocality. The compass of the whispering voice is about 
an octave. My own extends through ten degrees of 
the scale.* 

The natural pitch of the female voice is an octave 
above that of the male voice. The pitch of the female 
voice corresponds to that of the violin ; the pitch of the 
male voice, to that of the violoncello. The voices of 
boys are of the same pitch as the female voice one 
octave above a man's voice. When boys are about the 
age of fourteen, their voices undergo a change of pitch. 

The notes of the falsetto voice are called treble ; the 
upper notes of the natural voice, tenor; and the lower 
notes of the natural voice, bass.-\ (See Diag. 5.) 

The divisions of the voice, as given by Italian au- 
thors, and adopted by many musicians of other coun- 
tries, are as follows : 

" There are three departments in the human voice, 
viz., the high, the middle, and the low. These depart- 
ments are in the female, as well as in the male voice. 
Soprano, mezzo soprano, and contralto, are female voices. 
Tenore, baritono, and basso, are male voices. "J 

The reader will observe that the falsetto voice is not 
included in the above division. 

To a bass, a baritone, and a contralto voice, natu- 

* Notes analogous to those of the whispering voice may be made 
on the German flute, and some other wind instruments, through the 
compass of an octave. 

f When I speak of the voice, I speak of the adult male voice, 
unless otherwise stated. 

| Introduction to the Art and Science of Music, by Phil. Tra- 

PITCH. 43 

rally good, or made so by cultivation, Dr. Rush applies 
the term orotund. 

The notes of music are named after the first seven letters of the 
alphabet, and are represented by graphic notes, which are written 
on five horizontal, parallel lines, and in the intermediate spaces. 
These lines and spaces are called the staff. (See Diag. 6.) The 
lines and spaces of the staff are counted upward, that is, the lowest 

THE STAFF. (Diag. 6.) 

(1= f-9=*-4') 

LINES. < 3- 0--m dEI ~2 > SPACES. 

C i=^~~*"* - 1=1 3 

line of the staff is called the first line, the one above it the second 
line, and so on ; the lowest space is called the first space, the next 
the second space, and so on. (See Diag. 6.) Each line, and each 
space, is called a degree. Hence, as there are five lines, and four 
spaces, the staff includes nine degrees. (See Diag. 6.) 

When it is desirable to extend the notes above or below the staff, 
short lines, called ledger lines, are employed. (See Diag. 7.) 


As the great scale of sounds, which includes all the notes that 
can be made by instrumental means, is very extensive, it has been 
found convenient to divide it into two parts, and allot a staff to each 
part. The notes in the upper division of the great scale are writ- 
ten on what is called the treble staff; those in the lower division, 
upon what is denominated the bass staff. 

To distinguish between the two staffs,* and to determine the 
names of the graphic notes, and the sounds which they represent, 
characters called cleffs are placed at the beginning of each staff. 

The treble cleff is called G, because a particular TREBLE CLEFF. 
G note is written upon that line of the staff on which 
the main part of this character is placed. This note, 
called the G cleff note, occupies that point of pitch 
at which the falsetto voice generally commences. 

The bass-cleff is called F, because a particular F note is written 

* In pluralizing staf s is preferable to ves. (See Brown's Eng 
list Syntax.) 


upon that line of the staff which this character crosses BASS CLEFF 

as in the margin. The pitch of this note, called the 

bass cleffnote, is nine degrees of the diatonic scale 

below that of the treble cleff note, and one octave 

above the lowest note of the majority of bass voices 

which have been properly cultivated. (See Diagram 8.) 







Diag. 8. represents three octaves of the finger-board of the piano- 
forte, and the two staffs, with their cleffs. The notes are written 
upon the staffs opposite those keys of the piano by which they are 
respectively produced. 

The usual compass of a modern grand piano-forte, is six octaves. 
The instrument extends one octave below, and two octaves above 
that portion of the finger-board which is represented in Diag. 8. 

The keys of the piano, like the notes which they severally pro- 
duce, are named after the first seven letters of the alphabet : the 
key which produces the F note is called the F Key; that which 
produces the G note, the G Key ; that which produces the A note, 
the A Key, and so on. 

The finger-board of the piano consists of white and black keys. 
The instrument is so constructed, that if you touch the white keys 
in their consecutive order, a diatonic series will be produced* but 
if you touch all the keys, white and black, in their consecutive 
order, a semitonic series will be the result. 

In the diatonic scale, as has been shown, there are five tones, 
and two semitones. There are, however, two varieties of the scale : 
one is called the major mode ; the other, the minor mode. In the 
major mode, the first semitone is between the third and fourth de- 



gree of the scale; the second, between the seventh and eighth. 
(Diagram 4, p. 40, represents the major scale.) The minor mode, 
in ascending, has the first semitone between the second and third 
degree ; the second, between the seventh and eighth ; but in de- 
scending, the second semitone is between the fifth and sixth. (See 
Diagram 9.) 

(Diag. 9.) 

No. 1. 

No. 2. 

No. 3. 

No. 4. 



i *-} 



1 O 












A# or Bb 
A .... 








7 _ 



G# or Ab 











F# or Gb 




. . 



















_ D 






















C# or Db 

No. 1, in Diagram 9, represents the ascending and descending 
major scale ; No. 2, the ascending minor scale ; and No. 3, the de- 
scending minor scale. 

There is another scale, called the semitonic, or chromatic. It is 
formed by dividing the whole tones of the diatonic scale into semi- 
tones, by five additional sounds. The chromatic scale may be il- 
lustrated by touching all the white and black keys of a piano-forte, 
in their consecutive order. (The chromatic scale is represented by 
No. 4, in Diag. 9.) 

The sounds which compose the diatonic scale, as I have said, are 
named after the first seven letters of the alphabet. The five addi- 
tional sounds, which, when added to the diatonic scale, divide it 
into semitones, are called fiats, or sharps, according as they receive 
the names of the notes immediately below, or of those immediately 
above them. Thus, the second note of the chromatic scale of C, is 
called C sharp, or Dflat; the fourth is called D sharp, or Eflat; 
the seventh, F sharp, or G fiat ; the ninth, G sharp, or Aflat; 
and the eleventh, A sharp, or Bflat. (See No. 4, in Diag. 9.) 

When a note is to be sung, or played sharp, a character called a 
sharp (it) is prefixed to it. When a note is to be sung, or played 



flat, a character called a flat (b) is prefixed to it. Sharps and flats 
are generally placed at the beginning of a tune, or strain, immedi- 
ately after the cleff. They are then called the signature ; because 
they serve to point out the key. 

By key is meant a scale of sounds, to the first of which all the 
others bear a certain relation. This first note is called the key- 
note, '.<' fundamental note, or tonic. As each note of the diatonic 
sca.e ( f C (see No. 1), as well as its sharp and flat (see No. 4), 
mfiy b'j assumed as a key-note of a series of seven, it follows that 
there are twenty-one major, and twenty-one minor keys. And as 
each note of the diatonic scale of C, as well as its sharp and flat, 
rnay also be assumed as a key-note of a chromatic series, it follows 
that there are twenty-one keys in the chromatic genus. These, 
added to the forty-two keys in the diatonic genus, make the whole 
number of keys in the musical system amount to sixty-three. Still, 
as there are but twelve notes, there can be but thirty-six scales ; 
and even this number may be resolved into three one major, one 
minor, and one chromatic; all the others are transpositions of the 
three primitive scales into different ranges of pitch. 

The speaking voice, in good elocution, seldom rises 
higher than a fifth above the lowest note of its com- 
pass. Supposing the lowest note which can be made 
with a full intonation, to be F, the following scheme 
will show the relative pitch of keys, adapted to the 
expression of different kinds of sentiments. 




Very spirited declamation 

. f Three millions of people, 
I armed in the holy cause of liberty 

- C - 


- G - 
_ F 

Spirited declamation. 

Ordinary declamation. 
Modest declamation. 
Ordinary narrative. 
Dignified narrative. 
Sublime description. 
Very solemn discourse. 

I, and in such a country as we possess.&c.. 

My hrave associates, &c. 
Friends, Romans, countrymen, &c. 
The tree of deepest root is found, &c. 
He scarce had ceased, fcc. 
I had a dream which was not all a, &c 
O when shall day dawn, &c. 

The majority of the people in this country pitch 
their voices too high, not only when they read and 
speak in public, but also in their colloquial intercourse, 

PITCH. 47 

We not unfrequently meet with individuals who always 
speak in the highest key of the natural voice, and we 
occasionally meet with some who even speak in the 
ialsetto. A high pitch, in speech, is unpleasant to a 
cultivated ear ; and though it may answer in the busi- 
ness transactions of life, it is totally inadequate tc the 
correct expression of sentiments of respect, venerauon, 
dignity and sublimity. 



N FLECTIONS, in the science of 
Elocution, are notes of speech notes 
that, in regard to pitch, undergo a con- 
tinual change during the time of their 

Writers on elocution describe six dif- 
ferent notes of speech ; namely, the rising 
inflection, the falling inflection, the acuto- 
grave circumflex inflection, the gravo-acute circumflex 
inflection, the acuto-gro ' co-acute circumflex inflection, 
and the gravo-acuto-grave circumflex inflection.* 

In the rising inflection, the movement of the voice is 
from grave to acute ; in the falling inflection, from acute 
to grave ; in the acuto-grave circumflex, from grave to 
acute, thence back to grave ; in the gravo-acute cir- 
cumflex, from acute to grave, thence back to acute ; in 
the acuto-gravo-acute circumflex, from grave to acute, 
thence back to grave, and thence again to acute ; in the 

* Mr. Steele calls the inflections of the voice accents acute, 
crave, and circumflex. Dr. Rush denominates the rising inflection 
the rising concrete; the falling inflection, the downward concrete; 
the circumflexes he calls waves. 


gravo-acuto-grave circumflex, from acute to grave, 
thence back to acute, and thence again to grave. 

In that part of this work which consists of EXERCISES 
IN READING AND DECLAMATION, these notes of speech 
are represented by the acute, grave, and circumflex 
accents, thus ; 

Rising inflection ('). Acuto-grave circumflex ( A ). 

Falling inflection (). Gravo-acute circumflex (v). 
Acuto-gravo-acute circumflex (/v). 
Gravo-acuto-grave circumflex (v\). 

In reading and speaking, each syllable has some one 
of these inflections ; but, for practical purposes, it is 
necessary to mark those only which are emphatic. 

The various movements of the voice, in song and speech, may be 
explained in the following 1 manner : 

When the bow is drawn across an open string of the violin, or 
any of its species, a sound is produced of a uniform pitch, from be- 
ginning to end. This sound is a pure note of music, and, so far as 
pitch is concerned, is identical with a note of song. When the 
bow is drawn across the same string, while the centre of the string 
is pressed down with the finger, a sound is produced similar to that 
of the open string, but an octave higher. The intermediate notes 
of the diatonic scale may be produced by pressing down the string, 
at the proper places, and drawing the bow across it. 

When a string of the violin is pressed down by the finger, and, 
at the same time, the finger is made to slide upon it towards the 
bridge of the instrument, during the drawing of the bow, a sound is 
produced which gradually increases in acuteness from beginning 
to end. When the finger is made to slide in the opposite direction, 
during the drawing of the bow, a sound is produced which gradu- 
ally increases in gravity during its prolongation. When the finger 
is made to slide towards the bridge, and thence back again, during 
the drawing of the bow, a simple circumflex note is produced. 
When the finger is made to slide towards the bridge, thence back 
again, and thence again towards the bridge, during the drawing of 
the bow, a compound circumflex note is produced. 

Other varieties of the slide might be given, but these are suffi- 
cient to answer the purpose of explanation. 

"The slide is a grace of much simplicity and beauty, evidently 
drawn from nature. It expresses the most tender arid affectionate 
emotions: we hear it in those little gusts of passion which mothers 
use in caressing their infants; it is one of the most endearing tones 
in the language of nature. 

PITCH. 49 

" The portamento, or carriage of the voice, as the Italians term 
it, is an easy mode of sliding from one tone to another. Hence 
second-rate singers find it a convenient method of encountering 
those notes which lie at remote and awkward distances. In some 
voices it is so fixed, by habit, that two bars cannot be sung without 
it. When so used, it utterly destroys every pretence to good sing- 
ing, by interposing an effect of the most sickening kind ; when used 
with discretion, it adds much to the force of expression; and, in 
Madame Caradori, it was a grace both tender and agreeable. 

" The violinist, Paganini, the present wonder of the world, plays 
an entire cantabile* upon one string, sliding through all the inter- 
vals with a single finger the effect of which is so plaintive, and 
desolate, as to move his audience to tears. Vellnti, the first singing- 
master of the age, uses this grace with incomparable beauty ; in his 
voice it imparts a tenderness not to be described."! 

The sliding notes above described are analagous to drawling 1 
notes of speech. Speech, to be natural, requires each syllable to 
be uttered with a certain degree of force. This force is always in 
proportion to the length of the syllable. A syllable is drawled 
when it is pronounced with inadequate force in other words, with 
force less than that which constitutes the minimum degree of natu- 
ral speech. 

The extent of the concrete intervals of the notes of 
speech, is various under various circumstances. A 
rising inflection may be carried through the whole 
compass of the voice. But, in the most energetic in- 
terrogation, the voice seldom rises higher than an oc- 
tave; though sometimes it extends to a tenth, or a 
twelfth. The smallest concrete interval does not, per- 
haps, exceed a quarter tone. 

The concrete intervals of rising inflections are 
greater than those of their corresponding falling inflec- 
tions. This may be illustrated by pronouncing the 
letter a interrogatively and affirmatively, several times, 
with increasing energy, making the intervals of each 
succeeding pair greater than those of the preceding, as 
shown by the following diagram : 

* CANTABILE, a term applied to movements intended to be per- 
formed in a graceful, elegant, and melodious style. Busby's Die- 
tionary of Music. 

f GARDINER'S Music OF NATURE, p. 164-5, London edition. 
5 D 





a ? a. a ? a. a? a. a? a. a? a. a ? a. 

In the above diagram, each falling inflection com- 
mences in a lower degree of pitch than that in which 
its corresponding rising inflection terminates. Should 
a falling inflection be made to extend through the same 
interval as its corresponding rising inflection, it would 
be a drawling note, and not a pure note of speech. 

Falling inflections may be uttered with greater force 
than rising inflections. This is shown, in Diag. 11, by 
the relative widths of the notes. 

Rising inflections are far more numerous than fall- 
ing inflections : the former constitute the main body 
of oral language, while the latter are employed for the 
purposes of emphasis, and in the formation of cadences. 
Rising inflections are often emphatic ; but their empha- 
sis is weaker than that of falling inflections. 

The circumflexes are used for the purposes of em- 
phasis. The acuto-grave circumflex, when carried 
through a wide interval, is employed for the expression 
of irony and scorn.* When the circumflexes are pro- 
perly introduced, they are very expressive. These 
movements of the voice, however, are seldom required ; 
when improperly employed, they affect the ear of! a 
good reader as unpleasantly as the too frequent use of 
the portamento does that of a good musician. 

* " The circumflexes, acuto-grave" says Mr. Steele, " are cha- 
racteristic of the Irish tone ; and the circumflexes, gravo-acute, are 
characteristic of the Scottish tone." (See Steele's Prosodia Ra- 

PITCH. 51 

Writers on Elocution have given numerous rules for 
the regulation of inflections ; but most of these rules are 
better calculated to make bad readers than good ones. 
Those founded on the construction of sentences might, 
perhaps, do credit to a mechanic, but they certainly do 
none to an elocutionist. 

The subject is of such a nature that it would be 
difficult, if not impossible, to give rules for the regula- 
tion of all the inflections of the voice, in reading and 
speaking; and, as any rule on this part of elocution 
must necessarily be limited in its application, I have 
thought proper to dispense with them altogether. This 
work, however, does not leave the reader without a 
guide : in the practical part of it, numerous examples 
are given, which, I trust, will have a tendency to form 
a correct taste. When the student shall have acquired 
a knowledge of the principles of elocution, he will have 
no occasion for rules. 

The reader should bear in mind that a falling inflec- 
tion gives more importance to a word than a rising in- 
flection. Hence it should never be employed merely 
for the sake of variety ; but for emphasis and cadences. 
Neither should a rising inflection be used for the sake 
of mere " harmony" where a falling inflection would 
better express the meaning of the author. 

The sense should, in all cases, determine the direc- 
tion of inflections. Hence the absurdity of the term 
" harmonic inflection" as employed by Walker and his 
disciples an inflection which, for the sake of harmony. 
takes a direction contrary to that required by the sense : 
If a sentence is pronounced so as to bring out the 
sense in the most forcible manner, all the inflections 
must necessarily be harmonic, or, more correctly speak- 
ing, melodic.* Every modification of the voice, which 
is not compatible with the sentiment, weakens the force 
of the elocution by drawing off the attention of the 
hearer from the sense to the sound. 

See the note at the bottom of page 52. 




E L O D Y is a series of simple 
sounds, emanating from the 
voice, or an instrument, so 
varied in pitch as to produce 
a pleasing effect upon the ear. 
The series of graphic notes by 
which these sounds are repre- 
sented, is also called melody. 
Melody is distinguished from harmony by not necessarily includ- 
ing a combination of parts. The term harmony, as employed in 
the science of music, signifies a union of melodies, a succession of 
combined sounds, moving at consonant intervals, according to the 
laws of modulation.* 

NOTATION is the graphic representation of a melody 
in other words, the expression of a melody by written 

INTONATION is the act of sounding the notes of a me- 
lody, either with the voice, or an instrument. When 
each note is produced in its proper degree of pitch, the 
intonation is true ; when the intervals are not observed 
with exactness, the intonation is false. Correct into- 
nation, in speech, is highly important ; in song, and in- 
strumental music, it is indispensable ; for, if the intona- 
tion is false, melody loses its charms, and harmony 
becomes discord. 

The melody of speech is founded on sense ; that of 
song, generally, on sound. Words containing opposite 

* The term harmonious is correctly employed when applied to 
two or more sounds whose union is consonant, or agreeable; it is 
incorrectly employed when applied to the notes of a single melody, 
as is done by some authors, who confound it with the word melo* 

PITCH. 53 

sentiments may be sung to the same air, with effects 
equally good, if the force and time be properly varied. 
Tnus, if the two songs, March to the Battle Field, and 
Oft in the Stilly Night, be sung to the same air the 
former with great force, and in quick time the latter 
with diminished force, and in slow time, there will be 
as much difference of expression between them as there 
is between that of joy and sorrow.* But speech is not 
so accommodating. Here every sentence must not 
only have its appropriate tune, but the tune must be 
properly pitched. 

The melody of song is graduated on a scale whose 
degrees are as definite as those of the scale of Gunter. 
But the melody of speech is not formed with such ma- 
thematical exactness it has no scale of determinate 
degrees. Hence it is difficult to represent it graphi- 
cally to give to each note 

" A local habitation and a name." 

But even if an exact notation of the melody of speech 
should be given, it is doubtful whether it would be of 
much practical importance to the generality of man- 
kind, as none but a Paganini would be able to read it. 
Such a notation, however, is a desideratum it would 
be highly interesting to the philosopher ; and I would 
advise all elocutionists who have a good ear for music, 
and can perform on stringed instruments of the violin 
species, to direct their attention to the subject.f 

For practical purposes, however, it is not essential 
to present every syllable in speech under its proper 
note, as is done in song : it is only necessary to give a 
notation of the relative pitch of the emphatic syllables. 

* The reader must not infer that I entertain the opinion that in 
pong melody cannot be adapted to sentiment. I believe that if the 
composers of music were elocutionists, they would always construct 
their melodies with reference to the sentiments to be expressed. 

f Any essays on this subject by one who cannot perform on a 
musical instrument, must o-ove entirely abortive. 



Such a notation may be read by those who have no 
knowledge of music whatever, and, consequently, does 
not require the aid of a Paganini. Besides, if the rela- 
tive pitch of the heavy, or emphatic syllables, and their 
inflections, are given, the light, or unemphatic sylla- 
bles will naturally take their proper degrees of eleva- 

The series of notes by which the relative pitch, and 
inflections of the emphatic syllables are represented, 
is denominated an emphasis melody. The emphasis 
melodies are written on four horizontal, parallel lines. 
These lines are called the staff of speech, in contradis- 
tinction to the staffof music, which consists of Jive hori- 
zontal, parallel lines, and the intermediate spaces. 

"Ye are the things that tower, that shine, whose 
smile makes glad, whose frown is terrible." 

In the above sentence there are four emphatic points, 
which are represented by the following 


f 4 CT 

I o 



tower, shine, glad, terrible. 

Each note in the above diagram has the falling inflec- 
tion, and no two have the same radical pitch. There 
is a gradual increase in the size of the notes from the 
first to the last, \vhich represents a gradual increase of 
force, forming a sort of climax. 

In that part of this work which consists of EXER- 
emphasis melodies are represented by graphic inflec- 
tions placed at different degrees of elevation, thus : 

" Ye are the things that tower, that shine^ whose 
mile makes glad', whose frown is terrible." 

In reading and speaking there is one note which 

PITCH. 55 

predominates ; and in correct reading and speaking, the 
pitch of this note is always in accordance with the 
sentiment. This predominant, leading, or pitch-note 
of speech, is written on the second line of the staff, 
counting from below. To render the pitch-line con- 
spicuous, it is made heavier than the other lines of the 
staff. (See Diag. 12.) In the EXERCISES IN READING 
AND DECLAMATION, the pitch-note is represented by the 
graphic inflection which commences at the centre of 
the body of the letter. (See the word shine, in the 
foregoing example.) When one reads altogether in the 
pitch-note, the reading is monotonous ; when the voice 
is properly varied in pitch, it occasionally rises a de- 
gree, or two degrees above, or descends a degree below 
it, as represented by the staff. 

The reader must not conclude that the melody of 
speech is confined to four degrees of pitch, whose inter- 
vals are as determinate as those of the diatonic scale. 
The intervals between the several notes of an empha- 
sis melody vary according to circumstances. In ener- 
getic declamation, and in interrogative and exclamatory 
sentences, they may be said to be at their maximum ; 
in solemn, and in plaintive discourse, at their minimum. 
Neither must the reader conclude that the melody of 
speech consists solely of emphasis melodies. These form, 
as it were, the grand outlines of the picture, and the 
notes of the syllables not included in the emphasis 
melodies, constitute the filling up and the shading of it. 

The graphic notes of song represent absolute, as well 
as relative pitch. But as the graphic notes of an em- 
phasis melody of speech denote relative pitch only, two 
emphasis melodies similarly constructed, though differ- 
ent in their relative intervals, may be represented by 
the same series of graphic notes. 

In reading emphasis melodies, beginners are apt to 
make the intervals too great. Care should be taken 
to avoid this fault, or the melody will be caricatured. 
A little practice, under a good teacher, will enable 


almost any one, who is not insensible to the changes 
of pitch, to observe the proper intervals with tolerable 
accuracy. And as these melodies are founded in the 
nature of the subject, those who have a taste for elocu- 
tion will scarcely require a teacher, for they will read 
them, as it were, by intuition. 



'ODULATION is a chang- 
ing of the pitch-note to a 
higher or lower degree of ele- 
vation in other words, it 
is the process of changing the 
key, or of passing from one 
key to another. This change 
is sometimes made to a proxi- 
mate key ; at other times, a bold and abrupt transition 
to a remote key is necessary to produce the desired 
effect. Modulation is generally attended with a change 
of force, or time; and, not unfrequently, with a change 
of both. There is not a more important requisite in 
Elocution nothing which contributes more to the 
pleasure of an audience nothing which gives stronger 
proof that an orator is master of his art, than a well- 
regulated and expressive modulation. Modulation, 
however, should never be resorted to for the sake of 
mere variety it should always be subservient to the 
sense; for it is the province of modulation to mark 
changes of sentiment, changes in the train of thought, 
and parenthetical clauses. 

Under ordinary circumstances, the various modula- 
tions of the voice, in reading and speaking, may be 
represented by a staff of four lines. That this staff 
may not be confounded with the staff of melody, de- 



scribed in the preceding chapter, it is made of lines 
composed of dots, and called the staff of modulation. 
The lines of this staff, like those of the staff of melody, 
are counted from below upward. The second line is 
called the pitch-note line of the staff of modulation. 

A series of modulations, as represented by the fol- 
lowing diagram, might, very appropriately, be termed 
a melody of melodies. 









This diagram shows the modulations of the voice in 
the correct reading of the following extract from 0s- 
sian's Address to the Sun. 

(a) 2 The moon herself is lost in heaven ; | (b) 3 but 
thou art for ever the same, | (c) 4 rejoicing in the bright- 
ness of thy course. | (d) l When the world is dark with 
tempests, | (e) 2 when thunder rolls, and lightning flies, 
| (/) 3 thou lookest in thy beauty from the clouds, | 
(g) 4 and laughest at the storm. | (h) 2 But, to Ossian, 
thou lookest in vain. 

Staff a, in Diagram 13, is designed for the first sec- 
tion in the above extract ; staff 6, for the second sec- 
tion, and so on. The transition from c to d is abrupt 
also that from g to h. The pitch-note of staff a is 
identical with that of staff e and that of staff h, and 
corresponds to the pitch-note of modulation. 

In that part of this work which consists of EXER- 
of the voice are indicated by small numerals prefixed 


to the words where the transitions should take place. 
These numerals are 1, 2, 3, 4, and represent, respec- 
tively, the first, second, third, and fourth line of the 
staff of modulation. This is shown in the preceding ex- 
tract from Ossian's Address to the Sun. No. 2 is pre- 
fixed to the first section, to show that this section is to 
be read in the pitch-note of modulation ; No. 3 is pre- 
fixed to the second section, to show that this section 
should be read in the third degree of the staff of modu- 
lation ; No. 4 is prefixed to the third section, to show 
that this section should be read in the fourth degree 
of the staff of modulation ; No. 1 is prefixed to the 
fourth section, to show that this section should be 
read in the first degree of the staff of modulation ; and 
so on. (See the Extract, and Diag. 13.) 

Some public speakers, who are ignorant of the principles of Elo- 
cution, but who, nevertheless, are considered by the vulgar as 
great orators, modulate their voices in the most erratic and hyper- 
bolical manner. I once heard a clergyman pronounce the follow- 
\ng sentence in the way which I shall describe : 

" While God's omniscient eye passes from seat to seat, j and 
ranges throughout the house, | he beholds what is passing in every 

The first section, while God's omniscient eye passes from seal 
to seat, he pronounced in the first degree above the lowest note of 
his voice ; the second section, and ranges throughout the house, he 
uttered with great force, in the highest note of his natural voice; 
the third section, he beholds what is passing in every heart, he 
pronounced with a mixture of vocality and aspiration, in the lowest 
note of his voice. Such wild and extravagant transitions, though 
they may astonish the ignorant, cannot but make the judicious 
grieve." The manner in which the speaker pronounced the first 
and third section in the above sentence, is good ; and had he pro- 
nounced the second section in the same pitch and force with the 
first, his elocution would have been faultless. 

There are other public speakers who never modulate their voices, 
however necessary it may be to give proper expression to their sen- 
timents ; and, what is worse, they generally pitch their voices a 
third, a fifth, or an octave too high. I once listened to an excellent 
discourse, from a very learned man, which, however, was nearly 
lost upon the audience from the disgusting manner in which it was 
delivered. The lecturer pitched his voice an octave too high, and 



spoke an hour and a half, without any variation in pitch, force, or 
time ; and, what rendered his delivery still more offensive, every 
syllable was marred with an intolerable drawling. Such elocution 
i.s discreditable to any man who speaks in public, and ought not to 
be tolerated by an educated community. 



O R C E is the degree of the loud- 
ness of sounds. It is also the 
degree of exertion with which 
sounds are made. 

A lax division of force is into 
loud and soft : those sounds are 
called loud, which are made 
with greater effort than the or- 

dinary tones of conversation ; and those are called soft, 

which are made with less effort. 

Some use the terms high and low, as synonymous with loud and 
soft. But this is an improper application of these words. High 
and low regard the acuteness and gravity of sounds only, and not 
their force : a sound may be high and soft, as well as high and loud 
a sound may also be low and loud, as well as low and soft. 

For convenience, force is divided into nine degrees. 
These degrees are expressed by the following abbre- 
viations : 

ppp (pianissimo), . 

pp (piit, piano}, 

p (piano}, 

mp (mezzo piano), . 

m (mezzo), 

mf (mezzo forte), . 

/ (forte) 

ff (piu forte), 

fff (fortissimo), .. 

. as soft as possible. 

more soft, very soft. 

. middling soft, rather soft. 

half, middle, mean. 
. middling loud, rather loud. 


more loud, very loud. 
. as loud as possible. 


The nine degrees of force are represented by Diag. 
1 4. The upper line of the diagram contains notes of 
song ; the lower one, notes of speech. 

FORCE, OR STRESS. (Diag. 14.) 







Force may be considered in reference to its applica- 
tion to sentences and paragraphs, as well as in refe- 
rence to its application to syllables. The application 
of force to sentences may be varied in the following 
manner : 

1. A sentence may be pronounced with uniform 

2. A sentence may be pronounced with a gradual 
diminution of force. 

3. A sentence may be pronounced with a gradual 
increase of force. 

4. The first part of a sentence may be pronounced 
with a gradual increase of force, and the second part, 
with a gradual diminution of force. 

5. The first part of a sentence may be pronounced 
with a gradual diminution of force, and the second part, 
with a gradual increase of force. 

Force, however, is generally applied to sentences in 
a more irregular manner. It should always be varied 
according to the varying demands of sentiment. 

Force, applied to a note, or syllable, is denominated 

Radical stress is the application of force at the be- 
ginning of a note, or syllable ; it corresponds to the 
diminuendo, in music. 

Median stress is the application of force at the middle 
of a note, or syllable ; it corresponds to the swell, or 
crescendo et diminuendo, in music. 



Final stress is the application of force at the end of 
a note, or syllable ; it corresponds to the crescendo, or 
ratner, rinforzando,* in music. 

Explosive stress is the abrupt application of force to 
a note, or syllable; it corresponds to theforzando, in 

Diagram 15. 

d? H. d? &. d? a. 

Tremour is iterated stress on a note, or syllable. 
Examples of the tremour are given in the following 
diagram : 

(Diag. 16.) 

d? it. 

The tremour, in all its forms, may be illustrated on 
the violin by sounding the notes with a vibratory mo- 
tion of the bow. 

Great attention should be paid to the subject of 
force, as much of what is called expression, depends on 
some modification of this attribute of the voice. In- 

* RINFORZANDO is a sudden increase of sound from softness to 
loud ness. 

f NATHAN, in his Essay on the History and Theory of Music, 
has given diagrams representing sixty modifications of force appli- 
cable to the voice of song. 


deed, force may be considered the light and shade of 

" Mr. Alison observes, that loud sounds are connected with ideas 
of power and danger; and that many objects in nature, which have 
such qualities, are distinguished by such sounds. On the contrary, 
soft sounds are connected with ideas of gentleness and dalicacy. 
The contrasts produced by the different degrees offeree with which 
sounds are uttered, form the most prominent effects of musical ex- 
pression. The rushing of the fortissimo brings with it dread and 
alarm ; but in the pianissimo, the chiaroscuro* of the art, we feel 
the opposite sensation. The indistinctness of sounds apparently 
removes them to a distance like the faint touches in painting, 
they seem to retire from us. Upon this principle, the ventriloquist 
deceives the ear, by directing the attention to a point from which 
the voice may be supposed to proceed ; and effects the deception by 
reducing it to the exact degree of softness that it would seem to 
possess had it really proceeded from the spot." 


" What is more alarming than the gradual increase of a mighty 
sound, when it pours upon the ear from a distance ; whether it 
proceeds from the roar of a multitude, or the raging of a storm, the 
auditory sense is overwhelmed, and the mind is filled with imagi- 
nary danger ! When the increasing force accumulates to excessive 
loudness, the vibrations become too great for the soul to bear. 
There is also a sublimity in the gradual decrease of sounds. 

*' It is equally sublime to listen to sounds when they retire from 
us. Handel has aimed at this poetic effect in the ' Messiah,' when 
he pictures the ascent of the heavenly host, giving an idea of theii 
distance and flight. 

"There is no accomplishment in the art of singing more fascinat- 
ing than the swelling and dying away of the voice ; when used 
with taste and judgment, it never fails to delight us. The perform- 
ance of the ' Miserere,' in the Sixtine Chapel, in Rome, so often 
described by travellers, owes its shadowy effect to this approaching 
and retiring of the sounds. Farinelli moved his audience to a state 
of ecstasy by the manner in which he commenced his famous song, 
1 Son qual nave' ' the first note of which was taken with such deli- 
cacy, swelled by minute degrees to such an amazing volume, and 
afterwards diminished in the same manner to a mere point, that it 
was applauded for five minutes.' Beethoven is the only composer 
who has introduced this effect into choral music : we find it applied 
at the termination of some of the choruses in his posthumous Mass; 
here the voices alone pour upon the ear with an effect like tho 
swelling and dying away of the storm. 

* CHIAROSCURO (Italian), the light of a shade of a picture. 




" Explosive force forms a strong feature in the character of mo- 
dern music ; we never find it expressed in any author before the 
time of Haydn. It may be described as a forcible expression of 
sound which is no sooner uttered than it drops into the utmost de- 
gree of softness. It has its origin in the ebullition of our passions. 
We hear it in the expressions of joy, rage, despair, &c. Indeed 
it is natural to persons under any violent emotion. It properly 
belongs to the sublime, although it may be so burlesqued as to as- 
sume a ridiculous character. Like all other forcible expressions, 
its meaning will depend upon the situation and manner in which it 
is used."* 



I M E is the measure of sounds in 
regard to their duration. 

Time, in song, and instrumental 
music, is divided into equal mea- 
sures by rhythmical pulsation in 
other words, by a periodical return 

of similar accents.f In graphic 

music, these measures are rendered conspicuous to the 

eye by vertical bars, as in the following line of poetry : 

| Hail to the | chief who in | triumph ad- | vances. J 

In speech there is also a return of similar accents; 
but they do not always occur at regular intervals of 


f It is rhythmical pulsation which enables a band of musicians 
to perform in concert. It is this also which enables a company of 
soldiers to march synchronously, and which governs the movements 
of the feet in dancing. 



time. Hence the rhythm of speech, like its melody, is 
more or less irregular. 

The time of a note, or syllable, is called quantity. 
The time of a rest is also called quantity ; because 
rests, as well as notes, are a constituent of rhythm 
Hence the characters used for the expression of quan- 
tity, are either of sound or silence. The former are 
called notes ; the latter, rests. These characters, and 
their relative lengths, are as follows : 



c=> = 


r = 


i = 










Crotchet Rest . . . 


Semiquaver Rest. 

. .. . . ( 


Demi-Semiquaver . 


Rest. 3 = 

Hence, a semibreve is equal to two minims; equal to 
four crotchets ; equal to eight quavers, <fcc. 

A dot following a note, or rest, increases its length 
one-half in other words, increases its length in the 
ratio of 2 to 3. Thus, a dotted semibreve ( Q* ) is 
equal to a semibreve and a minim (&p), or to three 
minims (pflP); a dotted minim (P') 9 to a minim and 
a crotchet , or to three crotchets ? ; and 

so on. 

There are two general modes of time common and 
triple. In common time each measure is divisible by 
2 ; in triple time each measure is divisible by 3. 

There are several varieties of each of these modes 
of time. When a piece is in common time, and each 
measure contains two quavers, or their equivalent, the 

TIME. 65 

figures f are prefixed to the words, or the music ; when 
each measure contains two crotchets, the figures 4 are 
prefixed ; and when each measure contains four crotch- 
ets, a capital C, or the figures \ are prefixed. When 
a piece is in triple time, and each measure contains 
three quavers, the figures I are prefixed to the words, 
or the music; when each measure contains three crotch- 
ets, the figures I are prefixed; and when each mea- 
sure contains six quavers, the figures I are prefixed to 
the words, or the music. The upper figure, in each of 
these cases, shows how many notes of a certain descrip- 
tion there are in each measure ; and the lower figure, 
how many of these notes are equal in value to a semi- 


Common Time ; two Quavers in a Measure. 

2 i* N i j* r* r* ~i R i F i 

Oft has it been my lot to mark 

/ I / ?/ I//; // l/i I 

A proud, con - ceited, talking spark. 
Common Time ; two Crotchets in a Measure. 

!/ IJ JUI-ln J I J. / U.J U. 

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day. 

Triple time ; three Quavers in a Measure. 

3 h I h M h *i h I h ** & fc I hfc 
e J I J. * J I J. *! J i J -i /* 0* I J s 

The rose had been wash'd, just wash'd in a shower. 


MOVEMENT is the velocity with which a sentence is 
read or sung, or a strain of instrumental music is played. 
The rate of movement should be such as the senti- 
6* * 


ment demands. Solemn discourse requires a slow 
movement ; simple narrative, a medium rate of utter- 
ance; animated description, as well as all language 
expressive of any sudden passion, as joy, anger, &c., a 
movement more or less rapid, according to the inten- 
sity of emotion. In the science of music, various terms 
have been employed to denote the rate of movement, 
the principal of which are the following : 

ADAGIO, very slow ; the slowest time. 

Largo, slow time. 

Larghetto, . slow, but not so slow as largo. 


medium time. 

a little quicker than andante. 

rather quick, but not so quick as allegro. 

quick time. 

Presto, very quick. 

Prestissimo. . as quick as possible. 

Adagio, andante and allegro, are the three chief di- 
visions of time ; the other terms mark the intermediate 

In addition to the foregoing terms, which mark the 
movement, there are others, which indicate the style 
of performance. Some of these are as follows : 

Affctuoso, . . affectionate a soft and delicate style of performance. 

Brilldnte,. . shining, sparkling a gay, showy style. 

Furioso,. . . fierce, mad a vehement style. 

Spiritoso, . . spirited a spirited style. 

Sometimes these terms are used in connexion with 
those which express the rate of movement, thus : 

Allegro con spirito, quick with spirit in a quick and spirited 

The rate of movement is not definitely marked by 
the terms Adagio, Largo, Larghetto, &c. ; it may, how- 
ever, be designated with precision by means of the 


This instrument has a graduated pendulum, to which 
is attached a sliding weight. The higher this weight 



is moved upon the pendulum, the Diag. 17. 

slower are its vibrations ; and the 

contrary. When the weight cor- 

responds to the number 50, the vi- 

brations of the pendulum are the 

slowest; when it corresponds to 

160, they are the quickest. All 

the numbers on the instrument 

have reference to a minute of time. 

Thus, when the weight is placed 

at 50, fifty beats, or ticks, occur 

in a minte ; when at 60, sixty beats 

in a minute; when at 100, one' 

hundred beats in a minute, &c. 

The engraving in the margin represents the instrument 

in action. 

In reading, as a general rule, the time should be 
marked on the metronome by whole measures in 
other words, each measure should correspond to one 
tick of the instrument. 

In music, it is most convenient to mark the time on 
the metronome in adagios, by quavers ; in andantes, by 
crotchets ; in allegros, by minims ; and in prestos, by 
whole measures. 


In the following Examples, the words which indi- 
cate the movement and the corresponding numbers on 
the metronome, are both employed. 

Adagio. Metronome 60 two beats in a measure. 

JJ.I J. J* J 

O when shall day 

dawn on the night of the grave 1 

Largo- Metronome 56 one beat in a measure. 

O I have 







Larghetto. Metronome 66 one beat in a measure, 

\t\ J .PI ft . fc l J 1 I J ^ JS.I 

thou that rollest a bove, round as the 

j J* JM JV 

shield of my fathers! 

Andante. Metronome 76 one beat in a measure. 

JJ ^ .M J i J- i J J I J.^js| J 

1 had a dream which was not all a dream. 

Jlndantino. Metronome 100 one beat in a meaeure. 

2 fci is fc i p r* i r* ^ fc i v* * \ 

s J* I J. / I J J I j * / I J. -i I 

The tree of deepest root is found 

=3j? i f r i jr ^i jr ^ i jr 

Least willing still to quit the ground. 

Allegretto. Metronome 112 oe 6eat in a measure. 
2 h h 

jvj;r i / f ; .-'i ^ ; i jr 

Shivering in thy playful spray. 

* NOTE. The figure 3 over the three quavers which compose the first measure, 
signifies that they are to be pronounced in the time of two. 

Allegro con spirito. Metronome 104 one beat in a measure. 

I / I J* J* J*l J* J* J*l jy.TI JTq 

And darkness and doubt are now flying a - way. 

Animato. Metronome 100 one beat in a measure. 

3 i I I I M f* M I * 
8 ! J K r | j j 1 J. y. I J *] 

Sylph of the blue and beaming eye ! 

.M JTJ: I JTJ: I J j* i j i i 

The muses' fondest wreaths are thine. 



ESTURE is the various pos- 
tures and motions employed in 
vocal delivery : as the postures and 
motions of the head, face, shoul- 
ders, trunk, arms, hands, fingers, 
lower limbs, and the feet. 
Graceful and appropriate ges- 
ture renders vocal delivery far more pleasing and effec- 
tive. Hence its cultivation is of primary importance 
to those who are ambitious of accomplishment in Elo- 



postures of the body, with respect to vocal 
delivery, may be divided intoJa^ouEaJple and unfavour- 
able ; and, the better to suit my purpose in giving their 
illustration, I shall first treat of the unfavourable. 

The most unfavourable posture is the horizontal. If 
a reader or a speaker should lie prone, or supine, he 
would not be likely to deliver a discourse with energy 
and effect. I have never known an orator to deliver 
a discourse in the horizontal posture ; but I have known 
individuals to speak in public in postures almost as in- 

As impressions communicated through the medium 
of the eye, are the most lasting, two series of figures are 




here introduced, the former of which are unfavourable, 
and the latter favourable, to vocal delivery. 




10 11 12 


Absurd as are the unfavourable postures on page 70, 
I have known readers to adopt not only all these, but 
others equally inappropriate and ridiculous. This is 
too much the case, particularly in seminaries for young 


gentlemen, in a number of which it has fallen to- m * 
lot to give instruction in Elocution. 

The human mind is so constituted, that, in its edu- 
cation, order becomes almost indispensable. Hence, 
any thing that interrupts methodical instruction, is a 
serious obstacle to the growth of intellect. Nor is 
order more necessary than perseverance ; consequently 
all postures of the body which are calculated for re- 
pose, should be avoided by the student in elocution. 
And as grace and dignity are of primary importance 
in vocal delivery, all postures which are inconsistent 
with these attributes should also be avoided. 

The erect posture of the body is the best for vocal 
delivery ; the trunk and limbs should be braced in pro- 
portion to the degree of energy required by the senti- 
ments to be delivered. The right foot should be from 
two to four inches in advance of the left, and the toes 
turned a little outwards ; meanwhile the body should 
be principally sustained by the left foot. 

The next best is the erect sitting posture, in which 
the shoulders do not rest against the back of the seat, 
and in which the body is retained in its proper posi- 
tion by muscular action. (See Ornamental Letter, 
page 11 and 16.) 

The next best is the erect sitting posture in which 
the shoulders rest against the back of the seat. 

These are the only postures which are at all favour- 
able to vocal delivery. 


The book should be held in the left hand, from six 
to eight inches from the body, and as high as the centre 
of the breast, so as to bring the face nearly perpendi- 
cular. It should not, however, be held so high as to 
prevent the audience from having a view of the reader's 
mouth, as his voice would thereby be more or less ob- 
structed. The fingers of the right hand may take hold 
of the margin of the book lightly (see Fig. 10, and Orna- 


mental Letter, page 16), so as to be ready to turn over the 
leaves, as occasion may require ; or they may be placed 
upon the page, just below the line the reader is pronounc- 
ing, to aid him in keeping his place ; or, particularly 
if the reader is pronouncing an original composition, 
the right hand may be employed to illustrate and en- 
force the sentiments by appropriate gesticulation. (See 
Fig. 11.) ^If the reader be a lady, the right hand may 
support the left arm. (See Fig. 12.) I do not, how- 
ever, advise ladies to adopt this posture exclusively, 
but deem it not ungraceful for them. 

The eyes should occasionally be directed from the 

words of the discourse to the audience. (See Fig. 11.) 

^In demonsj:ating^pn_the black-board, the face, and 

not tfie~Tt>ack, should be turned to the audience. (See 

Fig. 13 and 14.) 



want of a language for expressing the different 
Nations of gesture with brevity and perspicuity, 
fis the principal cause of the general neglect with which 
the cultivation of this art has hitherto been treated. 
For this desideratum the world is indebted to the Rev. 
Gilbert Austin, of London. In 1806, this distinguished 
elocutionist published a quarto volume of six hundred 
pages ; and from that work I have taken the system 
of notation of which the following is a specimen : 

When the right arm is elevated backwards, and the 
left extended forwards, in a horizontal direction, he 
calls the posture of the former elevated backwards, and 
notes it eb ; and the posture of the latter, horizontal 
forwards, and notes it hf. Now the abbreviations eb 
and hf are placed over any word which requires these 
postures of the arms, thus : 




Jehovah's arm 

Snatch'd from the waves, and brings to me my son !* 

Douglas, Act 111 

For an illustration of these gestures, the reader is 
referred to the ornamental letter on page 69. 

The original idea of this system of notation, says Mr. 
Austin, was suggested by the labour of teaching decla- 
mation in the usual manner. During this labour, which 
for many years constituted a part of his duty in his 

frammar-school, the author having often found that he 
>rgot, on a following day, his own mode of instructing 
on a former, wished to be able to invent some perma- 
nent marks, in order to establish more uniformity in 
his instructions, for the ease both of himself and of his 
pupils. The mode of instruction is not so liable to 
change, with respect to the expression of the voice, and 
countenance, for this is always pointed out by the sen- 
timent. But the great difficulty lies in ascertaining 
and marking the suitable gesture ; and for these ob- 
vious reasons ; because a language of gesture was want- 
ing, and because gesture may be infinitely varied, and 
yet, perhaps, be equally just. To leave the pupil to 
choose for himself would but distract him, and, instead 
of giving him freedom and grace, would deprive him 
of both. On his commencement as' a public speaker 
(which cannot be too early), it is necessary to teach 
him every thing, and to regulate, by rules, every pos- 
sible circumstance in his delivery ; his articulation, 
accent, emphasis, pauses, &c., and along with all, his 
gesture. After sufficient instruction and practice, he 
will regulate his own manner, according to the sugges- 
tions of his judgment and taste. 

Among the higher objects of this system of notation, 
may be reckoned its uses as a record, whence the his- 

* Although an explanation of the gestures on Jehovah's arm t in 
the above sentence, is sufficient to answer my present purpose, it 
may not be improper to inform the reader that another gesture ia 
required on the word son. 


torical painter may derive the materials of truth, and 
whence the orator and the elocutionist may not only 
obtain the instructions of the great men who have pre- 
ceded them in the same career, but by which also they 
may secure, unalterably, their own improvements for 
the advancement of their art, and for the benefit of 
posterity. A scene of Shakspeare, or a passage of Mil- 
ton, so noted, after the manner of a great master of 
recitation, or an oration so noted as delivered by an 
admired speaker, would prove an enduring study of 
truth and nature combined with imagination. And the 
aspiring orator would not be obliged, as at present, to 
invent for himself an entire system of action. He might 
derive light from the burning lamps of the dead, and 
proceed at once, by their guidance, towards the highest 
honours of his profession. 

Had the ancients possessed the art of notating their 
delivery, such was the unwearied diligence of their 
great orators, Demosthenes and Cicero, that we should, 
most probably, at this day, be in possession of their 
manner of delivery, as well as the matter of their ora- 
tions ; and not be limited to conjecture relative to a 
single sentence of these eminent speakers, on the great 
occasions which called forth their powers. 




THE parts of the human figure which are brought 
into action, in gesture, cannot, in truth, be considered 
separate ; for every muscle, over which men can exer- 
cise voluntary action, contributes, in some measure, to 
the perfection of gesture. For, convenience, however, 
we may enumerate and class the most distinguished 
parts of the body, which effect the principal gestures. 
These are : 

1. The HEAD. 5. The HANDS and FINGERS. 



4. The ARMS. 7. The FEET. 

I shall begin, as it were, with the foundation of the 
building, and shall first consider the positions and 
motions of the feet and lower limbs ; since without the 
stability and ease of these, neither grace nor dignity 
can consist in the standing figure. 

As the object of the orator is to persuade, and as 
prejudice against his person or manners may greatly 
impede him, he must recommend himself by every at- 
tention to his external deportment which may be 
deemed correct and proper ; and guard against every 
species of inelegance that may prove disadvantageous. 
He must, therefore, even in his posture as he stands, 
prefer manly dignity and grace to awkward rusticity 
and rude strength. Rude strength may suit him who 
wishes to terrify, or to insult ; but this is rarely the 
purpose of a public speaker. Grace and decorum win 
favour ; and this is the general object. Rude strength 
stands indeed with stability, but without grace. 

The gracefulness of motion in the human form, or 
perhaps in any other, consists in the facility and secu- 


rity with which it is executed. And the grace of any 
postures (except such as are manifestly designed for 
repose), consists in the apparent facility with which 
they can be varied. Hence, in the standing figure, the 
posture is graceful when the weight of the body is 
principally supported by one limb, whilst the other is 
so placed as to be ready to relieve it promptly, and 
without effort. And as the limbs are formed for a 
mutual share of labour and of honour, so their alterna- 
tion in posture, and in motion, is agreeable and grace- 

The body must then be supported, if grace be con- 
sulted, on either limb, like Apollo, Antinous, and other 
beautiful and well-executed statues. 

The positions of the feet are expressed by the nota- 
tion annexed, which is to be written under the word 
where the speaker is to assume such position. They 
are the following : 

First Position of the Right Foot, noted R. 1. (See Fig. 15). 

The upper part of the figure represents the eleva- 
tion of the position ; the lower, the plan. 

In this position the right foot (advanced before the 
eft about the breadth of the foot), 
orms, with the left, an angle of 
about seventy-five degrees, as may 
be seen in the plan. The lines 
which form this angle, passing 
through the length of each foot, 
meet its" vertex under the heel of 
the left. The principal weight of 
the body is sustained by the left 
foot ; the right rests lightly, but in 
its whole length, upon the floor. 
This fact is shown in the plan by deeply shading the 
left foot, and lightly shading the right. 


Second Position of the Right Foot, noted R. 2. (See Fig. 1 6.) 

In this position, the right foot sliding forward about 
half its length, receives the principal 
weight of the body, the left being 
raised, and turning as far inwards 
towards the right ; the ball of the 
left great toe only lightly touching 
the floor, to keep the body from tot- 
tering. In the plan, the right foot, 
by which the weight of the body is 
principally sustained, is all shaded, 
while that part only of the left is 
shaded which rests upon the floor. 

The angle formed by lines drawn through the length 

of the feet, in this position, is about ninety degrees. 
In this position, when the feet are near together, the 

entire sole of the left foot may lightly touch the floor ; 

but when the feet are separated about their own length, 

or more, the left should touch only near the great toe ; 

the knee should be bent, and the heel turned inward, 

as in Fig. 24 and 26. 

First Position of the Left Foot, noted L. 1. (See Fig. 17). 

This position of the left foot is, in 
all respects, analogous to the first 
position of the right. The left foot 
is advanced, and the body is princi- 
pally supported by the right. The 
shading of the plan is similar to that 
in the first position of the right, and 
for the same purposes. 

The first position of the right foot 
17 x is the proper reading position, when 

no gesture is employed ; but it should be occasionally 
alternated with the first position of the left, for the 
relief of the supporting muscles. 



Second Position of the Left Foot-noted L. 2. (See Fig. 18). 

This position of the left foot is, in 
all respects, analogous to the second 
position of the right; and, in the 
figure, it is represented in the same 
manner, only reversed. 

Figure 19 is a better plan of the 
feet than that annexed to the eleva- 
tions. In both positions the right 
foot advances about half its own 
length, as may be seen by comparing 18 

it with the equidistant parallel lines. In the first posi- 
tion of the right foot, the lines ff, ff, passing through 
the centre of the feet, 

make an angle of 1- 

about seventy-five de- 
grees ; and in the se- 
cond position, the 
lines SS make an an- 
gle of about ninety 
degrees. These an- 
gles are nearly bi- 
sected by the line 
EE, which goes to 
the eye of the person 
addressed. In the 
first position, the lines 
c,f, q, a?, 6,* annexed 
to the dotted prints of both the feet, mark the manner 
in which they are shifted, without altering their own 
angle, according as the gesture is directed. In the 
plan the gesture is supposed to be directed forwards. 
This figure may be supposed to be reversed for the first 
and the second position of the left foot. 

The first position of either foot, but particularly that 

* These are notation letters, which will be explained in their 



of the right (because the more graceful), is the proper 
reading position. It is also the proper rising position 
of the orator. But should he stretch forth his arms 
towards the audience, when he begins to speak, he 
should take the second position. 

Besides the four positions above mentioned, there are 
two others, which may be called positions in front. 
The heels are placed nearly together, and the body is 
supported, alternately, on the right and left foot, whilst 
the toes of the other lightly touch the floor. The angle 
formed by the feet, in these positions, is somewhat 
greater than a right angle. In other respects they 
are similar to the ordinary positions. The right po- 
sition in front, noted R. F., is when the body is sup- 
ported on the left foot. The left position in front, 
noted L. F., is when the body is supported on the right 
foot. The position in front is used when persons are 
addressed alternately, on either side, whilst the audi- 
tors are in front, as on the stage. It is not graceful, 
and should not often be used ; it is too stiff and formal, 
like the military figure, and presents the body with too 
much uniformity and flatness.* 

* This appears to be the position condemned by Quintilian : 
" The swing of those who balance their body to the right side and 
loft, upon the alternate feet, is very ungraceful." 


Connected with these positions which express the 
moderate state of the feet, are marked the same posi- 
tions in the extended state. (Fig* 20.) These differ 
from the moderate, principally, in the greater separa- 
tion of the feet. The second position extended, en- 
larges the angle a few degrees by drawing up the heel 
of the retired foot. (See Fig. 46 and 89.) The first 
extended position is made when a person retires in any 
degree of alarm ; and the second, when he advances 
with boldness. (See Fig. 106 and 108.) An x is added 
to the notation to express the extended position, thus ; 
R. 1. x; R. 2. x; &c. 

The contracted position may be easily understood by 
supposing the heels to be brought close together. A c 
is added to the notation, to express the contracted 
position, thus : R. 1. c. 

The attitude of the orator should not be like that of 
the affected dancing-master, which is adapted to spring- 
ing agility and conceited display. The orator should 
adopt such attitudes and positions only as consist with 
manly simplicity and grace. The toes should be turned, 
not inwards, like those of the awkward rustic, but 
moderately outwards ; and the limbs should be so dis- 
posed as to support the body with ease, and to change 
with facility. The sustaining foot should be planted 
firmly; the leg braced, but not contracted; and the 
knee straightened (contraction suits the spring neces- 
sary for the dancer, and bent knees belong to feeble- 
ness, or timidity) ; the other foot and limb should press 
lightly, and be held relaxed, so as to be ready for im- 
mediate change and action, except in very energetic 
delivery, where both limbs should be braced. The 
trunk of the body should be well balanced, and sus- 
tained erect upon the supporting limb, except in such 
instances as particularly require its inclination, as 
veneration, supplication, &c. The orator should face 
his audience. Whatever his position may be, he should 
present himself, as Quintilian expresses, cequo pectore 
(Fig. 13), and never in the fencer's attitude. 


In changing the positions of the feet, the motion* 
should be made with the utmost simplicity, and free 
from the parade and sweep of dancing. All changes, 
except where particular energy requires the speaker to 
stamp, start back, or advance with marked decision, 
should be made almost imperceptibly. The changes 
should not be too frequent : frequent change gives the 
idea of anxiety and instability, which are unfavourable 
to an orator. 

The several acts resulting from the changes in the 
positions of the feet, are, advancing (noted a) ; re- 
tiring (r) ; traversing (tr.) ; starting (s. or st.) ; stamp- 
ing (sp.),&c. 

If more steps than one are to be expressed (as in the 
business of the theatre) the number may be introduced 
in a parenthesis, after the letter marking the step, and 
then the position follows which finishes the movement ; 
thus, a (2) R. 2, means, advance two steps to the se- 
cond position of the right foot. In private declama- 
tions, or recitations on a platform, or rostrum, these 
figures are not necessary, as a single step, in advancing 
or retiring, is sufficient.* 

Changes of position, or steps, are considered to be 
made only by the foot on which the body is not sup- 
ported, for that alone is free. Should it be required to 
move the foot which supports the body (suppose the 
left, in the first position of the right, Fig. 15), two mo- 

* I have frequently seen college students take three steps to the 
right, then three to the left, then three again to the right, and so 
on, till they had changed their position fifteen times during the de- 
livery of a discourse which did not occupy them more than ten 
minutes. And I have known a clergyman to traverse the whole 
length of his pulpit twenty-three times during the delivery of a ser- 
mon. Such erratic movements in a public speaker are undigni- 
fied : tiiey betray a want of judgment, and are exceedingly annoy- 
ing to an audience. An orator should "keep in his place:" he 
should perform all the movements of his feet within the limits of 
thirty-six inches square, and not be continually running about the 
room as if labouring under the effects of nitrous oxide. 


tions are necessary ; in the first the position must be 
changed to R. 2. (Fig. 16), so as to throw the weight 
of the body on the right foot, then the left may be 
moved as required. 

According to this principle, it will be found that 
from each original a.R.2 > 

position four steps ^. M 

may be made. (See V<> ' 

Fig. 21 and 22.) * 

The plan of the 

steps, in the origi- M ~~lK~~~2r * -J$J 

nal position, is in ^V ^ (P\ <\w 

the centre, and 
drawn larger; the 
plan of the steps, 
made from that ori- 
ginal position, is re- 
presented smaller. 
The line of motions 
of the feet, is repre- 21 

sented by a line of dots, nearly of the same form which 
each foot should trace ; the line of the free, or first- 
moving foot, is marked with a star. In the figures, it 
will be observed, that from each position four steps 
may be made the speaker may advance, retire, tra- 
verse, and cross. In 
advancing and tra- 
versing, each step 
finishes on the second 
position of the ad- 
vancing foot ; and, 
in retiring from the _ 

first position, the step 
finishes on the first 
position of the con- 
trary foot; but, in 
retiring from the se- 
cond position, it fin- 
ishes on the first 



position of the same foot. In crossing from the first 
position, the free foot passes before the other, and 
finishes on the second position ; but, in crossing from 
the second position, it passes behind the planted foot, 
and finishes on the first position. 

The steps from the two positions of the left foot are 
similar to those of the right, and do not require to be 
explained by another figure. 



Fig. 23 represents a person standing with his arms 
hanging unconstrained. Now, if from this position the 
arm be raised as high as it can be, as in Fig. 24, the 
extremity of the fingers will describe, in the vertical 
direction, a semicircle, which, in the figure, is marked 

at five points, 
R, d, h, e, Z, at 
intervals of for- 
ty-five degrees. 
If, in the trans- 
verse direction, 
the arm be ex- 
tended across 
the body, as far 
as convenience 
will permit, and 
then swept hori- 
zontally round, 
and outwards, 
the extremity of 
the fingers will 
describe a semi- 
circle, which, in 
Fig. 25, is also 
marked at five points, c,/, q, x, b, at intervals of forty- 



five degrees.* Upon 
these principles is 
built the present sys 
tern of gesture, which 
is exemplified in the 
following diagram : 

Fig. 26 is a sphere, 
consisting of the pri- 
mary circle, Z e h d 
R d h e Z, the right 
circle, Z/R (crossing 
the primary at right 
angles), the two ob- 

* The eye of the spectator is supposed to be above this figure. 


lique circleSjZ&R^Z, and ZcR&Z (crossing the right 
and primary circle at an angle of forty-five degrees), 
the horizontal circle bhcfqhb (the plane of which 
passes through the projecting point), and the two smaller 
circles b e qfc e b, and b d cfq d b, parallel to it, 
above and below, at the distance of forty-five degrees. 
The human figure is so placed within this sphere, that 
the internal central point between the shoulders, is the 
centre of the sphere. The postures and motions of the 
arms are referred to, and determined by, the points at 
which the circles intersect each other.* The circle 
marked q, for the right arm, becomes c for the left, and 
the contrary. According to this scheme, the postures 
of the arms are determined, and noted as follows : 

First) in the Vertical Direction. 

When the arm hangs down, at rest, Fig. 23, it 
is noted R. 

When directed downwards, within forty-five 
degrees of the nadir, Fig. 27 to 31, it is noted - d. 

When directed towards the horizon, Fig. 32 to 36 h. 

When elevated forty -five degrees above the ho- 
rizon, Fig. 37 to 41 e. 

When pointing to the zenith, Fig. 24 - - - - Z. 

Second, in the Transverse Direction. 

When the arm is extended as far as convenient, 
across the body, say forty-five degrees from the 
right circle, Z/ R, Fig. 27, 32, 37, it is noted - c. 

When extended in the plane of the right circle, 
or directly forward, Fig. 28, 33, 38 /. 

When directed forty -five degrees obliquely from 
this position, Fig. 29, 34, 39 q. 

When in the plane of the primary circle, Fig. 
30, 35, 40 x. 

* In speaking of angles and elevations, determined by degrees, 
mathematical precision is not intended, and is not necessary : it is 
sufficient for the present purpose that the position described should 
be nearly in the angle or direction mentioned. 



When forty-five degrees backwards of this posi- 
tion, Fig. 31, 36, 41 b. 

From the combination of the three vertical and five 
transverse positions (Fig. 24 and 25), exclusive of the 
positions R and Z, fifteen primary positions of the arms 
are formed. In the illustration of these primary posi- 
tions of the arms, all the figures in the upper line (Fig. 
27 to 31), direct the arm downwards, but to different 
points in the transverse circle ; all the figures in the 
second line (Fig. 32 to 36), direct the arm towards the. 
horizon ; and all those in the third (37 to 41), elevate it 
towards the upper transverse circle. If they are taken 
in the vertical direction, those in the first column (27 
32, 37), point across ; those in the second (28, 33, 38), 
forwards ; those in the third (29, 34, 39), oblique ; those 
in the fourth (30, 35, 40), extended ; those in the fifth 
(31, 36, 41), backwards. 

28 " : " 

29 " " 

30 " " 

31 " " 

The Fifteen Primary Postures of the Arms more 
ticularly noted. 

Fig. First Line. 

27 directs Ithe arm downwards across, - - - 

downwards forwards, - - 

downwards oblique, - - - 

downwards extended, - - 

downwards backwards, - - 

Second Line. 

horizontal across, - - - - 

horizontal forwards, - - - 

horizontal oblique, - - - 

horizontal extended, - - 

39 " " " horizontal backwards, - - 

Third Line. 

37 directs the arm elevated across, - - - - 

38 " elevated forwards, - - - 

39 " " " elevated oblique, - - - . 

40 " " elevated extended, - - . 




32 directs the arm 

33 " " 

34 " " 

35 " " " 


elevated backwards, - 









These are 
the simple 
primary pos- 
tures of the 
whole arm, 
which, with 
the latitude 
allowed, will 
be found suf- 
ficient to re- 
present most 
of the ordi- 
nary ges- 
tures. Bythe 
latitude al- 
lowed, the 
reader is to 
that deflex- 
ion from the 
true point in 
reference to 
which the 
posture is 
named: since 
a near ap- 
proach to the 
proper point 
is sufficient 
to give the 
posture the 
name of that 

quial eleva- 
tions of the 
arm (Fig. 42, 
43, 44), are 



less bold than the primary postures. The fore arm, in 
the horizontal elevation, instead of being raised to the 


height of the shoulder, points 
about as high as the middle 
of the breast; the hand, in 
the elevated position, is not 
raised above the eyes ; and 
in the position downwards, 
it is held but little below the 

In delineating the primary 
postures, the boldest and most 
decided action has been cho- 
sen, which is suited to the 
epic style; because, in this 
style, the different postures 
are the most strongly discri- 
minated. The colloquial 
44 elevations are similar, but 

In them the distinctive character is, that the 



arm, at the elbow, is bent, and the upper arm held 
closer to the side. 

The degree of energy proceeding from the sentiment 
of desire, or aversion, with which a passage is delivered, 
influences much the character of the gesture, in the 
same manner that it does the tones and expressions of 
the voice ; the language still remaining unaltered. If 
the passage to be delivered may properly be illustrated 
by the arm in the posture horizontal extended (hx), the 
degree of that extension should vary with the spirit of 

the passage. If an object is 

simply pointed to in the hori-x 

zon, the arm should be mode- 
rately extended (Fig. 45), and 
slightly bent at the shoulder, 
the elbow, and the wrist. If 
the object is highly interesting, 
and supposed to be in the same 
situation as if a general pointed 
to those troops which he re- 
quired to be instantly sustained, 
the arm should be extended to 
the utmost, the wrist thrown 
no, and the fingers down, whilst 
the whole body should be projected forwards. 



46.) The arm, in this posture, as in the last, is con- 
sidered still to be horizontal extended, but in the ex- 
treme degree, and is marked with an additional x (hxx). 
If the object in the same situation as before be sup- 
posed something producing disappointment, or horror 
the arm should be contracted, and the whole person 
should recoil. (Fig. 47.) And this also is considered 
horizontal extended; horizontal, because the hand is 
directed towards the horizon; and extended, because 
the arm continues in the same plane as in the former 
instances. But the character of this gesture differs ; 
and, in order to express it by the notation letters, a c 
is added, thus, hxc. This notation is read, horizontal 
extended contracted. 



There are other postures of the arm, which require 
?i separate consideration. These postures are named 
from the manner of holding the arm, or resting it upon 
the body. They admit of considerable variety ; but 
the description of the following, will suffice to explain 
the class to w r hich they are to be referred. 

Encumbered, or folded, noted en.* (Fig. 48.) When 
the arms are crossed, and enclose each other, the left 

* With arms encumbered, thus. Hamlet. 



hand holding the upper right arm, and the right hand 
passing under the upper left arm. 

Kimbo, k. The posture into which the arm is thrown 
by resting the hand upon the hip, as in Fig. 49. 

Reposed, pd. When one fore arm rests upon the 
other, as in Fig. 50. This posture is peculiar to ladies. 



THE Roman critics and orators attributed consider- 
able importance to the manner of disposing the fingers, 
in delivery, ascribing to each particular disposition of 
them, a significancy, or suitableness for certain expres- 
sions, of which we do not always see the force. Seve- 
ral of these dispositions of the fingers are employed by 
our speakers, but without attaching to them any par- 
ticular significancy. Either they are natural gestures, 
or they are imitations, of which the origin is not re- 
membered, or regarded, as many of our apparently 
original actions are. 

The postures of the hand are determined by four 
different circumstances : 

1. By the disposition of the fingers. 

2. By the manner of presenting the palm. 

3. By the combined disposition of both hands. 

4. By the part of the body on which they are occa- 
sionally placed. 

First Class of the Postures of the Hands, depending on 
the Disposition of the Fingers. 

The natural state, noted n., Fig. 51. The hand, 
when unconstrained, in its natural, and relaxed state, 
either hanging down at rest, or raised moderately up 
has all the fingers a little bent inwards towards the 


palm ; the middle and third finger lightly touch ; the 
fore-finger is separated from the middle finger, and less 
bent, and the little finger separated from the third, and 
more bent. The extremity of the thumb bends a little 
outwards; and, in its general length and disposition, is 
nearly parallel with the fore-finger. When the arm is 
raised horizontal, the hand is held obliquely between 
the postures inward and supine. Cresollius recom- 
mends the public speaker to adopt this posture of the 
hand, and for this preference he adduces the authority 
of Hippocrates and Galen. But it is not necessary that 
a speaker should confine himself to any one posture of 
the hand ; variety may often demand the contrary : if, 
however, he should prefer using only 
one, this posture merits the preference. 

Clinched, c, Fig. 52. The fingers, in this disposition, 
are firmly closed, and press their extremities upon the 
palm ; the thumb aids the pressure, and is lapped, par- 
ticularly, over the middle finger. 

Extended, x,* Fig. 53. The fingers, in this state, 
whatever may be the general position of the hand, are 
separated from each other with energy in proportion to 
the excitation of the speaker. 

Index, i, Fig. 54, 55, 56. Pointing with the fore- 
finger, and sometimes also with the middle finger ex- 
tended, the other fingers turned inwards, and contract- 
ed with more or less force, according to the energy of 

* The letter chosen for the notation of a particular gesture, is 
not always the initial letter, because the names of many of the ges- 
tures begin with the same .letter. It becomes necessary, therefore, 
to employ some remarkable letter in the word ; thus, x is used for 
extended, and I for collected, which may be easily remembered. 
Of the many names of gestures which begin with the same letter, 
the gesture most used is marked by the initial letter. 



the speaker. This gesture is used in reproach and 
indication, from the last of which it has its name, inde*. 


Collected, I, Fig. 57 and 58. When the ends of all 
the fingers are 
gently inclined 
towards, or touch 
the end of the 

With the fin- 
gers collected, as 
in a, the hand is 
brought near the 
lips, or opposite 
shoulder, then re- 
moved in the contrary direction, with the fingers ex- 
tended, as in b. 

Holding, h, Fig. 59, 60, 61. The finger and thumb 

are pressed together, either the fore 
or middle finger, or both ; the other 
fingers are contracted, more or less, 
according to the degree of energy re- 
quired by the sentiment. 

Hollow, 10, Fig. 62. When the palm is held nearly 




supine, and the fingers turn inwards, 
without touching. 

Thumb, m, Fig. 63 and 64. Point- 
ing with the thumb, the fingers being 
clasped down, and the thumb ex- 

Grasping, g, Fig. 65. The fin- 
gers and thumb seizing the garments, 
or the hair. 

" That gesture," says Quintilian, " which urges on 

the words, contract- 
ing and opening the 

hand with alternate 
and rapid motion, is 
rather admitted by 
common usage, than according to art." (See Fig. 66.) 

Second Class of the Postures of the Hands, depending 
on the manner of presenting the Palm. 

Prone, p t Fig. 67. The hand is prone when the 

palm is turned 

Supine, s. The 
68 hand is said to be 

supine, when the palm is turned upwards, as in Fig. 68. 
Inwards, n, Fig. 69. When the palm is turned to- 
wards the breast 
and the hand is 
held on the edge. 
70 Outwards, o, 

Fig. 70. When the palm is turned from the body, and 
towards the object, the thumb down- 
wards, the hand held on the edge. 

Vertical, v, Fig. 71 . When the palm is 
perpendicular to the horizon, the fingers 
pointing upwards. 

Forwards,/. When the palm is pre- 
sented forwards, the arm hanging down, or placed in 
one of the extended, or backward positions. 



Backwards, b. When the palm is turned back- 
wards, the arm hanging down, or placed in one of the 
extended, or backward positions. 

Third Class of the Postures of the Hands, arising from 
the combined disposition of both Hands. 

Of this class a few only are noticed, and those are 
they which are most in use among public speakers; 
others may be supplied as occasion may require. It is 
found necessary to use two letters for the notation of 
each of these postures. 


Applied, ap, Fig. 72. When the palms are pressed 
together, and the fingers and thumbs of each are mu- 
tually laid against each other. 

Clasped, Ip, Fig. 73. When all the fingers are in- 
serted between each other, and the hands pressed 
closely together. 

Folded, Id, Fig. 74. When the fingers of the right 
hand, at the second joint, are laid between the thumb 
and fore-finger of the left, the right thumb crossing the 


Crossed, cr, Fig. 75. When the left hand is placed 
on the breast, and the right on the left, or the contrary. 

Inclosed, in, Fig. 76. When the knuckles at the 
middle joint of one hand, moderately bent, are received 
within the palm of the other, the fingers of which stretch 
along the back of the inclosed hand nearly to the wrist, 
the thumbs crossing, or rather, laid at length over each 

Touching, tc, Fig. 77. When the points of the fin- 
gers of each hand are brought lightly into contact. 

Wringing, wr, Fig. 78. When both hands are first 
clasped together, and elevated, then depressed, and 
separated at. the wrists, without disengaging the fin- 

Enumerating, nu, Fig. 79. When the index finger 
of the right hand is laid suc- 
cessively upon the index, or 
the different fingers of the 
left. If the number of divi- 
sions be more than four, the 
.enumeration should begin 
from the thumb. Sometimes 
the finger and thumb of the 
right hand hold the finger of the left, which represents 
the divisio.i. 

Fourth Class of the Postures of the Hands, arising from 
the Part of the Body on which they are occasion- 
ally placed. 

The fourth class of the postures of the hands arises 
from the part of the body on which they are occasion- 


99 placed. The notation letter by which these are 
represented, is a capital ; and it occupies the place in 

the Systematic Ta- 
ble (to be found in 
another part of this 
work), of those two 
small letters which 
represent the posi- 
tion of the arm in 
the vertical and 
transverse direc- 
tion. The parts of 
the body and head 
most remarkable, in 
this respect, are, the 
breast, noted B (Fig. 
80); the eyes, E (Fig. 81); the lips, L (Fig. 82) ; the 
forehead, F (Fig. 83) ; the chin, C (Fig. 84). 

The Motions of the Arms and Hands. 

In ascertaining the import of any posture of either 
arm, or hand, it is important to consider the posture in 
connexion with the action by which it is produced; 



for any posture of the arm, or hand, may sustain differ- 
ent significant characters, because different actions give 
the same posture an entirely different import. This 
must be obvious to all who reflect that the effect of the 
posture greatly depends upon the exact character of 
the motion, which is produced partly by the direction 
which the motion takes, partly by the force with which 
it is commenced, and partly by the distance through 
which it passes. 

The motions of the hands and arms together, are, 
therefore, considered ; first, as to their direction ; and, 
secondly, as to their manner of moving. The energy 
is not here taken into account. These motions are 
noted by the fourth and fifth small letters, should so 
many be necessary. 

In the direction of the motion (Fig. 85), gestures are 
considered as ascending, noted a ; descending, d ; to 
the right, r ; to the left, I ; forwards, /; backwards, 
b ; revolving, v. The stars, connected with the hand 
by dots, show the various points from which the mo 
tion of the gestures has commenced. 



As to the manner of motion, gesture may be consi- 
dered as 

Noting, noted n, Fig. 11, page 71. When the hand 
is first drawn back and raised, and then advanced, and, 
with a gentle stroke, depressed. 

Projecting, or pushing, p, Fig. 86. When the arm 
is first retracted, and then thrust forward in the direc- 
tion in which the hand points. 

Waving, w, Fig. 87. When 
the fingers are first pointed 
downwards, and then, by a 
smart motion of the elbow and 
wrist, the hand is flung up- 
ward in a vertical direction. 

The flourish, fl, Fig. 88. A 
circular movement above the 

The sweep, sw, Fig. 89. A 
curved movement, descending 
from the opposite shoulder, and 
rising with velocity to the 
utmost extent of the arm, or 
the reverse ; changing the position of the hand from 


supine to vertical, in the first case, and from vertical 
to supine, in the latter. The sweep is sometimes doubled, 
by returning the arm through the same arch.* 

Beckoning, bk. When with the fore-finger, or the 
whole hand, the palm being turned inwards, a motion 
is made in the direction of the breast. 

Repressing, rp. The reverse of the preceding ges- 
ture, when the fore-finger, or the whole hand, the palm 
turned outwards, makes a motion in opposition to the 
person addressed. The motions, in these last two ges- 
tures, are often repeated. 

Striking, st, Fig. 90. When the whole fore-arm, and 
the hand along with it, descend from a higher elevation 
rapidly, and with a degree of force like a stroke which 
is arrested, when it has struck what it was aimed 

Recoiling, re, Fig. 91. When after a stroke, as in 
the former gesture, the arm and hand return to the 
position whence they proceeded. 

* The late John Kemble, says Mr. Austin, used the double sweep, 
with fine effect, on these words : 

The play 's the thing 
Wherein I '11 catch the conscience of the king. Hamlet. 


Advancing, ad. When the hand being first moved 
downwards and backwards, in order to obtain greater 
space' for action, is then moved regularly forwards, and 
raised as high as the horizontal position, a step being, 
at the same time, made in advance, to aid the action. 

Springing, sp. When the hand, having nearly ar- 
rived at the intended limit of gesture, flies suddenly up 
to it by a quick motion of the wrist, like the blade of a 
pocket-knife, when it suddenly and decidedly snaps into 
its proper situation by the recoil of the spring. 

Throwing, th. When the arm, by the force of the 
gesture, is thrown, as it were, in the direction of the 
person addressed. 

Clinching', cl. When the hand is suddenly clinched, 
and the arm raised in a posture of threatening, or con- 

Collecting, II. When the arm, from an extended 
posture, sweeps inwards. 

Shaking, sh. When a tremulous motion is made by 
the arm and hand. 

Pressing, pr. When the hand, already laid on some 
part, the effort of pressing is marked by raising the 
elbow, and contracting the fingers. 

Retracting, rt. When the arm is withdrawn, pre- 
paratory to projecting, or pushing, as may be imagined 
in Fig. 47, if supposed to prepare to push towards the 
star, and as in the dotted hand and arm of Fig. 91, or 
in the right arm of Fig. 96 ; or, in order to avoid an 
object either hateful or horrible, as in Fig. 95 and 105. 

Rejecting, rj. Is the action of pushing the hand 
vertically towards the object, and, at the same time, 
averting the head, as in Fig. 97, for which Fig. 96 is 

Bending, bn, is the gesture preparatory to striking. 
It is represented by the uppermost dotted hand and 
arm of Fig. 90, and by the strongly marked elevated 
right arm of Fig. 91. 

The gestures here given will suffice, as a specimen 


of some of the most useful in this class ; others may be 
named, and marked by proper notation, as occasion 
may require. 



As the head gives the chief grace to the person, so 
does it principally contribute to the expression of grace, 
in delivery. 

The head should be held in an erect and natural 
posture ; for, when hung down, it expresses humility, 
or diffidence ; when thrown back, arrogance ; and when 
inclined to one side, languor or indifference. The 
movements of the head should be suited to the charac- 
ter of the delivery ; they should accord with the ges- 
ture, and fall in with the action of the hands, and the 
motions of the body. 

The head is capable of many appropriate expres- 
sions. Besides those nods which signify assent, or ap- 
probation and rejection, there are motions of the head, 
known, and common to all, which express modesty, 
doubt, admiration and indignation. But to use the 
gesture of the head alone, unaccompanied by any other 
gesture, is considered faulty. It is also a fault to shake 
or nod the head frequently, to toss it violently, or to 
agitate the hair, by rolling it about. 

The most usual motions and postures of the head, 
are as follows. In the notation, the head and eyes 
may, without confusion, be considered together. 

Postures and Motions of 
the Head. 

Inclined, noted - - I 
Erect, - - E 

Assenting, " - - As 

Direction of the Eyes. 

Forwards, noted - - F 
Averted, " - - A 

Downwards, " - - D 


Denying, " - - Dn Upward, " - - U 

Shaking, " - - Sh j Around, " - - R 

Tossing, " - - Ts | Vacuity, or " 

Aside, " - - S ! Vacancy,* " - - V 

The motions of the trunk contribute much to the 
effect in delivery. The gestures of the arms and hands, 
therefore, should always be supported by the accom- 
paniment of the body. Not by affected and ridiculous 
contortions, but by the manly and free exertions of the 
muscles of the body, the general consent of which is 
indispensable to the production of graceful motion. 
The raising up, or shrugging of the shoulders, in order 
to express indifference, or contempt, is merely theatri- 
cal, and should be sparingly used, even on the stage. 

The postures of the trunk might also be enumerated, 
and be subjected to the rules of notation ; but this would 
be unnecessary, as they" are in general sufficiently un- 
derstood, being the accompaniment of the motions of 
the head, the arms and the hands. 



THE arm, the fore-arm, the hand, and the fingers, 
form the grand instrument of gesture, or, as Cicero 
calls it, " the weapon of the orator." The centre of 
motion of this compound instrument, is the shoulder. 
These parts do not move together in the manner of an 
inflexible line ; but each separate joint often becomes 
a new centre of motion for the portion between it and 
the extremity. 

In gesticulating, this complex instrument does not 
continue long in one direct line, nor in any particular 

'* Queen. Alas! how is 't with you, 

That you do bend your eye on vacancy, 

And with the incorporeal air do hold discourse ? Hamlet. 


flexure, but changes every moment the angles formed 
at the different joints, which adds grace and variety to 
the motions. The farther any portion of this complex 
line is from the centre of motion, the greater space does 
it pass through. The least motion, therefore, is that 
made by the upper arm, and the greatest, that made 
by the hand : from this circumstance alone, the ges- 
tures of the latter are conspicuous. In gesticulating, 
the hand has not only the advantage of being placed at 
the extremity of the line farthest from the centre of 
motion ; but, by means of the joint at the wrist, it can 
spring with increased velocity on approaching the point 
to which its gesture is directed. This action of the 
hand is termed the stroke of the gesture ; and it should 
be marked by different degrees of force, according to 
the energy of the sentiment. In high passion, it should 
be distinguished by a strong percussion; and in the 
more moderate state of the speaker's feelings, merely 
by a turn of the hand, by a change of posture, or ele- 
vation of the arm, or by a momentary arrest of the 
motion of the gesture in its transitions. 

The stroke of the gesture is analogous to the empha- 
sis of the voice ; and they should both fall exactly on 
the accented syllable of the emphatic word. In this 
way the emphatic force of the voice, and the stroke of 
the gesture, co-operate in presenting the idea in the 
most lively manner, to the eye as well as to the ear. 

There are other points of analogy between the voice 
and gesture, which deserve consideration. In the sim- 
ple and narrative parts of a discourse, there is little 
effort or variety of expression, in the voice. Under 
the same circumstances, the gesture, if any is used, 
should be tame and simple ; but, in the more impas- 
sioned parts, both should be equally exerted. The 
gesture, also, in many instances, nearly imitates the 
manner of the inflections of the voice. When the voice 
rises, the gesture naturally ascends; and when the 
voice makes the falling inflection, or lowers its pitch, 


the gesture follows it by a corresponding descent ; and, 
in the level and monotonous pronunciation of the voice, 
the gesture seems to observe a similar limitation, by 
moving rather in the horizontal direction, without much 
varying its elevation. 

^ ! Some writers say, that, " in calm discourse, the 
words and the gestures should generally accompany 
each other; but, in impassioned discourse, the feelings 
of the speaker should first be manifested in the eyes ; 
then, by the countenance ; next, by the gesture ; and, 
lastly, by the words." This is not just./ In^allflis^. 
course, wliether calm or impassioned, the words and 
the gestures should accompany each other. As, in 
beating time in music, the beat is made on the accented 
part of the measure, so in speaking, the stroke of the 
gesture should fall on the accented syllable of the em- 
phatic word. The emotion which calls forth the word, 
at the same moment, prompts the gesture. Hence, the 
muscles of gesticulation should move synchronously 
and harmoniously with those of the voice. When ges- 
ture is not marked by the precision of the stroke, in 
the proper places, it is very offensive. The arms, like 
those of a person groping in the dark, seem to wander 
about in quest of some uncertain object ; and the ac- 
tion is of that faulty kind which is called sawing the 
air. Even graceful motions, unmarked by the pre- 
cision of the stroke of the gesture, as sometimes seen, 
particularly among singers on the stage, lose much of 
their force, and very soon cease to afford pleasure. 
All the unmeaning motions of public speakers are at- 
tended with the same ill effect as a mouthing and cant- 
ting tone of declamation, which lays no emphasis with 
just discrimination, but swells and falls with a vain 
affectation of feeling, and with absolute deficiency both 
in taste and judgment. 





THE arms, as well as the hands, may be employed^ 
in gesticulation, separately, or together, each using 
similar, or dissimilar actions. Each arm may perform 

similar gestures when 
the body of the speaker 
is presented towards 
the person addressed 
precisely in front (Fig. 
92); but when the 
body is not so pre- 
sented, the gestures 
will not be similar 
(Fig. 93) ; and, as such 
posture and gestures 
are not graceful, they 
P are not frequently 


The advancement of one hand before the other is 
an indication of precedence, as is, also, in general, its 
higher elevation. The advanced hand, therefore, is 
said to perform the principal gesture. In general, the 
elevation of the retired arm is a whole position lower 
than that of the advanced arm ; and, though the ges- 
ture of the retired hand occasionally resembles that of 
the advanced hand, yet its action is performed with 
less energy and authority. For these reasons, the ac- 
tion of the retired hand is called the subordinate ges- 

There is a class of gestures called significant gestures :* 

* As this word has long been applied to a certain class of ges- 
tures, and as there is some difficulty in procuring a better, I have 
followed my predecessors in its use. The objection to the word is 
obvious it conveys the idea that all the gestures which do not 


the extending of the index-finger towards persons, or 
things, points them out; the laying of the hand on the 
breast refers to the feelings of the speaker ; the placing 
of the finger on the lips signifies an injunction of si- 
lence. &c. 

But gestures, in general, are too vague to be com- 
prehended under this description : they denote a sort 
of general relation in the expressions their power to 
do this is derived from the time and manner of their 
application, from the place in which they are used, and 
from their various combinations. Some are used at 
the beginning of a sentence, merely to indicate a com- 
mencement in action, as well as speech ; some are used 
for description ; some, for explaining, extending, or 
limiting ; and some, for enforcing the predominant idea; 
some, for keeping the audience in suspense, till the 
more decisive gestures ; and some, for marking the ter- 
mination of the sense, and the final result of the reason- 
ing. These various gestures may be divided into five 
classes : 

1 . Commencing gestures. 4. Suspending gestures. 

2. Discriminating gestures. 5. Emphatic gestures. 

3. Auxiliary gestures. 

1. Commencing gestures are made simply by raising 
the hand from rest; and that, in general, not higher 
than the horizontal position. They are used at the 
beginning, and at the divisions of a discourse. 

2. Discriminating gestures comprehend all those ges- 
tures which serve to indicate persons and objects, as 
well as those which are used for explaining, extending, 
limiting, or modifying the predominant idea, and those 
which are employed in question and answer, when 
made without vehemence. They are performed in the 
intermediate degrees of the range of the gesture, with 

fall into the class of which this is the distinctive name, are insigni- 
faant, or unmeaning ; a conclusion by no means correct. 


moderate force, and at small intervals. In colloquial 
intercourse they are frequently confined to the motions 
of the head. 

3. Auxiliary, or alternate gestures, serve to aid, or 
enforce the gesture of the advanced hand. They are 
performed as follows: after the advanced hand has 
made its gesture on the emphatic word, instead of pass- 
ing to another gesture, on the next emphatic word, it 
remains in the attitude of the last stroke till the retired 
hand is brought up in aid of it, either by a similar ges- 
ture, or by a more decisive one. In this way, variety 
and extraordinary energy are given, at once, to pas- 
sages which admit of such gestures. Of course, these 
gestures are used with great advantage in high passion ; 
they are also frequently employed in description, where 
they are executed more tamely. 

4. Suspending, or preparatory gestures, are so called 
because they hold the audience in suspense, by the 
elevation or contraction of the arm, preparatory to the 
stroke which is to fall on the emphatic word. 

5. Emphatic gestures mark, with force, words op- 
posed to, or compared with, each other ; and, more par- 
ticularly, the word which expresses the predominant 
idea. Their stroke is generally arrested on the hori- 
zontal elevation. Sometimes, however, emphatic ges- 
tures are directed to the highest point in their range ; 
at other times, to the lowest. When they are directed 
to a high point, they often serve as suspending, or pre 
paratory gestures, to the next emphatic gesture ; and, 
when made at the close of a sentence, they serve a;; 
terminating gestures ; because, when the last important 
idea is marked, no other gesture should be added, to 
weaken its effect ; the arm should then fall to rest. 

As a sentence is an epitome of a complete composi- 
tion, having a beginning, a middle, and a conclusion, 
among single sentences illustrations of these different 
gestures may be found. In the following sentence the 
gestures for the right hand, only, are noted. 


shf nef shf st R* 

No man is wise at all limes. 

com. susp. emph. Sf ter. 

The first is a commencing gesture ; the second, a sus- 
pending gesture ; the third, an emphatic gesture ; and, 
as it is the last, it is a terminating gesture also; and 
the arm falls to rest. Should a deaf person observe 
the gestures, as noted above, made by a speaker in a 
public assembly, he would conclude that the orator 
had performed what may be termed a regular period 
of gesture, by the commencement, the suspension, and 
the emphatic close of the action. Should the sentence 
be rendered more complex by the introduction of other 
members, discriminating gestures will be introduced. 

8hf icf- iA/ Ti- 

lt is an old observation, but not, therefore, the less true, that 

com. dis. dis. 

sJiq nef shf st R 

no man is wise at all times.f 

dis. susp. emph. Sf ter. 

The beautiful reply of St. Paul to Agrippa, entering 
as such, at once, into the subject abruptly, without 
exordium, has no commencing gesture. 

Bsef sp BsJif p q 

I would to God, that not only thou, but also all that hear 

emph. emph. dis. 
x veq a br. 

me this day, were both almost and altogether, such as I am, 

dis. dis. dis. emph. 

Bnef Bshfsh R 

except these bonds.! 

susp. emph. Sf ter. 

* The notation letters, shf, signify, the hand supine, the arm hori- 
zontal forwards ; nef, the hand natural, the arm elevated forwards ; 
shf st, the hand supine, the arm horizontal forwards striking ; R, 
rest, the arm in its natural position, by the side. 

f The letters, shf, signify, supine horizontal forwards ; ief, index 
elevated forwards; ihfn, index horizontal forwards noting; shq, 
supine horizontal oblique; nef, natural elevated forwards; shf st, 
supine horizontal forwards striking; R, rest. 

I Bsefsp, both hands supine, the arms elevated forwards spring- 
ing ; Jlshfp, both hands supine horizontal forwards pushing ; 9, ob- 



The five classes of gestures, above described, may 
be used in any part of an oration. They are, as it were, 
the elements of gesture, which, by their combinations, 
produce its whole power of language and expression. 
These elements are the component parts of every style 
of delivery, whether tame or vehement, argumentative 
or diffuse, ardent or indifferent, cold or pathetic. 

It has been observed that the principal gesture is performed by 
the advanced hand, and the subordinate gesture by the retired hand. 
The best modern speakers use either the right, or the left hand, in- 
discriminately, for the principal gesture, as occasion may require. 
As this practice is altogether at variance with the opinions and 
rules of the ancient critics and rhetoricians, it may be proper to in- 
quire how far we are justifiable in our departure from their great 

" The left hand," says Quintilian, " can never, with propriety, 
perform gesture alone; but it frequently acts in support of the right 
hand." The consideration of the dress of the 
ancients, which differed so essentially from that 
of the moderns, may be sufficient to account for 
the difference between their customs and ours. 
The form of the ancient dress obliged the speaker, 
if not totally to disuse his left hand, at least to 
restrain its action very considerably. (See Fig. 
94.) The occasions on which the left hand may 
perform the principal gesture, are the following : 
1. When the persons addressed are on the left 
side, the left hand naturally performs the prin- 
cipal gesture, in order to avoid the awkward- 
ness of gesticulating across the body. 2. The 
necessary discrimination of objects opposed to 
each other, requires the left hand alternately to 
perform the principal gesture. 3. The advan- 
tage of variety. 4. The power of giving, not 
only variety, but force, by occasionally elevating the retired hand, 
and bestowing upon it all the spirit and authority of the gesture. 

But it is not only in the use of the left hand that modern speakers 
differ from the ancients: they constantly violate another precept 
enjoined by Quintilian and his followers, viz., that of speaking with 

Jque position ; #, extended position ; veq, hands vertical, arms 
elevated oblique; , ascending; 6r, breast the right hand is laid 
on the breast; Bnef, both hands natural, the arms elevated for 
wards; Bshfsh, both hands supine, arms horizontal forwards shak- 
ing ; .R, rest, the hands fall to rest. 


the corresponding hand and foot advanced.* And yet, if the natural 
emotions afford any just foundation for the manner of gesture, we 
shall be inclined to give the preference to modern custom. Those 
passions which incline us to advance towards their object, as love, 
desire, anger, and revenge, naturally cause the corresponding hand 
and foot to advance together with the head and body ; for, in this 
way, the nearest approach is made to the object. And when pas- 
sions of a contrary nature, as aversion and terror, affect us, still the 
corresponding hand and foot are advanced ; as if the better to guard 
the body and head, which are thrown back. In such cases, it would 
produce unnatural- distortion to advance the contrary hand and foot. 
Under tranquil circumstances, as when the speaker delivers narra- 
tive, or reasons calmly, the contrary hand and footf may* advance 
together with grace and propriety. Indeed, perhaps such posture 
is preferable, as it presents the body more exactly in front towards 
the persons addressed. It was, probably, such circumstances alone, 
which Quintilian had in view when he pronounced his opinion, that 
it is unbecoming to stand with the corresponding hand and foot ad- 
vanced. This explanation will serve to reconcile the apparent 
deviation of the moderns from the ancient practice. 



IN the transitions of gesture, the hand and arm should 
not, in general, be precipitated to the intended position 
by the shortest course ; but, in the calmer parts of the 
oration, they should move in a sort of waving line, or 
in one returning upon itself, somewhat in the manner 
represented by the following diagram : 

Diag. 18. 

Let/ represent the position of the arm and hand for 
wards, and let the place of the next gesture be q (ob- 

* Right hand and right foot ; or left hand and left foot. 

The right hand and left foot ; or the left hand and right foot, 

10* H 



Diag. 19. 

lique), and of a third be x (extended). The hand should 
not move in the line of dots directly from /to q, and 
from q to x ; but from / go back almost to c (across), 
in order that it may traverse the greater space ; and 
then proceed to q with an accelerated motion for the 
stroke of the gesture. In the same manner, and for the 
same purpose, it should return back almost to/, before 
jt proceeds to x. 

The ascending and descending gestures are performed 
in the same manner, under simi 
lar circumstances, as may be 
seen in diagram 19, in which Z 
is the zenith, and R the point of 
rest, and where the hand, in 
ascending and descending, is re- 
presented as making returning 
inflections at the principal points, 
d, h, and e. 

The line of preparation as- 
sumes a variety of other curves, 
fourteen of which are repre- 
sented by Diagram 20. 

Whatever form this indirect 
line may be, it is used as a pre- 
paration for the gesture to which 
it leads; and the extent of the 
return, or depth of the sweep or 
indentation, is determined by 
the character of the sentiments to be delivered. The 
more magnificent they are, the greater is this parade ; 
and the nearer to ordinary discourse, the less it is. 
The preparation made by these different curves does 
not suit every species of gesture ; it is adapted almost 
solely to that kind which is termed discriminating 
Another kind of preparation is made for emphatic ges- 
tures. They are generally preceded by a suspending 
gesture, which serves the double purpose of marking 
some less important word, and of preparing for the 



stroke of the emphatic gesture. It will be recollected 
that contracting and retracting gestures are reckoned 

Diag. 20. 

amongthe sus 

pending ges- 

tures, as be- 

ing made pre- 

vious to some 

forcible ef- 

fort, and are, 

therefore, pre- 

paratory to 

the gestures 

which ensue. 

In order to il- 

lustrate what 

is here ad- 

vanced, let it 

be supposed 

that the em- 

phatic ges- 

ture requires 

a strong per- 

cussion of the arm descending forwards, as shfst , 

the preparation for this is the suspending, or prepara 

tory gesture nef bn , as in the following example : 

nefbn sltf st 

Hear me for my cause.* Shakspeare. 

susp. emph. 

An example of a preparatory contracting gesture : 

vhfrt vhfrj 

I hate the drum's discordant sound.f Langhorne. 

A gesture across, which passes rapidly to the ex- 
tended position, may also be used as a preparation foi 
rejection : 

* The letters, nefbn, signify, natural elevated forwards bending 
f>hf st, supine horizontal forwards striking. 

j" The letters, vhfrt, signify, vertical horizontal forward retract* 
ing; vhfrj, vertical horizontal forwards rejecting. 


Who's here so base that would be a bondman?* Shaks. 
Another example of a previous contracted gesture : 

Bv hf rt p x 

To hear the roar she sends through all her gates. Cowp. 

In the passage from Cowper, the suspending, or previous gesture, 
Bvhfrj, contains all the letters belonging to the subsequent em- 
phatic gesture, except the last (;?). This new letter, only, is ex- 
pressed, and is joined by a long dash, or mark of connexion, with 
the notation letters of the preceding gesture : another line of con- 
nexion, joining this letter to x, signifies that both hands continuing 
in the same position, viz. vertical, the arms are to be extended. The 
gestures, marked at large on this line, would be as follows : 

Bvhf rt Bvhfp Bvhx 

To hear the roar she sends through all her gates.f 

But the former method is preferable, as it abridges the trouble ol 
notation, and is equally intelligible. 

The connexion of gesture is, therefore, the relation 
which one gesture bears to another ; and it is shown 
by the notation of the circumstances in which they 
agree, and of those in which they differ. Thus, the 
gestures noted in the foregoing line agree, first, in 
being common to both hands (B), and then in the posi- 
tion of each hand, v (vertical), and also in the elevation 
of both arms, h (horizontal). So that it is unnecessary 
to repeat those circumstances in which they agree, as 
the connecting-dash expresses them with sufficient 
clearness, and with greater brevity. 

The connexion of gesture in the vertical direction, 
when the hand, without altering its posture, merely 
ascends by short intervals, in order to mark a succes- 
sion of discriminating gestures, is noted by the usual 
connecting-dash, and an a over the word where the 
hand ascends. 

* The letters, ohc, signify, the hand outwards, the arm hori 
zontal across ; x rj, extended rejecting. 

f Bvhfrt, both hands vertical, both arms horizontal forwards re- 
tracting ; Bvhfp, both hands vertical, both arms horizontal forwards 
pushing ; Bvhx, both hands vertical, both arms horizontal extended. 


I mourn the pride 

nef ahfat 

And avarice that make man a wolf to man. Cowper. 

But this passage would perhaps answer better with 
the auxiliary gesture, thus : 

Bphfa vef 

I mourn the pride 

vef Bnef bn Bshf st R 

And avarice that make man a wolf to man.* 

The transition of gesture relates to the manner of 
arriving at a gesture, arid to the changes of gesture ; 
and signifies either the particular changes of the posi- 
tion of the hand and arm, or the general change of the 
principal gesture from one hand to the other. 

A gesture may have a very different character and 
effect, according to the manner in which the hand ar- 
rives at its destined point. It may ascend, descend, 
move towards the right, or towards the left, and may 
also make the stroke with various degrees of energy, 
and in various ways ; and these motions constitute, in 
each, an absolutely different gesture, though, after the 
moment of the stroke, which a painter might choose to 
represent, the hand and arm of each should be in the 
same precise position. (Fig. 85, p. 100.) As, however, 
the emphatic ^stures are liable to ambiguity, on ac- 
count of the various transitions which might be sup- 
posed to bring them to their stroke, painters more fre- 
quently choose to represent the suspending gestures, 
which give an idea of action, and greater interest to 
their principal figures. 

But the transition of gesture particularly relates to 
the change of the principal gesture from one hand to 

* Bphf a, both hands prone horizontal forwards ascending ; 
vef (followed by a dash), right hand vertical elevated forwards ; 
vef (preceded by a daeh), left hand vertical elevated forwards; 
Bnefbn, both hands natural elevated forwards bending; Bshfst, 
both hands supine horizontal forwards striking. 


the other ; which may be regulated, in some measure, 
according to the following principles. So long as there 
subsists a strict connexion between the sentiments, un- 
interrupted by any considerable pause, or change of 
persons, no transition can take place in this last sense : 
the same hand which began, continues to perform the 
principal gesture. And the variety which it is always 
desirable to produce, must not be attempted by the 
change of the principal gesture : it must arise alone 
from the graceful and well-regulated action of the ad- 
vanced hand, supported by the combined assistance or 
accompaniment of the other. If the passage to be pro- 
nounced be of considerable length, the right hand should 
perform the principal gesture throughout the whole of 
it. For the left, though allowed to take its place oc- 
casionally, according to certain rules, by no means 
arrives at an equality of honour. The right hand 
always continues the better hand, both from long pre- 
scription, and the ability arising from use. 

In the narrative parts of an oration, where different 
persons or things are to be described as variously dis- 
posed, or in the recitation of descriptive poetry, when 
a picture, as it were, is to be represented by the speaker, 
consisting of many natural objects in different parts of 
a landscape, of which Gray's Elegy in a Country 
Church-yard will afford many example^the right hand 
having first pointed out those persons or objects sup- 
posed to lie adjacent to itself, may yield to the left the 
arrangement and ordering of those other parts, which 
may be imagined to be at its own side. This inter- 
change, judiciously regulated, produces a pleasing va- 
riety in the gesture; and if the speaker possess the 
imagination of a painter, his disposition and colouring 
will produce the most distinct and vivid picture. 

Variety, which is a most important object to be kept 
in view by a public speaker, allows, with advantage, 
an interchange of the principal gesture, even when the 
subject may be of a more abstruse and demonstrative 

GESTURE. 11!) 

nature. When there is any opposition, or antithesis, 
among the ideas, or even in the structure of sentences, 
or where a new argument is introduced, after the dis- 
cussion of a former is ended, as at a new division, or a 
new paragraph, there may be a change of the principal 
gesture. But it will be a point of judgment and taste 
in the speaker not to carry this balancing, or alterna- 
tion of gesture, to an affected extreme, and not, even in 
allowable cases, to indulge in it overmuch ; nor will he 
prolong too far the principal action permitted to the 
left hand, which he will always remember is the weaker, 
and admitted into the foremost place rather by courtesy 
than of right ; and which he will, therefore, restrict 
with discretion in the exercise of this occasional dis- 

In the changes made from one hand to the other, the 
transition should be managed with ease and simplicity. 
As soon as the advanced hand has made the stroke of 
its last emphatic gesture, it should fall quietly to rest, 
whilst, at the same time, the hand which is, in its turn, 
to assume the principal action, commences its prepara- 
tion for the ensuing gesture. It will be observed that 
a commencing, or discriminating gesture, should be 
gentle, as a modest beginning suits its first entrance 
into authority. An emphatic gesture immediately after 
one from the other hand, would be violent and out- 
rageous ; something like the gesticulations of those 
little wooden figures set up to frighten birds from corn, 
or fruit, which have the arms fixed on an axis in such 
a manner that they are alternately raised and depressed 
with equal vehemence, according as they are blown 
about by the wind. 

When the orator finds it necessary to change the 
position of the feet, so as to advance that which was 
before retired, the general rule is that he should effect 
it imperceptibly, and not commence the change till 
after the hand has begun its change of action. Some- 
times, however, in vehement passages, the oratoi i 


allowed, by the highest authority, to advance suddenly 
and even to stamp. 

The subordinate gesture, already mentioned, as performed by the 
retired hand, will be found to bear a close analogy to accompani- 
ment in music. A little observation will suffice for acquiring a 
general knowledge of the accompaniment of gesture ; and after 
attentively practising for some time, the inferior hand will as easily 
fall into a suitable accompaniment of the principal gesture, as the 
left hand of a performer on a keyed instrument, will strike correctly 
the fundamental bass. 

The general rule for accompaniment of gesture, in 
calm and moderate speaking, when both hands do not 
perform the same gesture, is that the retired arm should 
be about one interval less raised than the advanced 
arm, and that in the transverse position it should be 
distant from it about two intervals, or a right angle. 
Hence, if the right hand should perform the principal 
gesture, and this gesture should be supine elevated for- 
wards, the accompaniment would be expressed in the 

second set of letters, for the left hand, thus : se f-~ shx 

pnn. ac. 

(Fig. 38) ; and again, vh f~~ pdx , (Fig. 33). When the 
pnn. ac. 

force of the expression is strong, the accompanying 
hand is equally elevated with the principal. In this 
degree of force, the gestures are thus : vhf vhx. 
These circumstances afford convenient opportunities 
for abridging the notation. When both hands perform 
the same, or nearly the same gesture, a capkal B pre- 
ceding one set of letters suffices for both hands, as Bvhf 
And when the accompanying gesture follows the gene- 
ral rule, and has nothing remarkable distinguishing it, 
the gesture of the principal hand only need be noted; 
the accompaniment is easily understood, and will fol- 
low of course to the well-practised speaker. 

But besides the motions of the subordinate gesture, 
other very important accompaniments are to be at- 
tended to; as those of the lower limbs, of the body, 
and of the head : otherwise the performance will he 


igid and absurd, like that of a puppet. Indeed, not 
only those more prominent and distinguished parts 
must accompany the voice and principal action of the 
speaker, but every muscle of the body, and every ex- 
pression of the countenance, must join in harmony with 
those gestures, in order to impress upon them the cha- 
racter of nature and truth. There is no gesture, or 
change of gesture, which is not meant to enforce or to 
illustrate some new circumstance, which either calls 
into action muscles before at rest, or into a change of 
action those already in exertion. And this impression 
and influence extend not only to those muscles which 
are most strong and distinguished, but even to the most 
delicate fibres of the human frame, such as those which 
adjust the expression of the mouth, of the nostrils, of 
the brows, and of that wonderful organ the eye. 

An example may here be given of some of the stronger 
changes of the head, body, and lower limbs, which ac- 
company certain principal gestures. If the right hand 
be forcibly withdrawn, and presented vhfc (vertical 
horizontal forwards contracted), the left vdqc (vertical 
do wn wards oblique contracted), the 
feet will naturally retire, and be 
rRlx (retire to the first position 
extended of the right foot). The 
body, at the same time, will be 
thrown backwards, whilst the whole 
countenance will express aversion, 
or horror. (Fig. 95). 

The gesture of the right, phf ad, 
will be accompanied and noted thus: 

the head, and consequently the body, ^ 95 

leans forwards, and that the eyes are turned earnest!)' 
in the same direction. This evident desire of inspect 
ing the object more nearly, is also accompanied by an 
advanced step of the right foot, the principal gesture 


being performed by the right hand. As the gesture 
of the left hand could hardly be avoided, under the 
circumstances mentioned, the notation of it might have 
been omitted. 

It will be observed, that if the hand, in its gestures, 

at any time 
the head, 
the head 
bends to- 
wards the 
hand ; and 
if the hand 
presents its 
palm, and 
pushes, as it 
were, an ob- 
ject away 

97 in disgust, 

the head accompanies the action, not only by retiring 
back, but by averting the face. And the motions ex- 
pressing this aversion are ; first, the eye, directed to- 
wards the object ; the approaching of the back of the 
hand towards the face, and the head bending towards 
the hand, and then the pushing forwards of the palm 
of the hand, and the throwing back of the head, and 
averting the face at the same time. The notation will 

stand thus : F vh f c ~, (Fig. 96), and then, A 


(Fig. 97). 

After the stroke of the emphatic gesture, if the 
speaker has completely closed his remarks on a par- 
ticular part of his subject, or if he has finished his ora- 
tion, both hands should fall to rest, in a manner suiting 
the last expressions which he has delivered. This 
falling of the hand to rest is named the close and ter- 
mination of gesture. It is contrary to the correct sim- 
plicity of gesture to mark a single word or idea with 


more than one emphatic stroke ; any appendix of ges- 
ture, after this, would only weaken its force, or render 
it ridiculous. 

The termination of gesture, or rather, the emphatic 
gesture which terminates, should not be made across. 
It is generally made about the horizontal elevation, but 
sometimes it is made downwards, or elevated, according 
to the sentiment. The horizontal termination suits 
decision and instruction ; the downward, disapproba- 
tion and condemnation ; the elevated, pride, high pas- 
sion and devotion. 




As gesture is used for the illustration or enforce- 
ment of language, it should be limited, in its applica- 
tion, to such words and passages only as admit, or 
rather require, such illustration or enforcement. That 
is, gesture should not be used by a public speaker on 
every word where it is possible to apply it without 
manifest impropriety ; but it should rather be reserved 
for such passages as require to be rendered more pro- 
minent than the others, and to be more highly coloured. 
A judicious speaker will therefore reserve his gesture, 
at least the force and ornament of it, for those parts of 
his discourse for which he also reserves the brilliancy 
of language and thought. Sometimes, the absolute 
intermission of gesture is advantageous, as in the com- 
mencement or opening of arguments. When an argu- 
ment is nearly concluded, moderate gesture will give 
it more force, and relieve the monotony of a mere dry 
demonstration, should the spirit of the composition 
admit such addition. 

In all discourses, the frequency of gesture will be 


determined, in general, by the number, the novelty, and 
the discrimination of ideas. In every well-constructed 
sentence, some new idea is advanced, which may be 
marked by a suitable gesture ; and possibly the various 
limitations and modifications of it will also admit of a 
similar distinction. Thus each separate clause, or 
member of a sentence, may admit a distinct gesture on 
the principal word ; arid as each epithet is a distinct 
quality, added to the principal name, and as each ad- 
verb has the same effect on the principal action ex- 
pressed by the verb, a new gesture may be made on 
each. But for this purpose, unless the word is empha- 
tic, a turn of the hand, a small motion in the trans- 
verse or vertical direction, or a slight inclination of the 
head, is sufficient. 

In a sentence where every word is emphatic, each 
may be marked with a gesture. Sentences of this kind 
generally condense, in a small compass, valuable infor- 
mation, and should therefore be strongly enforced and 
marked with precision. They should, however, be 
delivered distinctly and deliberately, or the gestures 
will confuse the sentiment, and even cast a degree of 
ridicule upon it, as may be found by pronouncing the 
following serious observation with different degrees of 

shf nef shfst 

Man is born to trouble. 

com. susp. emph. $ ter. 

Neither the emphatic gesture, nor the force of the 
voice, always falls on those words which are the prin- 
cipal, in a grammatical sense the nouns and verbs. 
The gesture sometimes falls on the word which modi- 
fies each on the adjective, which expresses the 
quality of the noun, or on the adverb, which has a 
similar effect upon the action or assertion of the verb. 

The same notation, applied to a vehement passage 
requires the arm to be raised higher than when it is 
apolied to one of the contrary character. A judicious 


speaker will often omit his gesture altogether, and use 
it only when absolutely necessary to illustrate, or to 
enforce his sentiments. Gesture may be said to hold 
the place of high seasoning; it must, therefore, be 
managed with discretion, lest it should defeat its own 
purposes, and create disgust. If a speaker proves 
truly eloquent, he is sure of the most liberal and solid 
approbation. But he should not hazard too much ; he 
should be guarded in the commencement of his dis- 
course, and should restrain his gesture in the calm and 
reasoning passages, reserving its force and brilliancy 
for the appropriate expression of his most earnest feel- 
ings and boldest thoughts. His transitions from the 
narrative parts to those which are most highly wrought, 
and which require his utmost exertions, should be gra- 
dual and just, and free from extravagance. 



THE different qualities which constitute the perfec- 
tion of gesture, and their opposite imperfections, are as 
follows : 

1. Magnificence. 5. Simplicity. 

2. Boldness. 6. Grace. 

3. Energy. 7. Propriety. 

4. Variety. 8. Precision. 

1. Magnificence of gesture. This is effected by de- 
taching the elbow completely from the body, and 
unfolding the whole oratorical weapon. In magnifi- 
cent gesture, the action is flowing and unconstrained ; 
the preparations are made in graceful curves; the 
transitions are easy, and the accompaniments, in all 
respects, illustrative of the principal action. The mo- 


tions of the head are free, and the inflections of the 
body manly and dignified. The action of the lower 
limbs is decisive, and a considerable space is traversed 
with firmness and with force. 

The opposite imperfections are short and constrained 
gestures, rigidity of the joints, and stiffness of the body, 
with short steps, and doubtful or timid movements. 

2. Boldness of gesture. This arises from that ele- 
vated courage and self-confidence which ventures to 
hazard any action, however unusual, which is produc- 
tive of a grand or striking effect. In this sort of ges- 
ture, unexpected positions, elevations and transitions, 
surprise at once by their novelty and grace, and thus 
illustrate or enforce the ideas of the speaker with irre- 
sistible effect. 

The opposite imperfection is tameness. 

3. Energy of gesture. This consists in the firmness 
and decision of the whole action ; and in the precision 
of the stroke of the gesture, which aids the emphasis 
of the voice. 

The opposite imperfections are feebleness and inde- 

4. Variety of gesture. This consists in the applica- 
tion of different, but appropriate gestures, to the same, 
or analogous sentiments, so as to avoid recurring too 
frequently to one favourite gesture, or set of gestures. 

The opposite imperfection is monotony- of gesture, 
analogous to that of the voice. 

5. Simplicity of gesture. This is such a character 
of gesture as appears the natural result of the situation 
and sentiments ; which is neither carried beyond the 
just extent of the feeling, through affectation of variety, 
nor falls short of it through want of confidence. 

The opposite imperfection is affectation. 

6. Grace of gesture. This is the result of all other 
perfections, arising from a dignified self-possession of 
mind, and the power of personal exertion, practised 
into facility after the best models, and according to 


true taste. To the more particular investigation of 
this quality a Chapter is devoted. 

The opposite imperfection is awkwardness. 

7. Propriety of gesture, called also truth of gesture, 
or natural gesture. This consists in the judicious use 
of gestures best suited to illustrate or to express the 
sentiment. Propriety of gesture is generally founded 
on some natural connexion between the sentiment and 
the action. Significant gestures are strictly connected 
with the sentiment. 

The opposite imperfections are false, contradictory, 
or unsuitable gestures. 

8. Precision, or correctness of gesture. This arises 
from the just preparation, the due force, and the cor- 
rect timing of the action : when the preparation is nei- 
ther too much abridged, nor too pompously displayed ; 
when the stroke of the gesture is made with such a 
degree of force as suits the character of the sentiment ; 
and when it is correctly marked on the precise syllable 
to be enforced. Precision of gesture gives the same 
effect to action, as neatness of articulation gives to 

The opposite imperfections are the indecision, un- 
certainty, and incorrectness arising from vague and 
sawing gestures, which, far from illustrating, render 
doubtful the sense of the sentiments which they accom- 
pany, and distract the spectator. 

There are three general modes of public speaking, 
each of which requires a different style of gesture ; 

1. The Epic. 3. The Colloquial. 

2. The Rhetorical. 

1. Epic gesture demands every natural and acquired 
power, on the part of the speaker : to it belong Magni- 
ficence, Boldness, Energy, Variety, Simplicity, Grace, 
Propriety, and Precision. The compositions which 
require epic gesture, in delivery, are tragedy, epic 
poetry, lyric odes, and sublime description. 


2. Rhetorical gesture requires, principally, Energy 
Variety, Simplicity, and Precision. Grace is desirable ; 
Magnificence is rarely wanting, but may sometimes 
have place. Propriety, in a limited sense, should be 
observed. Boldness is inadmissible ; because the ora- 
tor is not, like the player, subjected to any unexpected 
circumstances. He is not, therefore, at liberty to ex- 
press surprise, or any other passion, by bold gestures 
or attitudes. 

3. Colloquial gesture, when concerned in the higher 
scenes of polite life, requires, principally, Simplicity 
and Grace ; Precision will follow of course ; it may oc- 
casionally demand something of Energy and Variety 
Magnificence and Boldness are inadmissible. 

The gesture of the public speaker must vary con- 
siderably with the different circumstances of his situa- 
tion, of his sentiments, and of his audience. If the 
mere information or instruction of his audience be his 
sole object, as when the evidences of religion and the 
grounds of Christian duties are to be explained from 
the pulpit, or when the details of calculation and finance 
are to be laid before Congress, or when facts are 
weighed and laws are argued in the courts of justice, 
his gestures should be of that class which is called dis- 
criminating gestures. These -he should exercise with 
simplicity and precision. He should strip them of all 
the parade of preparation, and of the graces of transi- 
tion, and give them only that degree of variety which 
shall guard them against disgusting sameness. This 
is far removed from theatrical gesture ; it rather ap- 
proaches the colloquial style. Nothing could be more 
incongruous than for a public speaker, in either of the 
foregoing situations, to introduce the parade and mag- 
nificence of theatrical gesture. The charge which is 
sometimes made against public speakers, of being thea- 
trical in their gesture, probably arises more from some 
unsuitableness in their manner to the matter, than from 
any thing of uncommon majesty, boldness, or grace in 
their action. 


When the public speaker aims at persuasion, as in 
discourses from the pulpit for public charities, or on 
extraordinary occasions in Congress, or at the bar, 
when the advocate desires to influence the opinions of 
a jury, he will naturally use more graceful, more flow- 
ing, and more varied gesture. But he should not fall 
into the action of the theatre. He may be graceful, 
but he should be simple ; he may be energetic, but he 
should not affect gestures too strongly significant, much 
less attempt surprise by attitudes. All his gestures 
should be regulated by manly decorum, suitable to his 
situation, to the character of his hearers, and to the 
just expression of his sentiments. 



THE most important of the significant gestures are 
the following : 

The Head and Face. 

The hanging down of the head denotes shame, or 

The holding of it up, pride or courage. 

To nod forwards implies assent. 

To toss the head back, dissent. 

The inclination of the head implies diffidence or lan- 

The head is averted, in dislike or horror. 

It leans forward, in attention. 

The Eyes. 

The eyes are raised, in prayer. 

They weep, in sorrow. 

They burn, in anger. 

They are downcast or averted, in shame or grief 



They are cast on vacancy, in thought. 

They are cast in various directions, in doubt and 

The Arms. 

The placing of the hand on the head, indicates pain 
or distress. 

On the eyes, shame or sorrow. 

On the lips, an injunction of silence. 

On the breast, an appeal to conscience. 

The hand is waved, or flourished, in joy or contempt. 

Both hands are held supine, or they are applied, or 
clasped, in prayer. 

Both are held prone, in blessing. 

They are clasped, or wrung, in affliction. 

They are held forward, and received, in friendship. 

The Body. 

The body, held erect, indicates steadiness and courage. 
Thrown back, pride. 

Stooping forward, condescension or compassion. 
Bending, reverence or respect. 
Prostration, the utmost humility or abasement. 

The Lower Limbs. 

The firm position of the lower limbs signifies courage, 
or obstinacy. 

Bended knees indicate timidity, or weakness. 

The lower limbs advance, in desire or courage. 

They retire, in aversion or fear. 

Start, in terror. 

Stamp, in authority or anger. 

Kneel, in submission and prayer. 

These are a few of the simple gestures which may 
be termed significant. 






" GRACE," says lord Kames, " may be defined, that 
agreeable appearance which arises from elegance of 
motion, and from a countenance expressive of dignity. 
Expressions of other mental qualities are not essential 
to that appearance, but they heighten it greatly." 

The gracefulness of rhetorical action depends partly 
on the person, and partly on the mind. Some are so 
happily formed that all their motions are graceful ;* 
and some minds are so noble, that they impart genu- 
ine grace to the most uncouth forms : both these cases, 
however, are comparatively rare. 

Grace, like the ideal beauty of the painter, and of 
the sculptor, is not commonly to be found in the indi- 
vidual living model, but to be collected from the various 
excellencies of the many. 

Neither true grace, nor consummate eloquence, can 
be acquired by those who are totally deficient in natu- 
ral qualifications; yet they to whom nature has not 
denied some portion of talents, may improve in both, 
precisely in proportion to the degree of their application. 

The grace of oratorical action consists, chiefly, in 
the facility, the freedom, the variety, and the simplicity 
of those gestures which illustrate the discourse. 

Action, to be graceful, should be performed with 
facility ; because the appearance of great effort is in- 
compatible with ease, which is a constituent of grace. 
It should also be performed with freedom : no gestures 
can be graceful which are either confined by external 
circumstances, or restrained by the mind. If an orator 
should address an assembly from a narrow window, it 

* Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye, 
In every action, dignity and love. Milton. 


would be in vain for him to attempt graceful gesture. 
Confinement, in any less degree, is proportionably in- 
jurious to grace. Thus, the crowded courts, which 
impede the motions of the advocate, and the enclosed 
pulpit, which not unfrequently conceals more than half 
the preacher's figure, are equally injurious to graceful 
action. Greece, the native soil of manly eloquence 
and true taste, was not the originator of the pulpit. 

The restraint arising from diffidence is also prejudi- 
cial to grace. It has, however, thts advantage : t 
may be effectually corrected by perseverance. 

For the maintenance of grace, in rhetorical action, 
variety is indispensable. The iteration of the same 
gesture, or set of gestures, however graceful in them- 
selves, betrays a poverty of resource which is altoge- 
ther prejudicial to the speaker. 

Simplicity and truth of manner, if they do not con- 
stitute grace in themselves, are inseparable from it. 
Gestures which are manifestly contrived for the mere 
display of the person, or for the exhibition of some fop- 
pery, as, for instance, a fine ring, instantly offend. 

To simplicity of gesture is opposed affectation, which 
destroys every pretension to genuine grace. The more 
showy the gestures are, unless they are adapted to the 
subject, and to the character of the speaker, the more do 
they offend the judicious by their manifest affectation. 
When the profligate speaks of piety, the miser of gene- 
rosity, the coward of valour, and the corrupt of integ- 
rity, they are only the more despised by those who 
know them. 

The faults of manner are analogous to those of cha- 
racter, and almost equally disgusting : such as the 
assumption of dignity where there is none in the senti- 
ment ; pathos, where there is nothing interesting ; vehe- 
mence in trifles, and solemnity upon common-place 

It is an observation founded in fact, that the action 
of young children is never deficient in grace ; for which 


two reasons may be assigned ; first, because they are 
under no restraint from diffidence, or from any other 
cause, and therefore use their gestures, with all sin- 
cerity of heart, only to aid the expression of their 
thoughts ; and, secondly, because they have few ideas 
of imitation, and consequently are not deprived of 
natural grace by affectation, nor perverted by bad 

The grace of action, according to Hogarth, consists 
in moving the body and limbs in that curve which he 
calls the line of beauty.* When action is considered 
independent of language and sentiment, this definition 
will, perhaps, be found generally correct. Rhetorical 
action, however, derives its grace, not only from the 
actual motions of the speaker, but also from the con- 
gruity of his motions with his own character and situa- 
tion, as well as with the sentiments which he delivers. 
The dignity which is a becoming grace in a judge, 
would be quaint affectation in a young advocate ; and 
the colloquial, but graceful familiarity of action, even 
of the most polished society, would be highly indeco- 
rous in the pulpit. Hence, it must be admitted, ac- 
cording to the just maxim of Cicero and Quintilian, 
that decorum constitutes true oratorical grace ; and that 
this decorum admits of great variety of action, under 
different circumstances. Vehement action is sometimes 
both decorous and graceful ; so also are abrupt and 
short gestures, if they bear the impress of truth and 
suitableness. Such are the gestures of an old man, 
when he is irritated. But the most flowing and beau- 
tiful motions, the grandest preparations, and the finest 
transitions of gesture, ill applied, and out of time, lose 
their natural character of grace, and become indeco- 
rous, ridiculous, or offensive. 

* 12 




Letters written above the Line, relating to the Fingers, 
the Hands, and the Arms. 

Noting the disposition of the Fingers. 

n, natural. A, holding. 

c, clinched. to, hollow. 
x, extended. m, thumb. 

t, index. g, grasping. 

Z, collected. 

Noting the Manner of presenting the Palm. 

p, prone. , vertical. 

, supine. /, forwards, 

n, inwards. 6, backwards, 

o, outwards. 

Noting the Elevation of the Arms. 

d, downwards. Z, zenith. 
A, horizontal. U, rest, 

c, elevated. 

Noting the Posture of the Arms in the Transverse Direction. 

c, across. a?, extended. 
/, forwards. 6, backwards. 
q, oblique. 


Noting the Force of Motion of the Hands and Arms. 

x, extreme. c, contracted. m, moderate. 

Noting the Direction of Motion. 

a, ascending. r, right. 

d, descending. 2, left 

GESTURE. 13fi 

f, forwards. i, inwards. 

b, backwards. o, outwards. 
v t revolving. 

Noting the Manner of Motion, 

n, noting. pr, pressing. 

p, projecting, or pushing. rt, retracting. 

w, waving. rj, rejecting. 

j0, flourish. bn, bending. 

sw, sweep. re, recoiling. 

bk, beckoning. sh, shaking. 

rp, repressing. <A, throwing. 

ad, advancing. cl, clinching. 

sp, springing. II, collecting. 
st, striking. 


Noting the Posture of the Head, and Direction of the Eyes 

I, inclined. F, forwards. 

E, erect A, averted. 

As, assenting. D, downwards. 

Dn, denying. U, upwards. 

Sh, shaking. R, around. 

Ts, tossing. V, vacancy. 
S, aside. 

Letters written below the Line, relating to the Feet. 


Noting the Positions of the Feet. 

Rl, right foot, 1st position. RF, right front position. 

R2, right foot, 2d position. LF, left front position. 

LI, left foot, 1st position. K, kneeling. 

L2, left foot, 2d position. S, aside. 

Noting the degree of Extension of the Feet. 

x, extended. xx, extended extreme. 

mx, moderately extended. C, contracted. 

Letters noting Steps. 

a, advance. s, start, 

r, retire. sp, stamp. 

tr, traverse. sk, shock. 

c, cross. 


Letters relating to Parts on which the Hand may be 


E, eyes. jP, forehead. 

N, nose. C, chin. 

L, lips. br, breast. 

The Manner of combining the Fingers of both Hands 
is noted by two Small Letters. 

ap, applied. in, inclosed. 

Ip, clasped. wr, wringing. 

cr, crossed. tc, touching. 

Id, folded. nu, enumerating. 

The Combinations of both Arms. 
en, encumbered. km, kimbo, 

pd, reposed. (either one or both). 

Jt capital B, preceding, and joined to a set of small let' 
ters, signifies that both Hands, or both Arms, perform 
the same Gesture. 

B, both hands, or both arms. 

Significant Gestures and Expressions of Countenance, 
may be noted in the margin, after the manner of Mr. 

Ap, appealing. Av, aversion, 

At, attention. Cm, commanding. 

Vn, veneration. Ad, admiration. 

Ls, listening. Hr, horror. 

Lm, lamentation. Gr, grief. 

Dp, deprecation. Fr, fear. 

Pr, pride. En, encouraging ; and 

Sh, shame. many others at pleasure. 



THE most complicated gestures are those which 
relate to the combined postures and motions of the 
hands and arms; yet these are expressed with suffi- 
cient accuracy by four, or fewer, notation letters for 


each movement. For this purpose they are divided 
into four classes ; the notation letters of each always 
preserve their own place, as to priority, or succession, 
and derive their signification from it. The first four, 
or the first three letters, taken together, are called a 
set of letters. In a set, as phfd, or seq n, 

The first letter relates to the posture of the hand. 

The second, to the elevation of the arm. 

The third, to the transverse situation of the arm. 

The fourth, to the motion, or force of the gesture.* 

Thus, phfd is to be read, prone horizontal forward 
descending. Prone, is the posture of the hand ; hori- 
zontal, is the elevation of the arm ; forward, is the pos- 
ture of the arm in the transverse direction ; and de- 
scending, means that the arm descends from a higher 
elevation. The set, seq n, is read supine elevated oblique 
noting. Supine, the posture of the hand ; elevated, the 
arm, as to elevation ; oblique, the arm in the transverse 
direction ; noting, the action of the hand and arm. 

As both hands and both arms are equally capable 
of executing any gesture, the letters, and sets of letters, 
relate to both indifferently. But they are thus distin- 
guished : when there are two sets of small letters, the 
first set denotes the gesture of the right hand and arm ; 
the second, those of the left. The two sets are sepa- 
rated by a short dash, thus : phq pdb, prone horizon- 
tal oblique, the right hand; and prone downwards back- 
wards, the left. 

When only a single set of three, four, or five small 
letters is marked, the gesture of one hand only is ex- 
pressed ; that of the other is presumed to be easily 
supplied, according to the rules of accompaniment. A 
short dash always accompanies a single set of small 
letters when the dash follows the letters, they denote 
the gesture of the right hand ; when the dash precedes 
the letters, they denote the gesture of the left hand. 

* This last letter is often omitted. 


When a set of small letters is preceded by a capital 
B, the gesture which they represent is to be performed 
by both hands. 

When a long dash follows the small letters, connect- 
ing them with other small letters, or with a single one, 
farther on, a change of gesture is marked, which is to 
take place on the word over which such letter or let- 
ters are placed ; and the commencement and termina- 
tion of the dash mark the commencement and termina- 
tion of the gesture. 

When a set of small letters, having a dash, is con- 
nected by a line of dots with another set of small letters, 
having a contrary dash, the gesture made by the first 
hand is to be followed and supported by another ges- 
ture made by the other hand, which is to take place 
where the second set of letters is marked. This is 
called alternate gesture, and noted al. 

In order to prevent confusion, the postures of the 
head, and the direction of the eyes, are indicated by 
capital letters near the beginning of the sentence, or at 
some distance from the letters relating to the hands 
and arms. 

The letters which mark the positions of the feet, and 
the steps, are placed below the line, and under the word 
where they should take place. 


R Bvhfr - q peq npdq 

1 . 2. The wind was high I the window shakes ; | 


veq c vhx c 

3. With sudden start the miser wakes ! | 

F pdc ad -- phq 

4. Along the silent room he stalks ; | 

B vhx vhqe Bvhftr 

5. 6. Looks back, | and trembles as he walks I | 



vhq vhx 

7. Each lock, and ev'ry bolt he tries, I 

shq o she i 

8. In ev'ry creek, and corner, pries ; | 

9. Then opes his chest with treasure stor'd, 

D Bseq 

10. And stands in rapture o'er his hoard : I 



11. But now with sudden qualms, possest, I 



12. He wrings his hands ; he beats his breast | 

13. By conscience stung he wildly stares; | 

Bshf sh 

14. And thus his guilty soul declares: | 

Bsdf d- 

15. Had the deep earth her stores confin'd, I 


16. This heart had known sweet peace of mind ; | 

vhfvhx U Bsefsp- 

17. 18. But virtue 's sold ! | Good gods ! what price | 


9. Can recompense the pangs of vice ? | 

D Bsdf d -- - - n 

20. O bane of good ! seducing cheat ! | 


Bvhf - vef sJif at sdq 

21.22. Can man, weak man, | thy power defeat? | 

seb sw sdq 

23. Gold banish'd honour from the mind, I 



24. And only left the name behind; | 


25. Gold sow'd the world with ev'ry ill; | 


ceb sh cdq 

26. Gold taught the murd'rer's sword to kill : I 


shfsh sdq 

27. 'Twas gold instructed coward hearts | 



28. In treach'ry's more pernicious arts. | 


seq sdq 

29. Who can recount the mischiefs o'er? | 


Bpdf d 

30. Virtue resides on earth no more ! | 



For the convenience of reference, the piece is divided into sec- 
tions, by vertical bars, and the number of each section is printed in 
the margin. 

(1.) The direction of motion, expressed by the 4th small letter, 
r, means that from the position in which both hands are presented, 
vhf, they should move towards the right, and stop at the position, 
oblique, as noted by q, connected by a dash to the position mentioned. 

(2.) The 4th small letter, n, signifies noting. 

(12.) The posture of the hands is, at first, folded horizontal for- 
wards, as expressed in the notation, Id hf. At the a, connected 
by a dash, which signifies ascending, the hands are raised up, and 
at the next notation, Id br, they are forcibly withdrawn back on the 

(21.) This posture begins horizontal, as first noted, Bvhf, and 
ends elevated, B vef; but the B is omitted over the word, weak, 
being understood by the connecting dash. 

(25.) The 3d small letter, relating to the transverse direction of 
the arm, is often placed alone, but connected by a dash with a pre 
ceding set of letters, as already observer (1.) In such case it is to 
be understood that the posture of the hands remains as before, and 
that the transverse direction of the arm only is changed. Here 
each arm passes through the whole semicircle, from the position 
across to extended. 

The fourth, and the fifth small letter, which relates to the direc- 
tion and manner of motion, are also often separated, in this manner, 
from the position to which they belong, in order that the place of 
the motion, or action, may be the more distinctly marked. (See 9, 


15 and 20, in which n is thus separated, to point out the particular 
syllable on which the action of noting falls) 

The action of the hands and arms, at No. 15 and 20, is the same, 
but the general effect is different, in consequence of the difference 
in the positions of the feet. In the preparation for these gestures, 
the palms of both hands are raised so as almost to touch the fore- 
head ; then they descen^ gradually, and when the arms are a little 
below the horizontal elevation, the wrists make that particular 
motion called noting, on the respective words, stores and cheat. 

(26.) Left foot first position extended. To make this position 
extended, the left foot is advanced, the body at the same time is 
thrown back, and sinks a little, bending the right knee. 

(28.) This gesture, Bvhf rj, both vertical horizontal forwards 
rejecting, is thus made : both hands are drawn backwards, nearly 
to the mouth, in the vertical position ; the eyes, at this time, are 
directed forwards, the hands are then pushed forwards, while the 
face is averted, and the feet retire, to a greater or less extent, in 
proportion to the degree of disgust or abhorrence to be expressed. 



La neq vhz a Bpef- 

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day! 

F phf q x 

The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea ; 



The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, 

V Bnef d BR 

And leaves the world to darkness, and to me. 


R Bphc 

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, 


And all the air a solemn stillness holds 


Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, 

vefrt phfp R 

And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds: 




Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower 


veq U seb 

The moping owl does to the moon complain 


Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, 
Molest her ancient, solitary reign. 


shfn shfn 

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew tree's shade, 

Bbdf a v hf 

Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, 


Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, 

F Bphf d BR 

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 


shf veq w 

The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, 



The swallow, twitt'ring from the straw-built shed, 

idq veq w 

The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, 

a Bnef sp B sdf d 

No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed, 




For them no more the blazing hearth shall burr;, 



Or busy housewife ply her evening care, 


Nor children run to lisp their sire's return, 

Bnef a D F B shfn 

Or climb his knees, the envied kiss to share 





Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield; 


Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; 

gee sw phq up 

How jocund did they drive their team afield I 

eeb bn ckfst 

How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke . 

irf ihf n - 

Let not ambition mock their useful toil, 


pef pdfd- 

Their homely joys, and destiny obscure: 

Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, 

a - ve f - d - R 

The short, and simple annals of the poor. 


vef sp ieffi 

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, 

And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, 

B vhq sh 

Await, alike, the inevitable hour 


a - - vef - a - d sdq n R 

The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 


Bphe - q a -- shfn 

Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, 


If mem'ry o'er their tomb no trophies raise, 


vhfp see q 

Where, thro' the long-drawn aisle, and fretted vault, 

a B nef a d BR 

The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 



ihf vhg n 

Can storied urn, or animated bust, 


BL tc 

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? 

veq - d sdf R 

Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust, 


Bshfsh a - vef --- vdfp 

Or flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of death? 


idf - 
Perhaps in this neglected spot, is laid 


br R veq w 

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; 

B nef - B stfst 

Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd, 

pec SID -- veq sw 

Or wak'd to ecstasy the living lyre. 


Skfd - : -- q 

But knowledge to their eyes her ample page, 

pftc -- -- x 

Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll; 


Chill penury repressed their noble rage, 

BvJiqc B nhfp B br 

And froze the genial current of the soul. 



Full many a gem of purest ray serene, 


The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear; 


shq p 

Full many a flow'r is born to blush unseen, 

phc q x 

And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 



vef- br-R 

Some village Hampden that, with dauntless breast 


ihf veq v, 

The little tyrant of his fields withstood ; 

a - B nef - d -- B sdf 

Some mute, inglorious Milton, here may rest; 

Bvhfrt - p Ji Bvhc 

Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. 



B shfp q x 

The applause of listening senates to command, 

phfp a a vef rj 

The threats of pain and ruin to despise, 

Bphc q Bvhx sp 

To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 

B she q x 

And read their history in a nation's eyes, 


phfst R phc q 

Their lot forbade nor circumscrib'd alone 


Their growing virtues ; but, their crimes confin'd, 

B bdf ad vhf eb 

Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, 

Bvhfp- a d BR 

And shut the gates of mercy on mankind. 



(STANZA I.) First Line. Ls, listening. (See complex signifi- 
cant gestures.) The small a, over knell, is connected with the set 
of letters, B pef, over parting ; and the small d, over day, is also 
connected with the same set. Each is considered a fourth small 
letter, separated from its set ; a denotes the preparation, and d, the 
termination of the motion of the gesture. Second line. The set 
of letters, phd, relates to the right hand, which finishes its action 
at x, and falls slowly to rest. Third line. Here the left hand 
13 K 


takes up the principal gesture. This is called alternate gesture. 
Both hands unite their action on weary. Fourth Line. V, the 
eyes bent on vacancy. 

(STANZA II.) The several gestures which are connected toge- 
ther by long dashes, are to be considered as the flowing variation of 
continued motion, till either one, or both hands fall to rest. Ges- 
tures, thus connected, may be called continuous ; they are gene- 
rally of that kind which are styled discriminating gestures. First 
line. The posture, Bphc, on fades, is the preparation for sweep- 
ing round the horizon. Whilst the hands are proceeding to the 
position, Bphc, the head and eyes should turn towards either ex- 
treme ; and whilst the arms are moving from this to the different 
positions, q and x, the head and eyes should move to the other ex- 
treme. In cases where the right hand performs the principal ac- 
tion, the head should follow its motion ; in other words, it should 
turn from left to right, and vice versa. Third line. The left hand 
drops here, and the index-finger of the right hand is prepared to 
point across. The eye should follow the object at which the finger 
seems to point, as at a flying beetle. 

(STANZA III.) In order to vary the gestures, and the better to 
distribute the objects in the picture, the tower is supposed to be 
placed on the left side, and the left hand assumes the principal ges- 
ture ; this is indicated, in the notation, by the short dash which 
precedes the set of letters. Fourth line. " Ancient, solitary." 
Nouns, or, substantives, may be considered as the outlines, or im- 
ages of things ; adjectives, as the colouring, or circumstances added 
to those images, or limitations deducting something from them. In 
poetical language they are called epithets. Gray has indulged in 
the use of them, perhaps to a fault. But however that may be, 
whenever they occur, they almost constantly rob the principal image, 
or substantive, of its emphatic distinction, and claim it for themselves ; 
perhaps, because the circumstances alone give individuality to the 
image, which, in itself, is a general term. For these reasons, the 
action, or gesture, falls rather on the epithet ; and, if two, or more 
epithets are added to the same image, each should be distinctly 
marked, both by emphasis and action : if so pronounced, they serve 
to illustrate the idea ; but if they are hurried over, they cause only 
confusion. Therefore, the words ancient solitary reign, require 
two gestures, one on each epithet. But, to avoid affectation, the 
transition should be the easiest possible ; and this will be when the 
gesture on the preceding word is made the preparation for that on 
the subsequent. When two epithets are applied to a name, the 
latter should be the stronger ; and in this view, also, it is proper to 
reserve the emphatic gesture for it, as the principal. 

(STANZA IV.) First line. On elms, the right hand again re- 
sumes the principal gesture. It is here alternate, or auxiliary, as 
appears from the dotted line of connexion. Second line. On heaves 


the backs of the hands are presented forwards, the hands hanging 
down, and in the action they ascend gradually towards vertical eleva- 
ted^ on the word mouldering. Third line. " Each in his narrow cell 
for ever laid ;" the arms gradually ascend to the highest point, on the 
word ever, and then, in the same manner, descend, to rest on the 
word sleep, making, in their progress, a momentary arrest on the 
word forefathers. It seems to be an incongruity to raise the arms, 
in speaking of the grave, which is below ; but this is removed by 
the downward inclination of the head, and look of the eyes, as noted ; 
and it is not uncommon to elevate the arms in looking into any 
thing dreadful below. This is also the preparation for the following 
gesture, which requires the arms to fall to rest. From the third 
line to the end of the stanza the gestures are continuous. 

(STANZA V.) First line. On breathing the graceful wave is 
marked. The wave may be considered of three kinds, the graceful, 
the wave of triumph (which, in a less degree, is also the wave of 
joy], and the wave of scorn, or contempt. The subject will always 
sufficiently determine the character to be adopted, though the no- 
tation is the same for all. Second line. On swallow, the index is 
raised, to point out the object ; on twittering it ascends to the high- 
est point in the range of gesture, or is retracted, so as almost to 
touch the head, and then on the word straw-built it makes the ac- 
tion of noting. Third line. The joyful wave, approaching to tri- 
umph, should be made on echoing ; the voice should here mark the 
crescendo, which will be contrasted with the gravity of the follow- 
ing line. Fourth line. In order to perform the action of springing, 
indicated by sp, the arms begin to ascend from more, and having 
arrived at the word rouse, the wrists make on it the stroke of the 
gesture by springing suddenly into the elevated position. 

(STANZA VI.) Fourth line. The gesture on climb is a suspend- 
ing gesture, preparatory to that on kiss. The eyes look downwards 
on climb, and forwards on kiss. The ends of the fingers approach 
the mouth a little on kiss, after which the hands are advanced su- 
pine noting. 

(STANZA VII.) Second line. The preparation for the gesture 
on stubborn is neq rt, and would fall on oft, but is here omitted as 
taking place, of course, when the gesture marked on stubborn is 
executed. It will be observed that several emphatic gestures im- 
ply a proper suspending, or preparatory gesture, and reciprocally, 
the latter the former. Thus, when a stroke is required to be made, 
the arm must, of course, be raised ; therefore, shf st must necessa- 
rily imply nefbn, inwards elevated forwards bending ; veq w im- 
plies, bhfa, backwards horizontal forwards ascending ; and vhx rj, 
implies, vhx rt, vertical horizontal extended retracting. In the 
notation, the preparatory gestures are often omitted, when they are 
not required to make a preceding less emphatic word ; in which 
case they are prepared with less decision, and their stroke is soft- 


ened. When the suspending, or preparatory gesture is used as the 
principal, as in terror, where the arms are retracted violently, and 
in surprise, where they are elevated forcibly, the subsequent ges- 
ture is also softened ; and the emphasis of its stroke is remitted. 
Fourth line. Should woods not be pronounced with a strong em- 
phasis, the notation over this word might be omitted. 

(STANZA VIII.) The first gesture in each of the first three 
lines of this stanza, is a preparatory gesture, of the decisive kind, 
and the last, in each, emphatic. As all the words which are noted 
are important, each requires the enforcement of gesture; and the 
connexion of suspending, or preparatory and emphatic gestures, 
renders the transitions easy and unaffected. Second line. The 
noun, destiny, being here placed before its adjective, or epithet, 
may obtain both the emphasis and action ; they might, also, be re- 
served for the epithet obscure. Fourth line. " Short and simple ;" 
the first epithet is distinguished by a slight discriminating gesture, 
produced by a small change in the elevation of the arm and hand, 
marked a. This is made the commencement of the gesture re/", 
which is completed by a suspending gesture on simple, and which 
descends to rest on the word poor, with an emphatic and terminat- 
ing gesture. 

(STANZA IX.) First line. The flourish is marked on power. 
The flourish, as expressed in Fig. 88, is performed principally by 
the wrist. In order to perform this action, the hand, with the in- 
dex-finger, is dropped down a little above the head, nearly at right 
angles with the fore-arm, and is then thrown forcibly upwards, and 
sweeps round as marked by the line of dots in the figure. To ad- 
vance boldly, indicates confidence, pride, &c. ; to advance slowly, 
implies solemnity, grief, resignation, &.c. The notation is the same, 
in each case, as the sentiments sufficiently show in what manner 
the speaker should advance. Of the former (bold advance), an in- 
stance is observed on the word power, in this line; of the latter 
(slow advance), an instance is seen on the word grave, in the last 
line. Third line. The shake, sh, is marked on inevitable. It 
should not comprise many tremulous motions, lest it appear ridicu- 
lous ; it is sufficient that the hand move twice suddenly backwards 
and forwards. Fourth line. The gestures in this line are continu- 
ous. The first, on paths, is a discriminating gesture, leading to 
the suspending gesture, on glory. The gesture on lead, is the pre- 
paration for that which descends to the word grave, on which falls 
the emphatic and terminating gesture. The advance, noted in this 
line, aR2, for the step, combines with the descending arms, and aids 
in looking down with resignation. But it might be rRl, or rZd, 
which would express terror, or alarm. I prefer aR2. 

(STANZA XL) Second line. From back, both hands (the palms 
inwards), move inwards, so that at mansion they nearly touch the 


lips, as noted ; they then move outwards to the position oblique, on 
the wordjleeting. 

(STANZA Xll.) Third line. There is a suspending gesture on 
hands, which is the preparation for the subsequent gesture. It 
might have been omitted, as it is obviously implied, were it not 
thought proper to mark the word hands with some force ; and, in 
this way, it obtains the distinction of gesture without extravagance 
or unnecessary waste of gesture. Were this preparatory gesture 
not marked, the hands would ascend, by a uniform motion, to rod, 
then make the stroke on empire, which would be feeble, and, if 
noted at large, would be thus : 

a Bshfst 

Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd. 

Fourth line. The double sweep is here performed first inwards, 
on ecstasy, and then outwards, on lyre. 

(STANZA XIII.) The gesture on penury is a suspending one ; 
its fourth and its fifth letter, rp, which express the manner of mo- 
tion, being separated, in order to place them over their proper syl- 
lable. The notation, at large, would be as follows : 

Bvhfrt * Bvhfrp 

Chill penury repressed, &c. 

The first retracting, the last repressing ; this, however, is under- 
stood from the nature of the emphatic gesture. Fourth line. The 
fourth small letter, c, over froze, signifies contracted. The gesture 
on current serves as a preparation for placing the hands on the 
breast This gesture, Bnhfp, begins on genial, and the arms are 
stretched out, with some force, on current. 

(STANZA XIV.) Third line. On the wordjlower, shfrt might 
be placed, as the preparation for the gesture on blush; but as the 
word does not require a strong emphasis, the notation is omitted ; 
however, the gesture is implied. (See remarks on Stanza VII.) 

(STANZA XV.) Fourth line. When from the transverse posi- 
tion, c, the arms move directly to x, without noting the interme- 
diate position, q, as here, on country's blood, the motion is under- 
stood to be rapid, and decisive, expressing vehemence or horror. 

(STANZA XVI.) Second line. The gestures necessary to be 
marked, on this line, are four, of which the second, on pain, and 
the third, on ruin, are made by the momentary arrest of the hand, 
in its ascent to vef, on the first syllable of despise , rj, rejecting, on 
the last syllable, finishes the whole with the emphatic stroke. 
Thus sufficient discrimination is made, without falling into quaint- 
ness of gesture, or affectation. These small discriminating ges- 
tures, produced by a slight arrest of motion, and often by merely 
changing the posture of the hand, are more frequent, and more im 
portant to the orator, than the more showy gestures, and should be 
particularly attended to. 


(STANZA XVII.) The last two lines have each a series of con- 
tinuous gestures. 

From the preceding analysis and notation, it will be observed that 
the discriminating gestures are principally requisite for the recit- 
ing of this poem. The suspending and the emphatic are frequent ; 
but the last seldom require to be strongly marked, as the general 
character of the sentiments is calm and tender. Of significant 
gestures there are very few. The first, marked Ls, listening, over 
curfew, is of this class, and perhaps a few others may also be 
reckoned to belong to it, as when the hand is laid on the breast ; but 
there are not many more. 

As these gestures may be varied, it may be said, infinitely, so 
there can be no fixed standard, as to the manner of delivering this, 
or any other poem, or oration, which should be considered exclusively 
appropriate. The sentiments require, indeed, to be delivered with 
suitable tones of voice, and expression of countenance ; but great 
variety of gesture may be consistent with propriety, provided gene- 
ral rules are not violated : as, that decorum and simplicity be ob- 
served ; that the transitions, connexions, the time of the gesture, 
and precision in the stroke, be attended to, and other obvious precau- 
tions, of general import, already sufficiently detailed. The notation 
will accommodate itself to every variety in the speaker's manner; 
and this must prove a recommendation to its use. 



B zhfp q vex sp B nef 

Romans, countrymen, and lovers ! hear me for 

al& rRl 

B shf st P/ phz phf st R 

my cause ; and be silent that you may hear. 

Bshfp br R br pr veq sp 

Believe me for mine honour; and have respect unto 


Bshfn DBpef 

mine honour that you may believe. Censure me 

B tihx Bvefsp 

in your wisdom; and awake your senses that you 


B shf n B she x 

may the better judge. If there be any in this 


sdfd vefsp 

assembly, any dear friend of Cresar's, to him I 



say that Brutus' love to Caesar, was no less than 


ahfst ief n veq 

his. If, then, that friend demand why Brutus rose 

BaJtfp q 

against Ca3sar, this is my answer: not that I loved 

nef shfst B veq w 

Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more. Had 

shfp peq^ sp phfst 

you rather Caesar were living, and die all slaves, 


B shfst B nhx 

than that Caesar were dead, and live all freemen? 


sef E R veq iD- 

As Caesar loved me, I weep for him ; as he was for- 


br veq vhq B sdf d 

tunate, I rejoice at it ; as he was valiant, I honour 

cef chfst ^ D 

him ; but, as he was ambitious, I slew him. There < 

L2 am 

B nef shf d Ubr R veq w D Bpef 

are tears for his love, joy for his fortune, honour 


Bveqsp ceb chfsk BR shf 

for his valour, and death for his ambition. Who's 


p ohc * rj pef 

here so base that would be a bondman ? If any, 


pdfst ihfre R 

speak ; for him have I offended. Who's here so 


pkc z sfif n 

rude that would not be a Roman? If any, speak; 

vef sp B vhfp 

for him have I offended. Who 's here so vile that 


Bveqw B shfn A 

will not love his country ? If any, speak ; for 


BvJifsh BR veq v> 

him have I offended. I pause for a reply. None' 

she sw 

Then none have I offended. I have done no more 

shfn nef br R 

to Csesar, than you should do to Brutus. The 


ieb n 

question of his death is enrolled in the Capitol; 

his glory not extenuated wherein he was worthy ; 


nor his offences enforced, for which he suffered 

phfst B ihb she Fshc^shb 

death. Here comes his body, mourned by Mark 


n shfR 

Antony, who, though he had no hand in his death, 

nef shf n 

shall receive the benefit of his dying, a place in 

Bshc q i 

the commonwealth ; as which of you shall not ? 

Bnef B R cef 

With this, I depart : that, as I slew my best 

rRl rLl 

Bshfn chfsh 

lover for the good of Rome, I have the same dagger 

br st R a B pef 

for myself, when it shall please my country to 

d B R st 

need my death. 



I have introduced this speech, and noted it, for the purpose of 
showing that the gestures necessary for delivering it in the true 
spirit, are principally the suspending and the emphatic. These are 
suited to the vehemence of the speaker's manner, which seeks no 
ornament, but hastens to produce the main impression on his hearers, 
by the most direct method. An inspection of the notation will make 
this evident ; for, even though the reader may wish tr alter many 


particular gestures which are here noted, he must change them for 
others of the same nature, if he would preserve the character of the 
speech. The suspending and the emphatic gestures must still 
abound, and he will find little opportunity for introducing the other 
descriptions, which are, in general, too tame for the abrupt and ve- 
hement style of this speech. 

" Be silent that you may hear" On these words I have marked 
the gesture for the left hand, as well as that for the right, and also 
on the words, " have respect unto mine honour." This last is an 
auxiliary gesture, but of the vehement kind. The exordium of this 
singular oration ends at * better judge ;" after which, the arms 
should fall to rest, and there should be a considerable pause. An- 
other division, which may be called the proposition, takes place at 
"live all freemen ,-" another, the narration, at "death for his am- 
bition ,-" and that which may be called the pathetic, or appeal to 
the passions, finishes at "I pause for a reply." The argument, or 
reasoning, ends at "suffered death;" and the peroration follows. 

" / weep for him." This is noted E R, the right hand on the 
eyes, the left at rest. 

" Him have I offended " noted on "him" ihfrc, recoiling. In 
this action the finger is pointed suddenly, and scornfully ; then im- 
mediately withdrawn. 

Frequent changes in the positions of the feet indicate anxiety ; 
they are, therefore, noted, in this speech. 

"His body, mourned;" auxiliary gesture. When the right 
hand is brought up on "mourned," both hands become supine; and, 
on the next words, " by Mark Antony" they make the action of 
noting. At " Here comes" noted JB, the speaker looks back ; at 
" Mark Antony" noted F, he looks forward to those whom he ad- 
dresses. It would be tedious to point out all the suspending ges- 
tures, succeeded immediately by the emphatic, for they abound. 
In all the antitheses, which are numerous, the suspending will be 
found over the first member, and the emphatic over the last. 


U vefn F Bnef 

The bell strikes one. We take no note of time 

aK2, rR\ 

Bshfst U ief- 

But from its loss : to give it then a tongue 

shfn r B phq 

Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke, 

U br R ihf 

I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright 


ief idq R at 

It is the knell of my departed hours. 

RBvhc q rt Bvhfp 

Where are they ? With the years beyond the flood 

V ieq phfst 

It is the signal that demands despatch: 

Bphfx Bvhq a 

How much is to be done ! My hopes, and fears 


Start up alarmed, and o'er life's narrow verge 

B phfst Bnefsp 

Look down on what? A fathomless abyss, 


B vefp a B R at 

A dread eternity ! how surely mine 

vef br.. 

And can eternity belong to me, 

vef Bnef BR 

Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour? 

U nefc F shfst A ohc vhfc F B veq w 

How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, 

B vhc x 

How complicate, how wonderful is man ! 

U a Bvefsp d B R 

How passing wonder he who made him such! 

B tc br B nhxsp 

Who center'd in our make such strange extremes ! 

B vhc q 

From different natures, marvellously mix'd, 

B nef rt pefp 

Connexion exquisite of distant worlds ! 

shfp a nefsp 

Distinguish'd link in being's endless chain ! 

idf n iZ 

Midway from nothing to the Deity! 

U shf^ vhf vef 

A beam etherial, sullied, and absorpt ! 

d phfst a vefsp vkf 

Though sullied, and dishonour'd, still divine! 


vtfc U veqw 

Dim miniature of greatness absolute ! 

Bne f d- Bsdfn 

An heir of glory ! a frail child of dust ! 

FBphf U Bveqsp D idf Uveqw 

Helpless immortal ! insect infinite ! 

idfn U refsp Bshfsfi 

A worm! a God! I tremble at myself, 

r Bbr vefbr 

And in myself am lost. At home, a stranger, 

UFst R r vefsp vfixsp 

Thought wanders up and down, surprised, aghast, 

V BvJifsh Bvec x 

And wond'ring at her own. How reason reels ! 

vefe phfn br R 

O what a miracle to man is man, 

Bvefv> BR vefsp vhfsh-- 

Triumphantly distressed ! what joy ! what dread ! 

Bshfp Bvhfrt 

Alternately transported, and alarm'd! 


B br Bvhc z 

What can preserve my life? or what destroy? 

a nefsp d pdfn 

An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave , 

Bveqw Bnef Bscffst 

Legions of angels can't confine me there. 


The peculiarities of Young's style, especially in his Night- 
Thoughts, render his poetry particularly difficult for recitation. 
His use of epithets is faulty to excess. He heaps them profusely, 
and in every manner, on the principal idea. Man is here his sub- 
ject, which he colours with every variety of tint, exhibits in every 
light, and touches and re-touches almost to disgust. And yet he 
has here produced many sublime images ; and his very faults, his 
labour, his antitheses and his catachreses,* are the source of his 
beauties. This passage is particularly difficult to recite. The dif- 

* Catackresis, a figure of speech by which one word is abusively 
put for another. 


ficulty arises chiefly from the multiplicity of the images, and the 
hrevity of the expression ; consequently, if the speaker is not care- 
ful to pronounce every line with due deliberation, his gesture makes 
confusion only, and gives an air of mummery to his recitation. 
This condensation of images occurs in almost every line; but the 
twenty-sixth line, which consists of only four words, is remarkable. 
" Helpless immortal ! insect infinite !" 

To give force and variety, and, at the same time, simplicity and 
gracefulness to gestures so heaped on each other, is attended with 
no inconsiderable difficulty. But even should the speaker's manner, 
in the recitation of these lines, prove unexceptionable in this re- 
spect, the difficulty is but half conquered. They do not, indeed, 
require any considerable variety of voice ; but the eye and the coun- 
tenance of the speaker must be full of expression and intelligence: 
he must appear to be rapt in meditation, which rises into sublimity 
as it proceeds, and inflames, as it catches the rapid succession of 
thought. On these accounts, this passage is seldom recited suc- 

After what has been said in the analysis of the other pieces, a 
few observations will suffice for this. 

Line 4, " aright," continuous gesture to the end of the 5th line, 
where the hand falls to rest with some degree of force, noted R st, 
rest, striking. The hand, generally, in falling to rest, drops quietly 
and imperceptibly by its own gravity, and it is then noted with a 
simple R ; but sometimes the hand is struck down forcibly, and then 
it is noted, as above, R st. 

Line 8. " How much ;" the x, in the fourth place, means that 
the arms are to be extended forwards eagerly. 

Line 14, 15, 16, six epithets, antithesis, and a climax: the voice 
and gesture must increase in energy, and on " he," in the 16th line, 
complete the climax. The first, in each pair of gestures, is pre- 
paratory to the subsequent, in the antithesis. 

Line 23 to 25. Antitheses and catachreses heaped on each 
other, each requiring a separate gesture, strongly contrasted with 
that to which it is opposed. 

Line 29. F st, the hand striking the forehead. 


In order to render every circumstance perfectly intelligible, I have 
marked with the notation letters the gestures in the preceding ex- 
amples more minutely than is necessary for general use. For gene- 
ral use, it is sufficient to note the most important circumstances, 
leaving the filling up to the judgment of the speaker. 


In the recitation of descriptions of any kind, the speaker must, in 
imagination, have the picture before his eyes, and each object must, 
be disposed in the same order as if actually painted. If this imagi- 
nary picture be faulty in the composition, confused, or ill-grouped, 
the gesture will perplex, rather than enlighten ; but, if well con- 
ceived, and well disposed in its parts, the speaker will seem to give 
it the interest of life by his skilful gesture and recitation ; and the 
auditor will almost imagine that he actually contemplates all that 
the speaker describes. 

Impassioned compositions, delivered with proper feeling and ex- 
pression, open, in like manner, to the view of the hearer, the inter- 
nal operations of the speaker's mind, a contemplation still more 
interesting than any scenes of external nature which can be pre- 
sented in description. 

As, in writing, even an appropriate term must not be used too 
frequently, so in this art, the same gesture, however expressive, 
must not be too often repeated. Variety is graceful, and requires 
that similar gestures, as well as similar words, should be separated 
by those which are diverse. 

In oratorical action, it is a general rule that each new idea requires 
a new gesture. But important ideas, only, require distinguished 
gesture. For these last, therefore, should be reserved the species of 
gestures named emphatic; for the former (which are the most nu- 
merous), the discriminating will be sufficient. As to frequency, the 
propriety of gesture will be found to depend on the deliberation and 
expression of the speaker. If the feelings are not alive, and if the 
lines are not pronounced with due deliberation, the gestures will 
appear to be too numerous. In the preceding examples they may 
seem to have this fault, from the circumstance that it is my object 
to exhibit at large the greater part of their minute connexions and 
transitions. A little attention, however, will show, that much, 
still, has been left to be supplied by the judgment of the reader. 

The notation, and the analytical observations on the foregoing 
pieces, will, it is conceived, afford sufficient information to such as 
may desire to assist their rhetorical studies by this system. I would 
not recommend that the young speaker, in using this notation, should 
mark every possible passage in his discourse, in the manner of these 
examples; for such minuteness would lead to embarrassment, un- 
less preceded by much labour. The utmost advisable notation 
should not exceed a few marks on particular passages, and those 
separated from each other ; the filling up of which should be trusted 
to the feelings of the moment. But the best method, in all re- 
spects, for acquiring a finished rhetorical delivery, is the private 
practice of declamation, which is supported on the authority of the 
great masters and models of oratory, Demosthenes and Cicero. The 
aspiring rhetorical student should select one or more celebrated 
orations, couched in the style that he wishes to adopt ; these he 


should carefully subject to all the rules of notation ; he should study 
them, and commit them to memory ; he will exercise on them all 
the powers of his voice, his countenance and gesture ; and, like De- 
mosthenes, consult his mirror, and obtain the opinion of a judicious 
friend on his performances. The knowledge and facility, which, 
by repeated exercises of this kind, he will acquire in rhetorical 
delivery, may be transferred, with advantage, to his own composi- 
tions which are to be delivered in public; and, without hazarding 
the inconveniences of particular notation, he will find himself pos- 
sessed of such a store of various, forcible, and expressive action, 
that, whatever his feelings shall suggest at the moment, he will be 
able to execute in a satisfactory manner. 





Page 15. What is Elocution 7 What does Elocution comprise 7 
What does the science of Elocution embrace 7 What does the art 
of Elocution embrace ? How is Elocution divided ? What is Vo- 
cal Gymnastics 7 What is Gesture 7 How is Vocal Gymnastics 
subdivided 7 


Page 16. What is Articulation] What is Pitch? What is 
Force 1 What is Time 7 Can the elements of vocal language be 
formed separately 7 What is good articulation 1 What advantage 
results from good articulation 1 ? 

Page 17. Can one be a good reader, or speaker, whose articu- 
lation is imperfect? What is the condition of the organs of articu- 
lation in those who have never been in the practice of pronounc- 
ing their words distinctly 1 What is the best method for rendering 
the muscles of articulation obedient to the commands of the will 7 

Page 18. What are the elements of vocal language 7 What 
is the number of letters in the English language? What is the 
number of elements in the English language 7 

Page 19. How are the elements divided 7 Describe the vow- 
els the subvowels the aspirates. Pronounce the vowels the 
subvowels the aspirates. 

Page 20. Why are not C, J, Q, and X, classed with the ele- 

Page 21. How are the vowels divided 7 What is a monothong ? 
By what letters are the monothongs represented 7 What is a diph- 
thong? By what letters are the diphthongs represented? What 
are the constituents of the diphthongs? What is a triphthong? 
By what letters are the triphthongs represented ? ' What are the 
constituents of the triphthongs ? 

Page 22. Are there any other diphthongs and triphthongs ? 
By what letters are they represented 7 Do they increase the num- 
ber of the elements? Give an analysis of them. What is the 
condition of the aperture of the mouth, during the utterance of a 
monothong ? a diphthong 7 a triphthong 7 


Page 23. Of what does B consist, and how is it formed 1 Of 
what does D consist, and how is it formed 1 

Page 24. Describe G. What is L? What is Ml What is 
N 1 What is NG 1 What is R, and how many varieties are there 
of this element? When should R be trilled, and when made 
smooth ? 

Page 25. What is TH, in then, and how is it formed ? What 
is V, and how is it formed 1 Describe W. Describe Y. What kind 
of a sound is Z, in zone, and how is it formed 1 What is Z, in 
azure, and how is it formed] How is F formed'! What is H? 
In how many ways may H be uttered ? How is K formed 1 

Page 26. How is P formed 1 Describe S. Describe SH. How 
is T formed? Describe TH, in thin. What is WH, and what 
posture of the mouth does it require 1 

Page 27. Are there any elements that require more than one 
posture of the mouth'? How is a vowel exploded? What advan- 
tage results from exploding the elements? 

Page 30. What is defective articulation ? Is it common ? From 
what does it arise? Children are apt to say day for gay ; tate for 
cake, &c. how may these faults be corrected ? 

Page 31. Some children pronounce John, don ; Charles, tarles, 
&c. how may these faults be corrected ? 

Page 32. Some persons confound V and W what exercises 
will be found beneficial in correcting these faults? In correcting 
errors in articulation, why is it advantageous to practise the exer- 
cises before a mirror ? What is lisping ? What is the remedy for 
lisping ? 

Page 33. What is stammering? How does the cause operate ? 
How is stammering cured? Does every case require the same 
treatment ? Can any one treat stammering successfully 1 


Page 38. What is pitch 1 There are two divisions of pitch 
what are they ? 

Page 39. What is the Diatonic Scale ? What is the order of 
the scale ? What is the octave ? 

Page 40. What is an interval ? What is a discrete interval ? 
What is a concrete interval? Name the principal intervals. 
What is the difference between a major third and r a minor third ? 

Page 41. How many sorts of voice do we employ in the ex- 
pression of our thoughts ? Describe them. What, do the Italians 
mean by the terms voce di petto and voce di testa ? 

Page 42. Describe the whispering voice. In what respect 
does the female voice differ from that of the male? Describe the 
voices of boys. How is the voice divided? What is the orotund 
voice ? 

Page 46. To what range of pitch is the speaking voice mostly 


confined, in good elocution ? There is a very common fault, in re- 
gard to pitching the voice what is itl 

Page 47. What are inflections 1 How many different inflec-^ 
tions are described by writers on Elocution ? In what respect does 
a rising inflection differ from a falling inflection ? 

Page 49. What is the extent of the concrete intervals of the 
notes of speech ? Do falling inflections traverse the same range of 
pitch as their corresponding rising inflections? 

Page 50. In what other respect do these inflections differ ? 
Give some account of the circumflexes. 

Page 51. Why should not a falling inflection be used for the sake of 
mere variety ? W T hat should determine the direction of inflections 1 

Page 52. What is melody 1 ? How is melody distinguished 
from harmony 1 What is notation ? What is intonation ? On 
what is melody founded 1 

Page 53. In what respect does the melody of speech differ from 
that of song ? Is it necessary, for practical purposes, to present 
every syllable in speech under its proper note, as is done in song ? 

Page 54. What is an emphasis melody? Describe the staff 
of speech. Give an example of emphasis melody. What is the 
pitch-note of speech? 

Page 55. On which line of the staff is the pitch-note written ? 
What is the effect of reading altogether in the pitch-note ? How 
is the voice properly varied in pitch ? Is the melody of speech con- 
fined to four degrees of pitch, whose intervals are as determinate as 
those of the Diatonic Scale ? Does the melody of speech consist 
solely of emphasis melodies ? Mention some points in which the 
graphic notes of song, and those of an emphasis melody, differ. 
What care is necessary to be taken in reading emphasis melodies ? 

Page 56. What is modulation ? How is modulation effected, 
and with what is it generally accompanied ? What is the province 
of modulation ? Describe the staff of modulation. 

Page 57. Give an example of modulation. 


Page 59. What is force 1 How is force divided 1 How are 
the terms high and low, and loud and soft, applied to force ? By 
what are the nine degrees of force expressed ? 

Page 60. In what way should force be varied ? What is stress ? 
What is radical stress 1 ? What is median stress? 

Page 61. What is final stress? What is explosive stress? 
What is tremour ? How may tremour be illustrated ? Why is it 
necessary to pay attention to the subject of force ? 


Page 63. What is time ? How is time, in music, divided ? 
How does the time of speech differ from that of song ? 

14* ' L 


Page 64. What is quantity 1 By what characters is quantity 
represented ] What is their relative value 1 What is the effect 
\>f a dot, when affixed to a note, or rest 1 How many general 
modes of time are there 1 How are they distinguished "? Name 
some of the varieties of the two general modes of time. 

Page 65. What is movement ? How should the rate of move- 
ment be regulated ? 

Page 66. What terms are employed to denote the rate of move- 
ment] What are the three chief divisions of time ? Name some 
of the terms which indicate the style of performance. Are not 
these terms sometimes used in connexion with those which express 
the movement 1 Give an example. Is the rate of movement de- 
finitely marked by the terms, Adagio, Largo, &c. ] How may it 
be designated with precision "? Describe the Metronome. 

Page 67. How should the time be marked on the Metronome, in 
reading ? How should it be marked in music 1 


Page 69. What is gesture ] How may the postures of the 
body, with respect to vocal delivery, be divided ? Describe some 
of the unfavourable postures. 

Page 72. What postures are favourable to vocal delivery 1 In 
$hat manner should the book be held, in reading ] 

Page 73. In demonstrating on the black-board, should the faco, 
or back, be turned towards the audience 1 What is the cause of 
the general neglect with which the cultivation of the art of gesture 
has hitherto been treated ] To whom is the world indebted for a 
system of notation of gesture ? Give an example of the notation. 

Page 74. What suggested the idea of this system of notation 1 
What may be reckoned among the higher objects of this system of 
notation ? 

Page 76. What parts of the body are brought into action, in 
gesture ? What should be the external deportment of the orator ] 
In what does the gracefulness of motion, in the human form, consist? 

Page 77. How should the orator stand, to be graceful 1 How 
are the positions of the feet expressed ? Describe the first position 
of the right foot. 

Page 78. Describe the second position of the right foot. What 
is the first position of the left foot ? 

Page 79. Describe the second position of the left foot. Which 
is the proper reading position ? 

Page 80. Which is the proper rising position of the orator 1 
Describe the positions in front. 

Page 81. Describe the positions of the feet in the extended 
state. Describe the contracted position. What attitudes and po- 
sitions should the orator adopt ? 

Page 82. In changing the positions of the feet, how should the 


motions be made? Why should an orator not change his position 
frequently 1 What are the several acts resulting irom the changes 
in the positions of the feet, and how are they noted ? How are two 
or more steps expressed ? How are changes of position, or steps, to 
be madel 

Page 83. How many steps may be made from each original 
position 1 Describe them. 

Page 84, 85. By what sort of a diagram is the present system 
of gesture exemplified 1 

Page 86. To what are postures and motions of the arm referred, 
and how are they noted 1 

Page 87. How many primary postures of the arm are there? 
How are the fifteen primary postures of the arm more particularly 
noted ? 

Page 89. In referring gestures to certain points in a sphere, is 
mathematical precision necessary ? What is there peculiar in the 
colloquial elevations of the arm 1 

Page 91. How does the degree of energy, proceeding from the 
sentiment of desire, or aversion, influence the character of gesture 1 
How is the notation varied, to mark the different degrees of exten- 
sion of the arm ? 

Page 91. Enumerate some of the postures of the arm which 
are named from the manner of holding the arm, or resting it upon 
the body. 

Page 93. By what circumstances are the postures of the hand 
determined ? Describe some of the postures belonging to the first 

Page 96. Describe the postures of the second class, which de- 
pend on the manner of presenting the palm. 

Page 97. Describe the postures of the third class, arising from 
the combined disposition of the hands. 

Page 98. Describe the fourth class. 

Page 100. Why may any posture of the arm, or hand, sustain 
different significant characters 1 How are the motions of the hands 
and arms considered, and how are they noted 1 

Page 101. What is noting 1 What is projecting, or pushing ? 
How is waving performed, and how is it noted 1 How is the 
flourish performed, and how is it noted ? What is the sweep, and 
how is it noted 1 

Page 102. What is beckoning 1 What is repressing 1 What 
is striking, and how is it noted ] What is recoiling 1 

Page 103. How is advancing performed ? What is springing I 
What is throwing ? What is clinching ? How is collecting per- 
formed 1 What is shaking 1 What is pressing ? What is re- 
tracting ? What is rejecting ? What is bending ? 

Page 104. Why should an orator hold his head erect ? To 
what should the movements of the head be adapted ? Name the 


principal postures and motions of the head, and direction of the eyes, 
with their notation letters. 

Page 105. In what manner should the motions of the body ac- 
company those of the hands and arms'? What forms the grand 
instrument of gesture 1 Where is the centre of motion of this com- 
pound instrument] Do these parts move together in the manner 
of an inflexible line ? In gesticulating, does this complex instru- 
ment continue long in one direct line, or in any particular flexure? 

Page 106. What is the stroke of the gesture? Should the 
stroke of the gesture always be made with the same degree offeree ? 
To what is the stroke of the gesture analogous 1 Are there any 
other points of analogy between the voice and gesture ? 

Page 107. Is it important that the stroke of the gesture should 
fall precisely on the accented syllable of the emphatic word ? W 7 hat 
kind of gesture is that which is called sawing the air ? With what 
effect are all unmeaning motions of public speakers attended? 

Page 108. What is meant by the terms principal gesture, and 
subordinate gesture ? What are significant gestures 1 

Page 109. Are the majority of gestures significant? What do 
gestures, in general, denote ? Into how many classes are these 
various gestures divided ! What are commencing gestures ? What 
are discriminating gestures? 

Page 110. What are auxiliary gestures? W 7 hat are suspend- 
ing gestures? What are emphatic gestures? 

Page 111. Give illustrations of these several gestures. 

Page 112. May these five classes of gestures be used in any 
part of discourse? Do modern orators ever perform the principal 
gesture with the left hand ? Is not this practice at variance with 
the rules of Quintilian ? How do you account for this difference 
between the customs of the ancient and modern orators? On what 
occasions may the left hand perform the principal gesture? Do the 
moderns violate another precept of Quintilian ? 

Page 113. Under what circumstances do the corresponding 
hand and foot naturally advance together? When may the con- 
trary hand and foot advance together? In the transitions of ges- 
ture, should the hand and arm always be precipitated to the intended 
position by the shortest course ? Describe some of these curves. 

Page 114. For what purpose is this indirect line used? By 
what is the extent of the return, or depth of the sweep, deter- 
mined? Does the preparation made by these curves suit every 
species of gesture? What kinti of preparation is generally made 
for emphatic gestures? 

Page 115. Illustrate it by examples. 

Page 116. What is the connexion of gesture, and how is it 
shown ? How is the connexion of gesture, in the vertical direction, 
noted ? 

Page 117. Illustrate the connexion of. gesture in the vertical 


direction by an example? To what does the transition of gesture 
relate, and what does it signify ? May a gesture have a very 
different character and effect, according to the manner in which 
the hand arrives at its destined point? Why do painters generally 
choose to represent the suspending gestures] To what does the 
transition of gesture particularly relate? 

Page 118. If the passage to be pronounced be of considerable 
length, why should the right hand perform the principal gesture 
throughout the whole of it) Under what circumstances may the 
right hand yield to the left the performance of the principal gesture ? 

Page 119. May not this balancing, or alternation of gesture, be 
carried to an affected extreme ? How should the transition of ges- 
ture, from one hand to the other, be managed ! What is the gene- 
ral rule, in regard to changing the position of the feet 1 

Page 120. What is the general rule for accompaniment of ges- 
ture, in calm and moderate speaking, when both hands do not per- 
form the same gesture? What important accompaniments are to 
be attended to besides the motions of the subordinate gesture? 

Page 121. Give an example of some of the stronger changes of 
the head, body, and lower limbs, which accompany certain principal 

Page 122. Describe, in their natural order, the several motions 
which may be employed in expressing aversion. What is the close 
and termination of gesture, and '.n what manner should it be ef- 
fected ? Should a single word, or idea, be marked with more than 
one emphatic stroke? 

Page 123. Is there any particular point of elevation at which 
emphatic gestures should terminate ? Should gesture be limited, 
in its application, to any particular words and passages ? For what 
parts of the oration will a judicious speaker reserve the force and 
ornament of gesture ? By what should the frequency of gesture be 
determined ? 

Page 124. In what kind of sentences may a gesture be made 
on each word ? Why should a sentence be slowly delivered, in 
which a gesture is made on almost every word ? Does the em- 
phatic gesture always fall on those words which are the principal, 
in a grammatical sense the nouns and verbs ? Under what cir- 
cumstances should gestures, which are noted alike, be varied ? 

Page 125. Should there be any cessation of gesture during the 
delivery of a discourse ? What is gesture said to hold the place of? 
How, then, should it be managed ? What are the principal quali- 
ties which constitute the perfection of gesture ? How is magnifi- 
cence of gesture effected ? 

Page 126. What are the opposite imperfections ? From what 
does boldness of gesture arise ? What is the opposite imperfection ? 
Of what does energy of gesture consist ? What are the opposite 
imperfections ? Of what does variety of gesture consist ? What 


is the opposite imperfection 1 What is simplicity of gesture ? 
What is the opposite imperfection ? What is grace of gesture 1 

Page 127. What is the opposite imperfection ? What is pro- 
priety of gesture? What are the opposite imperfections? From 
what does precision of gesture arise ? What are the opposite im- 
perfections 1 What are the three general modes of public speak- 
ing ? Does each require a different style of gesture ? What does 
epic gesture demand ? 

Page 128. What does rhetorical gesture require ? What does 
colloquial gesture require ? Under what circumstances should the 
gestures of the public speaker be principally of that class which is 
called discriminating gestures 1 How should he perform them ? 
From what does the charge, which is sometimes made against pub- 
lic speakers, of being theatrical in their gesture, probably arise ? 

Page 129. On what occasions should the public speaker use 
more graceful, more flowing, and more varied gesture ? What 
should he guard against, and how should all his gestures be regu- 
lated ? What are the most important significant gestures of the 
head and face ? What are the most important significant gestures 
of the eyes 1 

Page 130. What are the most important significant gestures 
of the arms ? Name some of the most important significant ges- 
tures of the body. What are some of the most important signifi- 
cant gestures of the lower limbs 1 

Page 131. What is Lord Kames's definition of grace? On 
what does the gracefulness of rhetorical action depend ? Where is 
grace to be found ? Can true grace and consummate eloquence be 
acquired by every one 1 In what does the grace of oratorical ac- 
tion consist ? Why should action, to be graceful, be performed 
with facility? Why should it be performed with freedom? 

Page 132. What are some of the situations in which it would 
be impossible for an orator to be truly graceful ? Is the restraint 
arising from diffidence prejudicial to grace ? How may it be cor- 
rected ? What is indispensable for the maintenance of grace in 
rhetorical action ? Do simplicity and truth of manner constitute 
grace ? What effect have gestures, which are contrived for the 
mere display of the person, or for the exhibition of some foppery, 
as, for instance, a fine ring ? What effect has affectation upon ora- 
torical grace ? What are some of the faults of manner ? 

Page 133. Why is the action of young children never deficient 
in grace 1 In what does the grace of action consist, according to 
Hogarth ? Is his definition correct ? From what does rhetorical 
action derive its grace ? 


HAVING treated of the principles of Reading and 
Speaking, it is now necessary, in order to render this 
Work an entire System of Elocuti(5ri, to furnish the 
pupil with appropriate Exercises for the practical 
application of these principles. 

The Exercises are divided into two Parts. Part I. 
consists of Exercises in Articulation, Pitch, Force, 
Time, and Gesture. Part II. consists of Exercises in 
Reading and Declamation. 



Table of the Elements of the English Language. 

















This Exercise should be practised as follows : 1. Utter each ele- 
ment with the falling inflection, the vowels with explosive force. 




2. Utter each vowel and subvowel, alternately, with the rising 1 and 
falling inflection. 3. Utter the vowels with the falling inflection, 
alternately, in a high and low pitch. 4. Utter each vowel in the 
medium pitch of the natural voice, then in the falsetto, and lastly, 
in the lowest note of the natural voice. 5. Pronounce every word 
under the head Subvoivels, as well as under the head Aspirates, in 
the following manner: make a full inspiration, and dwell for two 
or three seconds on tine initial element ; then utter the remainder 
of the word with a sudden and forcible expulsion of the breath.* 


In this Exercise, every vowel is preceded by every subvowel, 
nnd by every aspirate. 
iiii|eelll|666 |ddd|ou. 
bi bi bi bi | be be | bl bl | b6 b6 b6 | bd bd bd | bou. 


di di 



de | 



d6 d6 d6 | 

dd dd dd | 



ga gi 







g6 g6 


gd gd 



li li 

li | 


le | 



1 1& 

16 16 

1 1" 

Id Id ] 


mi mi mi ma 
mu md md | mou. 

| me me 

| ml ml 


m6 m6 | 


ni ni 






j n6 

n6 n6 

| nd 

nd mi 



ri ri 




| rl 


| r6 

r6 r6 

| rd 

rd ru 

| rou. 

TJfH, TITct, THcl THcl 1 THC TUG 1 Till Till 


TH6 TH6 j 


vi vi 


| ve 

ve \ 


vl | 

v6 v6 v6 | 

vu vd vd 



wa wi 


j w 




| w6 w6 w6 

wu wd wu j 



yi yi 







y6 y6 


yd yd 



4i 4i 



4e | 



| 46 

46 46 

| 4d 

4d 4u 

| 4ou. 


2i 4i 







46 26 


2d 2u 



fi'fi fa | 


fe | 



1 f6 

f6 f6 


fd fu 



hi hi 


| he 

he- | 



| h6 

h6 h6 


hd hd 



ki ki 






| k6 

k6 k6 


kd kd 



pi pi 






1 Pi 

p6 p6 


pd pu 



si si 






| s6 

s6 s6 


sd su 


* As song and orb do not begin with a subvowel, they should 
be omitted in this exercise. And as it is impossible to dwell on the 
aspirate, A, the word hut may also be omitted. 


shi shi shi shi | she she | shl shi | sh6 sho shd j 
shii shu shu | shou. 

ti ti ti ti | te te | tl tl | t6 td t6 | tu tu tu | ton. 

Mi Mi Mi Mi | Me Me | Mi Mi | M6 Md M6 | 
Mil Mi Mu | Mou. 

whi wha whi whi | whe whe | whl whi | whd wh6 wh6 j 
whu whu whu | whou. 


The object of this Exercise is to bring into proper play the 
muscles of the lips, and enable the pupil to pronounce with facility, 
v, w, and wh, in certain situations, and to distinguish between them, 
wi - vi vi - wi 6v - wi wi - whi 



vi - 


dv - 


wi - 




vi - 


dv - 


wi - 




vi - 


dv - 


wi - 




v - 




we - 




ve - 


dv - 


we - 




vi - 


dv - 


wi - 




vi - 




wi - 




vd - 


dv - 


wd - 




vd - 


dv - 


wd - 




vd - 


dv - 


wd - 




vi - 


dv - 

wi * 

wi - 




vi - 


dv - 


wi - 




vi - 


dv - 


wi - 



vou - 


dv - 









ti - 



- 4i 

Mi - 




ti - 



- ii 

Mi - 




ti - 



- ii 

Mi - 



- ffi 

ti - 



- ii 

Mi - 



- g^ 

te - 



- ie 

Me - 



* g e 

te - 



- ie 

Me - 




ti - 



- il 

Mi - 




ti - 



- 41 

Ml - 




td - 



- id 

Md - 




td - 



- id 

Md - 




td - 



- id 

Md - 




ti - 



- ii 

Mi - 




ti - 



- ii 

Mi - 




ti - 



- ii 

Mi - 



- gou 

tou - 



- iou 

Mou - 


* The design of this exercise is to bring into proper action the 




The object of this Exercise is to enable the pupil to utter per- 
fectly the subvowels and aspirates, when they are the final elements 
of words. 

ab eb ib ob ub 
ad ed id od ud 
ag eg ig og ug 
al el il ol ul 
am em im om urn 
an en in on un 

ang eng mg ong ung 
ar er ir or ur 


av ev iv ov uv 
ai ei ii ob ui 
a e2 12 o2 u4 

af ef if of uf 
ak ek ik ok uk 
ap ep ip op up 
ash esh ish osh ush 
at et it ot ut 
nth eth ith oth uth 

N, and NG, contrasted, 
an, ang; en, eng; in, ing; on, ong; un, ung. 


This Exercise exhibits the analysis of words in which there are 
easy combinations of elements. In the first column the words are 
presented as they are usually spelled ; in the second, their elements 
are separated by hyphens. The pupil should spell the words, ut- 
tering, separately, each element, and not the name of the letter, as 
is generally done in the schools. 








.. s-e-i 




arm . . . 






cart ... 



. i-nff-k 




.... Lk 



.... b-6 



lose .... 








f. U 

muscles which move the tip, and root of the tongue, and to contrast 
the elements, d and g, and t and A;, which, by children, are some- 
times confounded. The want of entire command of the muscles of 
the tongue and lips, is the reason why some persons speak thick, as 
it is called. A part of this Exercise is adapted to the case of lispers, 
those who substitute the subvowel TH for i ; and the aspirate J&, 



add . 
eve . 
key . 
field , 


view v-a 

suit s-u-t 

feud f-u-d 

her h-u-r 

sir s-u-r 

wolf w-u-l-f 

now . . . n-ou 


This Exercise exhibits the analysis of words in which there are 
difficult combinations of elements, 

worlds w-u-r-1-d-i 

tracts t-r-a-k-t-s 

friendship f-r-e-n-d-sh-i-p 

attempts eUt-t--m-p-t-s 

exhausts e-g-2-h-a-s-t-s 

precepts p-r-e-s-e-p-t-s 

themselves TH-e-m-s--l-v-z 

suspects s-u-s-p-e-k-t-s 

resolves r-e-i-6-l-v-i 




objects 6-b-d-2--k-t-s 


This is an Exercise in Pitch. The first four notes, counting 
from below, belong to the natural voice ; the fifth, to the falsetto. 
The pupil should pronounce the letters, a, e, i, a, in the ascending 
and descending order of the scale, and with the rising and falling 
inflection, as represented by the notes. He should then, in like 
manner, pronounce each vowel element ascending and descend- 
ing, as before. 

Diag. 2. 






























i r 

-v u 

u u 

mi. jnesiuem, 





Mr. President, 





Mr. President, 

^ I/ 





Mr. President, 





Mr. President, 




The pupil should pronounce all the vowels, which admit of long 
quantity, alternately with the rising and falling inflection, through 
various intervals of pitch, as shown by the Diagram. 

Diag. 22. 


4? 4. 

41 4. 

4? 4. 

fcl 6. 

I? i. 

6? 6. 

6! 6. 

ul u. 

41 4. 
41 4. 

1 1 1. 

6? 6. 

6? 6. 

i? u. 

ou? ou. 

41 4. 41 4. 41 4. 41 '4. 

41 4. 41 4. 41 4. 41 4. 

41 4. 41 4. 41 4. 41 4. 

61 6. 61 6. 61 6. 61 6. 

il 1. 111. 11 1. 11 1. 

61 6. 61 6. 61 6. 61 6. 

61 6. 61 6. 6? 6. 6? 6. 

ul u. ul u. ul u. ul u. 

ou 1 ou. ou 1 ou. ou 1 ou. ou 1 ou. 



Diag. 23. 

Diag. 24. 






field, house, temple. thunder, battle, heaven, 

A storm of universal fire, blasted every field*, con- 
sumed every house', and destroyed every tem x ple. 

Then shook the hills with thunder riv'n, 
Then rush'd the steed to battle driv'n, 
And louder than the bolts of heaven, 
Far flash'd the red artiMery. 


Diag. 25. Diag. 26. 



) 1 


tower, shine, glad, terrible, man, woman, child, beast. 

Ye are the things that tow v er, that shinev, whose 
smile makes glad', whose frown is terrible. 

They did not see one manv, not one wo^man, not one 
child x , not one four-footed beast', of any description 

Diag. 27. Diag. 28. 






A _ 

exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, disturbed, delighted, raised, refined. 

Exulting, trembling, ra ging, faint ing, 
Possess'd beyond the Muse's painting. 
By turns they felt the glowing mind, 
Disturb'dv, delight'ed, rais'ds refin'd x . 

Diag. 29. 









seasonless, herblesa, treeless, manless, lifeless, death, clay. 

The populous and the powerful was a lump, 
Sea x sonless, herbJess, treeless, man'less, li 
A lump of deatb a chaos of hard clay x . 

Diag. 30. 

poor, rich, abject, august, complicate, wonderful. 



How poon, how rich x , how abject, how august* 
How complicate, how won v derful is man ! 


time, wrong, contumely, love, delay, office, spume, 

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time x , 
The oppressor's wrongv, the proud man's contumely, 
The pang of despised love v , the law's delays 
The insolence of office, and the spurns/ 
That patient merit of the unworthy takes, 
When he himself might his quietus make 
With a bare bod\kin 1 


There is nothing peculiar in the melody of interrogative sentences, 
when they are pronounced with the falling inflection ; but, when 
they are pronounced with the rising inflection, they are character- 
ized as follows: 

When a question is asked simply for information, and there is 
but one emphatic syllable in it, this syllable rises concretely from 
the pitch-note line, through the interval of a third, or fifth (or there- 
abouts), according to the degree of energy with which the sentence 
is pronounced. And the syllables which follow the interrogative 
note (if I may so call it), are pronounced in the pitch of the upper 
extreme of this note, thus : 

Diag. 32. 


- w- 









- san's side 1 

)effins a (3 

a question 
esrree belo\ 

is asked 
v the pitc 


e, and ris( 

the interrogative not 
js, concretely, about 






A 4 



With you ! and quit my Su - san's side. 

renounced w 
iclody would 

Diag. 34. 

Should Susan's also be pronounced with emphatic force, but with 
less energy than you, the melody would be as follows: 

I 4 



v v 

A I * 

! 1 

With you! and quit my Su - san's side! 
Susan's, be 

Diag. 35. 

Should side, instead of Susan's, be made emphatic, the melody 
would be thus : 






t 1 




V 1 



With you ! and quit my Su - san's side ! 

And should you, Susan's, and side, be all pronounced with empha- 
tic force, the melody wonld be as follows : 

Diag. 36. 


With you! and quit my Su - san's side! 

is apt to be 
ir, be read U 

Diag. 37. 

The following- sentence is apt to be read to the melody of dia- 
gram 33 ; it should, however, be read to that of Diagram 37. 


-A . 


A 4 


With you! the hap - less bus - band cried, 



The phrase, " the hapless husband cried" is not a part of the 
interrogation, but is parenthetical, and should be read one degree 
lower than the pitch-note. 



The pupil should utter all the vowel sounds with the rising and 
falling inflection, in each of the nine degrees offeree. He should 
then read, or recite, some passage in each of these degrees, begin- 
ning as soft as possible, thus : 


Diag. 38. 




I a a 


a a 



a a 

a a 


a a 

a a 

a a 





There are many persons who do not vary the pitch and force of 
their voices according to the varying demands of sentiment. They 
read every thing alike ; and they do not appear capable of imitating 
a correct manner of speaking. In such cases, I have found it ne- 
cessary, in order to break up established habits, and direct the voice, 
as it were, into a new channel, to institute exercises in which the 
pitch and force of the voice are varied in the wildest and most ex- 
travagant manner. For instance, I select some piece, and divide it 
into sections. The first of these sections I pronounce in the falsetto 
voice, and request the pupil, or, what is better, the whole class, to 
pronounce it in like manner; the second section I pronounce in the 
jowest note of the natural voice, and it is immediately repeated by 
the class ; the third, in the highest note of the natural voice ; the 
fourth in a whisper ; the fifth, in the medium pitch of the natural 
voice; and so on. After exercising awhile in this manner, the 



pupil is able to appreciate smaller intervals of pitch ; and the voices 
of the whole class are ultimately brought into the same key, as is 
done in singing. The following is an exercise of the kind to which 
I allude. 


My brave associates, 

Lowest note of the natural voice. 

partners of my toil, | 

Highest note of n.v. Whispering voice. Medium note of natural voice 

my feelings, | and my fame ! | can Holla's words | 

Highest note n. v. Lowest note of the natural voice. Falsetto. 

add vigour | to the virtuous energies | which inspire 

Lowest note. 

your hearts? | No! 



The pupil should pronounce all the vowels which admit of long 
quantity, with a tremulous movement of the voice, as shown by the 
following diagram : 

Diag. 39. 



i ! 

4 > 1 k i i 

The vowels, &., &, &, 1, 6, 6, u, and ou, should be pronounced in 
the same manner. 

The accented syllable of the words printed in italics, in the fol- 
lowing passages, may be pronounced with the tremour. 

That wash thy hallow'd feet, and warbling flow. 
Greece nurtured in her glory 9 s time. 
And the complaining brooks, that make the meadows 

The tremour heightens the expression, even of opponent passions, 
as j ' nd sorrow. It may be occasionally introduced with great 
effect, v -oth in song and speech, as well as in instrumental music. 






A rhythmical ear is essential to the public speaker who would 
gesticulate with gracefulness, precision and effect. The subject of 
time, therefore, should claim his particular attention. Those who 
have not a rhythmical ear, may acquire one, by practising faithfully 
the following progressive Exercises : 

1. Raise the arms, with the hands clinched, to the position ele- 
vated forwards (Beef} , and then bring them down, with great force, 
to the position downwards forwards (Bcdf^on the energetic utter- 
ance of each of the elements of speech. 

2. Clinch the hands, then retract one arm, and project the other, 
alternately, horizontal forwards, on each of the elements. 

3. Clinch the hands, and make a beat, horizontal forwards, on 
the first element ; strike the palms of the hands together on the 
second; with the hands clinched, make a beat horizontal forwards 
on the third ; strike the palms of the hands together on the fourth ; 
and so on. 

4. Beat time on the elements with the dumb-bells. Make the 
first beat by bringing the bells in contact, horizontal forwards ; the 
second, by bringing them in contact elevated forwards ; the third, 
by bringing them in contact downwards forwards ; the fourth, by 
bringing them in contact downwards backwards, thus : 

Diag. 40. 


* Dumb-bells are commonly made of lead. Those 
used in the author's Vocal Gymnasium are turned 
out of lignum vitce. They are one foot long, and 
four inches in diameter. (See the cuts in the 


. 6. Mark the time by inarching. The class should march, in file, 
on a line, in the form of the figure eight (8), and pronounce, after 
the teacher, an element at every step. Should the class be large, 
two columns may be formed, which should march in opposite direc- 
tions. Meanwhile, two, or more tmpils, standing oat from the class, 
may keep time with the dumb-bells. 


6. When the pupil cannot mark the rhythm of poetry, he should 
first beat time on every syllable, in either, or in all, of the ways 
which have been described. 

| | I r | am r- I mon- <~ | arch p. | of r- I all r* j I r- I 
sur- r* | vey r- | my r* | right r* | there r* | is r I 
noner- | to r | dis- * | pute r | fromn* | the r- | 
cen- c* | tre r* | all r | round r- | to r- \ the r- | sea r- | 
I r- | am r- j lord p. | of r- | the r- | fowl r* | and r | 
the r* brute r~ &c. 


7. The rhythm of poetry should be marked by a beat on the ac- 
cented part of the measure, which, in the following examples, is the 
first syllable after each vertical bar. 

Lines supposed to have been written by Alexander Sel- 
kirk, during his solitary abode on the Island of Juan 


I am | monarch of | all I sur- | veys 

My | right there is | none to dis- | pute* ; 

From the | centre all | round to the | sea', 
I am | lord of the | fowl and the | brute . 

| solitude! | where are the | charms 
That | sages have | seen in thy | face*? 

Better | dwell in the | midst of a- | larms 1 , 
Than | reign in this | liorniblc | place'. 

1 nm | out of hu- | inanity's | rcaclr; 

I must | finish my j journey a- J lone* ; 
Never | hear the sweet | music ot | speech', 
I start at the | sound of my | own,. 


The | beasts that roam | over the | plain', * 
My | form with in- j dirferencel see*: 

They are | so unac- | quainted with | man', 
Their | tameness is | shocking to | me % . 

So- | ciety, | friendship, and | love*, 

Di- | ym*ely be- | stow'd upon | mm, 
O I had I the | wings of a | aove', 

How | soon would I'j taste you a- | gainj 
My | sorrows I | then might as- | suage 

In the | ways of re- | ligion and | truth* ; 
Might | learn from the | wisdom of (.age*, 

And be | cheer'd by the | sallies of | youth, 

Re- | Irgion! what | treasure un- | told', - * 
Re- I sides in that I heavenly I word v I 

' * . " 

More | precious than | silver or | gold', 
Or | all that this | earth can at- | ford % . 

But the | sound of the | church-going I bell', 
These | valleys and | rocks, never | neard*; 

Ne'er | sigh'd at the | sound of a | knell', 
Or | smil'd when a | sabbath ap- | pear'd % . 

Ye | winds that have | made n%* your | sport', 

Con- | vey to this I desolate | shore/, 
Some | cordial en- | clearing re- | port', 

Of a | land I shall | visit no | more % . 
My | friends* do they | now and then | send 

A | wish or a | thought after | me'? 
O | tell me I | yet have* a | friend, 

Though a | friend I am | never to | see r 

How | fleet is a | glance of the | mind* 1 

Com | par'd with the | speed of its | flight', 
The | tempest it- | self lags be- | hind', 

And the | swift-winged | arrows of | light. 
When I | think of my | own native | land', 

In a 1 moment I | seem to be | there*; 
But, a- I las ! rccol- | lection at | hand', 

Soon | hurries me | back to de- | spair . 


But the | sea-fowl is I gone to her | nest*; 

The I beast is laid (down in his | lain ; 
Even I here is a | season of | rest', 

Ana | I to my | cabin re- | pair % . 
There's | mercy, in I every | place; 

And | mercy en- [ couraging | thought 1 1 
Gives | even af- | fliction a | grace*,. 

And | reconciles | man to his | lot,. 



The | rose had been | washes jus* | washVf in a | shower, 

Which I Mary to I Anna con- | vey 9 d* ; 
The | plentiful | moisture en- ! cumberW the | floWer, 

And | weighV/ down | its beautiful | hea/^. 

The 1 cup was all I fillW, and the I leaves were all | weA; 

And it I seemV, to a"| fanciful | view, 
To i weep for the | buds it had j left with re- 1 gref, 

On the | flourishing | bush where it \ grew. 

1 1 hastily I seiz'd* it, un- 1 fit as it | was, 

For a I nosegay, so j dripping, and \ drownW*, 

And | swinging it | rudely, too T rudely, a- 1 las 1 
1 1 snapp'd* it it | fell to the | groun<f % . 

And | such, I ex- | claimV, is the I pitiless | part', 

Some, 1 ac by the I delicate | mind\ 
Re- ! gardless of | wringing, and \ breaking a | heart', 

Al- 1 ready to I sorrow re- 1 signV % . 

This | elegant 1 rose, had 1 1 shaken it | less, 

Mighi have I bloom 'd with its | ow'ner a- | while ; 

And the I tear, that is | wipVZ with a | little ad- 1 dress', 
May be | follow'^ t per- 1 haps, by a j smile % . 

R Accompany the pronunciation of the elements with gesture. 
In the following series of figures, there are two periods of gesture. 
The first gesture should be made during the pronunciation of the 
four sounds of a ; the second, during the pronunciation of the two 
sounds of c; and so on. The whole of the SECOND EXERCISE (p. 
168), should be practised in this way. The stroke of the gesture 
should be made on the last element in each group. 


ruuerr PERIOD.* 



f pkx 



r Jl 


* These two periods of gesture are intended as examples; others 
may be supplied by the teacher, as occasion shall require. Every 
variety of action should be practised, in .connexion with the ele- 
mentary exercises of the voice; and the pupil should be careful to 




mark the stroke of the gesture with precision. These exercises 
are introductory to declamation. They should be practised in the 
most energetic manner, and be persevered in till the muscles of the 
trunk and limbs act harmoniously with those of the voice. 




The article a should have the sound of a in an, thus He was 
A. man; not & man. When, however, this article is emphatic 
(which is seldom the case), it should have the sound of a in ale, 
thus Did you say a man, or the man 1 

When the article the precedes a word beginning with a vowel, it 
should be pronounced the ; when it precedes a word beginning with 
a consonant, it should be pronounced the, thus The arts and th6 
sciences. But, when the precedes a word beginning with a conso- 
nant, and is emphatic, it should be pronounced the, thus Did you 
say a man or the man T 

The pronoun my, when emphatic, is pronounced mi ; when not 
emphatic, it is generally pronounced me. Sometimes the perspi- 
cuity of a sentence requires mv to be pronounced ml, when this , 
pronoun is not emphatic, as in the following example : / 

" And the pale stars shall be at night, f 

The only eyes that watch my rite." 

Should my, in the above example, be pronounced me, by a public 
speaker, the auditors might suppose the meaning of the passage to 
be as follows : 

And the pale stars shall be at night, 
The only eyes that watch me right. 

Euphony sometimes requires my, when not emphatic, to be pro- 
nounced mi. The following passages are example** 

" My brave associates." " Hear me for my cause." ** When it 
shall please my country to need my death." 

Mine should always be pronounced mine, not mean; by should 
always be pronounced bl, not bee ; to should be pronounced t6, not 
tu ; of should be pronounced 6v, not uv ; and from should be pro- 
nounced fr6m, not frum. 

The pronunciation of many other words, liable to be pronounced 
wrong, is given in the foot-notes under the EXERCISES IN READING 



Before the student attempts to declaim, he should learn to stand 
erect ; to hold his book in a proper manner, and to read correctly. 
He should then select some short piece, and learn a set of gestures 
for its illustration by practising them in pantomime, after the 
teacher. Lastly, he should learn to combine the words and ges- 
tures, by repeating them together, after the teacher. 





vl pki 









the flower of heaven,, ] 
/.: *once yours, | 


vdq vde 

now lost, 

if such astonishment 

ns this 




can seize 

eternal spirits: | 

or have yc chosen this 
place, after the toil of 

to rejK)se your weary 

virtue, I for the case you 
find to slumber here, I 



V dc vdq 

as in the vales of heaven 1 Or in this abject posture 


have you sworn to adore 


the Conqueror? | 

B veq 

who now beholds cherub 
and seraph | 



scattered arms and en- from heaven gates, 
signs, | till anon, his j * l 

swift pursuers, | 




discern the advantage, 


and descending, | 


tread us down, thus 
drooping, | 


eef cdx 

or, with linked thunder- 
bolts, I 


transfix us to the bot- 
tom of this gulf, j 


Awake, | 



or be for ever 




R Brkfr f 

The wind was high | the window shakes'; | 

with sudden start the 


miser wakes ! I 

pile ad- 

% AUng the silent ream 

he stalks ; | 




B vkx-rkqc 

Looks back, | 


and trembles as 


he walks! I 

Each lock, | and ev'ry 

bolt he tries, I 


and corner, pries ; j 







Then opes his chest, | And stands in rapture / 
with treasure stor'd, | o'er his hoard : | 


But now with sudden He wrings his hands ; | 


qualms possest, 



he beats his breast | 



By conscience stung, | 
lie wildly stares ; | 


And thus his guilty 
soul declares : I 


Had thfc deep earth 

This heart had known 

her stores confin'd, | sweet peace of mind; | 




But virtue's seldl I 

gds !- 1 what pri 



Can recompense the 


O bane of good 1 I 



pangs of vice ? 

seducing cheat 1 



Can man, | weak man, | thy power deieat ( | 


teb no tdq 

Gold banishM honour 


from the mind, | 

And only left the 

br R 

name behind ; | 




Gold sow'd the 

world with ev'ry ill ; | 

Gold taught the 

cebtk edq 

murderer's sword to kill : j 



162 1G3 

'T was gold instructed In treach'ry's more 
coward hearts | pernicious arts. 1 




Who can recount 


eq tdq 

the mischiefs o'er? | 

Virtue resides on 


earth no more ! | 



( | ) A vertical bar, employed to divide each paragraph into sec- 
tions of a convenient length for concert reading. [See tlic PRE- 

d) A separation mark. It signifies that the words between 
which it is placed, should not coalesce. 

(M) A rest. Where this character is employed there should be 
a slight suspension of the voice. 

(-) A hold. The vowels over which this character is placed, 
should have an unusual prolongation. 

(o)' A pause, called also a suspending pause. When placed over 
a rest, it signifies that this rest should have two or three times' its 
usual length. It is called a suspending pause, because it keeps 
the mind of the hearer in suspense. [See an example on page 221, 
seventh line from the bottom.] 

( /x / " ' ) Acute ntid grave accents. They are employed to 
represent the rining and fulling inflections, and also the emphasis 
melodies. [See page 48 and 54.] 

(*) Acuto-grave accent, or acuto-grave circumflex. [Sec p. 48.] 

(") Gravo-acute accent, or gravo-acute circumflex. [Sec p. 48. J 

(tr) Irony. The passage to which these letters arc prefixed, is 

(r;>) Reproach. When those letters nrc prefixed to a passage, 
it contains the language of reproach. 

(wh) Whisper. The passage to which these letters nrc prefixed, 
should be whimpered. 

(1, 2, 3, 4) These numbers represent the degrees of modulation. 
[See p. 57.] 

The italic letters represent sounds which arc liable to be omitted, 
or imperfectly articulated. When all the letters in a word arc 
italic, the word is emphatic. The emphatic words, however, are 
seldom, in this work, marked by italic letters. 

In designating the pronunciation of words, in the foot-notes, I 
have used the letters which, on page 19, and 20, represent the ele- 
ments of the English language. No superfluous letters arc em- 
ployed, as is done by lexicographers. The pronunciation of each 
word is determjned by the letters which represent the sounds of 
which it is composed, and by the situation of the accent. 



" * 




He scarce had ceas'd, | when the superior fiend I 

Was moving tow'rd the shore* ; | his ponderous shield, I 

Etherial temper, mas'sy, large', and round', \ 

Behind him cas* v ; I the broad circumference* | 

Hung on his shoulders liAc the moon* | \vhosc orb 

Through optic glass I the Tuscan artist views 

At evening | from the top of Fes'o-le, I 

Or in Valdarno, c l to descry new lands', | 

Riv'ers, or mount*ains, d |in Aer spotty globe t . 1 

His spear' I (to equal which | the tallest pine, I 

ITcvvn on Norwegian hills, I to be the mas* 

Of some grca* amiral, B jwere but a wand') | 

He walk'd* with, | to support uneasy steps | 

Over the burning marL, | (no* like those steps 

On heaven's a'zure ! f ) | and the torrid clime | 

Smote on Aim sore besides*, j vaulted with fire t : | 

Nathless* he so endur'd, | till on the beach 

Of tha* inflamed sea he stood, I and call'd 

His le'gions, | angel-forms | who lay entranced | 

Ser-kftn/ffc-rens. fc Gallilco. He was born at Florence, the 
capital of Tuscany, in Italy. Valdarno, Vdllc'di Arno (Italian), 
the vale of the Arno, a delightful valley in Tuscany. a Moun'tlnz. 
Am'i-ral (French), admiral ' A'iur. * N&UY16s. 



Thicfc as autumnal 11 leaves j that strow the brooks 
In Vallombro'sa b j where the Etrurian shades, | 
High over-arch'd, imbow'n ; j x>r scatter'd sedge, 
Afloat, | when with fierce winds, I Orion," arm'd, | 
Hath vex'd the Red-Sea coast | whose waves overthrew 
Busiris, d |and Ais Memplu'an 6 chiv'alry/ j 
While with perfidious* hatred | they pursu'd 
The sojourners h of Go* shen, I who beheld 
From the safe shore, I their floating carcasses, | 
And broken chariot wheels : | so tnicfc bestrown, | 
Abject, and lost, | lay these,, | covering the flood, | 
Under amazement' 1 of their hideous j change^. | 
He call'd so loud, I that all the hollow deeo 


^Priaces, | po'tehta^s, |. 

War x riors, k l the flow'r of heaven,! onceyoufss InowlosA, 1 
If such astonishment 1 as this' | can seize. |. 
Eternal spinits : | tV or have ye chosen this place, | 
After the toil of battle, | to repose 
Your wearied virtue, | for the ease you find 
To slunvber here, | as in the vales of heaven ? | 
Or, in this abject posture, | have ye sworn 
To adore the Conq x 'ror ? | who now beholds 
Cherufr, and seraph, | rolling in the flood | 
With scattered arms, and en x signs ; | till anon | 
His swift pursuers, | from heaven-gates | discern 
The advantage, j and descending, I tread us downs | 
Thus droopang ; I or, with linked thunderbolts, j 
Transfix* us | to the bottom of this gulf. | 
//7 AwaAe x 1 1 arise' ! | or be for ever fallen, 1 1 

b Vallombrosa (ydlle, a vale; ombrdso, shady), a 
shady valley in the Apennines, fifteen miles east of Florence. 
Orl'on, a constellation, in the southern hemisphere. d Busi'ris, 
Pharaoh. Memphian, from Memphis, ancient capital of Egypt 
' Tshlv'al-rfc. P6r-nd'yfis. * SA'd4urn-6r4. A-mii'mtnt Hld'- 
e-&8. kWAr'yiri. > As-t6n'l 8 h-ment. 
not burholds. Dlz-z6rn'. 



O thou thai rollesi above, I round as the shield of my 
fathers ! | Whence are thy beams', O sun', I thy ever- 
lasting HghA ? | Thou comesi forth in thy awful beau v ty; | 
the stars hide themselves in the skyx; \ the moon, cold, 
and pale', | sinks in the western wave*. | Bui thou thy- 
self movesi alone* : | who can be a companion of thy 
course x ? | 

The oaks of the mountains a falb ; I the mountains 
themselves' , decay with years* ; | the ocean shrinks, 
and grows x again ; | the moon herself, 6 is lost in heaven ; j 
but thou ari for ever the same v , I rejoicing in the bright- 
ness of thy course*. I 

1 When the world is dar& with tempests', | 2 when 
thunder rolls, and lightning flies', 1 3 thou lookesi in thy 
beauty from the clouds', 1 4 and laugh esi at the storiru | 
2 Bui, to Ossian, thou lookesi in vain x ; | for he beholds 
thy beams no more*, d | whether thy yellow hairs | flow 
on the eastern clouds', | or thou tremblesi at the gates 
of the wesi x . | 

Bui thou ari perhaps like me' I for a season : | 
thy years will have an end.. I Thou shali sleep in the 
clouds', | careless of the voice of the morning. | 4 Ex- 
ult\ then, O sun', | in the strength of thy youth v ! I 1 Age, 
is dar/c, and unlovely: | 2 it is like the glimmering lighi 
of the moon', | when , it shines through broken clouds'; | 
and the misi is on the hills*, I the blasi of the north is 
on the plain', | the traveller shrinks in the midsi of 7iis 
jour v ney. | 



7/ Ye crags, and peaks', 6 | I'm with you once again* ; f j 
I hold to you the hands you firsi' beheldi, | 

Moun'tlnz. b Moon herself, not moo'-ner-self. c He , beholds 
thy beams; not He'be holds thy beams. d Ossian was blind. 
* Crags and peaks ; not cragz'n peaks, nor crags Ann Peaks. f Agn'. 


To show they still are a free*. | Rethinks I b hear 

A spirit in your echoes, anWer me, | 

2 And bid your tenant welcome to his homes 

Agairh ! c | O sa\cred forms, | how proud v - t you looA d ! | 

How high you lift your heads into the sky' ! | 

How huge. , you 6 are ! | how mighty, | and how free, ! | 

Ye are the things thaUow'r |tha shine^ | whose smile 

Makes glad' | whose frown is terrible I whose forms 

Robed, or un x robed, | do all the impress wear | 

Of awe divine v . | Ye guards of liberty, | 

I 'm with you once again* ! c j-^I call to you | 

With all my voice' ! 1 1 hold my hands to you I 

To show they still are free* 1 1 rush to you I 

As though I could embrace* you f ! | 



On Linden, 8 when the sun was low, | 
All bloodless lay the untrodd'n snow\, | 
And dar& as win'ter, was the flow' | 
Of Iser h rolling rapidly. | 

Bu Linden* saw another sigh, | 
When the drum bea at dead of nighZv, I 
Commanding fires of death* ( to light' \ 
The darkness of her scenery 1 . | 

By torch, and trumpet fas* array 'd', \ 
Each horseman k drew his bat v tle blade ; | 
And furious every charger neigh'd', | 
To join the dreadful revelry. | 

a Still , are; not stillar. b Methinks , I; not me-think'si. 
Ag&n. d Proud , you look ; not prow'jew-look. Huge , you 
are ; not hew'jew-are. t Embrace you ; not embra'shew. * Lin' 
d&n ; not Lindun. b E'sftr. * S^n'fer-^; not sce'nury. J Trfimp'it. 
k H^rs'mcin ; not hosmun. 


Then shook the hills with thunder riv'n ; | 
Then rush'd the steed to bat'tfe driv'n ; | 
And louder than the boks of heaven, | 
Far flash'd the red artiMery a . I 

And redder yer those fires shall glow | 
On Linden's b hills of blood-stain'd snowv ; | 
And darker yet, shall be the flow I 
Of Iser rolling rap x idly. | 

'Tis morn x , | but scarce yon lurid sun' ( I 
Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dum, | 
Where furious Fran/c, and fiery Hun' | 
Shout in their sulph'rous can v opy. I 

The combat deepens I ff On, ye braves ' 
Who rush to glory, or the grave* ! 1 
fff W&ve, Munich, d | all thy banners , wave' ! j 
And charge with all thy chiv v alry e ! | 

mp Few, few shall part where many mee^ ! | 
The snow shall be their windxing-sheeZ, | 
And every turf beneath f their fee*', | 
Shall be M a soldier's sepulchre. I 


[From Kotzebue's Pizarro.] 

My brave associates ! I partners of my toil', | my 
feel'ings, | and my famev ! | Can RollaV words add 
vigour | to the virtuous* 1 energies 1 1 which inspire your 
hearts' ? I No t ! | you have judged as L have, | the 
foulness of the crafty plea 7 | by which these bold in- 
vaders would deludev you. I Your generous spirit | has 
compared as mine x has, | the motives | which, in a 
war , li^e this', | can animate their minds, and ours v . j | 

Artll'l&r-re. b Lln'd^n; not Lindun. c Kam'b^t. <i Mi'nlk. 
e Tshlv'al-r. f Be-n^TH 7 . e R61'liii ; not Rolluz. Vfer'tshu- 
fts. > En'fer-dzei. J And ours ; not Ann Dowerg. 




They, by a strange frenzy driven, | fighZ for pc vv x er, ' 
for plun'der, | and extended ruta | We, for our coun- 
try, | our al'tars, | and our homes x . | They follow an 
adventurer | whom they fean, | and obey a power ) 
which they hate\. I We serve a monarcA 3 1 whom we 
lovev | a God | whom we adore, ! \ 

Whene'er they move in an ; ger, b | desolation traces 
their progress ; | where'er they pause in am'ity, c | af- 
fliction mourns their friendship. | They boast | they 
come but to improve our state', | enlarge our thoughts', j 
and free us from the yoke of er.ror ! | Yes' d I they 
will give enlightened freedom to our minds, | who are 
themselves* ] the slaves of passion, | av'arice, | and 
pride^. | 

They offer us their protection. I Yes v d I such pro- 
tection j as vultures give to lambs', | covering, and 
devouring them ! | They call on us | to barter all of 
good | we have inherited, and proved*, | for the despe- 
rate chance of something bet\ter | which they prom - 
ise. | 

Be our plain answer 6 thisx : | The throne we honour | 
is the people's choice | the laws we reverence 1 " | are 
our brave fathers' legacy | the faith we follow ] 
teaches us | to live in bonds of charity with all man- 
kindv, | and die with hopes of bliss | beyond the grave v . j 
Tell your invaders this' ; | and tell them too', | we seeA: 
no x change ; | and least of all 1 , | such change as they v 
would bring us. | 


O thaZ the desert were my dwelFing-place, [ 
With one fair spirit for my minister, | 
Tha I migh all forged the human race', j 
And, hating no one, | love but only her x ! | 

M6n'n^rk ; not monnuck. b Move in anger ; not mo-vin-nang' 
grer. <= Pause in amity ; not paw-zin-nam'ity. d Yis. e Plain an- 
swer; not plain-nan'swer. f RSv'^r-fens; not revurunce. 


Ye elements ! | in whose ennobling stir j 
I feel myself exalted | can ye not | 
Accord* me such a being 1 \ Do I err i 
In deeming such inhabit ma*ny a spo? | 
Though with them to converse, can rarely be our 1 

There is a pleasure* in the pathless woods , 
There is a rap'ture on the lonely shore*, J 
There is society, where none intrudes | 
By the deep sea*, | and music in its roar x . | 
I love not man the less, | but nature more*, | 
From these, our interviews, | in which I steal | 
From all I may be, | or have been before,, | 
To mingle with the u'niverse, | and feel | 
Wha I can ne'er express*, j jet cannot all conceal v . ] 

Roll on', a | thou deep, and dar^-blue ocean | roll* ! | 
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain* ; | 
Man marks the earth' with ruin | his control | 
Stops with the shore* ; | upon the watery plain | 
The wrecks are all thy' deed, | nor doth remain | 
- A shad*ow of man's ravage, | save Ais own*, | 
When, for a moment, | like a drop of rain', | 
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan*, | 
Without a grave*,| unknell'd*,| uncof fin'd,| and unknown .| 

His steps are not upon thy paths*, | thy fields | 
Are not a spoil for Aim*, j thou dost b arise, | 
And shake Aim from' thee ; | the vile strength he wields J 
For earth's destruction, | thou dost all despise*, | 
Spurning Aim from thy bosom to the skies', | 
And send'sZ Aim, | l shivering in thy playful spray, | 
And howling to Ais gods', | 2 where haply lies | 
His petty hope*, | in some near port, or bay*, c | 
Then dashesZ Aim again d to earth' : | there let Aim lay v .| 

Roll on; not roll-Ion'. b D&st. c Port, or bay; not Porter 
Bay. d AgSn'. 


The armaments which thunderstri&e the walls | 
Of rock-built cit'ies, | bidding nations qua&e, | 
And monarchs a tremble in their capatals, | 
The oak leviathans whose huge ribs ma/ce | 
Their clay-creator the vain title take \ 
Of lore? of thee', | and arbiter of war ; | 
These are thy toys\, | and, as the snowy fla&e'. | 
They melt into thy yest b of wavesv, | which mar, | 
Ali&e, the Armada's pride, | or spoils of Trafalgar/ | 

Thy shores are em'pires, | changed in all save thee x | 
Assyraa,! Greece x ,| Rome',| Carthage,] wha are theyj | 
Thy waters wasted them while they were free', | 
And many a tyrant since v ; | their shores obey | 
The stranger, slave', or sav v age; | their decay | 
Has dri'd up realms to desserts : not so thou', j 
Unchangeable, | save to thy wild waves' play v | 
Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow* | 
Such as creation's dawn' beheld, | thou rollesZ now v . | 

Thou glorious mir'ror, | l where the Almighty's form | 
Glasses itself in tenrpesZs ; | 2 in all* time, | 
Calm, or convuls'd x | in breeze', or gale' 1 , or storm*, | 
Icing the pole', | or in the torrid clime, | 
Dar/c-heavang; | boundless, |end'less, |and sublime\ | 
The image of eternity | l the throne j 
Of the Invisible; | 2 e'en from out thy slime* | 
The monsters of the deep are made v ; | each zone | 
Obeys^ thee ; I thou goesZ forth,ldread',l fath'omless, lalone^l 

sp And I 7mve lov'd' thee, o'cean ! | and my joy | 
Of youthful sports, j was on thy breast to be j 
Borne, li&e thy bubbles, on v ward : | from a boy' | 
I wanton'd with thy breakers : | they to me, | 
Were a delight ; | and, if the freshening sea | 
Made them a terror | 't was a pleading fear, | 
For I was as iZ were a child' of thee, | 
And trusted to thy billows, far, and near, | 
And Jaid my hand upon thy mane' | as I do here x . | 

a M6n'narks;notmon'nucks. 




It is now sixteen, or seventeen years*, | since I saw 
the queen of France, | then the daiiphiness, | ai Ver- 
sailles' ; | and surely, never lighted on this orb, | (which 
she hardly seemed to touch) | a more delightful vis Jon. | 
J saw her jusi above the horrzon, decorating, and 
cheering the elevated sphere | she jusi began to move* 
in | glittering like the morning star' | full of life', | 
and splen'dour, | and joy x . | l Oh whai a revolution ! | 
and whai a heari musi I have, ] to contemplate without 
emotion, | thai elevation, | and thai fall x ! | 

2 Little did I dreamy when she added titles of vene- 
ration | to those of enthusiastic, distant, respectful love, | 
that she should ever be obliged | to carry the sharp an- 
tidote againsi disgrace', | concealed in thai bo\som | 
little did I dream | that I should have lived | to see such 
disasters fallen upon her \ in a nation of gallani men x , J 
in a nation of men of honour, | and of cavaliersv. | I 
thoughi ten thousand swords musi have leaped from 
their scabbards | to avenge even a look' | thai threatened 
#er with insuli. | Bui the age of chivalry is gonev. | 
That of soplristers, | economists, | and calculators, | has 
succeeded; | and the glory of Europe n { is extinguished 
for ev x er. | 

Never, never more, | shall we behold thai generous 
loyalty to ran& and sexv, | thai proud submission, | 
thai dignified obedience, j thai subordination of the 
heari' | which kept alive, | even in servitude itself, | the 
spirii of an exalted free*dom. | The unboughi grace of 
lifev, | the cheap defence of nations, | the nurse of manly 
sentimeni, | and heroic enterprise, | is gone\ ! | It is 
gone, | thai sensibility of principle, | thai chastity 
of hon'our, | which feli a stain Me a woundv, j which 
inspired courage | whilsi ii mitigated fero'city, | 
which enno'bled whatever ii touched; | and under 
which, | vice itself | losi half its evil, | by losing all its 
grossxness. | o 





O sacred Truth ! | thy triumph ceas'd v awhile, J 
And Hope, thy sister, ceas'd with thee to smile v , | 
When leagued Oppression pour'd to northern wars, ] 
Her whisker'd pandours, a and her fierce hussars x , b | 
Wav'd her dread standard to the breeze of morn, | 
Peal'd her loud drum, | and twang'd ^er trumpet-horn ;j 
Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van' | 
Presaging wrath to Poland, and to man^ ! | 

Warsaw's las* champion, from ^er height, survey'd, | 
Wide o'er the fields,! a waste of ru'in laid | 
O Heav'n ! he cried,|my bleeding country, save^ ! | 
Is there no hand on high to shield the brave' 1 \ 
Wha* though destruction , sweej9 x these lovely plains | 
Rise', fellow-men ! | our country ye* remains^ ! | 
By thai dread name,! we wave the sword on high, | 
And swear for her to live | with her to die ! | 

He said | and on the rampart-heights, array'd | 
His trusty war'riors, | few, but undismay'd^ ; | 
Firm-paced, and slow, | a horrid front' they form ; | 
Still as the breeze^, | but dreadful as the storm v ; | 
Low, murmuring sounds along their banners fly, | 
Revenge 7 , or death x , | the watchword, and reply x ; | 
Then peal'd the notes, omnipotent to charnr, | 
And the loud tocsm told their las* alarrn . j 

In vain, alas ! | in vain, ye gallan* few ! | 
From rank to ran/e, your volley'd thun'der flew : j 
O bloodies* picture in the boo/c of Time x ! | 
Sarma^tia fell, | unwept, | withou* a crime v ; | 
Found no* a generous friend^ | a pitying foes | 
Strength in her arms, | nor mercy in her \\ 7 o x ! 

a Pandour (French), Hungarian soldier. b Hfiz-z&r, one of the 
Hungarian horsemen, so called from the shout they generally make, 
at the first onset. 


Dropp'd from her nerveless grasp, the shatter'*/ spear, . 
Clos'd her bright eye, | and curb'd her high career v : | 
Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell | 
And Freedom shriek'd, as Koscius'ko fell v ! | 

The sun went down* ; | nor ceas'd the carnage there*, j 
Tumultuous murder shook the midnight ain : | 
On Prague's proud arch a | the fires of nrin glow, | 
His blood-dy'd waters murmuring far below % : | 
The storm prevails 1 , | the rampart yields away 1 , | 
Bursts the wild cry of horror, and dismay* ! | 
HarA: x ! | as the smouldering piles with thunder fall, | 
A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call ! | 
Earth shoo/c', ] red meteors flash'd along the sky, | 
And conscious Nature shudder'd at the cry v ! | 

Departed spirits of the mighty dead' ! | 

Ye thai at Marathon, and Leuc*tra bled / | 

Friends of the world'! | restore your swords to man*, | 

Figh* in his sacred cause, I and lead the van, ! | 

Ye for Sarmatia's tears of blood', atone*, | 

And make her arm puissant as your own*, | 

O ! once again to Freedom's cause returns | 

Thou patriot Teir | thou Bruce of Ban v nockburn ! j 



There was a sound of revxelry by nigh** ; | 
And Belgium's capital | had gather'd then | 
Her beauty, and ^er chiv\alry; | and bright | 
The lamps shone o'er fair women, and brave men x ; } 
A thousand hearts beat hap'pily ; | and, when j 
Music arose, with its voluptuous swell, | 
Soft eyes b look'd love' | to eyes which spa&e again* ; | 
And all vrejit merry as a mar'riage-bell | 
'But hushJ|har&*!|a deep sound strikes like a rising knell' !| 

* Proud arch ; not prow-darch'. b Soft eyes ; not sof-ties. 


Did ye not hear it? | No v ;| 'twas but the wind*, j 
Or the car' rattling o'er the stony street | 
On with the dance' ! | let joy be unconfin'd x ; | 
No sleep till morn', | when Youth, and Pleasure meet | 
To chase the glowing hours, with flying fee^ | 
"But hark' ! | that heavy sound breaks in once more x , | 
As if the clouds its echo would repeal ; | 
And nearer, | clearer, j deadlier than before ! | 
Arar ! | arm' ! it isx | it is x the cannon's opening roar. ! | 

Within a window'd niche of thaZ high hall, | 
Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain ; | he did hear | 
That sound the firs^, amidst the festival, | 
And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ean; | 
And, when they smil'd,] because he deem'd it near, | 
His heart more truly knew thai peal too welb, | 
Which stretch'd Ais father on a bloody bier, | 
And rous'd the vengeance, blood alone could quell : | 
He rush'd into the fields | and foremost fighting, fell v . j 

Ah! then, and there was hurrying to, and fro, | 
And gathering tears, | and tremblings of distress', | 
And cheeks all pale x , | which but an hour ago, j 
Blush'd at the praise of their own loveJiness. | 
And there were sudden parsings, | such as press | 
The life from out young hears v , j and choking sighs x | 
Which ne'er might be repeated ; | who could guess j 
If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, | 
Since upon nigh so swee | such awful morn could risej 

And there was mounting in hot haste v : | the steed, | 
The mustering squadron, land the clattering car, | 
Wen^ pouring forward with impetuous speed x , | 
And swiftly forming in the ranks of wan ; | 
And the deep thunder peal on peal afar 1 ! j 
And near | the bea of the alarming drum* | 
Rous'd up the soldier ere the morning star' ; | 
While throng'd the citizens with terror dumbv, j 
Or whispering, with white lips, [**" The foe\' | They 
come x ! | they come' !" % | 


1 And wild and high the " Cameron's gathering" rose^! | 
2 The war-note of Lochiel', | which Albyn's hills | 
Have heardx,| and heard too, have her Saxon foes x : ] 
How in the noon of nighi thai pibroch thrills, | 
Savage, and shrill ! | Bui with the breath which fills[ 
Their mountain-pipe, | so fill the mountaineers', | 
With the fierce native daring | which instils | 
The stirring memory of a thousand years. ; | 
And Ev x an's,|Don'ald's fame, | rings in each clansman's 
ears v ! | 

And Ardennes waves above them Aer green leaves', | 
Dewy with nature's tear-drops, | as they pass v , | 
Grieving, if aughi inanimate e'er grieves, | 
O'er the unreturning brave v , ) alas ! | 
Ere evening to be trodden like the grass* , | 
Which now beneath' them, | but above shall grow, | 
In its nexi x verdure, | when this fiery mass | 
Of living valour, | rolling on the foe, | 
And burning w ith high hope, | shall moulder cold, and low t . | 

Lasi noon beheld them full of lusty life' ; | 
Lasi eve, in Beauty's circle proudly gay v ; | 
The midnight brought the signal sound of strife* ; | 
The morn,|the marshalling in arms', | the day, | 
Battle's magnificently-stern arrayv ! | 
The thunder-clouds close o'er it, \ which when rent, \ 
The earth is cover'd thicA; with other clay | 
Which her own clay shall cover, | heap'd and peni\, | 
Rider, and horse v , | friend*, | foe', | in one red 
burial bleni v ! | 


At midnight, in his guarded tent, \ 

The Turk was dreaming of the hour | 
When Greece, | ^er knee in suppliance ben, j 

Should tremble ai his powder : | 

Marco Bozzaris, the Epaminondas of modern Greece. He fell 
in a night attack upon the Turkish camp at Laspi, the site of the 


In dreams, through cam/), said court, he bore | 
The trophies of a con'queror; | 

In dreams his song of trrumph heard ; a | 
Then ( wore his monarch's 11 sig\ne-ring ; | 
Then , press'd tha monarch's thrones | a king' ; | 
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, | 

As Eden's garden c -bird. | 

l At midnight, in the forest-shades^ | 

2 Bozza'ris rang'd his Suliote band* | 
True as the steel of their tried blades v , | 

Heroes in heart, and hand v . | 
There had the Persian's thousands stood; | 
There had the glad earth drunk their bloods | 

On old PlatreVs day | 
And now ( there breath'd that haunted air, J 
The sons of sires who con'quer'd there, | 
With arm to stride, | and soul to dares | 

As quicA, as far' as they. | 

'An hour pass'd on x d J 2 the TurA; awo&e v \ 

Thai bright dream was his las v ; | 
He wo&e to hear his sentries shriek | 

#"" To arms'! |they come> !|theGree&'! the^Gree& x ! | 
He wo&e to die\ midst flame, and smokes j 
And shout, and groan, and sa'bre-stro/ce, | 

And death-shots falling thick, and fasZ, j 
As lightnings from the moun'tain-cloud ; j 
And heard, with voice as trunvpeZ-loud, | 

Bozzaris cheer his bandv : | 
fff " Stride till the last arm'd foe expires* ; | 
Stride for your al'tars, and your fires x ; | 
Stride for the green graves of your sires v | 

Gods and your native land' !" | 

ancient Platsea, August 20, 1823, and expired in the moment of 
victory. His last words were " To die for liberty is a pleasure, 
and not a pain." 

a Triumph heard ; not tri-um'furd. b M6n'nrks. c G^r'dn. 
d Pass'd on ; not pass-ton'. 


They fough* like brave v men | long, and well x ; j 

They pil'd tha* ground with Moslem slain^; | 
They con'quer'd | bu* Bozzaris fell*, | 

Bleeding at every vein x . | 
His few surviving comrades* , saw ( | 
His smile when rang their proud hurrah', j 

And the red field was won x ; | 
Then saw in death 7/is eyelids close , , 
Calmly, as to a night's repose*, | 

Li&e flow x ers at set of sun v . | 

to the bridal b chanrber, Death ! | 

Come to the mother's, | when she feels 1 
For the firs* time, j her firstborn's breath j 

Come when the blessed seals | 
"Thai close the pestilence, are bro&e, | 
And crowded cities wail its stro&e x | 
Come in consumption's ghastly form, | 
The earthquake shocA;', | the ocean-stornr | 
2 Come when the hear* beats high, and warm, j 

With ban x quet-song, | and dance', | and wine* | 
l And thou ar* terrible | the tear', j 
The groan/, | the knell', | the pall', | the bien ; | 
And all we know, | or dream', | or fear' | 

Of agony, | are thine x . | 

4 Bu* to the hero, | 3 when his swore? ! 

Has won the battle for the free, | 
4 Thy voice sounds like a proph'et's word; | 
2 And in its hollow tones, are heard | 

4 The thanks of millions ye* to be v . | 
3 Come when ^is task of fame' is wrough* | 
Come with her lau x rel-leaf, | blood.-bough* | 

Come in her crowding hour | and then | 
2 Thy sunken eye's unearthly ligh* | 
To him is welcome as the sigh* | 

Of sky, and stars to prison'd men t : | 

, saw; not cum'rades-saw. b Brl'd&l; not brl'dle. 


3 Thy grasp is welcome as the hand | 
Of brother in a foreign land x ; | 
Thy summons, welcome as the cry | 
Thai told the Indian Isles' were nigh | 

To the world-seeking Genoese, | 
When the land-wind, ] from woods of palm, | 
And orange-groves, ] and fields of balm, | 

Blew o'er the Haytian seas v . | 

4 Bozzaris ! | with the stori'd brave, | 

Greece nurtur'd in Aer glo'ry's time, | 
Res v thee | 2 there is no prouder grave, | 

Even in her own proud clime x . | 
She wore no funeral weeds for thee x , | 

Nor bade the darA hearse wave its plume | 
Li&e torn branch from death's leafless tree^ j 
In sorrow's pom/>, and pa v geantry, | 

The heartless luxury of the tomb t . | 

'But she remembers thee as one | 

Long lov'd', | and for a season gonev ; | 

For thee her poet's lyre is wreath'dvj | 

Her marble wrought, | her music breath'd^; | 

For thee she rings the birtlr-day bellsx ; | 

Of thee Aer babes' first listing tells : | 

For thine Aer evening prayer is said | 

At palace-couch, and cot x tage-bed ; | 

Her soldier, closing with the foe, | 

Gives, for thy sake, a deadlier blow* ; | 

His plighted maiden, when she fears | 

For him, the joy of Aer young years, | 

Thinks of thy x fate, | and checks her tears\ j 

And she, the mother of thy boys x , | 
Though in Aer eye, and faded cheeA; | 
Is read the grief she will not spea&', | 

The mem'ry of Aer buried joysv, | 
And even she who gave thee births | 
Will, by their pilgrim-circled hearth, j 


Ta.& of thy doom without a sigh' : | 
m/ Tor thou art Freedom's now, | and Fame's ; | 
One of the few, | the immortal names, | 

Thai were not born to die v . | 

Wizard and Lochiel. 

Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day | 
When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array* ! j 
For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight 1 , \ 
And the clans of Culloden are scatter'd in nght, : \ 
They rally, | they bleed', | for their kingdom and crown> ; j 
Wo, wo to the riders thai trample them dowa ! | 
Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain x , | 
And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain v . | 
Bui har/r / 1 through the fasi-flashing lightning of war, | 
What steed to the desert flies frantic and far' ? | 
'T is thines Oh Glenullin ! whose bride shall awaii', | 
Like a love-lighted watch'-fire, all nighi at the gaie*. | 
A steed comes at monring | no ri'der is there; | 
Bui its bridle is red with the sign of despair^. | 
Weep x , Albin ! | to death, and captivity led / | 
O weep 1 / | but thy tears cannoi number the deadv : | 
For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave 7 , | 
Culloden thai reeks with the blood of the brave t . | 


Go, preach to the cow'ard, | thou deaths-telling seer ! ] 
Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear, | 
Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sighi, | 
This man'tle, | to cover the phantoms of frigh v . | 


Ha v ! ! laugh'si thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn'? | 
Proud bird of the mountain, | thy plume shall be torn! j 


Say x , | rush'd the bold eagle, exultingly forth', ] 
From his home in the dark-rolling clouds of the north'? | 
Lo ! the death-sho^ of foemen out-speeding, he rode \ 
Compan'ionless, | bearing destruction abroad ; | 
Bu down let him stoop from his havoc on higlr ! | 
Ah ! home' let him speed, | for the spoiler is nigh. | 
Why flames the far sunrmk ? \ Why shooZ to the blas j 
Those em'bers, | like stars from the firmament, cast ? \ 
'T is the fire-shower of ru'in, | all dreadfully driven | 
From his eyry, | thai beacons the darkness of heav v n. | 

crested Lochiel ! | the peerless in might, | 
Whose banners arise on the battlements' height, | 
Heaven's fire is around thee to blasZ and to bum ; | 
Return to thy dwelling: all lonely return ! | 

For the blackness of aslres shall mark where it stood, I 
And a wild mother scream o'er Aer famishing brood / j 


False Wizard, avaunZV 1 1 have marshall'd my clan x : | 
Their swords are a thousand ; | their bosoms are one, : \ 
They are true to the lasZ of their blood, and their breathy | 
And like reap'ers, descend to the harvest of death v . | 
Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock'! \ 
Le Aim dash his proud foam like a wave on the rocA: / 1 
Bu wo to his kindred, | and wo to his cause', | 
When AFbin her claymore indignantly draws ; | 
When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd, | 
Clanronald the dauntless, and Moray the proud; | 
All plaided, and plum'd in their tartan array [ 


Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day x ! | 
For, dar/c, and despairing, my sight I may seal, I 
Ye man cannot cover \vha.t God would reveal : | 
'T is the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, \ 
And coming events cast their shadows before^. | 

1 tell thee, Culloden's dread echoes shall ring | 

With the bloodhounds tha bar/c for thy fugitive king 1 - 1 


Lo ! anointed by heaven with the vials of wrath, | 

Behold where he flies on Ais desolate path* ! | 

Now in darkness, and billows, he sweeps from my sigh^ : , 

Rise*! RiseM ye wilt/ tempes/s, and cover his flight / 

'Tis finish 'd. | Their thunders arehush'donthe moors v ;| 

Culloden 1 is losi x , | and my country deplores v . | 

Bui where is the iron-bound pris oner ? | Where x ? | 

For the red eye of battle is shui in despair^. | 

Says mounts he the ocean- wave, | banish'd, forlorn', | 

Like a limb from his country, cast bleeding, and torn' ? | 

Ah ! nb x ; | for a dark'er departure is near ; | 

The war-drum is muffled, | and blacA; is the bien ; | 

His death-bell is tolling ; | Oh ! mercy, dispel | 

Yon sighi, that it freezes my spirit to tell* ! | 

Life flutters, convuls'd in his quivering limbs, | 

And Ais blood-streaming nostril in ag v ony swims. | 

Accurs'd be the fagots thai blaze at his feet, \ 

Where his heart shall be thrown, ere it ceases to beai, | 

With the smo&e of its ashes to poison the gale | 


Oown', soothless b insult x er ! I trusi not the talev ; j 

For never shall Albin ( a destiny meet \ 

80 blac/ with dishonour | so foul with retrea^. | 

Tho' his perishing ranks should be strow'd in their gore, | 

Like o'cean-weeds , heap'd on the surf-beaten shore*, | 

Lochiel, untainted by flight, or by chains*, | 

While the kindling of life in his bosom remains, | 

Shall victor exult, \ or in death be laid low, | 

With his back to the field, \ and his feet to the foe* ! | 

And, leaving in battle no b\ot on his name, | 

LOO& proudly to heaven | from the death-bed of fame. J 

; not Cdl-16'dn. b Sbth'tts. 



At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still, | 

And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove ; | 
When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill, ) 

And nought but the nightmgale's song* in the grove* : j 
It was thus, by the cave of the mountam afar, | 

While his harp rung symphonious, | a her'mii began ; | 
No more with /nmself, or with nature at war, | 

He thought as a sage x , a though he kit as a man v b . | 

Ah ! why all abandon'd to darkness, and wo x ? | 

Why, lone Philomela, thai languishing fall '( \ 
For spring shall return, and a lover bestow, | 

And sorrow ( no longer thy bosom inthral v . | 
Bui, if pity inspire thee, | renew' the sad lay; | 

Mourn, sweetesicomplainer,|man x calls thee to mourn;] 
O soothe him whose pleasures like thine' , pass away; | 

Full quickly they pass | but u they never return. | 

Now ( gliding remote on the verge of the sky, | 

The moon half-extinguish'^, her cres^ceni displays ; | 
Bui lately I mark'e? , | when majestic on high\ | 

She shone*, ! and the planets were losi in her blaze. | 
Roll , on', thou fair ( orb, \ and with gladness pursue | 

The path thai conduces thee to splendour again* : | 
Bui manV faded glory j whai change shall renew^ 1 \ 

Ah fooF ! to exuli v in a glory so vain ! I 

'T is nighi x I and the landscape is lovely no more* : | 

I mourn ; I bui, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you x ; | 
For morn is approaching, your charms to restore*, | 

NFor jet for the ravage of win'ter I mourn ; | 

Kind Nature, the embryo blossom will save* : I 
Bui when shall spring , visii the mouldering urn ! I 

O when shall day t dawn , on the nighi of the gravej ^ 

"Thong-ht as a sage; not thaw'taz-zer sage. D Felt as a man, 
not fel'taz-zer man. 


'T was thus t by the glare of false science betray'd, | 

That leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind; | 
My thoughts wont to roam from shade onward to shade, | 

Destruction before me, and sorrow behind. | 
O pity, greaJ Father of LighJ, | then , I cried, | 

Thy creature who fain would not wander from theev ! ' 
Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride* : | 

From doub,and from darkness,! thou only, canst free v .l 

And darkness, and doub* are now flying away v ; | 

No longer ( I roam in conjecture forlorn. : | 
So breaks on the traveller, j fain and astray, | 

The bright, and the balmy effulgence of morn v . | 
See Truth, Love, and Mercy, in triumph descending, | 

And Nature all glowing in Eden's first bloonr ! | 
On the coldcheeA: of Death,|smiles and rouses are blending,] 

And Beauty, immor'tal, | awakes from the tomfy. | 


[Translated from the French, by Dr. Thomas Franklin.] 

Edw. Le me have no intruders ; | above all, 
Keep Warwick from my sigh^ | 

[Enter WARWICK.] 

War. Behold him here v | 
No welcome gues, it seems, | unless I asA; 
My lord of Suffolk's leave | there was a time | 
When Warwic/c wanted not his' aid | to gain 
Admission here. | 

Ed. There was a time, perhaps, | 
When Warwick more desired', | and more 7 deserved^ it.\ 

War. Never; | I 've been a foolish, faithful slavey j 
All my best years v , the morning of my life', | 
Have been devoted to your service : | wha^ 
Are now the fruits' ? j Disgrace*, and infamy | 
My spotless name, | which never yet the breath 
Of calumny had tainted, | made the moc& 


For foreign fools to carp ai : \ but 'tis fii, 

Who trust in princes, | should be thus rewarded. | 

Ed. I thought, my lord, \ I had full well repaid' 
Your services | with honours, | wealth', | and power 
Unlimited : | thy all-directing hand 1 
Guided in se'crei | every latent wheel 
Of government, | and mov'd the whole machine^ : | 
Warwick was all in v all, \ and powerless Edward | 
Stood like a ci'pher in the great account | 

War. Who gave that cipher worth v ,| and seated thee 
On England's throne' ? | Thy undistinguish'd name I 
Had rotted in the dust from whence it sprang', [ 
And moulder'd in oblivion, j had noi WarwicA: | 
Dug from its sordid mine | the useless ore', | 
And stamp'd it with a di v adem. | Thou knowesi 
This wretched country, | doom'd, perhaps, like Rome , , 
To fall by its own self -destroying hand, | 
Tosi for so many years j in the rough sea 
Of civil discord', | bui for me had per'ish'd. | 
In thai distressful hour, 1 1 seiz'd the helm', | 
Bade the rough waves subside in peace% | and steer'd 
Your shatter'd vessel safe into the hanbour. I 
You may despise, perhaps, | thai useless aid | 
Which you no longer wani x ; | but know, proud youth, j 
He who forgets a friend, | deserves a foe v . | 

Ed. Know, too, | reproach for benefits receiv'd, | 
Pays every debis | and cancels obligation. | 

War. Why, thai indeed is fnrgal honesty, 
A thrifty, saving knowledge : | when the debi 
Grows burdensome, | and cannoi be discharg'd, | 
A sponge will wipe oui alb, | and cost you nothing. | 

Ed. When you have counted o'er the numerous train 
Of mighty gifts | your bounty lavish'd on me, | 
You may remember nexi | the injuries 
Which I have done you ; | lei me know them all 1 , | 
And I will make you ample satisfaction. | 

War. Thou cansi' noi; |thou hasi robb'd me of a jewel 1 
It is noi in thy pow er to restore : | 


I was the firsi, | shall future annals say, | 
Thai broke the sacred bond of public trusi 
And mutual confidence ; | ambassadors, 
In after times, | mere instruments, perhaps, | 
Of venal states'men, | shall recall my name | 
To witness thai they wani not an exanVple, | 
And plead my guilt \ to sanctify their own. | 
Amidsi the herd of mercenary slaves 
Thai hauni your court, | could none be found but War- 
wick, | 
To be the shameless herald of a lie' ? | 

Ed. And wouldsi thou turn the vile reproach on me'? j 
If I have bro&e my faith, | and stain'd the name 
Of England, | thanA thy own pernicious counsels | 
That urged* me to it, \ and extorted from me | 
A cold consent to whai my heart abhorr'd*. 

War. I Ve been abus'd v , | insulted, | and betray'ds ; J 
My injur'd honour cries aloud for vengeance, | 
Her wounds will never close* ! | 

Ed. These gusis of passion I 
Will but inflame x them ; | If I have been righi 
Informed, my lord, | besides these dangerous scars 
Of bleeding honour, you have other wounds 
As deep', though not so fa v tal : | such, perhaps, i 
As none but fair Elizabeth can cure. | 

War. Elizabeth! | 

Ed. Nay, start* not | I have cause 
To wonder mosi' : | I little though/, indeed, | 
When Warwick told me, I mighi learn to love, | 
He was himself so able to instruct me: | 
Bui I 've discovered alb | 

War. And so have T | 

Too well I know thy breach of friendship theres ] 
Thy fruitless, base endeavours to supplant me. | 

Ed. I scorn' it, Sir | Elizabeth hath charms x , | 
And I have equal righi with you' to admire x them ; j 
Nor see I aughi so godlike in the forms | 
So all-comman'ding in the name of Warwick, | 


ThaZ he alone should revel in the charms 
Of beauty, | and monopolize perfection. | 
I knew not of your love. 

War. 'Tis false! | 

You knew it all', | and meanly took occasion, | 
Whilst I was busied in the noble office, | 
Your Grace thought fit to honour me withal, | 
To tamper with a wea/c, unguarded wo'man, ; 
And basely steal a treasure | 
Which your kingdom could not purchase. J 

Ed. How know you tha' ? \ but be it as it may*, | 
I had a righ^, | nor will I tamely yield 
My claim to hap'piness, | the privilege 
To choose the partner of my throne' : | 
It is a branch of my prerogative. | 

War. Prerogative ! | what 's tha^ ? | the boasZ of ty 

rants, | 

A borrow'd jewel, | glittering in the crown 
With spe'cious lustre, | lent but to betray\. | 
You had it, Sir, | and hold' it, | from the people. 

Ed. And therefore do I prize' it:\I would guard 
Their liberties, | and they shall strengthen mine' : | 
BuZ when proud faction, and her rebel crew | 
InsuU their soveTeign, | trample on his laws', | 
And bid defiance to his pow'er, | the people, 
In justice to themselves', | will then defend 
His cause', | and vindicate the rights they gave. | 

War. Go to your darling people, then ; | for soon, 
If I mistake not, | 't will be need v ful ; | try 
Their boasted zeal', | and see if one x of them | 
Will dare to lift his arm up in your cause, | 
If I forbid' him. \ 

Ed. Is it so, my lord' ? \ 

Then mar& my wordsv : 1 1 've been your slave too long', | 
And you have ruled me with a rod of rron ; | 
Bu henceforth know, proud peer, 1 1 am thy mas'ter, | 
And will' be so : | the king who delegates 


His power to others' hands, | but ill deserves 
The crowiv he wears. | 

War. Loo/c well then to your own x : 
1 1 sits but foose'ly on your headv ; | for, knows | 
The man who injur'd War'wicA:, J never pass'd 
UnpunishV yet. | 

Ed. Nor he who threaten'd Ed^ward | 
You may repent^ it, Sir | my guards' there j seize 
This trartor, and convey him to the Tow er | 
There let Aim learn obedience. | 



I carrno*, my lords, 1 1 will* not | join in congratula- 
tion | on misfortune and disgrace^ | This, my lords, | is 
a perilous, and tremendous moment ; | it is not a time 
for adula uon : | the smoothness of flattery cannot save 
us | in this rugged and aw x ful crisis. | It is now neces- 
sary j to instruct the throne in the language of truths | 
We musZ, if possible, | dispel the delusion, and darkness 
which envelope it ; \ and display in its full danger, and 
genuine colours, | the ruin which is brought to our 

Can ministers still presume to expect support in their 
infatua'tion ? | Can parliament be so dead to its dig- 
nity, and duty,) as to gi ye us support to measures thus 
obtruded, and forced' upon it ? \ measures, my lords, | 
which have reduced this late flourishing empire | to 
scorn, and contempt . | Bu yesterday, | and England 
might have stood against the world'; | now, none so poor 
as ^to do her revverence ! | 

* Mr. Pitt delivered this speech in opposition to Lord Suffolk, 
who proposed in Parliament to employ the Indians against the 
Americans ; and who had said, in the course of the debate, that they 
had a right to use all the means, thai God and Nature had put into 
their hands, to conquer America. 


The people whom we at first despised as rebels, | but 
whom we now acknowledge as enemies, | are abetted 
against us, j supplied with every military store', | their 
interest consulted, | and their ambassadors entertained | 
by our inveterate en^erny ; | and ministers do noi, | and 
dare' not | interpose with dignity, or effect | 

The desperate state of our army abroad, | is, in part, 
known, j No man more highly esteems, and honours 
the English troops than I x do : | I know their virtues, 
and their valour ; 1 1 know they can achieve any thing 
but impossibilities ; | and I know thai the conquest of 
English America, | is' an impossibility : | you cannot, my 
lords, | you cannot, conquer America. | 

Whai is your present situation there ? | We do noi 
know the worsi ; j but we know j that in three cam- 
paigns | we have done nothing, and suffered much. | 
You may swell every expense 1 , | accumulate every as- 
sistance, and extend your traffic to the shambles of 
every German des^poi, | yei your attempts will be for 
ever vain and im'poteni ; j doubly so indeed j from this 
mercenary aid on which you relyv ; | for it irritates, to 
an incurable reseni'meni, | the minds of your adversa- 
ries, | to overrun them with the mercenary sons of ra- 
pine, and plunder, devoting them, and their possessions, ( 
to the rapacity of hireling cruelty. | If I were an 
American, | as I am an Englishman, | while a foreign 
troop was landed in my country, 1 1 nevxer would lay 
down my arms | Nev v er ! | NeVer ! | Nev^er ! | 

Bui, my lords, | who is the man | thai, in addition to 
the disgraces, and mischiefs of the war, | has dared to 
authorize, and associate to our arms j the tomahawk, 
and scalping-knife of the savage | to call into civil- 
ized alliance, | the wild, and inhuman inhabitant of the 
W0 ods' j to delegate to the merciless Indian | the 
defence of disputed rightSx, | and to wage the horrors 
of his* barbarous war | againsi our brethren? My 
lords, | these enormities | cry aloud for redress, and 


Bui, my lords, | this barbarous measure has been de- 
fended, j not only on the principles of policy, and neces- 
sity, | bui also on those of morality; | "for it is per- 
fectly allowable," | says Lord Suffolk, | " to use all the 
means j that God, and nature have pui into our hands." | 
I am astonashed, 1 1 am shocked', | to hear such princi- 
ples confessed* ; | to hear them avowed in this house', | 
or in this country ! ] 

My lords, | I did not intend to encroach so much on 
your attention ; | but I cannot repress my indignation : I 
I feel myself impelled' to spea/c. | My lords, | we are 
called upon as members of this houses | as men', | as 
Christians, | to protest againsi such horrible barbar- 
ity | " Thai God, and nature have put into our 
hands x !" | Whai ideas of God, and nature | thai noble 
lord may entertain, | I know* not ; \ but I know | thai 
such detestable principles | are equally abhorreni to 
religion, and humanity. | 

Whai> / | to attribute the sacred sanction of God, and 
nature, | to the massacres of the Indian scal'ping-knife ! | 
to the cannibal savage, | torturing, | murdering, | and 
devouring his unhappy vic'tims ! | Such notions shock 
every precepi of morality, ] every feeling of human'ity, | 
every sentimeni of honour. | These abominable prin- 
ciples, | and this more abominable avowal of them, | 
demand the mosi decisive indignation. | 

I call upon thai righi reverend, | and this mosi learn'- 
ed bench, | to vindicate the religion of their Gods | to 
suppori the justice of their country. | I call upon the 
bishops | to interpose the unsullied sanctity of their 
lawns | upon the judges | to interpose the purity of their 
er'mine, | to save us from this pollution. | I call upon 
the honour of your lordships | to reverence the dignity 
of your an'cestors, | and to maintain your own*. | I call 
upon the spirii, and humanity of my coun'try, | to vin- 
dicaie the national character : | I invoke the genius of 
the British Constitution. | 

To send forth the merciless Indian, | thirsting for 


blood x / I against whom v ? | your protestaru brethren ! | 
To lay waste their country, | to desolate their dweb- 
lings, | and extirpate their race, and name', | by the aid, 
and instrumentality | of these ungovernable savages, j 
Spain can no longer boast pre-em v inence in barbarity. | 
She armed herself with bloods-hounds | to extirpate the 
wretched natives of Mex v ico ; | we, more ruthless, | loose 
these x dogs of war | against our countrymen in Amer v - 
ica, | endeared to us | by every tie thai can sanctify 
humanity. | 

I solemnly call upon your lordships, | and upon every 
order of men in the state', | to stamp upon this infa- 
mous procedure, j the indelible stigma of the public ab- 
horrence. | More particularly, 1 1 call upon the vene- 
rable prelates of our relrgion, | to do away this iniquity ;| 
let them perform a lustration | to purify the country | 
from this deep, and deadjy sin. | 



Hail ! holy Lights j offspring of Heaven, first born*, j 

Or of the Eternal co-eternal beanh, | 

May I express thee unblam'd' ? \ since God v ( is light', 

And never but in unapproaclred ligh', 

Dwelt from eter v nity, | dwek tljen in thee v , | 

Bright effluence of bright essence invcreate ; | 

Or hear's* thou rather, ] pure ethereal stream', | 

Whose fountain who shall telL ? I Before the suns | 

Before the heavens, thou werZ, | and at the voice 

Of God, | as with a man'tle, | didst invest 

The rising world of waiters, | darA;, and deep\, \ 

Won from the void, and formless infinite. I 

Thee I revisit now with bolder wing v , | 
Escap'd the Stygian pool, | though long detained 
In tha^ obscure sojourn, | while in my flight, ! 
Through utter, and through middle darkness borne, j 


With other notes than to the Orphean lyre, j 
I sung of chaos, and eternal nigh^ ; | 
Taught by the heavenly muse j to venture down 
The dar& descend, I and up to re-ascend, | 
Though hard, and rare* : I thee I revisit safes I 
And feel thy sovereign, vital lamp* ; | but thou 
Revisit'si not these eyes v | thai roll in vain, | 
To fine? thy piercing ray, I and find no dawn* ; | 
So thick a drop serene* I hath quench'd their orbsv 
Or dim suffusion veil'd . | 

Yei noi the more | 

Cease , I , to wander where the muses hauni, ) 
Clear spring', | or shady grove', | or sunny hill*, ) 
Smii with the love of sacred song* ; | but chief 
Thee, Sion, I and the flow'ry brooks beneath, I 
Thai wash thy hallow'd fee*, and tr warbling flow, i 
Nightly I vis,ii ; | nor sometimes forged 
Those other two, j equall'd with me , in faies | 
('So were I equal I'd with them in renown x ) I 
3 Blind Thanryris, | and blind Maeon'ides, I 
j^nd Tyre'sias, and Phin'eas, ! prophets old* ; | 
Then feed on thoughts | thai voluntary move 
Harmonious^ numbers ; j as the wakeful bird 
Sings dark'ling, ! and in shadiest covert hid, 1 
Tunes her nocturnal notes x . | 

Thus with the year, 
Seasons return ; bui noi to me returns 
Days I or the sweetf approach of e'en', or morn* | 
Or sigh* of vernal bloom', I or summer's rose x , 
Or flocks', ! or herdss i or human face divine* ; | 
'Bui cloud instead, I and ever-during dar& x 
Surrounds^ me, 1 2 from the cheerful ways of men 
Cut off, I and for the book of knowledge fair, | 
Presented with a universal blan& 
Of nature's worksv, | to me expung'd and raz'd v , j 

* Drop serene, gutta serena, a disease of the eye, attended with 
loss of vision, the organ retaining its natural transparency. 


And wisdom, at one entrance, quite shut out . \ 
So much the rather thou, celestial LighZ, | 
Shine inward, | and the mind through all her powers 
Irradiate : ! there' plant eyes', 1 all mist from thence | 
Purge, and disperses | thai I may see, and tell | 
Of things invisible to mortal sigh^. | 


[Extract from Mr. Burke's Speech on the Nabob of Arcot's Debts.] 

Among the victims to this magnificent plan of uni- 
versal plunder, | pursued by the company in India, | so 
worthy of the heroic avarice of the projectors, | you 
Aave all heard | (and he has made Aimself to be well 
remembered) | of an Indian Chief, called Hyder All 
Khan. | This man possessed the western, | as the com- 
pany under the Nabo6 of ArcoZ, | does the east'ern 
division of the Carnatic.* I It was among the leading 
measures in the design of this cabal | (according to their 
own emphatic language) | to extirpate this Hyder Ali. | 
They declared the Nabob of Arco to be ^is soveTeign, j 
and himself to be a reb'el, I and publicly invested their 
instrument | with the sovereignty of the kingdom of 
Mysore. | BuZ their victim was not of the passive 
kind : | they were soon obliged I to conclude a treaty of 
peace, and close allrance with this rebel, | at the gates 
of Madras. | 

Both before, and since' that treaty, | every principle 
of policy I pointed out this power as a natural allrance; | 
and, on his part, | it was courted by every sort of ami- 

* "The Carnatic is that portion of southern India which runs 
along the coast of Coromandel. Its length is 500 miles, and its 
breadth from 50 to 100, and it belongs to the East India Company. 
Hyder Ali and the Nabob of Arcot were neighbouring princes, 
but the Nabob held his power from the Company. The Company 
lent themselves to the Nabob's schemes of ambition, the object of 
which was (as usual), to enlarge his own dominion at the expense 
of that of Hyder Ali." a Plant eyes ; not plantize. 


cable office. I Bu the cabinet council of English r ,ied- 
itors | would not suffer their Nabob of Arco* to sign v 
the treaty, | nor even to give to a prince', | at leasZ Ais 
equal, 1 the ordinary titles of respect, and courtesy. | 
From that time forward, | a continued plot' was car- 
ried on within the divan, | blacA;, and white*, I of the 
Nabob of Arcotf', I for the destruction of this Hyder Ali. | 
As to the outward members of the double, | or rather 
treble government of Madras, | which had signed the 
treaty, | they were always prevented by some over- 
ruling influence I (which they do not describe, | but 
which cannot be misunderstood) I from performing wha 
justice, and interest combined so evidently to enforce. | 

When at length Hyder Ali | found that Ae had to 
do with men | who either would sign no convention, | 
or whom no treaty, and no signature could bind x , and 
who were the determined enemies of human intercourse 
itself, I he decreed to make the country I possessed by 
these incorrigible, and predestinated criminals, | a me- 
morable example to mankind. | He resolved, | in the 
gloomy recesses of a mind, capacious of such things, ] 
to leave the whole Carnatic | an everlasting monument 
of vengeance, | and to put perpetual desolation, | as a 
barrier between him, and those | against whom, | the 
faith which holds the moral elements of the world to- 
gether, | was no protection. | 

He became at length so confident of his force, 1 and 
so collected in his mighz, | that he made no secret what- 
ever | of Ais dreadful resolution. I Having terminated 
his disputes with every enemy, and every rival, I who 
buried their mutual animosities | in their common in- 
terest against the creditors of the Nabob of ArcoZ, I he 
drew from every quarter, I whatever a savage ferocity | 
could add* to his new rudiments in the art of destruc- 
tion ; | and, compounding all the materials of firry, | 
hav'oc, and desola'tion, | into one black cloud, 1 he hung 
for a while on the declivities of the mountains. | Whilst 
the authors of all these evils, | were idly, and stupidly 


gazing on this menacing meteor | (which blackened all 
the horizon) | it suddenly burs^, | and poured down the 
whole of its contents I upon the plains of the Carnatic. | 

Then ensued a scene of wo x ; | the \ike of which no 
eye had seen, | nor heart conceived, | and which no 
tongue can adequately tell. | All the horrors of war, 
before known, or heard' of, | were mer cy to tha new 
hav.oc. | A storm of universal fire', I blasted every 
fields I consumed every house,' and destroyed every 
tem\ple. | The miserable inhabitants, | flying from their 
flaming villages, | in part, were slaughtered ; | others, | 
without regard to sex', to age', to rank', or sacredness 
of function | fathers torn from their chiPdren, | hus- 
bands, from wives 1 , I enveloped in a whirlwind of cav'- 
alry, | and amidst the goading spears of dri'vers. | and 
the trampling of pursuing hor'ses, | were swept into 
captivity | in an unknown, and hostile land. I Those 
who were able to evade this tempest, fled to the walled 
cities ; I but escaping from fire', sword', and exile, | they 
fell into the jaws of famine. 

For eighteen months', I without intermission, | this 
destruction raged from the gates of Madras | to the 
gates of Tanjorev ; I and so completely did these mas- 
ters in their art, | Hyder Ali, and his more ferocious 
son, | absolve themselves of their impious vow, I thaZ, 
when the British armies traversed, as they did, | the 
Carnatic for hundreds of miles in all directions, I through 
the whole line of their march, | they did not see one 
man\, I not one woman x , | not one child v , | not one four- 
footed beast' of any description whatever. | One dead, 
uniform silence u | reigned over the whole region. | 



I had a drea.m | which was not all' a dream , 
The bright sun was extinguished ; I and the stars 
Did wander darkling in the eternal space, 1 


Rayless, and pattvless ; I and the icy earth | 
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air . | 
Morn came, and wen^, I and came, and brought no day* ;| 
And men forgot their pas'sions | in the dread 
Of this their desolation ; | and all hearts 
Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for lighZ v . | 

And they did live by watcFT-fires ; | and the thrones, | 
The palaces of crowned kings' I the huts', | 
The habitations of all things which dwell', | 
Were burn'd for bea v cons. I Cit'ies were consum'd* ; | 
And men were gathered round their blazing homes | 
To look once more into each other's face v . | 
Happy were they | who dweU within the eye 
Of the volcanoes, I and their mountain-torch. | 
A fearful hope | was all the world contain'd ; | 
Fores/s were set on fire x ; I and hour by hour 
They fell and fa'ded | and the crackling trunks | 
Extinguish'd with a crash', I and all was blac& x . | 

The brows of men, | by the despairing ligh*, | 

Wore an unearthly as'pec, | as by f ts 

The flashes fell upon them. | Some lay down, | 

And hid their eyes, I and wepZ x ; | and some did rest 

Their chins j upon their clinched hands, I and smil'dv ; | 

And others hurried to and fro, I and fed 

Their funeral piles with fuel, I and look'd up 

With mad disquietude I on the dull sky, | 

The pall of a pas world^ ; I and then again 

With curses, I cas* them down upon the d\ist\ | 

And gnash'd their teetlr, I and 

The wild birds shriek'd, | 
And, terrified, I did flutter on the ground, | 
And flap their useless wingSv ; I the wildest brutes* | 
Came tame, and tremulous ; I and vipers crawl'd, | 
And twin'd themselves among the multitude, ! 
Hissing, but stintless. I They were slain for food^ ; | 
And war | which, for a moment, was no more, I 


Did glut" 7/imself again : | a meal was bough* 
With blood' ; I and each sat sullenly apar | 
Gorging Aimself in gloom s . | 

No love' was left ; | 

All earth was but one thought ; | and thai was deat,h v , , 
Immediate, and inglorious ; I and the pang 
Of famine I fed upon all entrails. | Men 
Died, | and their bones were tombless as their fleslr ; j 
The meager by the meager were devour'^. | 
E'en dogs' assail'd their masters ; | all, save one, | 
And he was faithful to a corse, | ant? kept 
The birds, and beasts, | and famish'd men at bay', | 
Till hunger clung them, | or the dropping dead 
Lured their lanA; jaws v . I Himself sought out no x food, j 
Bui with a piteous, and perpetual moan, | 
And a quic&, desolate cry, | licking the hand 
Which answer'd not with a caress, | he died x . | 

The crowd was famish'd by degreesx ; | but two 

Of an enormous city, I did survive v ; | 

And they were enemies. | They met beside 

The dying embers of an altar-place, | 

Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things | 

For an unholy u'sage : | they rak'd up, 

And, shivering, scrap'd with their cold skeleton hands, | 

The feeble aslres, I and their feeble breath | 

Blew for a little life, I and made a flame | 

Which was a mocLery. | Then they lifted up 

Their eyes as \t grew lighter',] and beheld 

Each other's as'pecZs | saw, | and shriek'd', | and died\ ; j 

E'en of their mutual hid'eousness they died, | 

Unknowing who he was | upon whose brow ] 

Famine had written fiend . j 

The world Was void^ ; | 
The populous, and the powerful was* a lump, | 

* Some, being 1 anxious to correct what is already right, have 
substituted were for was. 


Sea^sonless, I herbJess, | treeless, | man'less, | lifejess j 

A lump of deatlr | a chaos of hare? clay v . | 

The rivers, lakes', and o'cean, I all stood still ; | 

And nothing stirr'd within their silent depths^. | 

Ships, sai'lorless, I lay rotting on the sea v ; | 

And their masts fell down piecev-meal ; as they dropp'd,| 

They slep on the abyss, without a surge . | 

The waves were dead v ; | the tides were in their grave\, | 

The moon, their mistress, | had expired before x ; | 

The winds were withered in the stagnant air ; 

And the clouds perish'd. | Darkness had no need 

Of aid from theniv I she .. was the universe. I 

Lucius, Sempronius, and Senators. 

Semp. Rome still survives in this assembl'd senate ! | 
Let us remember we are Ca'to's friends, | 
And ac like men who claim tha glorious title. | 

Luc. Cato will soon be here*, ! and open to us 
The occasion of our meeting. | Har& ! ) Ae comes x ! | 

[Flourish ofTrumpets. 

May all the guardian gods of Rome direct him ! | 
[Enter CATO.] 

Cato. Fathers, we once again are me in coun\cil j 
Caesar's approach has summon'd us together ; | 
And Rome attends Aer fate from our resolves x . | 
How shall we treaZ this bold aspiring man x ? | 
Success still follows Aim, I and backs Ais crimes^ : | 
Pharsalia gave Aim Rome' ; I E v gyp has since 
Receiv'd Ais yoke ; I and the whole Nile' is Caesar's. | 
Why should I mention Juba's overthrow, | 
And Scipio's death\ ? | Numidia's burning sands 
Still smo/te with bloods I 'T is time we should decree 
Wha course to ta&e. ! Our foe advances on us, | 
And envies us e'en Libya's sultry desverts. 


Fathers, 1 pronounce your thoughts^ | are they still fix| 
To hold it out, | and fight it to the lasZ' ? J 
Or are your hearts subdu'd at length, | and wrought 
By time, and ill success, | to a submission ? j 
Sempronius, spea&. | 

Semp. My voice is still for war. | 

Can a Roman senate long debate | 
Which of the two to choose | slav'ry, or death'? | 
No^ | let us rise at onces | gird on our swords', j 
And, at the head of our remaining troops, ] 
Attac/t the foes | breaA; through the thicA: array | 
Of his throng'd legions, | and charge home' upon Mm : | 
Perhaps some arm, more lucky than the rest, } 
May reach Ms hear^, | and free the world from bondage.! 
Rises fathers, | rise' ! | 'T is Rome x demands your help; j 
Rise, and revenge her slaughter'd citizens, | 
Or share their fate* ! I The corpse of half Aer sen'ate, j 
Manure the fields of Thessaly, | while we 
Si* here | deliberating in cold debates, | 
Whether to sacrifice our lives to honour, I 
Or wear them out in servitude, and chain's*. | 
Rouse up v , for shame' ! | our brothers of Pharsalia i 
Point at their wounds x , | and cry aloud I to bat'tle ! | 
Great Pompey's shade | complains that we are slow 1 ; | 
And Scipio's ghost \ walks unreveng'd' amongst us ! | 

Cato. Let not a torrent of impetuous zeal | 
Transport thee thus beyond the bounds of reason : J 
True fortitude | is seen in grea exploits | 
That justice warrants, I and that wisdom guides v J 
All else is tow'ring frenzy and distraction, j 
Are not the lives of those I who draw the sword 
In Rome's defence, I intrusted to our care ? | 
Should we thus lead them to a field of slaughter, | 
Mighz not the impartial world, I with reason, say, | 
We lavish'd at our deaths | the blood of thousands, | 
To grace our fall, | and ma&e our ruin glorious ? | 
Lucius, | we next would know what's your' opinion. | 

Luc. My thoughts, I must confess,|are turn'd on peace.) 


Already have our quarrels fill'd the world 

With widows, and with orphans : | Scythia mourns 

Our guilty wars, | and earth's remotest regions | 

Lie half unpeopled by the feuds of Rome, | 

'T is time to sheathe x the sword, | and spare mankind. | 

It is not Caesar, | but the gods', my fathers, | 

The gods declare against x us, and repel 

Our vain attempts. I To urge the foe to battle, 1 

Prompted by blind revenge, and wild despair, | 

Were to refuse the awards of prov'idence, a | 

And no* to rest in heaven's determination. | 

Already have we shown our love to Rome, | 

Now ( let us show submission to the gods. | 

We took up arms, not to revenge' ourselves, | 

But free the convmon wealth : j when this end fails, | 

Arms have no further use. Our country's cause, | 

Thai drew our swords, jnow wrests them from our hands,] 

And bids us no* delight in Roman blood, | 

Unprofitably shed. | Whai men could do, | 

Is done already : | heaven, and earth will witness, | 

If Rome must fall, | thai we are innocent | 

Semp. This smooth discourse, and mild behaviour, I oft 
Conceal a trartor | something whispers me 
All is not righ^ I Cato, beware of Lucius. I 

[Aside to Cato. 

Cato. Let us be neither rash nor diffident | 
Immod'rate valour swells into a fauli x ; 1 
And fear, admitted into public councils, | 
Betrays like treason. | Let us shun them both. | 
Fathers, | I cannoi see that our affairs 
Are grown thus desp'rate I we have bulwarks' 1 

round us : j 

Within our walls, are troops, inured to toil 
In Afric's heai, I and season'd to the sun v | 
Numidia's spacious kingdom lies behind' us, | 
Ready to rise at its young prince's call. | 

; not prov'ur-dunce. b BAl'wftrks. 


While there is hope, I do not distrust the gods x ; j 
But at leasZ, till Caesar's near approach | 
Force' us to yield. | 'T will never be too late | 
To sue for chains, | and own a conqueror. | 
Why should Rome fall a moment ere her time v 1 \ 
No x , I let us draw her term of freedom out \ 
In its full length', | and spin it to the las^ j 
So shall we gain still one* day's Ifberty : | 
And let me perish, I but in Cato's judgment, | 
A days I an hour', I of virtuous liberty, | 
Is worth a whole eternity in bondage. | 

[Enter MARCUS.] 

Marc. Fathers, this moment, as I watch'd the gate, | 
Lodg'd on my post, I a her'ald is arriv'd 
From Caesar's cam// ; I and with Aim, comes old De'cius,| 
The Roman knigl^ I he carries in his looks 
Impatience, I and demands to spea& with Ca^to. | 

Cato. By your permission, fathers j bid him enter. | 

[Exit Marcus. 

Decius was once my friend v ; | but other prospects 
Have loos'd those ties, | and bound him fast to Caesar, j 
His message may determine our resolves. | 

[Enter DECIUS.] 

Dec. Caesar sends health to Ca'to. | 

Cato. Could he send it 

To Cato's slaughter'd friends, I it would be welcome. | 
Are not your orders to address the sen'ate ? | 

Dec. My business is with Ca'to. | Caesar sees 
The straits to which you 're driven ; | and, as he knows 
Cato's high worth, I is anxious for your life. | 

Cato. My life is grafted on the fate of Rome'. | 
Would Ae save Cato, I bid him spare his country. | 
Tell your dictator this v I and tell him too, I Cato 
Disdains' a life I which he has power to offer. | 

Dec. Rome, and her senators submit to Caesar ; ) 
Her generals, and her consuls are no more, | 


Who check W his conquests, I and denied his triumphs. | 
Why will not Ca'to be this Caesar's friend ? 

Cato. Those very reasons thou hast urg'd x , forbid if. | 
Dec. Cato, I have orders to expostulate, 
And reason with you, I as from friend to friendv ; I 
Think on the storm that gathers o'er your head, , 
And threatens ev'ry hour to burs^ upon it ; \ 
Still may you stand high in your country's hon'ours, j 
Do but comply, I and make your peace with Caesar, I 
Rome will rejoice', ! and cast its eyes on Cato, | 
As on the sec x ond of mankind. 

Cato. No more' | 

I must not think' of life on such conditions. | 

Dec. Caesar is well acquainted with your virtues, | 
And therefore sets this value on your life. | 
Let him but know the price' of Cato's friendship, | 
And name your terms. | 

Cato. Bid Aim disband his le x gions, | 

Restore the commonwealth to liberty, | 
Submit his actions to the public censure, | 
And stand the judgment of a Roman senate, j 
Let him do this 1 , | and Cato is his friend. | 

Dec. Cato, the world talks loud x ly of your wis'dom | 
Cato. Nay, more* though Cato's voice | was ne'er 

employ 'd 

To clear the guilty, | and to varnish crimes, | 
Myself will mount the rostrum in his faVour, | 
And strive to gain his pardon from the people. | 
Dec. A style like this becomes a con'queror. | 
Cato. Decius, a style like this, becomes a Ro'man. | 
Dec. What is a Roman , that is Caesar's foe x ? 
Cato. Greater than Caesar : j he's a friend to virtue. | 
Dec. Consider, Cato, you 're in ITtica. | 
And at the head of your own little senate ; | 
You don't now thunder in the Capitol, | 
With all the mouths of Rome to second you. | 

Cato. Le him consider tha, I who drives us hither. J 
*T is Caesar's sword' has made Rome's senate little, I 


And thinn'd its ranks. | Alas ! thy dazzled eye \ 

Beholds this man in a false glaring lighi, | 

Which conquest, and success' have thrown upon Aim : | 

Didsi thou bui view him right, \ thou 'dsi see him blacA 

With murder, | treason, I sacrilege, | and crimes', | 

Thai strike my soul with horror but to name v them, j 

I know thou look'si on me, | as on a wretch | 

Besei with ills, | and cover'd with misfortunes ; | 

Bui n millions of worlds' | 

Should never buy me I to be Me thai Csssar. | 

Dec. Does Cato send this answer bacA; to Caesar, | 
For all Ais generous cares, and proffer'd friendship ? \ 

Cato. His cares for me, are insoleni, and vain'. | 
Presumptuous man ! I the gods' take care of Cato. | 
Would Cassar show the greatness of 7ns soul, I 
Lei him employ his care for these my friends' ; | 
And make good use of his ill-gotten power, | 
By sheltering men much better than Aimself. | 

Dec. Your high unconquer'd heari | makes you forgei 
You are a man. | You rush on your destruction. | 
But I have done. | When I relaie hereafter ] 
The tale of this unhappy embassy, | 
All Rome , will be in tears. | [Exit. 

Semp. Cato, we than&' thee. j 

The mighty genius of immortal Rome', I 
Speaks in thy voice : | thy soul breathes lib'erty. | 
Caesar will shrin/r to hear the words thou utter'si, | 
And shudder in the midsi of all Ms conquesis. | 

Luc. The senate owes its gratitude to Cato | 
Who, with so greai a soul, I consults its safety, j 
And guards our v lives, I while he neglects Ais own. | 

Semp. Sempronius gives no thanks on this* accouni. I 
Lucius seems fond of life' ; | but whai is^ life ? | 
'T is noi to stalk aboui, | and draw fresh air 
From time to time, I or gaze upon the sun : | 
'T is to be free'. I When liberty is gone, | 
Life grows insipid, I and has losi its relish. I 
O could my dying hand | bui lodge a sword 


In Caesar's bosom, j and revenge my country, | 
I could enjoy the pangs of deaths | 
And smile in agony ! | 

Luc. Others, perhaps, | 

May serve their country with as warm a zeal, | 
Though *t is not kindled into so much rage. | 

Semp. This sober conduct | is a mighty virtue 
In luke-warm patriots ! j 

Cato. Come x no more', Sempronius, | 
All here are friends to Rome, I and to each other ) 
Let us not weaken still the weaker side | 
By our divisions. | 

Semp. Cato, my resentments 
Are sacrificed to Rome x 1 1 stand reprov'd. | 

Cato. Fathers, 't is time you come to a resolve. | 

Luc. Cato, we all go into your' opinion | 
Cassar's behaviour has convinced the senate 
We ought to hold it out till terms arrive. | 

Semp. We ought to hold it out till death' I bu, Cato,| 
My private voice is drown'd amidst the senate's. ] ' 

Cato. Then let us rises niy friends 7 , | and strive to fill 
This little interval, I this pause of life, I 
While yet our liberty, and fates are doubtful, | 
With resolution, | friendship, | Roman bra Very, | 
And all the virtues we can crowd in v to it, | 
Thai heaven may say it ought to be prolonged, j 
Fathers, farewell. | The young Numidian prince* 
Comes forward, | and expects to know our counsels, j 

(W. C. BRYANT.) 

To him who, in the love of Nature, | holds 
Communion with Aer visible forms, I she speaks 
A various language : | for his gayer hours, | 
She has a voice of glad'ness, | and a smile, 

* Thanatopsis (Greek), from thanatos, death, and opsis, sight 
a view of death. 

21 Q 


And eloquence of beairty ; ] and she glides 
Into his darker musings | with a mild 
And gentle sympathy | that steals away 
Their sharpness, | ere he is aware. | 

When thoughts 

Of the last bitter hour, I come like a blight 
Over thy spirit ; ] and sad images* 
Of the stern , agony, 6 | and shroud', | and pall', | 
And breathless dark/ness, | and the narrow house', | 
Make thee to shudder, | and grow sick at heart, | 
Go forth under the open sky', | and list 
To Nature's teachings, | while from all around | 
Earth', and her wa'ters, ] and the depths of air' | 
Comes a still voice\ ! 

Ye a few days, and thee 
The all-beholding sun | shall see no more' | 
In all fas course^ ; I nor yet in the cold ground 1 , | 
Where thy pale form | was laid with many tears,, 
Nor in the embrace of o'cean, | shall exis 
Thy image. ! Earth tha nourish'd thee, j shall claim 
Thy growth | to be resolv'd to earth again^ ; | 
And, lost each human trace, | surrendering up 
Thine individual being, | shalt thou go | 
To mix for ever with the elements, ) 
To be a brother to the insensible rock\ \ 
And to the sluggish clod x | which the rude swain | 
Turns with fas share, | and treads upon. | The oak 
Shall send his roots abroad, j and pierce thy mould. I 

not to thy eternal resting-place, | 
Shalt thou retire alone\ | nor coulds thou wish* | 
Couch more magnificent | Thou shalZ lie down | 
With patriarchs of the infant world | with kings*, | 
The powerful of the earth | the wise x , | the good', | 
Fair formsx, | and hoary seers' of ages pasP, \ 
All in one mighty sepulchre. | 

a Sad images ; not sad-dim'a-ges. b Stern agony ; not stern-nag' 


The hills, | 

Rock-ribb'd, and ancient as the sun' ; | the vales', | 
Stretching in pensive quietness between* ; | 
The venerable woods' ; | rivers thaZ move 
In majesty, | and the tr complaining brooks' | 
Tha make the meadows green* ; | and, pour'd round all j 
Old ocean's grey, and melancholy waste', j 
Are but the solemn decorations all', I 
Of the greaJ tomb of man x . | 

The golden sun*, | 

The placets, | all the infinite host of heav'n, | 
Are shining on the sad ( abodes a of death, | 
Through the still lapse of ages. | All that tread 
The glo&e , | are bu* , a handful 6 1 to the tribes 
Tha slumber in its bosom. Take the wings 
Of morn'ing, | and the Barcon dessert l pierce\, | 
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods' | 
Where rolls the Or'egon, | and hears no sound, | 
Save ^is own dash\ings | yet the dead are there v ; [ 
And millions in those solitudes, | since first 
The flight of years began, | have laid them down 
In their las sleep* | the dead reign' there, alone v . | 

So shalt thou' rest ] and \vha if thou shaU fall, | 
Unno'ticed by the livdng ; and no friend 
Take note' of thy departure ? | All tha* breathe 
Will share thy destiny. | The gay will laugh 
When thou ar gone ; | the solemn brood of care 
Plod on', | and each one, as before, | will chase 
His favourite phan*tom | ye all these | shall leave 
Their mirth, and their employments, | and shall come, 
And ma&e their bed with thee. | 

As the long train 

Of ages glides away, | the sons of men', | 
The youth in life's green spring,, | and he who goes 
In the full strength of years", | ma'tron and maid*, | 

Sad abodes ; not sad'der-bodes. b But a handful ; not butter handful 


The bow'd with age^, ] the inTan* | in the smiles 
And beauty of its innocent age cut off, a | 
Shall one by one | be gather'3 to thy side, \ 
By those who, in their turn, | shall follow them. I 

So live, | tha when thy summons comes t | to join 
The innumerable caravan I thai moves 
To the pale realms of shade, [ where each shall take 
His chamber in the silent halls of death, I 
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at nigh x , | 
ScourgW to Ais dun x geon, j but, sustain'^, and sooth'd 
By an unfaltering trust, \ approach thy grave, | 
LiAe one who wraps the drapery of Ais couch 
AbouZ AiTi, b | and lies down to pleasant dreams. 1 


The time is come, fathers, I when that which has 
long been wished for, | towards allaying the envy your 
order has been subject to, | and removing the imputa- 
tions against trials, | is effectually put into your power. | 
An opinion has long prevailed, I not only here at home, j 
but likewise in foreign countries, I both dangerous to 
you, | and pernicious to the states | that, in prosecu- 
tions, ! men of wealth are always safe', | however clearly 
convicted. I 

There is now to be brought upon his trial, before 
you, I to the confusion, I hope, | of the propagators of 
this slanderous imputation, I one whose life, and ac- 
tions | condemn him in the opinion of all impartial per- 
sons ; | but who, according to his own reckoning, | and 
declared dependence upon his riches, I is already ac- 
quitted : 1 1 mean Caius Verres. I 

I demand justice of you, Fathers, I upon the robber 
of the public treasury, I the oppressor of Asia Minor, 
and PamphyHa, I the invader of the rights, and privi- 
leges of Ro'mans, | the scourge, and curse of Srcily. | 

Cut off; not cut-toff'. b About him ; not abow'tim. c F6r'rln. 


If that sentence is passed upon him, I which his crimes 
deserve, I your authority, Fathers, j will be venerable, 
ant/ sa'cred in the eyes of the public ; | but, if his great 
riches should bias you in his favour, | I shall still gain 
one x point, | to make it apparent to all the world, | 
that what was wanting in this case, | was not a crimi- 
nal, | nor a prosecutor; | but justice, and adequate 
punishment. | 

To pass over the shameful irregularities of his youth, | 
what does his quaes'torship, | the first public employ- 
ment he held, I what does it exhibit, I but one continued 
scene of viHanies? I Cneius Carbo, 1 plundered of the 
public money by his own treasurer, I a consul stripped, 
and betrayed', | an army, deserted, and reduced to 
want 1 , | a province, robbed, | the civil, and religious 
rights of a people violated. | 

The employment he held in Asia Minor, and Pam- 
phyl'ia, I what did it produce but the nrin of those 
countries, | in which houses, cities, and tenVples were 
robbed^ by him ? | What was his conduct in his prae x - 
torship here at home? I Let the plundered temples, 
and public works neglects*/, | that he might embezzle 
the money intended for carrying them on', I bear wit- 
ness. | How did he discharge the office of a judge' ? | 
Let those who suffered by his injus'tice, answer. | 

But his praetorship in Srcily, | crowns air his works 
of wickedness, I and finishes a lasting monument to his 
infamy. | The mischiefs, done by him in that unhappy 
country, I during the three years of his iniquitous ad- 
ministration, | are such, that many years', I under the 
wisest, and best' of praetors, | will not be sufficient to 
restore things | to the condition in which he found x 
them ; | for it is notorious, I that, during the time of his 
tyranny, | the Sicilians neither enjoyed the protection 
of their own original laws ; | of the regulations made 
for their benefit by the Roman senate, I upon their 
coming under the protection of the commonwealth ; } 
nor of the natural, and unalienable rights of men. J 


His nocb | has decided all causes in Sicily | for these 
three years. | And his decisions I have broken all law% | 
all precedent, | all right. I The sums he has, by arbi- 
trary taxes, |and unheard-of impositions, extorted from 
the industrious poor, I are not to be computed. | The 
most faithful allies of the commonwealth, | have been 
treated as enemies. | Roman citizens, like slaves', 
have been put to death with tortures. | The most 
atrocious criminals I have been exempted, for money, | 
from deserved punishments ; | and men, of the most 
unexceptionable characters, | condemned, and banished, 
unheard. | 

The harbours, though sufficiently fortified, | and the 
gates of strong towns', I have been opened to pirates, 
and ravagers. | The soldiery, and sailors, | belonging 
to a province under the protection of the commonwealth,! 
have been starved to death ; | whole fleets v , | to the 
great detriment of the prov'ince, suffered to perish, j 
The ancient monuments | of either Sicilian, or Ro'man 
greatness, I the statues of heroes, and prin v ces, | have 
been carried off 1 ; | and the temples stripped of the 
images. | 

Having, by his iniquitous sentences, j filled the 
prisons with the most industrious, and deserving of the 
people, | he then proceeded to order numbers of Roman 
citizens j to be strangled in the jaita ; I so that the excla- 
mation, | " I am a citizen of Rome* !" | which has often, 
in the most distant regions, | and among the most bar- 
barous people, | been a protection, I was of no service 
to them ; | but, on the contrary, | brought a speedier, 
and more severe punishment upon them. | 

I ask now, Verres, | what thou hast to advance* 
against this charge? I Wilt thou pretend to deny' it? | 
Wilt thou pretend that any thing false*. I that even any 
thing aggravated, | has been urged against thee ? I Had 
any princes I or any state', I committed the same out- 
rage against the privilege of Roman citizens, | should 
we not think we had sufficient ground for demanding 
satisfaction? | 


What punishment ought, then, to be inflicted | upon 
a tyrannical, and wicked praetor, I who dared, at no 
greater distance than Srcily, 1 within sight of the Italian 
coast', | to put to the infamous death of crucifixion, | 
that unfortunate, and innocent citizen, I Publius Gavius 
Cosa'nus, | only for his having asserted his privilege of 
citizenship, I and declared his intention of appealing to 
the justice of his country, j against the cruel oppressor j 
who had unjustly confined him in prison at Syracuse, j 
whence he had just made his escape? | 

The unhappy man, | arrested as he was going to em- 
bark for his native country, | is brought before the 
wicked prastor. I With eyes darting fury, I and a coun- 
tenance distorted with cruelty, I he orders the helpless 
victim of his rage to be stripped*, | and rods' to be 
brought | accusing him, | but without the least sha- 
dow of evidence, I or even of suspicion, | of having come 
to Sicily as a spy. I It was in vain that the unhappy 
man cried out, | " I am a Roman citizen | I have 
served under Lucius Pre'tius | who is now at Panor- 
mus, | and will attest my innocence." 

The blood-thirsty praetor, | deaf to all he could urge 
in his own defence, I ordered the infamous punishment 
to be inflicted. I Thus, Fathers, I was an innocent Ro- 
man citizen I publicly mangled with scourging; | while 
the only words he uttered, | amidst his cruel sufferings, 
were, | " I am a Roman citizen !" I With these t he 
hoped to defend himself I from violence, and infamy. | 
But of so little service was this privilege to him, | that, 
while he was thus asserting his citizenship, | the order 
was given for his execution, I for his execution upon 
the crossx ! | 

O liberty ! | O sound once delightful to every Ro 
man ear ! | O sacred privilege of Roman citizen- 
ship ! | once' sacred ! | now tranvpled upon ! | 
But what them ! | Is it come to this' ? I Shall an infe- 
rior magistrate, I a governor, | who holds his whole 
power of the Roman people, | in a Roman province, j 


within sight of Italy, j bind, scourge, torture with fire, 
and red hot plates of iron, I ana 7 at last put to the infa- 
mous death of the cross, | a Roman citizen ? | Shall 
neither the cries of innocence expiring in ag^ony, 1 nor 
the tears of pitying spectators, I nor the majesty of the 
Roman conVmonwealth, ! nor the fear of the justice of 
his counvtry, restrain the licentious, and wanton cruelty 
of a monster , | who, in confidence of his riches, | strikes 
at the root of liberty, | and sets mankind at defrance ? 
I conclude with expressing my hopes, I that your 
wisdom, and justice, Fathers, | will not, by suffering the 
atrocious, and unexampled insolence of Caius Verres j 
to escape due punishment, I leave room to apprehend 
the danger of a total subversion of authority, | and the 
introduction of general anarchy, and confusion, j 



SCENE CATO sitting in a thoughtful posture, with Plato's book 
on the Immortality of the Soul in his hand ; and a drawn sword 
on the table by him. 

It mus^ be so I Plato, thou reasonesZ well ! | 

Else whence this pleasing hopes I this fond desire*, | 

This longing after immortality 1 \ 

Or whence this secret dread, | and inward horror, | 

Of falling into nought ? I why shrinks the soul | 

BacA; on herself, | and star'tles at destruction ? | 

'T is the divin-ity thai stirs within us; I 

*T is heaven itself I thai points out an hereafter, | 

And intimates eter\nity to man. j 

Eternity ! j thou pleas'ing, dreadvful thought ! 1 
Through whai variety of untried beting, ] 
Through whai new scenes, and changes must we pass v ! J 
The wide', the unbounded prospect lies before me ; j 
But shad'ows, clouds', and darkness res^ upon it. \ 


Here will I holrf . ] If there 's a power above us, | 

Anc? thai there is | all nature cries alouc? 

Through all her works, | he must delighi in virtue ; | 

Anc? thai which he delights in, I musi be happy. | 

Bui when* ! | or where x ! I this work? was made for 

Caesar. | 
1 'm weary of conjectures I this musi end, them. | 

[Laying his hand on his sword. 

Thus am I doubly arm'd: I my death, anc? life*, | 
My bane', anc? an x tidoie | are both before me : ) 
This in a moment brings me to an end* ; | 
Bui this informs me I shall never die*. ! 

The soul, secures? in 7*er existence, | smiles 

At the drawn dagger, | anc? defies its point. \ 

The stars shall fade away*, | the sun Aimself 

Grow dim with age x , I anc? nature sink in years x ; | 

Bui thou shali flourish in immortal youth', | 

Unhuri amidst the war of el'ements, | 

The wrecA of mat'ter, | anc? the crush of worlds^. | 



To be, or noi' to be | thai' is the question : \ 

Whether 't is nobler in the mind | to suffer 

The slings, anc? arrows of outrageous fortune ; | 

Or to take arms againsi a sea of troubles, | 

Anc?, by opposing, end* them? | To die' to sleep* | 

No more* | anc?, by a sleep, | to say we end 

The heart-ache, j anc? the thousanc? natural shocks | 

Thai flesh is heir to : | 't is a consummation 

Devoutly to be wish'd. | 

To die 7 to sleep* | 

To sleep'/ 1 perchance to dreanr | ay, there 's the ru6 ; | 
For, in thai sleep of death, | whai dreams may come, j 
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, a 

a Stir, bustle. 


MusZ give us pause v . | There 's the respect | 

Tha makes calamity of so long life' : | 

For who would bear the whips, and scorns of time*, j 

The oppressor's wrongv, | the proud man's contumely , b j 

The pangs of despised lovev, | the law's delay v , | 

The insolence of office, | and the spurns/ 

Tha patient meri of the unworthy takes, | 

When he Aimself might his quietus ma&e | 

With a bare bodvkin ? c | 

Who would fardels d bear, | 
To groan, and sweaZ under a weary life, | 
But that the dread of something after death | 
^ThaZ undiscover'd country from whose bourn 6 
No traveller returnsx), 2 puzzles the will ; | 
And makes us rather bear those ills we have x , | 
Than fly to others that we know not of ? | 

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all* ; | 
And thus the native hue of resolution, | 
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought ; | 
And enterprises of greaZ pith, and moment, | 
With this regard, I their currents turn awry v , I 
And lose the name of action. I 



Ro'mans, coun'trymen, and lov\ers ! | hear me for 
my causes I and be si'lenZ | that you may v hear. | Be- 
lieve me for mine hon^our f ; ! and have respect unto 
mine honour j tha you may v believe. | Censure me in 
your wisdom ; and awa&e your sen'ses | thai you may 
the better judge. | 

Consideration. b K6n'tu-me-lfe, rudeness. c The ancient term 
for a small dagger. d Packs, burdens. e B6rn, boundary, limit. 
Mine honour ; not mine-non'nur. 


If there be any in this assembly, | any dear friend ol 
Caesar's, | to him I say | thai Bru'tus' love to Caesar, j 
was no less than his. | If, then, thai friend demand J 
why Brutus rose against Caesar, j this is my answer : I 
Noi that I loved Caesar , less, 11 | but that I loved Rome , 
more. | Had you rather Caesar were living, I and die 
all slaves', I than thai Caesar were dead, | and live all 
free'men ? | 

As Caesar loved me, | I weepv for him ; | as he was 
fortunate, 1 1 rejoice' at it ; \ as he was valiani, | I hon-- 
our him ; I bui, as he was ambitious, 1 1 slew* him. \ 
There are tears' for Ms love*, I joy' for his for 'tune, | 
hon'our for Ais valour, I and death for his ambition. | 

Who is here so base thai [he] b would be a bondx- 
man? | If any, I speaA;*; I for him have I offended. | 
Who is here so rude I thai [he] would noi be a Ro x man? j 
If any, I spea.L ; | for hinv have I offended. I Who is here 
so vile | thai [he] will noi love his country 1 \ If any, | 
speaks* | for him' have I offended. | I pause for a 
reply. | 

None' ! I Then none v have I offended. | I have done 
no more to Caesar, | than you should do to Brutus. | 
The question of his death I is enrolled in the Ca'pitol; j 
his glory noi extenuated, | wherein he was worthy ; j 
nor his offences enforced', | for which he suffered 
death. | 

Here comes Ais body, I mourned by MarA: An\tony | 
who, though he had no hand in his death, shall re- 
ceive the ben'efii of his dying, | a place in the conv- 
monwealth : I as which of you' shall noi ? \ With this, 
I depart : | Thai, as I slew my besi lover for the good 
of Rome, I I have the same dagger for myself, | when 
it shall please my country | to need* my death. | 

Caesar less; not Cce'sar-less. b The words in brackets are not 
in the original ; they are introduced to make the language good 




Friends', Ro'mans, countrymen! 1 lend me your ears, j 
I come to buVy Caesar, I not to praise* him. j 
The evil thai men do, | lives after them ; | 
The good | is oft interred with their bonesx : | 
So let it be with Caesar. I The noble Brutus 
Hath told you, | Caesar was ambitious. | 
If ii were so, lit was a grievous faul^ ; | 
And grievously hath Ccesar anvswer'd it. \ 
Here, under leave of Brutus, and the resi, I 
(For Brutus is an honourable man; | 
So are they all, | all honourable men) j 
Come I | to spea/c in Caesar's funeral. | 

He was my friendv, | faithful, and jusi v to me. | 

Bui Brutus ( says, he was ambitious ; | 

And Brutus is an honourable man. | 

He hath brought many cap'tives home to Rome, | 

Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill : | 

Did this in Caesar seem ambi'tious ? | 

When that the poor have cried, I Caesar hath weptf. J 

Ambition should be made of sterner stuff. | 

Yei Brutus says, he was x ambitious ; | 

And Brutus is an honourable man. ] 

You all did see I thai, on the Lupercal, a | 

I thrice presented him a kingly crown\ | 

Which he did thrice refuse. I Was this x ambition ? | 

Yei Brutus says, he was ambitious ; | 

And Brutus is an honourable man. | 

I speak not to disprove whai Brutus spoAe ; | 

Bui here I am to speaA; whai I do know. | 

You all did love him once, | noi without cause*, | 

Whai cause withholds you then to mourn x for Aim ? I 

O judgment/ j thou ari fled to brutish beasis v ; | 

* Lupercalia, solemn sacrifices, and plays, dedicated to Pan, kept 
the 15th of February. CICERO. 


And men have \ost their reason ! I Bear with me ; | 
My heart is in the coffin there with Cosvsar ; | 
And I must pause till it come bacfc to me. | 

Bu yesterday, I the word of Caesar ( might 

Have stood against the world' : I now lies he there' ; | 

And none so poor a to do him reverence. | 

masters 1 | if I were disposed | to stir 
Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, | 

1 should do Brutus wrong v , | and Cas'sius wrong, j 
Who, you all know, I are honourable men. | 

I will not do thenr wrong ; | I rather choose 

To wrong the dead', | to wrong myself, and you', | 

Than I will wrong such honourable men. | 

"But here's a parch'mentf, | with the seal of Caesar, j 

I found it in his clos'eZ : j 't is his will. | 

Le but the commons hear this testament ; | 

(Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read) | 

And they would go, and kiss dead Caesar's wounds*, j 

And dijo their napkins in his sacred blood* ; | 

Yea, beg a hair of Aim for memory, | 

And, dying, mention it within their 

Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy, 

Unto their issue. | 

If you have tears, | prepare to shed them now. | 

You all do know this mangle : 1 1 remember 

The first time ever Caesar put it on v ; | 

'T was on a summer's eve'ning, | in his tent\ : | 

Thai day he overcame the NerVii b | 

Loo/r! | in this place, ran Cassius' dag-ger through: | 

See wha a rent the envious Cas v ca , made : [ 

Through this, | the well-beloved Bru'tus ( stabb'd> ; | 

And as he pluck'd his cursed steel away, | 

MarA how the blood of Caesar follow'd it ! \ 

This was the mosZ unkindesi cut of all ; | 

For when the noble Caesar saw him sta6, | 

The meanest man is now too high to do reverence to Caesar. 



Ingratitude, I more strong than traitor's arms, | 
Quite van v quish'd him. \ 

Then burs* 7is mighty heariv/j 
And, in Ais mantle muffling up his face, | 
E'en ai the base of Pompey's statue, I 
(Which all the while ran blood /) greai Caesar fell. | 
O whai a fall was there', my countrymen ! | 
Then I y , | and you\ | and alb of us, fell down*, | 
Whilst bloody treason flourished 1 over us. | 

now you weep; | and I perceive you feel 
The dint of pity. I These are gra v cious drops. I 
Kind, souls ! | whai v / | weep you when you but behold 
Our Caesar's ves'ture wounded ? \ Loo/: you here v ! | 
Here is Aimself , I marr'd, as you see, by traitors. | 

Good x friends, | sweei x friends ! I lei me not stir you up 
To such a sudden flood of mutiny | 
They that have done x this deed, j are honourable ! | 
Whai private griefs they have, I alas ! I know noi, | 
Thai made' them do it | they are wise and honourable: I 
And will, no doubi, with reasons answer you ! | 

1 come not, friends, to steal away your hearts : | 
I am no orator, as Brutus is ; | 

Bui, as you know me all, I a plain, bluni man, I 

Thai love my friend x ; I and thai they know full weir, | 

Thai gave me public leave to speaA; of him. | 

For I have neither wii', nor words', nor worths | 
Ac'tion, nor utterance, I nor power of speech', | 
To stir men's bloodv : 1 1 only spea& righi oir. | 
I tell you thai which you yourselves^ do know\ ; | 
Show you sweei Caesar's wounds', I poor, poor, dumb 

mouths*, j 

And bid them speak for me. 1 Bui, were I Brutus, 
And Brutus Antony, | there were an Antony | 
Would ruffle up your spirits, I and put a tongue 
In every wound of Caesar, | thai should move 
The stones' of Rome I to rise in mutiny. | 

* That is, flourished the sword. STEEVENS. 



Sylph of the blue, and beaming eye ! j 

The Muses' fondest wreaths are thine* | 
The youthful heart beats warm, and high, | 

And joys to own thy power divine^ ! | 
Thou shines* o'er the flowery path | 

Of youth ; I and all is pleasure there ! I 
Thou soothes* man, | whene'er he hath | 

An eye of gloonv I a brow of care ( . | 

To youth, thou art the early morns | 

With " ligh*, and melody, and song*," | 
To gild his path' ; each scene adorn', | 

And swiftly speed Ais time along v . | 
To man, thou art the gift of HeaV'n, | 

A boon from regions brigh* above*; 
His lo*, how dar/r, | had ne'er been giv'n | 

To him the ligh* of woman's love t ! I 

When o'er Ais dark'ning brow, | the storm | 

Is gath'ring in its power, and migh*', | 
The radian* beam of woman's form', | 

Shines through the cloud', and all is ligh*' ! } 
When dire disease prepares her wrath | 

To pour in terror from above', | 
How gleams upon his gloomy path', I 

The glowing ligh* of woman's lovev ! | 

When all around is clear, and bright, | 

And pleasure lends her faires* charm* ; | 
And man, enraptur'd with deligh*', | 

Feels, as he views, Ais bosom warm 1 , I 
Why glows Ais breas* with joy profuse 1 , j 

And all Ais deeds, Ais rap'ture prove* ? ] 
It is, because the scene Ae views'] 

Through the brigh* rays of woman's love v ! ; 


O woman ! | thine is still the power, | 

Denied to all but on v ly thee, | 
To chase away the clouds tha* lower ( | 

To harass life's eventful sea v . | 
Thou ligh* of man^ ! | his on'ly joy , | 

Beneath a wide, and boundless skyv, | 
Long shall thy praise fas tongue ( employ, 

Sylph of the blue, and beaming eye v ! I 



When Music, heavenly maid, was young, | 
Ere ye* in early Greece* she sung, | 
The Passions oft, to hear her shell, | 
Throng'd around her magic cell, | 
Exulting, | trembling, | ranging, | fainHng, | 
Possess'd beyond the Muse's painting. | 
By turns they felt the glowing mind | 
Disturb'ds I delighted, | rais'ds | refinU ; j 
Till once, 't is said, when alb were fired, | 
FilPd with fu'ry, | rap^, | inspir'd^ | 
From the supporting myrtles round', | 
They snatch'd her instruments of sound* ; j 
And, as they oft had heard, apart, | 
SweeZ lessons of her forceful art, | 
Each (for Madness rul'd the hour) | 
Would prove his own expressive power. | 

First, Fear, | his hand, its skill to try, | 

Amid the chords, bewilder'd, laid, | 
And back recoil 'd, | he knew not why*, | 

E'en at the sound himself* had made. | 
Nex, An'ger rush'd x ; | his eyes on fire, | 

In lightnings own'd Ais secret stingSv ; | 
In one rude clash, he struck the lyre', | 

And swepZ, with hurried hand, the stringy. [ 


With wo x ful measures, wan Despair, | 
Low sullen sounds Ais grief beguil'dx ; | 

A solemn', strange', and mirrgl'd air : | 

'T was sad by fits ; I by starts, 't was wild, | 

But thou, O Hope ! with eyes so fair, | 
WhaZ was thy x delighted measure ? J 
Still it whisper'd promised pleasure, | 
And bade the lovely scenes a* distance hail ! j 

Still would her touch the strain prolong' ; | 

And, from the rocks', | the woods', I the vales | 

She call'd on echo still, through all the song^ : j 
And, where her sweetest theme she chose, | 
A soft, responsive voice was heard at every close* ; | 

And Hope, enchanted, | smil'd, and wav'dAer golden hair.) 

And lon'ger had she sung; | bu, with a frown, | 

Revenges impatient, rose^ : | 

He threw his blood-stain'd sword in thunder down | 
And with a withering loo/c, | 
The war-denouncing trunVpe^ tooA;, | 
And blew a bias* so loud, and dread, | 
Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of wo ; 
And ever, and anon, he beat \ 
The doubling drum with furious hea& : | 
And, though, sometimes, each dreary pause between, | 
Dejected Pity, at his side, I 
Her soul-subduing voice, applied; | 
Yef still he kept his wild, unalter'd mien, | 
While each strain'd ball of sigh*, seem'd bursting 
from his head. | 

Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought, were fix'd | 

Sad proof of thy distressful state ! j 
Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd* ; ] 
And now if courted Love x ; I now, raving, call'd on 

Hate . | 

With eyes, uprais'd, as one inspired, \ 
Pale Melancholy sa retir'd* ; j 
22* R 


And, from ^er wild, sequester'*/ sea^, | 
In notes by distance made more swee, | 

Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul; 
And, dashing soft from rocks around, ] 
Bubbling runnels join'd the soundx ; | 

Through glades, and glooms, the mingl'd measure stole,) 
Or, o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay, j 
Round a holy calm diffusing, | 
Love of peace, and lonely musing, | 
In hollow murmurs, died away. | 

But, O ! how alter'd was its spright'lier tone, | 
When Cheerfulness, | a nymph of healthiest hue, | 

Her bow across ^er shoulder flung, | 
Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew, | 

Blew an inspiring air, | that dale and thicket rung*,| 

The hunter's call', I to fawn and dryad known. I 
The oak-crown'd sisters, and their chaste-ey'd queen 1 , | 
Satyrs, and sylvan boys' were seen, | 
Peeping from forth their alleys greeih | 
Brown Exercise rejoic'd* to hear ; | 
And Sport leap'd up, and seiz'd his beechen spear. 1 

Las came Joy's* ecstatic trial | 

He, with viny crown advancing, | 
Yirst to the lively pipe, his hand addressed; | 

Bu soon 7/e saw the bris&, awakening vrol I 
Whose svseet, entrancing voice he lov'd the besL. I 
They would /mve thought, who heard the strain, 
They saw in Tempo's vale her native maids, | 
Amidst the festal-sounding shades | 

To some unwearied minstrel dan'cing, | 
While, as 7ns flying fingers kiss'd the strings, | 
Love fram'd with Mirth, a gay, fantastic round* ; | 
Loose w r ere Aer tresses seen, I her zone, unbound ; | 
And he, amidst the frolic play, | 
As if he would the charming air repay', | 
Shoo/* thousand odours from his dewy wings v . ; 



Mr. Pres v iden | It is natural to man to indulge 
in the illusions of hope. We are ap to shut our eyes 
against a painful truth, | and listen to the song of tha 
syren I till she transforms us into beasts. I Is this the 
part of wise men, I engaged in a greatf, and arduous 
struggle for lib'erty ? I Are we disposed to be of the 
number of those who, having eyes, see no^, | and having 
ears, hear not | the things which so nearly concern their 
temporal salvation? | For my part, I whatever an- 
guish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the 
whole v truth to know the wors x , I and to provide* 
for i*. | 

I have but one lamp by which my x fee* are guided ; ] 
and that is the lamp of experience. I I know of no way 
of judging of the future, ! but by the pas^ : | and, judg- 
ing by the pas, 1 1 wish to know | wha there has been 
in the conduct of the British ministry | for the last ten 
years' | to justify those hopes | with which gentlemen 
have been pleased to solace themselves, and the house\? | 
Is it that insidious smile ! with w r hich our petition has 
been lately received' ? \ Trust it nofr, sir j it will 
prove a snare to your fee v : | suffer not yourselves to be 
betrayed with a kiss. | 

Ask yourselves | how this gracious reception of our 
petition, | comports with those warli/re preparations | 
which cover our waters, | and darken our land. | Are 
fleets, and armies I necessary to a work of love, and 
reconcilia'tkm ? | Have we shown ourselves so unwil- 
ling to be reconciled, | that force must be called in I to 
win bacA; our love' ? | Le us no* deceive* ourselves, 
sir : | these are the implements of wars I and subjuga'- 
tion | the las* arguments 1 to which kings resort. | 

I asA: gentlemen, sir, | wha* means' this martial ar- 
ray | if its purpose be not to force us to submission ? | 
Can gentlemen assign any other possible motive for it? [ 


Has Great Britain* any enemy in this quarter of the 
work/ | to call for all this accumulation of navies, and 
armies ? I No x , sir, 1 she has none'. | They are mean* 
for us v : | they can be meani for no other. | They are 
sent over to bind, and rivet upon us | those chains 
which the British ministry have been so long forging. : 
And what have we to oppose' to them ? I Shall we try 
ar'gumeni ? \ Sir, | we have' been trying that I for the 
last ten years*. I Have we any thing new to offer upon 
the subject ? \ Nothing. ] We have held the subject 
up 1 in every lighi of which it is ca'pable ; | but it has 
been all in vain. | 

Shall we resort to entreaty, and humble supplica'- 
tion? | What terms shall we find, which have not 
been already exhausted ? b \ Lei us noi, I beseech you, 
sir, | deceive ourselves longer. | Sir, | W 7 e have done 
every thing thai could' be done J to avert the storm 
which is now coming on. | We have petitioned ; | we 
have remon'strated ; | we have supplicated ; | we have 
prostrated ourselves before the throne 1 , 1 and have im- 
plored its interposition I to arresi the tyrannical hands 
of the ministry, and parliament | Our petitions have 
been sligh'ted; | our remonstrances I have produced 
additional violence, and in'suli ; | our supplications have 
been disregarded ; I and we have been spurned with 
contempt, I from the foot of the throne. I 

In vain, after these things, I may we indulge the fond 
hope of peace, and reconciliation. I There is no 
longer any room^ for hope. I If we wish to be free, | if 
we mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable privi- 
leges | for which we have been so long contending, | if 
we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle | in 
which we have been so long engaged, | 'and which we 
have pledged ourselves nev<er to abandon I until the 
glorious object of our contest shall be obtained', 1 2 we 
must fight ! \ I repeat ii, sir, I we must fight ! \ An 
appeal to arms, i l and to the God of Hosis, 1 2 is all that 
is left us. | 

* Brlt'in ; not Brlfn. b EgS-hist'fid ; not & 


They tell us, sir, I tha* we are wea& x , I unable to 
cope with so formidable an adversary. I Bu when 
shall we be strong er ? I Will it be the nex weefc j 
or the next year' ? | Will it be when we are totally 
disarmed ; | and when a British guard shall be stationed 
in every house* ? I Shall we gather strength by irreso- 
lution, and inac'tion? I Shall we acquire the means of 
effectual resistance I by lying supinely on our backs, | 
and hugging the delusive phantom of hope I until our 
enemies shall have bound us hand, and foot' ? \ Sir, | 
we are no<* weaA; I if we ma&e a proper use of those 
means | which the God of nature hath placed in our 
power. | 

4 Three millions of people, 1 3 armed in the holy cause 
of liberty, I 2 and in such a country as tha which we 
possess, | 4 are inviiVcible | under any force which our 
enemy can send against us. I 2 Besides, sir, I we shall 
not fight our battles alone* : | 'there is a jus Godx | who 
presides over the destinies of nations ; 1 2 and who will 
raise up friends' | to fight our battles for us. The bat- 
tle, sir, | is not to the strong alone\ ; I it is to the vig*i- 
lant, | the ac'tive, I the brave ( . | Besides, sir, | we have 
no election. | If we were base enough to desire* it, \ it 
is now too late to retire from the contest. | There is 
no retread I but in submission, and slavery. | Oar chains 
are forged I their clanking may be heard on the 
plains of Boston. I The war is inevitable ; I and let it 
come ! | I repeat it, sir I let it come ! ! | 

It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. | Gentle- 
men may cry peace ! peace ! | but there is. no peace. | 
The war is actually begun* ! | The next gale that 
sweeps from the north, | will bring to our ears the 
clash of resounding arms\ ! I Our brethren are already 
in the field. ! | Why stand we here idle ? | What is it 
ihnt gentlemen wish* ? | What would they have* ? I Is 
life so dear, I or peace so swee, ! as to be purchased at 
the price of chains, and sla'very?^ I I know not wha 
course ottrers may ta&e ; | but, as for me, | give me 
liberty, | or give me death^ ! j 




These, as they change, | Almighty Father, | these 
Are but the varied God. I The rolling year 
Is fulb of thee. | Forth in the pleasing Spring | 
Thy beau'ty walks, | thy tenderness and love. | 
Wide flush the fields' ; I the soft'ning air is balm* ; | 
Echo the mountains round v ; | the forest smiles* ; | 
And ev'ry sense', 1 and ev'ry hear^ is joy. | 

Then comes thy glo'ry I in the Sunrmer months, | 
With light, and heat refulgent | Then thy sun | 
Shoots Sill perfection through the swelling yean ; | 
And oft thy voice in dreadful thunder, speaks ; | 
And oft at dawn', j deep noon', I or falling eve', | 
By brooks, and groves, | in hollow-whisp'ring gales. 

Thy bounty shines in Autumn unconfin'd% | 
And spreads a common feast for all tha lives. | 
In Winter, aw v ful thou ! I with clouds, and storms 
Around x thee thrown, I tempest o'er tempest roll'd x , | 
Majestic darkness ! | on the whirlwind's wing, | 
Riding sublime, I thou bids the world adore'; j 
And humblest Nature with thy northern blas^. | 

Mysterious round / | wha skill*, j what force divine , 
Deep felt, | in these, appear* ! I a simple train, | 
Ye so delightful mix'd, I with such kind art,* | 
Such beauty, and beneficence combin'd v : | 
Shade, unperceiv'd, so soft'ning into shade', | 
And all so forming an harmonious whole', j 
That, as they still succeed, they rav'ish still. | 

BuZ, wand'ring oft, with brute unconscious gaze, | 
Man marks not thee x , I marks not the mighty hand, | 
That, ever busy, | wheels the silent spheres^, j 

Kind art ; not kine dart. b Sl'l&nt ; not silunt. 


Works in the secret deep', | shoots, steaming, thence, I 
The fair profusion thai o'erspreads the springv, | 
Flings from the sun direct 11 the flaming days | 
Feeds ev'ry crea'ture, I hurls the tenrpesi forth ; | 
And, as on earth this grateful change revolves, | 
With transport, touches all the springs of life. | 

Nature, attend / | join ev'ry living soul, 

Beneath the spacious temple of the sky', | 

In adoration, join, | and ardent raise 

One general song ! | To him, ye vocal gales, | 

Breathe soft*; |\vhose spirit in your fresh\ness breathes :J 

O tal/c of him in solitary glooms^ ! | 

Where, o'er the roc&, | the scarcely waving pine | 

Fills the brown shade with a religious awe. c | 

And ye whose bolder note is heard afar', | 

Who sha/re the astonish'd worldv, 1 lift high to heaven 

The impetuous song v , | and say from whom you rage, j 

His praise, ye brooks x , attune/ | ye trembling rilta, | 

And let me catch it as I muse along. I 

Ye headlong tor'rents, | rapid, and profound* ; | 

Ye softer floods | thai lead the humid maze 

Along the vale 1 , I and thou, majestic main v , 1 

A secret world of wonders in thyself, | 

Sound Ms stupendous praise, | whose greater voice, ; 

Or bids you roar', 1 or bids your roarings fal! 4 . | 

Soft roll your in x cense,|herbs/,and fruits', and flow'rs*, \ 
In mingled clouds to him | whose sun exalts' ; | 
Whose breath perfumes^ you ; I and whose pencil 

paints^. | 

Ye forests, bendx ; I ye harvests, wave x to him ; | 
Breathe your still song into the reaper's heart', I 
As home he goes beneath the joyous moonv. | 

a De-r&ct'. b Ar'dfent ; not ardunt. c Religious awe ; not reli' 
gious-saw. d Brooks attune ; not brooks'sur-tune. 


Ye that keep watch in heav'n', | as earth asleep 
Unconscious lies, | effuse your mildest beamsv, | 
Ye constellations? | while your angels stri/ce, j 
Amid the spangled sky, \ the silver lyre v . I 
Grea source of day' ! | best image here below, 
Of thy Creator, | ever pouring wide, 
From world to world, | the vital ocean roundv, | 
On Nature write with ev'ry beanr, his praise. | 

Ye thunders, roll' ; I be hush'd the prostrate worldx, | 

While cloud to cloud returns^ the solemn hymn. | 

BleaJ out afresh, ye hills'; I ye mossy rocks, 

Retain^ the sound ; | the broad responsive low, 

Ye valleys, raise | for the Grea* Shepherd reigns* ; 

And his unsuffering kingdom jet will come v . | 

Ye woodlands, a all, awa&e' ! | a boundless song 

Bursi from the grovesv ; | and, when the restless day, 

Expiring, | lays the warbling world asleep, | 

Sweetest of birdss | sweet Philomela, i charm 

The listening shades', | and teach the nighi' fas praise. 

Ye chief, | for whom the whole crea'tion smilesv, | 
At once the heads the heart', the tongue x of all, | 
Crown' the grea hymn. | In swarming cities vas, | 
Assembled men, | to the deep organ, b | join 
The long-resounding voices | oft breaking clear, 
At solemn pauses, | through the swelling bassx ; | 
And, as each mingling flame increases each, | 
In one united ardour, rise to heaven. 
Or, if you rather choose the rural shade, | 
And find a fane in ev'ry sacred grove, | 
There let the shepherd's flutes I the virgin's lay*, I 
The prompting ser'aph, | and the poet's lyres | 
Still sing the God of Seasons as they roll. | 

For me, when I forgeZ the darling theme, | 
Whether the blossom blowsv, I the summer ray 
Russets the plain', | inspiring autumn gleamss | 

* Wud'landi ; not wood'luns. b Deep organ ; not dee-por'gan. 


! Or winter rises in the blackening eas^, | 

8 Be my tongue mutes \ rny fancy pain* no more*, 

And, dead to joy, I forge* my heart to bea* x / 1 

Should fate command me to the farthest verge 
Of the green earth', a | to distant barb'rous climes x ] 
Rivers unknown to songv, | where firs* the sun 
Gilds Indian mountains, | or Ais setting beam 
Flames on the Atlantic isles\. | 't is nought to me, | 
Since God is ever pres*en*, | ever fel* N , | 
In the void was*e | as in the city full ; | 
And where he vital breathes, ! there must be joy. j 

When e'en at las* the solemn hour shall come, | 

And wing my mystic flight to future worlds', | 

I cheerful will obey v ; | there, with new pow'rs j 

Will rising wonders sing v : 1 1 canno* go | 

Where Universal Love smiles no* around, | 

Sustaining all yon orbs, b | and all their sunsv ; | 

From seeming evil still educing good v , | 

And better thence again N , 1 and better stuT, | 

In infinite progresvsion. | Bu* I lose 

Myself in Hinv, \ in Ligh* ineffable ! | 

Come then, expressive SHence, | muse His praise. | 


lii slumbers of mid\nigh, the sai v lor-boy lay; | 

His hammocA; swung loose at the spor* of the wind x ; | 

Bu*, watch- worn, and weary, his cares flew away ; | 
And visions of happiness danc'd o'er his mind v . | 

He dream'd of his home*, | of Ais dear native bowers, | 
And pleasures tha* waited on life's' merry morn\ ; | 

While Memory stood side wise, half cover'd with flowers,| 
And restor'd ev'ry rose 7 , | bu* secreted its thorn v . | 

* Green earth ; not gree-nearth'. b Yon orbs ; not yon-norbs 


Then Faircy, Aer magical pinions spread wide*, \ 
And bade the young dreamer in ecstasy rise v | 

Now far, far behind Aim, the green waters glide 1 ; 1 
And the cot of Ais forefathers, blesses Ais eyes v . | 

The jessamine clambers in flower o'er the thatch ; j 
And the swallow sings swee^from Aernest in the wall ; 

All trembling with transport, he raises the latch' ; | 
And the voices of lov'd' ones reply to Ais calL. j 

A father bends o'er him with looks of delight; | 

His chee& is impearl'd with a mother's warm tear* ; j 

And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss, unite' | 

With the lips of the maid whom Ais bosom holds dear x .| 

The heart of the sleeper beats high in Ais breast ; | 
Joy quickens Ais pulse v | all hardships seem o'erx ; j 

And a murmur of happiness steals through Ais res^ | 
Kind Fate, thou hast bless'd x me II as&for no more v .) 

Ah! | wha is tha flame which now bursts on Ais eyej | 
Ah ! | wha is tha sound which now larums Ais ear 1 ? j 

'T ib the lightning's red glare, painting hell on the sky! | 
'T is the crashing of thun'ders,|the groan of the sphereJ 

He springs from Ais hanrmock | he flies to the decA^ | 
Amazement confronts Aim with images dire x | 

Wild winds, and mad waves drive the vessel a wrecA; x | 
The maste fly in splinters | the shrouds are on fire ! j 

LiAe mountains the billows tremendously swelL | 
In vain the lost wretch calls on Mercy to save* ; j 

Unseen hands of spirits, are ringing Ais knelb ; 

And the death-angel flaps Aj broad wing o'er the 

O sailor-boy ! wo to thy dream of delight / | 

In darkness dissolves the gay frost-wor/c of bliss 1 . | 

Where now is the picture tha Fancy touch'd bright, 
Thy parents' fond pressure, I and love's honied kiss.? 


O sai'lor-boy ! sai'lor-boy ! | never again', | 

Shall home', love', or kin v dred, thy wishes repay v ; | 

Unbless'd, and unhon v our'd, | down deep in the main', | 
Full many a score fath'om, | thy frame shall decay x . | 

No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee x , | 
Or redeem form', or frame' from the merciless surgev ; | 

But the white foam of waves, shall thy winding-shee be',| 
And winds, in the midnight of winder, thy dirge x ! | 

On beds of green sea x -flow T ers, thy limbs shall be laid; | 
Around thy white bones, the red coral shall grow ; | 

Of thy fair yellow locks, threads of anYber be made ; | 
And ev'ry part sui to thy mansion below^. | 

Days/, months', years', and a v ges shall circle away; | 
And still the vas waters above v thee shall roll | 

Earth loses thy pattern for ever, and aye\ : | 
O sai/lor-boy ! sai'lor-boy ! peace to thy soul ! ] 


[From the Russian Anthology.] 

O THOU eter'nal One ! i whose presence bright j 
All space doth oc'cupy, | all motion guide\ ; | 
Unchang'd through time's all-devastating flight; | 
Thou on'ly God / | There is no God beside x ! | 
Being above all* beings ! | Miglrty One ! | 
Whom none can comprehend, | and none explore' ; | 
Who fill's^ existence with thyself alone* : | 
Embracing alb | supporting | ruling o'er | 
Being whom we call Godv I and know no more v ! \ 

In its sublime research, I philosophy 
May measure out the o cean-deep | may count 
The sands% | or the sun's rays' | buZ, God / | for thee 
There is no weight, nor measure : | none can mounZ 
Up to thy mysteries. 1 Reason's brightest spar/;, ] 


Though kindled by thy ligh, | in vain would try 
To trace thy counsels, I infinite, and dark, ; \ 
And thought is los' | ere thought can soar so higlr, 
E'en like pas moments in etennity. | 

Thou from primeval nothingness, | didsZ call' | 

FirsZ cha v os, I then existence | Lord, on thee 

Eternity had its foundation: | all 

Sprung forth from theex : | of ligh^, I joy', | harmony, | 

Sole or\igin : I all life', | all beau v ty t thine, j 

Thy word created alls | and doth' create ; j 

Thy splendour fills all space with rays divine. | 

Thou art', | and wer', | and shal^ be! I Glorious! | 

Life'-giving, I life-sustairring Potentate* ! | 

Thy chains the unmeasur'd universe surround: | 
Upheld' by thee, | by thee inspir'd with breath* : | 
Thou the beginning with the end' has* bound, | 
And beautifully mingled life, and death v ! I 
As sparks mounZ upwards from the fiery blazes \ 
So suns' are born ; | so worlds' spring forth from theev 
And, as the spangles in the sunny rays i 
Shine round the silver snows | the pageantry b 
Of heaven's bright army, ! glitters in thy praise. 1 

A million torches, lighted by thy hand, | 
Wander unwearied through the blue abyssv : | 
They own thy pow s er, | accomplish thy command', | 
All gay with lifes | all eloquent with bliss x . | 

P6'tn-tite ; not p6'tn-tte. 

c " The force of this simile," says Bowring, in his Specimens of 
the Russian Poets, " can hardly be imagined by those who have 
never witnessed the sun shining, with unclouded splendour, in a 
cold of twenty or thirty degrees of Reaumur. A thousand, and ten 
thousand sparkling stars of ice, brighter than the brightest diamond, 
play on the surface of the frozen snow; and the slightest breeze sets 
myriads of icy atoms in motion, whose glancing light, and beauti 
ful rainbow hues, dazzle and weary the eye." 


Wha* shall we call' them ? | Piles of crystal ligh*', J 
A glorious company of golden streams', | 
Lamps of celestial e'ther, | burning bright | 
Suns', lighting systems with their joyous beams* ? | 
Bu thou to these art as the noon to nigh x . | 

Yes', as a drop of water in the sea\ | 

All this magnificence in thee is los^ ! | 

What are ten thousand worlds' compared to thee* ? | 

And what am T then ? I Heaven's unnumber'd host, j 

Though multiplied by myr'iads, | and array'd 

In all the glory of sublimes^ thought. | 

Is but an at om a in the balance, I weigh'd 

Against thy greatness | is a cypher brought 

Against infinity ! | Wha am T then ? Nought / | 

Nought/ Bu the effluence of thy ligh* divine, | 

Pervading worlds, j hath reach'd my bo'som too ; | 

Yes' ! in my spirit doth thy spirit shine, | 

As shines the sunbeam in a drop of dew. I 

Nought / | but I live, and on hope's pinions fly | 

Eager towards thy presence ; ! for in thee 

I live', I and breathe', i and dwell' ; | aspiring high*, | 

E'en to the throne of thy divinity. 

I am, O God/ | and surely thou mus be ! I 

Thou art' / | directing, guiding all\, I thou art' / | 
Direct my understanding, then, to theex ; | 
Control my spirit, | guide my wandering heart : j 
Though but an at v om a midst immensity, | 
Still I am something fashion'd by thy hand / | 
I hold a mid'dle ra.nk 'twix^ heaven, and earth', J 
On the last verge of mortal being stand', | 
Close to the realms where an'gels have their birth, | 
JusZ on the boundaries of the spirat-land / 

The chain of being is complete' in me, j 
f n me is matter's lasZ gradation losZv ; | 

" But an atom ; not but-ter-nat'tom. 


And the nex step is spirit | Deaty ! | 

[ can command the lightening, j and am dust, ! \ 

A mon'arch, and a slave* ; | a worm', | a God v / | 

Whence came x I here ? I and how so marvellously 

Constructed, and conceiv'dv ? \ unknown v . | This clod 

Lives surely through some higher energy ; | 

For, from itself alone, | it could not be ! | 

Creator, yes\ ! I thy wisdom, and thy word x 

Created me ! ! Thou source of life, and goodv / | 

Thou spirit of my spirit, I and my Lord x / | 

Thy ligh^, I thy Jove x , I in their bright plenitude, | 

Fill'd me with an immortal soul I to spring 

O'er the abyss of death, | and bade it wear 

The garments of eternal days I and wing 

Its heavenly flight | beyond this little sphere, | 

E'en to its source\ | to thee* I its Author there, j 

O thoughts ineffable ! | O visions bles v / | 
Though worthless, our conceptions all of thee 7 ; | 
Ye shall thy shadow'd image fill our breast, | 
And waft its homage to thy Deity. | 
God, thus alone my lowly thoughts can soar* ; | 
Thus seek thy presence, | Being wise, and good / | 
Midsi thy vast works admire', | obey', I adore x ; | 
And, when the tongue is eloquent no more, | 
The soul shall speaA; in tears of gratitude. | 



The exclusion of a Supreme Being, | and of a super- 
/ntending providence, 11 I tends directly to the destruc- 
tion of moral taste. I It robs the universe of all finished, 
and consummate excellence, | even in idea. I The ad- 
miration of perfect wisdom, and goodness I for which 
we are formed, I and which kindles such unspeakable 

" Pr6v'e-dns ; not provurdunce. 


rapture in the soul, I finding in the regions of scepti- 
cism I nothing to which \t corresponds, | droops, and 
languishes. | In a work? which presents a fair spec- 
tacle a of order, and beauty, I of a vasZ family, nourished, 
and supported by an Almighty Parent ! in a world 
which leads the devout mind, step by step, | to the con- 
templation of the first fair, and the firs good, I the scep- 
tic is encompassed with nothing but obscurity, mean- 
ness, and disorder. | 

When we reflect on the manner in which the idea 
of Deity is formed, | we must be convinced j tha such 
an idea intimately present to the mind, I mus* have a 
most powerful effect I in refining the moral taste. | Com- 
posed of the richest elements, h |it embraces in the char- 
acter of a beneficent Parent, I and Almighty Ruler, | 
whatever is venerable in wis v dom, | whatever is awful 
in authority, I whatever is touching in goodness, j 

Human excellence is blended with many imperfec- 
tions, | and seen under many limitations, j It is beheld 
only in detached, and separate portions, | nor ever ap- 
pears in any one character, whole, and entire. | So 
that, when, in imitation of the Stoics, 1 we wish to form 
out of these fragments, i the notion of a perfectly wise, 
and good man, | we know it is a mere fiction of the 
mind\ I without any real being in whom it is embodied, 
and realized. I In the belief of a Deity, i these concep- 
tions are reduced to reaHty | the scattered rays of 
an ideal excellence, are concentrated, | and become the 
real attributes of that Being i with whom we stand in 
the nearest relation I who sits supreme at the head 
of the universe, ! is armed with infinite pow er, i and 
pervades all nature with his presence. I 

The efficacy of these sentiments, | in producing, and 
augmenting a virtuous taste, | will indeed be propor- 
tioned to the vividness with which they are formed', : 
and the frequency with which they recur\ ; | jet some 

' Sp&k'td-kl. b El'-mnts; not elurmunts. c P&'rnt. 


benefit will not fail to result from them | even in their 
lowest degree. | 

The idea of the Supreme Being, | has this' peculiar 
property I that, as it admits of no substitute, I so, 
from the first moment it is impressed, | it is .capable of 
continual growth, and enlargement I God Aimself is 
immutable ; 1 but our conception of his character, | is 
continually receiving fresh accessions, | is continu- 
ally growing more extended and reful'genZ, | by having 
transferred upon it \ new perceptions of beauty, and 
goodness ; | by attracting to itself, as a centre, | what- 
ever bears the impress of dig'nity, or'der, or happiness, j 
It borrows splendour from all that is fain, j subordi- 
nates to itself all that is grea^, I and sits enthroned on 
the riches of the universe. | 



The tree of deepest root, is found | 
"Least willing still to quit the ground* ; | 
'T was therefore said by ancient sages, | 

Tha love of life increas'd with years | 
So much, I that, in our latter stages, | 
When pains grow sharp, and sickness rages, | 

The greatest love of life appears . | 
This grea* affection to believe, | 
Which all confess, | but few perceive, | 
If old assertions can't prevail, j 
Be pleas'd to hear a modern tale x . | 

When sports wen round, and all were gay, j 
On neighbour Dodson's wedding-day, ] 
Death call'd aside the jocund groom | 
With him, into another roonr ; | 
And looking grave I " You musZ," says he, \ 
"Quit your sweet bride', I and come with me/' 


' With you' ! I and quit my Susan's side' ! | 
With you'!" | 'the hapless husband cried/;] 
2 " Young as I am, 't is monstrous hard* / 1 
Beside, in truth, I 'in not prepar'd* : | 
My thoughts on oth'er matters go ; | 
This is my wedding-day, you know." | 

What more he urg'd, I have no* heard*, | 

His reasons could not well be stronger ; | 
So Death the poor delinquent spar'dx, | 

And left to live a little longer. | 
Ye, calling up a serious IOO/D | 
('His hour-glass trembled while he spo&ex) | 
2 " Neighbour," he said, I " farewell. | No more i 
Shall Death disturb your mirthful hour* ; j 
And farther, I to avoid all blame | 
Of cruelty upon my name, | 
To give you time for preparation, | 
And fit you for your future station, | 
Three several warnings you shall have, | 
Before you 're summon'd to the grave v . | 
Willing for once, I '11 quiz my prey, | 

And gran* a kind reprieve\, | 
In hopes you '11 have no more to say* ; j 
Bu, when I call again* this way, | 

Well pleas'd the world will leave/' | 
To these conditions both consented/) 
And parted perfectly contended. | 

What nex the hero of our tale befell, | 
How long he liv'd v , | how wise x , I how well, | 
How roundly he pursued his course, | 
And smok'd his pipe', I and strok'd his horse', I 

The willing muse shall telh : I 
He chaf fer'd then, | he bought, | he soldx, ! 
Nor once perceiv'd* 7iis growing old', I 

Nor thought of Death as near^ ; | 
His friends not false', I his wife no shrew, | 
Many his gains', | his children few/, | 


He pass'd 7tis hours in peace,. | 
Bu, while he view'd his wealth increase, j 
While thus along Life's dusty road, | 
The beaten tracA: contend he trod, \ 
O\d Time, | whose haste no mortal spares, | 
Uncall'd', | unheeded, | unawares^, 

Brought on his eightieth year x . | 
And now, one nigttf, | in musing mood, \ 

As all alone he sate, \ 
The unwelcome messenger of Fate, | 

Once more before him stood. \ 

Half kill'd with anger, and surprise, | 
"So soon return'd'!" I 'old Dodson cries/, | 
2 " So soon, d'ye call it?" I 'Death replies,: | 
3 " Surely, my friend, | you 're but in jes2'/ a | 

Since I was here before | 
'T is six-and-thirty years' ( at leas, b | 

And you are. now fourscore.") 
" So much the worse'," | 'the clown rejoin'dv, j 
2 " To spare the aged would be kind' : j 
However, see your search be le'gal ; | 
And your authority | is 't re'gal ? ! 
Else you are come on a fool's' errand, | 
With but a secretary's warrant | 
Beside', you promis'd me Three Warnings | 
Which I have look'd for nights, and moorings! 
BuZ, for thai loss of time, and ease, | 
I can recover danrages." | 

I know," cries Death, | " that, at the 

I seldom am a wel'come guest; | 

Bu donV be captious, friend, at leas*' : | 

I little thought you'd still be able | 

To stump abouZ your farm 7 , and stable ; | 

Your years have run to a greaZ length' ; | 

I wish you joy, though, of your strength* !" j 

But in jest ; not button jest. b Years at least ; not years'at-least. 


" Hold'," says the farmer, I " no* so fas*> / | 
I have been lame these four years pasi." | 
" And no greai won'der," I Death replies* : | 
" However, you still keep your eyes' ; '[ 
And sure, to see one's loves, and friends, | 
For legs, and arms, would mae amends." | 
" Perhaps," says Dodson, " so it migh^, | 
Bui latterly, I Ve losi my sigh*,." | 

" This is a shocking tale, 't is true, | 

Bui still there 's comfort left 1 for you : | 

Each strives your sadness to amuse | 

I warrant you hear all the news." | 

" There 's none'," cries he ; I " and, if there were, | 

I *m grown so deaf, I could noi hear." I 

" Nay x , then," | the spectre stern rejoin'd*, | 

" These are unjustifiable yearnings ; | 
If you are Lame', and Deaf, and Blind', | 

You 've had' your Three sufficient Warnings. 1 
So, come along', no more* we '11 part ;" 1 
He said, | and touch'd him with Ais dart. | 
And now, old Dodson turning pale, | 
Yields to Ais fate* | so ends my tale v . \ 



Oft has it been my lot to mar& | 
A proud, conceited, talking spar^, | 
With eyes thai hardly serv'd at mos v , | 
To guard their master 'gainsi a posi ( ; | 
Yei round the world the blade has been, | 
To see whatever could be seen* : | 
Returning from his finish'd tour, | 
Grown ten times perter than before x ; | 
Whatever word you chance to drop, | 
The traveled fool your mouth will stop* : | 


" Sir, if my judgment you '11 allow | 
I 've seen | and sure I ough to know." | 
So, begs you 'd pay a due submission, | 
And acquiesce in his decisaon. | 

Two travellers of such a cas, | 
As o'er Arabia's wilds they pass'd, | 
And on their way, in friendly cha, | 
Now talk'd of this', and then of thaZ', | 
Discours'd a while, 'mongs other matter, | 
Of the Chameleon's fornr, | and nature. | 

"A stranger animal," cries one, | 

" Sure never liv'd beneath the sum ! | 

A lizard's body, | lean, and long*, | 

A fish's heads I a serpent's tongue*, | 

Its foot with triple claw disjoin'd j 

And wha a length of tail' behind / | 

How slow , its pace* ! | and then ( its hue v j 

Who ever saw so fine a blue v ?" | 

"Hold x there," I the other quick replies*, | 
" 'T is green' I I saw i* with these eyes', | 
As late with open mouth, it lay, | 
And warm'd it in the sunny ray*; | 
Stretch'J at its eases the beas I view'd', | 
And saw it ea the air for food x ." I 

" I 've seen i, friend, as well as you x , | 
And mus^ again affirm it blue*. | 
A^ leisure, I the beas survey'^', | 
Extended in the cooling shade/' | 

" 'T is green', 't is green', I can assure* ye." 1 
" Green' !" | ! cries the other in a fury/ | 
2 " Whys do you thin& I 've lost my eyes' ?" | 
" 'T were no grea^ loss," the friend replies/, : 
" For, if they always serve you thus', j 
You'll find them bu* of little use/' | 


So high at las* the contest rose', | 
From words they almost came to blowsv : | 
When luckily came by, a third* | 
To him the question they referr'dv; | 
And begg'd he 'd tell them, if Ae knew, | 
Whether the thing was green, or blue . | 

" Sirs," cries the umpire, | " cease your pother; | 
The creature's neither one nor t'other. | 
I caught the animal las* nigh*, | 
And view'd it o'er by can N dle-ligh* : | 
I mark'd i* well | 't was blacfc as je** } 
You stare | bu* I have got \t ye*', | 
And can produce' it." \ " Pray then do* ; | 
For I am sure the thing is blue*." | 

" And I 'IP engage I tha* when you 've seen | 
The reptile, I you '11 pronounce him green." | 
" Well then, a* once to end the doub*," | 
Replies the man, | " I '11 turn Aim ouA ; | 
And, when before your eyes I've se* him, \ 
If you don'* find him blacfc, I I '11 ea*' Aim." I 
He said* ; i then full before their sigh*, j 
Product the beas* x , | an d lo ! 't was whi*e t ! j 

Both stared x : | the man look'd wondrous wise | 
"My children," | Hhe chameleon cries, j 
(Then firs* the creature found a tongue) | 
2 " You all are righ*, I and all are wrong* : | 
When nex* you tal/u of wha* you view, j 
ThinA others see as well as you x : | 
Nor wonder if you find tha* none/ , | 
Prefers your eye-sigh* to Ais own t ." | 




[Written after the death of a sister-in-law. J 

Answer me, burning stars of night 1 ! \ 

Where hath the spirk gone, | 
Tha, past the reach of human sighz, | 

E'en as a breeze, hath flown*? | 
And the stars answerW me, | "We roll 

In ligh, and power on high* ; | 
Butt of the never-dying soul', | 

AsA; things that cannot die x I" | 

O many-toned, and chainless wind x / | 

Thou art a wanderer free 1 , | s n 

Tell me if thou its place canst nnd' t \ 

Far over moun, and sea, 1 \ 
And the wind. murmur's? in reply, - \ 

11 The blue deep I have cross'd', | 
And met its barks, and billows higlv, | 

Bu not \\hat thou has* los v /" | 

Ye clouds tha gorgeously repose | 

Around the setting suns | 
An'swer ! | have ye a home for those | 

Whose earthly race is run'? | 
The bright clouds answer'^, | " We depart, | 

We van'ish from the skyv; | 
AsA; wha* is deathless in thy hear^, | 

For tha* which cannof die v !" | 

SpeaA:, then, thou voice of God within* ! I 

Thou of the deep low tone v ! | 
An swer me ! I through life's restless din', | 

Where hath the spirit flown? | 
And the voice answer 5 ^, | "Be thou still! | 

Enough to know is giv^'n; | 
Clouds, winds, and stars their task fulfil, | 

Thine is to trus in Heav/n I" I 




He is the freeman, whom the truth* makes free ; | 
And all are slaves beside. | There 's not a chain | 
That hellish foes, confederate for his harm, | 
Can wine? around Aim, ! but he caste it off j 
With as much ease as Samson Ais green withes. | 
He looks abroad into the varied field 
Of nature, j and, though poor, perhaps, j compared 
With those whose mansions glitter in his sight, \ 
Calls the delightful scenery all Ais own. | 

His are the mountains ; I and the vaHeys his ; | 

And the resplendent riv'ers : | his to enjoy | 

With a propriety thai none can feel, | 

Bui who, with filial confidence inspired, I 

Can lift to heaven an unpresumptuous eye, | 

And, smiling, say, | " My Father made them all !" ; 

Are they not his by a peculiar 
And by an emphasis of in'teresi his, 
Whose eye they fill with tears of holy joy, | 
Whose heart with praise', | and whose exalted mind 
With worthy thoughts of thai unwearied love | 
Thai planned, and buili, ! and still upholds a world j 
So clothed with beauty, for rebellious 

Yes* | ye may fill your ganners, | ye thai 
The loaded soil*, | and ye may wasie much good 
In senseless ri.oi ; I bui ye will noi find 
In feasi', I or in the chase*, I in song', or dance', j 
A liberty like his, I who, unimpeach'd 
Of usurpation, I and to no man's wrong, | 
Appropriaies nature as Ais Father's wor&, | 
And has a richer use of yours than you. I 
He is indeed* a freeman : I free by birth* 
Of no mean city, I plann'd or ere the hills* 


Were built, | the fountains o^pen'd, | or the sea' I 
With all his roaring multitude of waves. I 

His freedom is the same in ev^ry state ; | 
And no condition of this changeful life, | 
So manifold in cares, | whose ev'ry day 
Brings its own evil with it, \ makes it less^ ; | 
For he has wings | thai neither sickness', pain', 
Nor pen N ury | can cripple, or confine* : | 
No nook so narrow | bui he spreads them there 
With ease v , I and is at large* : | the oppressor holds 
His body bound, | but knows not whai a range 
His spirit ta&es, | unconscious of a chain* ; I 
And thai to bind him, | is a vain attempt, j 
Whom God delights in, | and in whom he dwells/ 1 


There came to the beach, a poor exile of E x rin ; | 

The dew on his thin ro&e, was heavy, and chill ; j 
For his country he sigh'd when at twilight repairing, J 

To wander alone by the wind-beaten hilh | 
But the day-star attracted his eye's sad devotion ; | 
For it rose on his own native isle of the ocean, | 
Wheve once, in the fervour of youth's warm emotion, | 
He sung the bold anthem of Erin go bragh. | 

Sad is my fate ! (said the heart-broken stranger) | 
The wild-deer, and wolf to a covert can flee ; | 

Bui I have no refuge from famine, and dagger : | 
A home, and a country remain not to me 4 j 

Never again in the green sunny bowers, | 

Where my forefathers liv'd, I shall I spend the swee* 
hourss | 

Or cover my harp with the wild-woven flowers, ] 
And stride to the numbers of Erin go bragh t ! ] 


Erin, my country ! | though sad, and forsaken, | 

In dreams' I revisit thy sea-beaten shore ; | 
Bui, alas ! in a far foreign land, I awaken, | 

And sigh for the friends thai can meet me no more t . | 
O cruel fate ! I wili thou never replace me j 
In a mansion of peace I where no perils can chase' me? j 
Never again shall my brothers embrace^ me, | 
They died to defend me, | or live to deplore, ! j 

Where is my cab v in-door, | fast by the wildv wood ? \ 

Sisters, and sire, did ye weep for its fall' ? | 
Where is the mother thai look'd on my child v hood ? \ 
And where is the bosom-friend, dearer than all. ? | 
O my sad soul ! long abandon'd by pleasure, | 
Why did it dote on a fasi-fading treasure ! | 
Tears, like the rain'-drops, may fall withoui measure; j 
Bui rapture, and beauty they caimoi recall^, j 

Yei all its fond recollections suppressing, | 

One dying wish my lone bosom shall draw* : | 
Erin ! an exile bequeaths thee fas blessing ! | 

Land of my forefathers ! I Erin go braghx ! | 
Buried, and cold, when my heari stills Aer motion, | 
Green be thy fields, sweetesi isle of the o'cean ! \ 
And thy harp-striking bards sing aloud with devotion | 
Erin ma vournin ! | Erin go bragh t !* | 



Noi a drum was heard, nor a funeral noies | 
As Ais corse to the rampari we hurried ; I 

Noi a soldier discharg'd his farewell shoi x | 
O'er the grave where our hero we buried. | 

* Ireland my darling ! Ireland for ever ! 


We buried Mm darkly ai dead of nighi x , I 
The sods with our bayonets turning, I 

By the struggling moonbeam's misty lighf, | 
And the lantern dimly burning. | 

No useless coffin enclos'd fas breast, j 

Nor in sheei, nor in shroud, we bound* him ; | 
Bui he lay like a warrior taking his rest, \ 

With Ais martial cloa/c around Aim. | 
Few, and shori were the prayers we said; | 

And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; | 
Bui we steadfastly gaz'd on the face of the dead; | 

And we bitterly thoughi of the morrow. | 

We thought, as we hallow'd Ais narrow bed, | 

And smooth'd down Ais lonely pillow, 
Thai the foe, and the stranger would tread o'er %is 
head ; | 

And we far away on the billow. | 
Lightly they '11 tal& of the spirit that *s gone, | 

And o'er Ais cold ashes upbraid Aim ; | 
Bui nothing he '11 reck, if they let him sleep on | 

In the grave where a Briton has laid Aim. | 

Bui half of our heavy tas& was done, | 

When the clocA; told the hour for retiring ; | 
And we knew by the distant, and random gun, | 

Thai the foe was sullenly firing. | 
Slowly, and sadly we laid Aim down | 

From the field of Ais fame, fresh, and gory : | 
We carv'd not a line*, | we rais'd not a stone*, | 

Bui left him alone in Ais glory. | 



The universe may be considered I as the palace in 
which the De v ity resides ; | and the earth, as one of its 


apartments. I In this, all the meaner races of animated 
nature I mechanically obey x him ; I and stand ready to 
execute his commands without hesitation. | Man alone 
is found refractory: | he is the only being, I endued 
with a power of contradicting these mandates, i The 
Deity was pleased to exert superior power I in creating 
him a superior be v ing; I a being endued with a choice 
of good, and e v vil ; | and capable, in some measure, | of 
co-operating with his own intentions. | Man, there- 
fore, | may be considered as a limited creature, | en- 
dued with powers, I imitative of those residing in the 
Deity. I He is thrown into a world tha stands in need 
of his help x ; I and he has been granted a power I of pro- 
ducing harmony from partial confusion. ! 

If, therefore, we consider the earth | as allotted for 
our habitation, | we shall find, that much has been 
given us to enjoy, ! and much to amend* ; i that we have 
ample reasons for our gratitude, | and many for our in- 
dustry. | In those great outlines of nature, I to which 
lit cannot reach, | and where our greatest efforts must 
nave been ineffectual, | God himself has finished every 
thing | with amazing grandeur, and beauty. I Our 
beneficent Father | has considered these parts of nature 
as peculiarly his own* ; | as parts which no creature | 
could have skill, or strength to amend^ ; | and he has, 
therefore, made them incapable of alteration, I or of 
more perfect regularity. | The heavens, and the firma- 
ment | show the wisdom, and the glory of the Work- 
man. | Astronomers, who are best skilled in the sym- 
metry of systems, | can find nothing there tha* they can 
alter for the better. ! God made these perfect, I be- 
cause no subordinate being | could correct their defects. 

When, therefore, | we survey nature on this side, | 
nothing can be more splendid, more correct, or amaz- 
ing. | We there behold a Deity | residing in the midst 
of a universe, I infinitely extended ev'ery way, I animat- 
ing all, I and cheering the vacuity with his presence. | 
We behold an immense, and shapeless mass of matter, j 



formed into worlds by his power, I and dispersed a* in- 
tervals, | to which even the imagination cannoZ travel. I 
In this grea* theatre of fas glory, I a thousand suns, 
like our own, | animate their respective systems, | ap- 
pearing, and vanishing &t Divine command. | We be- 
hold our own bright luminary, i fixed in the centre of 
its system, I wheeling its planets in times proportioned 
to their distances, | and ait once dispensing ligh, heat, 
and action. 1 The earth also is seen with its twofold 
motion ; I producing by the one, the change of seasons ; | 
and, by the other, the grateful vicissitudes of day, and 
nigh*. I With what silent magnificence is all this per- 
formedv / j with wha seeming ease v ! I The works of 
art are exerted with interrupted force; | and their 
noisy progress discovers the obstructions they receive. ; | 
but the earth, with a silent, steady rotation, | succes- 
sively presents every part of its bosom to the sun- ; | at 
once imbibing nourishment, and Yight | from that parent 
of vegetation, and fertility. | 

Bu not only provisions of hea, and ligh^ are thus 
supplied ; | the whole surface of the earth is covered 
with a transparent atmosphere | thaZ turns with its 
motion, | and guards it from external injury. | The 
rays of the sun are thus broken into a genial warmtlr; | 
and, while the surface is assisted, | a gentle heaZ is pro- 
duced in the bowels of the earth, | which contributes to 
cover it with verdure. | Waters also are supplied in 
healthful abundance, | to support life, and assist vegeta- 
tion. | Mountains rise to diversify the prospect, I and 
give a current to the stream. | Seas extend from one 
continent to the other, | replenished with animals tha 
may be turned to human support; | and also serving to 
enrich the earth with a sufficiency of vapour. | Breezes 
fly along the surface of the fields, | to promote health, 
and vegetation. I The coolness of the evening invites 
to res*' ; | and the freshness of the morning renews for 
labour. ) 

Such are the delights of the habitation I tha* has been 


assigned to man* : | without any one of these, | he must 
have been wretched ; | and none of these | could h is 
own industry have supplied. | Bui while, on the one 
hand, | many of Ais wants are thus kindly furnished, | 
there are, on the other, | numberless inconveniences to 
excise Ais industry. I This habitation, I though provided 
with all the conveniences of air, pasturage, and water, | 
is but a desert place, without human cultivation. I The 
lowesi an'imal finds more conveniences in the wilds of 
nature, I than he who boasis himself their lord. | The 
whirlwind, the inundation, and all the asperities of the 
air, | are peculiarly terrible to man, I who knows their 
consequences, | and, at a distance, dreads their ap- 
proach. | The earth itself, I where human art has noi 
pervaded, I puts on a frightful, gloomy appearance. | 
The forests are dar&, and tangled ; | the meadows are 
overgrown with rank weeds' ; | and the brooks stray 
withoui a determined channel. I Nature, thai has baen 
kind to every lower order of beings, | seems to have 
been neglectful with regard to him* : | to the savage 
uncontriving man, | the earth is an abode of desolation, | 
where Ais shelter is insufficient, | and Ais food preca- 
rious. | 

A world, thus furnished with advantages on one side, | 
and inconveniences on the other, I is the proper abode 
of reason, | and the fittest to exercise the industry | of 
a free, and a thinking creature. These evils, which 
art can remedy, and prescience a guard againsi, | are 
a proper call for the exertion of Ais faculties ; I and 
they tend still more | to assimilate Aim to Ais Creator. | 
God beholds, with pleasure, 1 thai being which Ae has 
made, | converting the wretchedness of Ais natural situa- 
tion | into a theatre of trrumph ; | bringing all the head- 
long tribes of nature I into subjection to Ais wilL ; I and 
producing thai order, and uniformity upon earth, | 
of which his own heavenly fabric is so brighi an ex- 
ample. | 




The secretary stood alone, : | modern degeneracy had 
not reached him. \ Original, and unaccommodating, | 
the features of Ms character, had the hardihood of an- 
tiquity. | His august mind over-awed majesty ;) and 
one of his sovereigns' 1 I thought royalty so impaired in 
his presence, I thai he conspired to remove him \ in order 
to be relieved from 7iis superiority. | No state chica'- 
nery, b | no narrow system of vicious politics, I no idle 
contest for ministerial victories, I sunk him to the vul- 
gar level of the great,; | but over-bearing, persuasive, 
and impracticable, 1 his object was England, I his am- 
bition was fame^. | 

Without dividing, he destroyed^ party ; I without cor- 
rupting, he made a venal age unanimous. France 
sunA: beneath him. \ With one hand he smote the house 
of Bourbon, | and wielded in the other, the democracy 
of England, j The sigh* of his mind was infinite ; I and 
his schemes were to affect, j not England, not the pre- 
sent age only, | but Europe, and posterity. | Wonder- 
ful were the means by which these schemes were ac- 
complished | always seasonable, I always adequate, | 
the suggestions of an understanding | animated by ar- 
dour, | and enlightened by prophecy. | 

The ordinary feelings which make life amiable, and 
indolent, | were unknown^ to him. \ No domestic diffi- 
culties, | no domestic weakness reached him] \ but f 
aloof from the sordid occurrences of life, | and unsul- 
lied by its intercourse, | he came occasionally into our 
system, | to counsel, and to decide. | 

A character so exalted, | so strenuous, I so various, | 
so authoritative, 1 astonished a corrupt age I and the 
treasury trembled at the name of Pitt \ through all her 
classes of venality. I Corruption imagined, indeed, | 

* Sftv'er-lni. b Sh-ki'nftr-r. c Untractable. 


thai she had found defects' in this statesman, 1 and 
talked much of the inconsistency of his glory, | and 
much of the ruin of his victories; | but the history of 
Ais country, | and the calamities of the enemy, | an- 
swered, and refuted Aer. | 

Nor were //is political abilities Ais only talents: | his 
eloquence was an era in the senate, I peculiar, and 
spontaneous, | familiarly expressing gigantic sentiments,] 
and instinctive wis^dom ; i noi like the torrent of De- 
mosthenes, | or the splendid conflagration of TuHy ; | it 
resembled sometimes the thunder, 1 and sometimes the 
music of the spheres. | Li&e Murray, I he did noi con- 
duct the understanding | through the painful subtlety 
of argumentation ; | nor was Ae, like Townshend, | for 
ever on the racJt of exertion ; I but rather lightened 
upon the subject, | and reached the poini by the flash- 
ings of the mind', | which, like those of Ais eye, | were 
felt, but could no* be followed. | 

Upon the whole, I there was in this man something 
thai would create', | subvert', or refornv ; | an under- 
standing, | a spirit, I and an eloquence, I to summon 
mankind to society, | or to break the bonds of slavery 
asun v der, | something to rule the wilderness of free 
minds I with unbounded authority; | something that 
could establish, I or overwhelm* empire, | and stride a 
blow in the World, | thai should resound through the 
universe. | 



SCENE A Room in the Tower of London. 


Brack. Why looks your grace so heaVily to-day ? | 
Clar. O I have pass'd a miserable nighiv, | 

So full of fearful dreams, I of ugly sights, | 

Thai, as I am a Christian faithful man, | 


I would not spend another such a nighi, | 
Though 't were to buy a work? of happy days* : | 
So full of dismal terror was the time x . | 

Brack. Whai was v your dream, my lord'? \ I pray 
you, tell x me. | 

Clar. Methoughi that I had broken from the tow'er, ) 
And had embark'd to cross to Burgundy; | 
And, in my company, my brother Glos v ter, | 
Who from my cabin, | tempted me to walA; 
Upon the hatches ; | thence we look'd toward England , | 
And cited up a thousand heavy times, | 
During the wars of Yor&, and Lancaster, | 
Thai had befallen us. I As we pac'd along 
Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, j 
Methoughi that Gloster stunrbled, I and, in falling, 
Struck me I thai thought to stay him, \ oVer-board | 
Into the tumbling billows of the main. | 
O methoughi whai pain it was to drowiix ! | 
Whai dreadful noise of water in mine ears' ! a I 
Whai sights of ugly death within mine eyes* ! b I 
Methoughi I saw a thousand fearful wrecks', | 
A thousand men x that fishes gnaw'd* upon, | 
Wedges of gold', | greai anchors, I heaps of pearl , I 
Inestimable stones^ I unvalued jew v els, | 
All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea^. | 
^ome lay in dead men's skulls. ; I 2 and, in those holes 
Where eyes did once inhabit, | there were crepi, 
(As 't were in scorn of eyes) | reflecting gems v | 
Thai woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, | 
And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by. | 

Brock. Had you such leisure in the time of death, j 
To gaze upon these secrets of the deep' ? \ 

Clar. Methoughi I had v ; ! and often did I strive 
To yield the ghosiv/ | but still the envious flood 
Kepi in my soul, | and would not let it forth | 
To seek the empty, vast, and wand'ring ain, | 
Bui smother'd it within my panting bulA;, | 
Which almost bu?-si to belch it in the sea. I 

Mine ears ; not mine-nears. b Mine eyes ; not mine-nize. 


Brack Awak'd you not with this sore ag'ony ? | 
Clar. O no , ! my dream was lengthened after life* ; | 

then began the tempest to my soul* : | 

1 pass'd, methoughi, the melancholy flood | 
With thai grim ferryman which poets write of, | 
Unto the kingdom of perpetual nighi. | 

The firs* that there did greet my stranger soul, I 
Was my great fa'ther-in-law, I renowned Warwick, | 
Who cried aloud, I " Whai scourge for perjury | 
Can this dark monarchy I afford false Clarence?" | 
And so ^ he vanished, i Then came wand'ring by ! 
A shadow like an an'gel, I with bright hair 
Dabbled in blood*; I and he shriek'd out aloud, | 
" Clar'ence is come, | falses fleet'ing, perjur'd Clarence! 
That stabb'd me in the field by Tewks x bury ; I 
Seize on him, fuVies, | take him to your torments !" | 
With thai, methoughi a legion of foul fiends 
Envrron'd me, | and howled in mine ears 
Such hideous cries,) thai, with the very noise', | 
I trembling wak'ds | and, for a season after, I 
Could noi believe bui that I was in helK, | 
Such terrible impression made my dream v . ) 

Brack. No marvel, lord, that it affrighted you J 
I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it. | 

Clar. O Brackenbury, I have done these things | 
Thai now give evidence againsi my soul, | 
For Ed v ward's sake ; I and, see how he requites me ! j 
I pray thee, gentle keeper, I stay by x me | 
My soul is heav\y, I and I fain would sleep v . ! 

Brack. I will, my lord. | [clareilce reposes * iffiself on a chair ' 
Sorrow breaks seasons, and repo\sing hours, | 
Makes the nighi morning, | and the noon-tide nighi. v J 
Princes have but their titles for their glo x ries | 
An outward honour for an inward toil ; | 
And, for unfeli imaginations, | 
They often feel a world of restless caresx : | 
So thai, between their titles, I and low name, j 
There *s nothing differs I but the outward fame . J 
25 T 


(H. WARE, JUN.) 

With whai a stately, and majestic step | 

Thai glorious constellation of the north ] 

Treads its eternal circle ! | going forth 

Its princely way amongst the stars 1 in slow, 

And silent brightness. | Mighty one, all-hail' ! I 

I joy to see thee, on thy glowing path, | 

WalA: like some stoui, and girded grani | stern, 

Unwearied, res oluie, I whose toiling fooi 

Disdains to loiter on its destined way. ] 

The other tribes forsake their midnight tracA;, ) 

And rest their weary orbs beneath the wave x ; 

Bui thou dosi never close thy burning eye, | 

Nor stay thy steadfast step. I Rut on,, \ still on% | 

While systems change, | and suns retire, I and worlds 

Slumber, and wake, | thy ceaseless march proceeds. | 

The near horizon tempos to rest in vain. | 

Thou, faithful sentinel, | dosi never quit 

Thy long-appointed watch ; i bui, sleepless still, ] 

Dosi guard the fix'd light of the universe, | 

And bid the north for ever know its place, j 

Ages have witness'd thy devoted trusi, ] 

Unchang'd, unchanging. | When the sons of God | 

Seni forth that shoui of joy, ! which rang thro' heaven, j 

And echoed from the outer spheres thai bound 

The illimitable universe, | thy voice 

Join'd the high chorus ; | from thy radiant orbs | 

The glad cry sounded, I swelling to his praise, | 

Who thus had cast another sparkling gem, | 

Little, but beautiful, | amid the crowd 

Of splendours | thai enrich his firmameni. | 

As thou art now I so wast thou then x , the same, j 

Ages have roll'd their course ; | and time grown greyx; J 
The seas have chang'd their beds' ; | the eternal hills 


Have stoop'd with age* ; 1 the solid continents 

Have left their banks* ; | and man's imperial works | 

The toil, pride, strength of kingdoms, I which had flung 

Their haughty honours in the face of heaven, | 

As if immortal | have been swepZ away x | 

Shatter'd, and mouldering, | buried, and forgot | 

Bu time has shed no dimness on thy front, | 

Nor touched the firmness of thy tread*: | youth, strength, 

And beauty still are thine | as clear, as bright | 

As when the Almighty Former sent thee forth, | 

Beautiful offspring of his curious skill, | 

To watch earth's northern beacon, I and proclaim 

The eternal chorus of Eternal Love. I 

I wonder as I gaze. I Thai stream of ligh, | 

Undimm'd, unquench'd 4 , i just as I see thee now, | 

Has issued from those dazzling points, | thro* years 

Tha2 go bac& far into eternity. | 

Exhaustless a flood / | for ever spent, \ renew'd x 

For ever ! | Yea, and those refulgent drops, j 

Which now descend upon my lifted eye, | 

Left their far fountain twice three years ago. | 

While those wing'd particles | whose speed outstrips 

The flight of thought, j were on their way, I the earth 

Compass'd its tedious circuit round, and round, | 

And in the extremes of annual change, 1 beheld 

Six autumns fade 1 , 1 six springs renew their bloom* : | 

So far from earth those mighty orbs revolve*! | 

So vas* the void through which their beams descend v / 1 

Yea, glorious lamps of God, I he may have quench'd' 
Your ancient flames, I and bid eternal nigh** 
Res on your spheres* ; ! and yet no tidings reach 
This distant planet. | Messengers still come, | 
Laden with your far fire, I and we may seem 
To see your lights still burning ; I while their blaze ! 
Hut hides the black wreck of extinguished realms^, | 
Where anarchy, and darkness long have reign'd. | 

Egi-hst'ls ; not gi-zist'ls. k Re-ftl'd^nt ; not r-fiU'(Mnt. 


Ye whai is this 1 which to the astonish'd mind 
Seems measureless, j and which the baffled though? 
Confoundsv ? | A sparr, | a poin^, | in those domains 
Which the keen eye can traverse. | Seven stars 
Dwell in thai brilliant cluster; I and the sighi 
Embraces all at once*; I yet each from each | 
Recedes as far as each of them from earth 4 | 
And ev'ry star from ev'ry other burns 
No less remote^. | 

From the profound of heaven, | 
Untravell'd e'en in thought, | keen, piercing rays 
Dart through the void, | revealing to the sense | 
Systems, and worlds unnumber'd. | Ta&e the glass, 
And search the skies. | The opening skies pour down 
Upon your gaze, | thick showers of sparkling firex | 
Stars, crowded, | throng'd', | in regions so remote, | 
Thai their swift beams | the swiftest things thai be x j 
Have travell'd centuries on their flight to earth. | 
Earth, sun, and nearer constellations, I whai 
Are ye', I amid this infinite extend, I 
And multitude of God's most infinite works ! | 

And these are suns* ! I vasi, central, living fires v , | 
Lords of dependent systems, | kings of worlds* I 
Thai wail as satellites upon their power, I 
And flourish in their smile x . | Awa/re my soul, | 
And meditate the wonder ! I Countless suns 
Blaze round thee, I leading forth their countless worlds^! } 
Worlds in whose bosoms living things rejoice, | 
And drink the bliss of being I from the founi 
Of all-pervading Love. | 

Whai mind can know, | 

Whai tongue can utter, all their multitudes ! I 
Thus numberless in numberless abodes ! | 
Known but to thee, bless 'd Father ! I Thine they are, ; 
Thy children, and thy carev ; I and none o'erlook'd* 
Of thee ! I no, not the humblest soul 1 thai dwells 
Upon the humblesi globe | which wheels its course 


Amid the gian* glories of the sky, | 
Li&e the mean mote that dances in the beam J 
Amongsl the mirror'd lamps I which fling 
Their wasteful splendour from the palace wall. | 
None, none escape the kindness of thy care^; | 
All compass 'd underneath thy spacious wings j 
Each fee?, and guided. by thy powerful hand . | 

Tell me, ye splendid orbs, a ] as from your throne, | 
Ye mark the rolling provinces that own 
Your sway, | wha* beings fill those bright abodes J j 
How form'd^ | how gifted | what their powders j 

their state* | 

Their hap'piness | their wisvdom ? | Do they bear 
The stamp of human na'ture? I Or has God 
Peopled those purer realms | with lovelier forms, | 
And more celestial minds\ ? | Does Innocence 
Still wear Aer native, and untainted bloom' ? | 
Or has Sin breath'd his deadly blight abroad, | 
And sow'd corruption in those fairy bow>ers ? | 

Has War trod o'er them with his foot of fire' ; | 

And Slavery forg'd his chains' ; I and Wrath, and Hate, | 

And sordid Selfishness, | and cruel Lus, I 

Leagued their base bands | to tread out light, and truth, | 

And scatter'd wo where Heaven had planted joy' ? J 

Or are they yet all Par'adise, I unfallen, 

And uncorrup^ ? \ existence 13 one long joy, | 

Without disease upon the frame, I or sin 

Upon the heart, or weariness of life\ | 

Hope never quench'ds | and age unknown', | 

And death unfear'd x ; | while fresh, and fadeless youth j 

Glows in the lighz from God's near throne of love v ? \ 

Open your lips', ye wonderful, and fair ! | 

Speaks ! speak' ! I the mysteries of those living worlds 

Unfold'/ | Nolan'guage? I Everlasting JighZ, 

Splendid orbs ; not splendid dorbs. b Eg-21st'ns ; not g-iist'- 



And everlasting si'lence ? I Ye the eye 
May read, and understand. I The hand of God \ 
Has written legibly whaZ man may know, | 
The glory of the Maker. | There it shines, 
Ineffable, I unchangeable ; | and man, I 
Bound to the surface of this pigmy glo&e, | 
May know, and asA; no more. | 

In other days, j 

When death shall give the encumber'd spirit wings, 
Its range shall be extend*ed ; | it shall roam, 
Perchance, | amongst those vas, mysterious spheres, 
Shall pass from orb to orb, \ and dwell in eaclr, ] 
Familiar with its children, i learn their laws, | 
And share their states I and study, and adore | 
The infinite varieties of bliss, 
And beauty, I by the hand of Power Divine, ! 
Lavish'd on all its works. | 


Shall thus roll on | with ever fresh delight; | 
No pause of pleasure, or improvement ; | world 
On world J still opening to the instructed mind | 
An unexhausted* 1 u'niverse, and time 
Bu adding to its glo v ries ; | while the soul, | 
Advancing ever to the Source of lighZ, 
And all perfection, | lives', adores', and reigns*, | 
In cloudless knowledge, pu'rity, and bliss^. | 



The turf shall be my fragrant shrinev ; | 
My temple, Lord, thaZ arch' of thine ; | 
My censer's breath, the mountain airs', | 
And silent thoughts, my only pray x ers. | 

My choir shall be the moonlight waves', j 
When murmuring homeward to their caves*; 

Un-6gi-h&st'd ; not ftn-gi-zist'd. 


Or when the stillness of the sea', | 

E'en more x than music breathes of thee.. | 

I Ml seek, by day, some glade unknowns | 
All \ight, and silence, Yike thy thrones, | 
And the pale stars shall be, at night', \ 
The only eyes that watch my rite v . | 

Thy heaven, on which 't is bliss to looA;', | 
Shall be my pure, and shining book., \ 
Where I shall read, in words of flame% | 
The glories of thy wondrous name . | 

I Ml read thy anger in the rack 1 \ 

That clouds awhile the day x -beam's track, ; j 

Thy mercy, in the azure hue' | 

Of sunny brightness, breaking through v . ] 

There 's nothing bright, above', belowv, j 
From flowers that bloom', to stars that glow, 
'But in its light my soul can see | 
Some feature of thy Deity ! | 

There 's nothing dar/c, below', above x , | 
Bu in its gloom I trace thy love* ; | 
And meekly wai that moment, when | 
Thy touch shall turn all bright again. | 



PIZARRO and DAVILLA in conversation. 

[Enter GOMEZ.] 

Piz. How now, Gomez ! | what bring'est thou ? I 
Gom. On yonder hill, among the palm-trees, I we 
have surprised an old cacique^*: I escape by flight he 
could not, | and we seized him, and his attendant un- 

K&s-s&k', a prince, or nobleman, among the Indians. 


resisting ; | yet his lips breathed nought but bitterness, 
and scorn. 1 

Piz. Drag Aim before us. | 

[GOMEZ leaves the tent, and returns, conducting ORO- 
ZEMBO, and attendants, in chains, guarded.] 

What art v thou, stranger ? | 

Oro. First tell me which among you, is the cap'tain 
of this band of robbers. I 

Piz. Ha ! I 

Dav. Mad'man ! I tear out Ais tongue^ or else j 

Oro. Thou '\t hear some truth. | 

Dav. (showing his poignard.) Shall I not plunge this into 
his heart' ? I 

Oro. (topizarro.) Does your army boasZ many such 
heroes as* this' ? | 

Piz. Audacious I | This insolence has sealed thy 
dooniv : | die thou shal^, grey-headecj ruffian. | Bu firs* 
confess what thou knowes. | 

Oro. I know thai which thou hasZ just assured* me 
of | tha* I shall die. | 

Piz. Less audacity, perhaps, | might have preserved 
thy life. | 

Oro. My life is as a withered tree x : I it is not worth* 
preserving. | 

Piz. Hear me, old man. | Even now v , we march 
against the Peruvian army. | We know -there is a 
secret path I thai leads to your strong-hole? among the 
rocks* : | guide us to tha^, | and name thy reward. | If 
wealth be thy wish | 

Oro. Ha! ha! ha!| 

Piz. Dost thou despise my offer ? | 

Oro. Thee, and thy offer. | Wealth ! I I have the 
wealth of two dear gallant sonss I I have stored in 
heaven, the riches which repay good actions here' ; 
and still my chiefes treasure do I bear abouZ v me. | 

Piz. What is tha\ ? | Infornr me. I 

Oro. I will* ; | for it never can be thine^ I the trea- 
sure of a pure, unsullied conscience, j 


Piz. I believe there is no other Peruvian who dares 
speak as thoir dost. | 

Oro. Would I could believe there is no other Span- 
iard who dares act as thou x dost. | 

Gom. Obdurate Pagan ! | How numerous is your 
army ? | 

Oro. CounJ the leaves of yonder fores*. I 

Dav. Which is the weakest part of your camp ? \ 

Oro. It has x no wea& part ; I on every side 't is forti- 
fied by justice. | 

Piz. Where have you concealed your wives, and 
children ? | 

Oro. In the hearts of their husbands, and their fa- 
thers. | 

Piz. KnowesZ thou Alonzo ? I 

Oro. Know him ? I Alonzo ? I Know Aim ? ! Our 
nation's benefactor ! I The guardian angel of Peru* ! | 

Piz. By wha* has he merited that title ? j 

Oro. By not resembling thee. | 

Dav. Who is this RoHa, joined with Alonzo in com- 
mand ? \ 

Oro. I will answer thaZ ; I for I love to hear, and to 
repeal the hero's name. Rolla, the kinsman of the 
king, | is the idol of our army; | in war, a tiger, | chafed 
by the hunter's spear, ; I in peace, | more gentle than 
the unweaned lamb. | Cora was once betrothed* to 
Aim ; I but finding that she preferred Alonzo, | he re- 
signed Ais claim*, | and, I fear, his peace*, | to friendship, 
and to Cora's happiness ; I jet still he loves her with a 
pure, and holy fire. | 

Piz. Romantic savage! I I shall mee^ this Rolla 
soon'. | 

Oro. Thou hadsZ better not. | The terrors of his 
noble eye would strike thee dead. I 

Dav. Silence ! or trenrble ! | 

Oro. Beardless robber ! | I never yet have trembled 
before man' : I why should I tremble before thee', | thou 
less x than man ! I 


Dav Another word, audacious heathen, and I stride. ; 

Oro. Stride', Christian! I Then boas* among thy 
fellows 1 1 too have murdered a Peruvian ! | 

Dav. Ven'geance seize x thee ! [stabs him 

Ph. Hold' ! | 

Dav. CouldsZ thou longer have endured Ais insults ? | 

Piz. And therefore should he die untortured ? \ 

Oro. True* ! I Observe, young man', I your unthink- 
ing rashness | has saved me from the rac& x ; land you 
yourself have lost the opportunity of a useful lesson : | 
you migh have seen with wha cruelty | vengeance 
would have inflicted torments I and with wha* pa- 
tience | virtue would have borne them. I 

[OROZEMBO is borne off, dying. 

Piz. Away v ! | Davilla, if thus rash a second 

time j 

Dav. Forgive the hasty indignation which ] 

Piz. No more x . I Unbind that trembling wretch : | 
let him depart ; | 't is well he should report the mercy | 
which we show to insolent defiance. I Hark N ! | Our 

, and guides approach. I [Soldiers march through the tents. 

Follow me, friends ! | Each shall have his post as- 
signed ; | and ere Peruvians god shall sink beneath the 
main, | the Spanish banners, bathed in blood, | shall 
floa above the walls of vanquished Quito. a | 


Launch thy bark\ Mariner ! | 

Christian, God speed* thee! 
Le loose the rud x der-bands 

Good angels leadx thee! | 
Se* thy sails wa'rily, | 

Tem^pesifs will come\ ; I 
Steer thy course stead v ily, I 

Christian, steer homex ! I 


Loo& to the weath'er-bow, | 

Breakers are round thee; | 
Lei fall the plum v me now, | 

Shallows may ground thee. | 
Reef in the fore'-sail, there* ! | 

Hold the helm* fasfj I 
Sov I let the vessel ware' | 

There swepi the blas v . | 

Wha of the nigh v , watch'man ? J 

What of the nigh^ ? \ 
'Cloudy | all quLeJ J 

No land' yet \ all 's right,.' | 
Be wake'ful, I be vig'ilanZ | 

Danger may be | 
At an hour when all seemeth j 

Secures* to thee. | 

How* ! 1 gains the leaA: so fas*' ? \ 

Clean out the holc?v | 
Hois* up thy merchandise, | 

Heave out thy gold v ; I 
Thera I let the ingots go v | 

Now the ship rights v ; | 
Hurrah^ ! | the harbour 's near* | 

Lo, the red lights^! | 

Slacken not sail yet' \ 

At \nlet or isl^anc? ; | 
Straight for the bea v con a steer, | 

Straight for the highland; | 
Crowe? all thy can x vass on*, | 

Cu^ through the foanr I 
Christian ! cas an'chor now^ | 

Heaven is thy home t ! | 





The curfew tolls^ | the knell of parting day t ! | 
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea x ; | 

The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, j 
And leaves the world to darkness, and to me x . j 

Now fades the glimm'ring landscape* on the sigh^, 
And all the air a solemn stillness holds', | 

Save where the beetle wheejs his droning flight', j 
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds, : \ 

Save, thaZ from yonder ivy-rnantled tower, | 
The moping owl does to the moon complain j 

Of such as, wand'ring near 7*er secret bower, | 
Molest her ancient, solitary reign. 

Beneath those rugged elms' ; I that yew-tree's shades I 
Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap', | 

Each in fas narrow cell for ever laid', | 
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep v . | 

The breezy call of incense-breathing morns | 

The swallow, twitt'ring from the straw-buik shedv, | 

The cock's shrill cla'rion, or the echoing honr, | 
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed v . | 

For them no more the blazing hearth^ shall burn, | 
Or busy housewife 6 ply her evening cam ; | 

Nor children run to lisp their sire's retunr, | 
Or climb fas knees', the envied kiss v to share. | 

Oft did the harvest to their sicHe yieldv/ | 

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe x has broAe*; | 

How jocund did they drive their team afield'! j 

How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroA;e x ! | 

"L&nd'skip; not Idnd'sklp. b H&i'wlf. 


Let not ambition mock their useful toil, ] 
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure* ; | 

Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile', | 
The short, and simple annals of the poor ( . | 

The boas* of heraldry, I the pomp of pow'er, | 

And all that beauty, all that wealth' , e'er gavev, | 

A waif, ali&e, the inevitable noun | 

The paths of glory n lead but to the grave v . | 

Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fauk,, | 
If mem'ry o'er their tomb no trophies raise', } 

Wherethrough the long-drawn aisle, arid fretted vault', j 
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise v . | 

Can storied urn, or animated bus*', 

BacA: to its mansion call the fleeting breatL 1 \ 

Can honour's voice provoAe the silent dus x , | 
Or flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death/h 

Perhaps in this neglected spo, is laid' | 

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire x ; | 

Hands that the rod of enVpire might have sway'd*, ] 
Or waA-'d to ecstasy the living lyre x . | 

Bu knowledge to their eyes Aer ample page 7 , | 
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll ; | 

Chill penury repress'd x their noble rage', | 
And froze the genial current of the souK | 

Full many a gem of purest ray serene-, | 

The dark, unfathom'd caves of o v cean ( bean ; | 

Full many a flow er ( is born to blush unseen 1 , | 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air t . a | 

Some village Hampden that, with dauntless breast, | 
The little tyrant of his fields^ withstoodv ; | 

Some mute, inglorious MiHon, here may rest 1 ; | 
Some CronVwell, guiltless of //is country's blood. | 

a Desert air ; not dez-zer-tair. 


The applause of listening senates to command', | 
The threats of pain, and ruin to despises | 

To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land', 

And read their hist'ry in a nation's eyes', ; 

Their lot forbade* I nor circumscrib'd alone' | 
Their growing virtues ; j but, their crimes' confin'd 1 , 

Forbade to wade through slaughter to a thrones ! 
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind* ; | 

The struggling pangs of conscious truth* to hide*, | 
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shames | 

Or heap the shrine of luxury, and pride', | 
With incense kindled at the muse's flame x . | 

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife', I 
(' Their sober wishes never learn'd x to stray,) 

2 Along the cool, sequester'd vale of life', | 
They kep the noiseless tenor of their way x . | 

e'en these bones, from insuk to protect, | 
Some frail memorial still', erected nigh', | 
With uncouth rhymes, and shapeless sculpture deck'd', | 
Implores the passing tribute of a sigtu | 

Their names', their years', spell'd by the unletter'd muse',| 
The place of fame, and elegy, supply* ; | 

And many a holy text around she strews', | 
Thai teach the rustic moralist to die x . | 

For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, | 

This pleasing, anxious being e'er resign'd', | 

Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, | 
Nor cast one longing, ling'ring looA: behind v ? \ 

On some fond breast the parting soul relies' ; | 
Some pious drops the closing eye requires* ; | 

E'en from the tomb v , the voice of nature cries', \ 
E'en in our ash v es live their wonted fires x . | 


For thee who, mindful of the unhonour'd dead', i 
DOS* in these lines their artless tale relate', | 

If, chance, by lonely contemplation led', | 
Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate', | 

Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, | 
" Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn', | 

Brushing, with hasty step, the dews away, | 
To mee the sun upon the upland lawn^. | 

There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech' | 
Thai wreathes its old fantastic roots so high', | 

His listless length at noontide would he stretch', | 
And pore upon the brook that bubbles by x . | 

Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn', | 
Mutt'ring his wayward fancies, he would rove' ; j 

Now droop'ing, wo'ful, wan>, I like one forlorn', 
Or craz'd with care% \ or cross'd in hopeless 

One morn I miss'd v him on the accustomed hilb, | 
Along the heath x , and near Ais fav'rite tree* ; | 

Another came ; | nor yet beside the rill', j 

Nor up the lawn', 1 nor at the wood* was he t . | 

The nex, with dirges due, in sad array, | 

Slow through the church-yard patfr, we saw him 
borne* | 

Approach, and read' ('for thou canst read') 2 the lay x , | 
'Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn ." 


Here rests Ais head upon the lap of earth', | 
A youth to Fortune, and to Fame, unknown* ; | 

Fair Science frown'd not on 7ns humble birth', | 
And Melancholy mark'd 7/im for her own k . | 


Large was his bounty, and fas soul, sincere* | 
Heaven did a recompense as largely send | 

He gave to Mis'ry all he had', a tear ; | 
He gain'd from Heav'n | (' 'twas all he wish'd^) I 
friend v . | 

No farther seek his merits to .disclose', | 
Or draw his frailties from their dread abodes | 

('There they alike in trembling hope repose^) | 
2 The bosom of his Father, and his God v . | 


My name is Norval ; ) on the Grampian hills | 

My father feeds his flocksv ; j a frugal swain I 

Whose constant cares | were to increase his store', | 

And keep his only son, myself, at homev : | 

For I had heard of bat'tles, | and I long'd 

To follow to the field some warlike lord' ; | 

And heaven soon granted wha my sire denied x / | 

This moon, which rose last nigh*, round as my shield, | 
Had not yet fill'd her horns, when by Aer light, \ 
A band of fierce barbarians from the hills, I 
Rush'd like a torrent down upon the vale x , I 
Sweeping our flocks, and herds, j The shepherds fled 
For safety, and for succour. | I, alone% 
With bended bow, and quiver full of arrows, | 
Hover'd about the enemy, I and mark'd 
The road he took, : \ then hasted to my friends* | 
Whom, with a troop of fifty chosen men, | 
I met advancing. | The pursuit I v led, | 
Till we o'ertooA; x the spoil-encumber'd foe^. | 

We fought, and conquer'd. | Ere a sword was drawn, | 
An arrow from my bow had pierc'd their chief | 
Who wore, tha day, the arms which now I x wear x . | 
Returning home in triumph, | I disdain'd* 
The shepherd's slothful life^ ; | and, having heard | 


That our good king had summon'd Ms bold peers j 
To lead their warriors to the Carron side, | 
I left my father's housex, I and took with me | 
A chosen servant I to conduct my stepsx | 
l Yon trembling coward who forsook h\s master. I 
2 Journeying with this intend, I pass'd these tow v ers, | 
And, heaven-directed, I came this day to do | 
The happy deed thai gilds my humble name. | 


No chisell'd urn is rear'd to theev; | 
No sculptured scroll enrolls its page | 

To tell the children of the free', | 

Where rests the patriot, and the sage v . | 

Far in the city of the dead', | 

A corner holds thy sacred clay x ; | 

And pilgrim feei, by reverence led', | 

Have worn a path thai marks the way x . | 

There, round thy lone, and simple grave', | 
Encroaching on its marble gray, j 

Wild plantain weeds, and tall grass wave', | 
And sunbeams pour their shadeless ray v . | 

Level with earths thy lettered stone' j 
And hidden oft by winter's snow x | 

Its modesi record tells alone' | 

Whose dust it is thai sleeps below v .* I 

Thai name's enough^ | thai honour'd name'| 

No aid from eulogy requiresv : | 
'T is blended with thy country's fame', | 

And flashes round her lightning spires x . | 

* The body of Franklin lies in Christ-Church burying-grouml, 
corner of Mulberry and Fifth street, Philadelphia. The inscription 
upon his tomb-stone is as follows : 









When, in the course of human everts, | \t becomes 
necessary for one people | to dissolve the political bands 
which have connected them with another, I and to as- 
sume among the powers of the earth I the separate and 
equal station | to which the laws of nature and of na- 
ture's God entitle them, I a decent respect to the opin- 
ions of mankind | requires that they should declare the 
causes I which impel them to the separation. I 

We hole? these truths a to be self-evident : I that all 
men are created evqual ; | that they are endowed by their 
Creator | with certain inalienable 6 rights^ ; | that among 
these | are life', lib'erty, and the pursuit of" hap v piness ; ] 
thaZ to secure these rights, ! governments are insti- 

* The Declaration of Independence was publicly read from the 
steps of the State-House, July 4th, 1776. 

Truths ; not truxni. b In-il'y&n-ji-bl. Guv'urn-m&nts. 


tuted among men*, I deriving their jusi powers | from 
the consent of the gov>erned ; | that whenever any form 
of government ! becomes destructive of these ends, | it 
is the righi of the people I to alter or aboHsh it, | and 
to institute new government, I laying its foundation on 
such principles, I and organizing its powers in such 
form, | as to them shall seem most likely I to effect their 
safety and happiness. | Prudence, indeed, will dic- 
tate | thai governments long established | should not be 
changed for lighi and trairsienl* causes; | and accord-, 
ingly all experience hath shown I thai mankind are more 
disposed to suffer | while evils are sufferable, | than to 
righi themselves | by abolishing the forms to which 
they are accustomed. I Bui when a long train of 
abuses and usurpations 1 ' I pursuing invariably the same 
object, | evinces a design to reduce them under abso- 
lute despotism, | it is their righi x , | it is their du v ty j to 
throw off v such government, I and to provide new guards 
for their future security. | Such has been the patieni 
sufferance of these colonies; 11 I and such is now the 
necessity | which constrains them to alter their former 
systems of gov^ernmeni. | The history of the present 
king of Greai Britain I is a history of repeated injuries 
and usurpations, 1 * I all having in direct object | the esta- 
blishment of an absolute tyranny over these states. | 
To prove this, | let facts be submitted to a candid 
world t . | 

He has refused fas asseni to laws | the most whole- 
some and necessary for the public good, j 

He has forbidden fas governors to pass laws | of im- 
mediate and pressing importance, I unless suspended in 
their operation I till fas assent should be obtained ; | 
and, when so suspended, | he has utterly neglected to 
attend^ to them. | 

He has refused to pass other laws I for the accommo- 
dation of large districts of people, | unless those people j 

b Yi-zftr-pi'shftni. 


would relinquish the right of representation in the 
legislature, 8 1 a righ* inestimable to them, | and formi- 
dable to tyrants only. | 

He has called together legislative bodies | a places 
umrsual, I uncomfortable, | and distant from the deposi- 
tory 11 of their public records, | for the sole purpose | of 
fatiguing them into compliance with his measures. | 

He has dissolved representative houses repeatedly j 
for opposing with manly firmness | his invasions on the 
rights of the people. ] 

He has refused for a long time after such dissolu- 
tions | to cause others to be elected, 1 whereby the legis- 
lative powers, | incapable of annihilation, 6 I have re- 
turned to the people a.t large for their exercise, I the 
state remaining, in the mean time, I exposed to all the 
dangers of invasion from without | and convulsions 
within. | 

He has endeavoured to prevent the population of 
these states ; I for that purpose I obstructing the laws 
for naturalization 11 of foreigners, (refusing to pass others | 
to encourage their migrations hittrer, I and raising the 
conditions | of new appropriations of lands. | 

He has obstructed the administration of justice | by 
refusing fas assent to laws i for establishing judrciary 8 
powers. | 

He has made judges dependent on his will alone' | 
for the tenure f of their of fices, I and the amount, and 
payment of their salaries. | 

He has erected a multitude of new offices, I and sent 
hither swarms of new of ficers | to harass" our people 
and ea out their substance. | 

He has kept among us in times of peace' I standing 
armies | without the consent of our legislatures. | 

He has affected to render the military | independent 
of, | and superior to the civ v il power, j 

He has combined with others | to subject us to a 

c An-ni-h-]i'sMn. d Ndt- 
tshfc-r&l-e-ii'sh&n. * Dai-dlsh'&-r. { T'nur. * Hlr'ris. 


jurisdiction | foreign 11 to our constitutions | and unac- 
knowledged by our laws*, | giving his assent | to their 
acts of pretended legislation I for quartering large bo- 
dies of armed troops' among us ; | for protecting them 
by a mock trial \ from punishment | for any murders 
which they should commit j on the inhabitants of these 
states^ | for cutting off our trade x with all parts of the 
worldx , I for imposing tax'es on us without our consent ; 1 
for depriving us in many cases I of the benefits of trial 
by jury ; I for transporting us beyond seas' | to be tried 
for pretended offences ; | for abolishing the free system 
of English laws I in a neighbouring province, (establish- 
ing therein I an arbitrary government, | and enlarging 
its boundaries, I so as to ronder it at once an example J 
and fit instrument I for introducing the same absolute 
rule into these cobonies ; i for taking away our char'ters,| 
abolishing our most valuable laws 1 , | and altering fun- 
damentally | the forms of our governments ; | for sus- 
pending our own legislatures, I and declaring them- 
selues' invested with power to legislate for us | in all 
cases whatsoev^er. | 

He has abdicated government here I by declaring us 
out of Ais protection I and waging war against us. j 

He has plundered our seas v , | ravaged our coass\ | 
burnt our towns', | and destroyed the lives of our 
e. | 

He is at this time x | transporting large armies of fo- 
reign mercenaries | to complete the works of death', | 
desola'tion, and tyranny I already begun* | with circum- 
stances of cruelty and perfidy j scarcely paralleled in 
the mosZ barbarous ages | and totally unworthy the 
head of a civalized nation. | 

He has constrained our fellow-citizens | taken captive 
on the high seas I to bear arms against their country, ; 
to become the executioners of their friends and breth - 
ren, | or to fall themselves by their hands. | 

He has excited domestic insurrections among us, i 

.* FAr'rlaT 


and has endeavoured to bring | on the inhabitants of 
our frontiers | the merciless Indian savages, I whose 
known rule of warfare | is an undistinguished destruc- 
tion | of all a'ges, sex'es, and conditions. | 

In every stage of these oppressions I we have peti- 
tioned for redress in the most humble terms* : I our re- 
peated petitions | have been answered only by repeated 
injuries. | 

A prince whose character is thus marked | by every 
act which may define-a. tyrant | is unfit to be the ruler 
of a free people. | 

Nor have we been wanting in attentions to our Brit- 
ish brethren. | We have warned them from time to 
time | of attempts by their legislature I to extend an un- 
warrantable jurisdiction over us. I We have reminded 
them of the circumstances I of our emigration and set'- 
tlemenZ here: I we have appealed to their native jus- 
tice and magnanimity, ] and we have conjured them 
by the ties of our common kindred, I to disavow' 3 these 
usurpations | which would inevitably interrupt our 
connexion and correspond*ence. I They too have been 
deaf to the voice of justice and of consanguinity. | We 
must therefore acquiesce in the necessity I which de- 
nounces our separation ! I and hold them as we hold 
the res^ of mankind, I enemies in war, | in peace friends. | 

We therefore I the representatives of the United 
States of America 1 in General Congress assembled, j 
'appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world I for the 
rectitude of our intentions, 1 2 do in the name, | and by 
the authority of the good people of these colonies, | so- 
lemnly publish and declares j thai these united colonies 
are, | and of right ought' to be, i free and independent 
states* ; I thai they are absolved from all allegiance to 
the British crowns I and that all political connexion | 
between them and the state of Greai Britain i is, and 
oughi' to be, | totally dissolved* ; I and thai as free and 



independent states, I they have full power to levy war, I 
conclude peace 1 , | contract allrances, I establish com v - 
merce, j and to do all other acts and things I which 
independent states may of righ^ do. | 

And for the support of this declaration, | 'with a firm 
reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, 1 2 we 
mutually pledge to each other our lives', I our for- 
tunes, | and our sacred hon x our. | 



Obidah, the son of Abensina, I left the caravansera 
early in themoriring, | and pursued Ais journey through 
the plains of Indosvtan. | He was fresh, arid vigorous 
with resfx ; | he was animated with hope' ; he was in- 
cited by desire^ ; I he walked swiftly forward over the 
va'lleys, | and saw the hills gradually rising before* him. | 

As he passed along, I his ears were delighted with 
the morning song of the bird of paradise; 1 he was 
fanned by the las* flutters of the sinking breeze', | and 
sprinkled with dew from groves of spices. I He some- 
times contemplated the towering height of the oaA;*, 1 
monarch of the hilta ; ! and sometimes caught the gentle 
fragrance of the prinrrose, I eldest daughter of the 
spring : I all his senses were gratified, 1 and all care 
was banished from fas hear/ . | 

Thus he went on, I till the sun approached his me- 
ridian, | and the increased heat preyed upon his 
strength ; | he then looked round about him \ for some 
more commodious path. | He saw, on his right hand, 
a grove x | that seemed to wave its shades as a sign of 
invitation ; I he entered it, i and found the coolness, and 
verdure irresistibly pleasant. | 

He did not, however, I forge* whither he was travel- 
ling, 11 | but found a narrow way, bordered with flowers, | 

* Tr&v'il-llng. 


which appeared to have the same direction with the 
main road; I and was pleased, I thai by this happy 
experiment, | he had found means to unite pleasure with 
bu x siness, a | and to gain the rewards of diligence I with- 
out suffering its fatigues. | 

He, therefore, still continued to walk for a time, | 
without the leasi remission of his ardour, ] except thai 
he was sometimes tempted to stop I by the music of the 
birds | which the heai had assembled in the shadex ; | 
and sometimes amused himself | with plucking the 
flowers ! thai covered the banks on either side x , I or the 
fruii that hung upon the branches. | 

At lasi, the'green path began to decline from its first 
tendency, I and to wind among hills, and thick'ets, J 
cooled with fountains, and murmuring with waterfalls. | 
Here Obidah paused* for a time/, I and began to con- 
sider | whether it were longer safe to forsake the known, 
and common trackv ; I but remembering thai the heat 
was now in its greatest violence, I and that the plain 
was dusty, and uneven, | he resolved to pursue the new x 
path | which he supposed only to make a few meanders, | 
in compliance with the varieties of the ground, | and to 
end at last in the common road. | 

Having thus calmed fas solicitude, I he renewed Ais 
pace*, | though he suspected thai he was noi gaining 
ground. I This uneasiness of his mind, | inclined him 
to lay hold on every new objeci, I and give way to 
every sensation I thai mighi soothe, or diveri him. | He 
listened to every eclvo ; I he mounted every hill for a 
fresh pros'peci ; | he turned aside to every cascade* ; | 
and pleased himself | with tracing the course of a gentle 
river | thai rolled among the trees, 1 and watered a 
large region I with innumerable circumvolutions. | 

In these amusements, I the hours passed away unac- 
counted ; I his deviations had perplexed his menrory, | 
and he knew noi towards whai poini to travel. | He 

* Bii'nfes. 


stood pensive, and confused, I afraid to go forward, | 
lest he should go wrongs | jet conscious that the time 
of loitering was now pasi . I While he was thus tor- 
tured with uncertainty, I the sky was overspread with 
clouds* ; | the day vanished from before' Aim ; I and a 
sudden tempest gathered round his head . | 

He was now roused by Ais danger, I to a quick, and 
painful remembrance of Ais folly; | he now saw how 
happiness is losi, | when ease* is consulted ; | he lament- 
ed the unmanly impatience | thai prompted Aim to seek 
shelter in the grove x ; | and despised the petty curiosity | 
thai led Aim on from trifle to trifle. I While Ae was 
thus reflecting, I the air grew blacker, | and a clap of 
thunder I broke Ais meditation. | 

He now resolved to do whai yet remained in Ais 
power, to tread bac& the ground which Ae had passed, | 
and try to find some issue | where the wood might 
open into the plain. | He prostrated Aimself on the 
ground, I and recommended Ais life to the Lord of Na- 
ture. | He rose with confidence, and tranquillity, | and 
pressed on with resolution. | The beasis of the desert 
were in motion, I and on every hand I were heard the 
mingled howls of rage', and fear', j and ravage, and 
expiration. I All the horrors of darkness, and solitude, 
surrounded Aim : | the winds roared in the woods, | and 
the torrents tumbled from the hills, j 

Thus forlorn, and distressed, i he wandered through 
the wild, | without knowing whither Ae was goring, | or 
whether Ae was every moment | drawing nearer to 
safety, or to destruction. | At length, not fear, | but 
la'bour ( began to overcome. Aim ; I his breath grew 
short, and Ais knees trembled ; ] and Ae was on the 
point of lying down in resignation to Ais fate x , | when 
Ae beheld, through the brambles, I the glimmer of a 
taper. | 

He advanced towards the lighiv | and finding that it 
proceeded from the cottage of a hermii, I he called 
humbly at the door, | and obtained admission, i The 


old man set before Mm | such provisions as he had col- 
lected for Aimself , | on which Qbidah fed with eager- 
ness, and gratitue/e. | 

When the repast was over, | " Tell me," said the 
iierm^, | "by wha chance thou hast been brought 
hither? j I have been now twenty years' | an inhabit- 
ant of the wil'derness, | in which I never saw a man 
before." | Obidah then related the occurrences of Ais 
journey, | without any concealment, or palliation. | 

" Son," said the hermit, I " let the errors, and follies, j 
the dangers, and escape of this day, I sinA; deep into thy 
heart. I Remember, my son, | that human life' is the 
journey of a day. | We rise in the morning of youth, | 
full of vigour, and full of expectation ; | we set forward 
with spirit, and hope\, I with gaiety, and with diHgence,| 
and travel on awhile I in the direct road of piety, | to- 
wards the mansions of rest, j 

" In a short time, we remit our fenvour, | and endea- 
vour to find some mitigation of our du^ty, | and some 
more easy means of obtaining the same end. I We then 
relax our vigour, I and resolve no longer to be terrified 
with crimes at a distance ; I but rely upon our own 
constancy, I and venture to approach | what we resolve 
never to touch. I We thus enter the bowers of ease, | 
and repose in the shades of security. | 
" Here the heart softens, | and vigilance subsides^ ; | we 
are then willing to inquire I whether another advance 
cannot be made, I and whether we may not, at least, j 
turn our eyes x upon the gardens of pleasure. | We 
approach them with scruple, and hesitation ; | we en'ter 
them, I but enter timorous, and trembling ; i and always 
hope to pass through them I without losing the road of 
virtue, .| which, for a while, we keep in our sigh^, | and 
to which we purpose to return. | Bu temptation suc- 
ceeds v temptavtion, | and one compliance, prepares us 
for another ; | we in time lose the happiness of inno- 
cence, | and solace our disquiet with sensual gratifica- 
tions. | 


" By degrees, | we let fall the remembrance of our 
original intension, I and quit the only adequate object 
of rational desire. I We entangle ourselves in busi- 
ness," | immerge ourselves in lux v ury, I an d rove through 
the labyrinths 6 of inconstancy ; | till the darkness of 
old age\ begins to invade^us, | and disease, and anxiety 
obstruct our way. I We then look back upon our lives 
with horror, I with sorVow, I with repentance ; I and 
wish, | but too often vainly wish, | that we had not for- 
saken the ways of virtue. I 

" Happy are they, my son, | who shall learn from 
thy example, I not to despair*; I but shall remember, | 
tha<, though the day is pas, I and their strength is 
wasted, | there yet remains one v effort to be made : j 
that reformation is never hopeless, I nor sincere endea- 
vours ever unassisted; | that the wanderer may at 
length return, I after all his errors ; I and thai he who 
implores strength, and courage from above, | shall find 
danger, and difficulty give way before* him. I Go now, 
my son, to thy repose* ; I commit thyself to the care of 
Omnipotence ; I and when the morning calls again to 
toil, | begin anew thy journey, and thy life." | 


The bell strikes one v . I We take no note of time | 

Rut from its loss* : | to give it then a tongue | 

Is wise x in man . | As if ( an an<gel d spo&e, | 

J feel the solemn sound v . | If heard aright, | 

It is the knell of my departed hours v . I 

Where are' they? I With the years beyond the flood*. 

It is the signal that demands despatch^ : I 

How much is to be done* ! I My hopes, and fears 

Start up alarm'd x , | and o'er life's narrow verge 

Bli'nds. b Llb-br-r!n^. c D6-spdr'. d As if an angel; not 


LooA; down' | on what ? \ A fathomless abyss\, j 

A dreac? etennity ! | how surely mine v ! | 

And can eternity belong to me', ! 

Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour' ? 1 

How poorv, | how riclv, | how abject, I how august; | 
How complicate, | how won v derful is man ! I 
How passing wonder he \ who made v him such ! I 
Who center's? in our ma&e such strange extremesv ! | 
From diff'renZ natures, marvellously' 1 mix'd, | 
Connexion exquisite of distant worlds* ! i 
Distinguish'^ link in being's endless chain ! I 
Midway from nothing to the De v ity ! | 
A beam etherial, sullied, and absorp^ / 1 
Though sullied, and dishonour'd, I still divine> ! ! 
Dim miniature 5 of greatness absolute ! | 
An heir of gloVy ! I a frail child of dust / | 
Helpless immortal ! I insect infinite ! I 
A wornr ! I a God* / 1 1 tremble at myself, | 
And in myself am los^. | 

At home, a stranger, | 

Thought wanders up, and down, c | surpris'd', ! aghast, ' 
And wond'ring at her own v . | How reason reels' ! | 
O -what a miracle to man is man*, | 
Triumphantly distress'^ / | wha* joy' ! I \vhat dread. / I 
Alternately transported, and alarm'd* / | 
What can preserve^ my life? I or wha destroy*? | 
An an'gel's arm can't snatch me from the grave x ; | 
Legions of angels can'i confine* me there. | 



The land tha we live^ in I the land tha we live' in, j 
O ! where is the heart does not think it more fair 7 , | 

Than the brightest of scenes to which nature has given . 
Her clearest of sun and her purest of air v ? i 

b Mln'^-tir. Up and down ; not up-pan-down. 


Italia may boas of her evergreen bowers, | 

Her sky without clouds and her rose-scented breeze s , 
And Persia may vaunZ of her gardens and flowers, ) 

Rut there is one spot which is better than thesev, j 
'Tis the land tha we live^ in I the lane? that we live* in,j 

O ! where is the heart does no* think it more fair', I 
Than the brightest of scenes to which nature has given I 

Her clearest of sun and Aer purest of air . | 

Romantic and wile? are proud Scotia's mountains, | 

And fair are the plains of imperial France* | 
And Grana'da may tell of her groves and her fountains,! 

And mingle the mirth of the song and the dancex 
The climes of the EasZ may exhibit their treasures, | 

Their palm-trees may bloom and their waters may 

fell' I 
And music may wa&e to enliven their pleasures, I 

Bu there is one spot which is dearer than all, | 
'T is the land that we live 4 in I the land that we live' in, I 

O ! where is the heart does not think it more fair', I 
Than the brightest of scenes to which nature has given 

Her clearest of sun and her purest of air. ? I 



Farewell, ) a long farewell, | to all my greatness ! | 
This is the state of man\ : I to-day he puts forth 
The tender leaves of hope^ ; I to-morrow, blossoms, | 
And bears his blushing honours thick upon Aim* : | 
The third day, comes a frosty \ a killing fros^ ; | 
And, when he thinks, | good, easy man, I full surely 
His greatness is a ripening, | nips his roop, \ 
And then he falls, | as L do. I 

I have ventured, | 

Like little wanton boys thai swim on blad'ders, j 
This* many summers, | in a sea of gloTy ; | 

* Thus it stands in Shakspeare. 


Bui far beyond my depth : ! my high-blown pride \ 
At length broke un v der me ; I and now has left me, | 
Weary, and old with service, | to the mercy 
Of a rude stream, | thai must for ever hide, me. I 

Vain pomp, and glory of this world, 1 1 hate* ye ; | 
I feel my heart new O'pen'd : | O how wretched 
Is thai poor man | thai hangs on prin v ces' favours ! | 
There is,* betwixi thai smile he would aspire to, | 
Thai sweei aspeci of princes, I and their ruin, | 
More pangs, and fears | than wars, or wo v men have* ; 
And when he falls, | he falls like Lu v cifer, | 
Never to hope again v . | 


Cromwell, I did noi think to shed a tear I 

In all my miseries ; I but thou hasi forc'd me, ] 

Oui of thy honesi truth, | to play the woman. | 

Let's dry our eyes x ; I and thus far hear me,CromvWell : 1 

And, 'when I am forgotten, as I shall be, | 

And sleep in dull, cold marble, | where no mention 

Of me more musi be heard of, 1 2 say, T taughi thee, | 

Say, Wol'sey, | thai once trod the ways of glory, | 

And sounded all the depths, and shoals of honour, | 

Found thee a way, | out of his wrec&, I to rise^ in, ; | 

A sure, and safe N one, I though thy master miss'd it. | 

Mar& bui my fall, I and thai thai ru'in'd me. I 
Cromwell, I charge thee. fling away ambition ; I 
By thai sin fell the an'gels, I how can man then, | 
The image of his Maker, I hope to win* by'i. ? 
Love thyself last,: I cherish those hearts thai haie* thee; 
Corruption wins noi more than honesty. | 
Still in thy righi hand carry gentle peace, | 
To silence envious tongues. I 

* Thus it stands in Shakspeare. 


Be jus* x , and fear not, j 

Let all the ends, thou aim's* at, \ be thy country's, | 
Thy God's', and truths ; I then if thou fall's*, oh Crom- 
well, | 

Thou fall's* a blessed martyr. I O Cromwell, ! 
Had I serv'd my God \ with half the zeal 
I serv'd my king, I he would no* in mine age I 
Have lef* me naked to mine enemies. | 



The atrocious crime of being a young man, | which 
the honourable gentleman has, ! with such spiri* and 
decency, charged upon me, 1 1 shall neither attemp* to 
pallia*e, nor deny* ; | bu* conten* myself with wishing | 
tha* I may be one of those j whose follies cease with 
their youtfr, | and no* of tha* number J who are igno- 
ran* in spi*e of experience. I 

Whether youth can be imputed to a v ny man as a 
reproach, 1 1 will no* assume the province of determin- 
ing: | bu* surely age may become justly contemptible, | 
if the opportunities which it brings have passed away 
without improvement, I and vice appears to prevail | 
when the passions have subsided, j 

* This illustrious father of English Oratory, having expressed 
himself, in the House of Commons, with his accustomed energy, in 
opposition to one of the measures then in agitation, his speech pro- 
duced an answer from Mr. WALPOLE, who, in the course of it, said, 
" Formidable sounds, and furious declamation, confident assertions, 
and lofty periods, may affect the young and inexperienced ; and, 
perhaps, the honourable gentleman may have contracted his habits 
of oratory by conversing more with those of his own age, than with 
such as have had more opportunities of acquiring knowledge, and 
more successful methods of communicating their sentiments." And 
he made use of some expressions, such as vehemence of gesture, 
theatrical emotion, &c., applying them to Mr. PITT'S manner of 
speaking. As soon as Mr. WALPOLE sat down, Mr. PITT got up 
and replied as above. 


The wretch who, after having seen the consequences 
of a thousand errors, | continues still to blunder, | and 
whose age has only added obstinacy to stupidity, 1 is 
surely the object of either abhorrence or contempts i 
and deserves not that his grey head' | should secure 
him from insult. | 

Much more is he to be abhorred, | who, as he has 
advanced in age | has receded from virtue, I and be- 
comes more wicked with less temptation : who prosti- 

tutes himself for mone which he cannot 


spends the remains of Ais life I in the ruin of fas coun- 
try. | 

But youth is not my only crime. I I have been 
accused of acting a theatrical part. I A theatrical 
part | may either imply some peculiarities of gesture, j 
or a dissimulation of my real sentiments, | and an adop- 
tion of the opinions and language of another man. | 

In the first sense, | the charge is too trifling to be 
confuted, | and deserves only to be mentioned | to be 
despised. | I am at liberty, I liAe every otlrer man, I to 
use my own language ; I and though I may, perhaps, 
have some ambition ; | yet to please this gentleman, ] I 
shall not lay myself under any restraint, | or very 
solicitously | copy his diction, or his mien\, | however 
matured by age, I or modelled by experience. | 

If any man shall, I by charging me with theatrical 
behaviour, I imply that I utter any sentiments but my 
own, | I shall treat him as a calunrniator I and a vil\- 
lain : I nor shall any protection | shelter him from the 
treatment which he deserves. | I shall, on such an 
occasion, | without scruple, i trample upon all those 
forms | with which wealth and dignity entrench them- 
selves : | nor shall any thing but age I restrain my re- 
sen^menZ : I age which always brings one privilege : | 
thai of being insolent and supercilious j without punish- 
ment | 

Bu with regard to those whom I have offended, 1 1 
am of opinion | that if I Aad acted a borrowed part, 1 1 


should have avoided their censure. I The hea* that 
offended them | is the ardour of conviction, I arid tha* 
zeal for the service of my country | which neither hope 
nor fear 1 shall influence me to suppress. I 

I will no* si* unconcerned | while my liberty is 
inva^ded, | nor looA; in silence upon public robbery. | I 
will exert my endeavours, a* whatever hazard, | to 
repel the aggressor, I and drag the thief to justice, | 
wha* power soever may protect the villany, ) and who- 
ever may partake of the plunder. I 



From heaven my strains begin ; | from heaven descends 

The flame of genius to the human breas*, | 

And love, and beauty, and poetic joy, 

And inspiration. | Ere the radian* sun 

Sprang from the eas*, | or 'mid the vaul* of nigh* | 

The moon suspended her serener lamp ; | 

Ere mountains, woods, or streams adorn'd the glo&e, | 

Or Wisdom taugh* the sons of men her lore ; | 

Then lived the Almighty ONE ; I then, deep retired, 

In his unfathom'd essence, I view'd the forms, j 

The forms eternal of created things ; | 

The radian* sun, ! the moon's nocturnal lamp, | 

The mountains, woods, and streams, | the rolling glofee, | 

And Wisdom's mien celestial. | 

From the firs* 

Of days, | on them his love divine he fix'd, | 
His admiration : | till, in time comple*e, | 
Wha* he admired and loved, I his vital smile 
Unfolded into being. | Hence the breath 
Of life informing each organic frame, | 
Hence the green earth, and wild resounding waves ; 1 
Hence ligh* and shade alternate ; | warmth and cold, ) 
And clear autumnal skies, and vernal showers, j 
And all the fair variety of things. 1 


Bu not alike to every mortal eye | 

Is this greaZ scene unveil'd. | For, since the claims 

Of social life, | to different labours urge 

The active powers of man, 1 with wise intend | 

The hand of Nature on peculiar minds | 

Imprints a different bias, I and to each 

Decrees its province in the common toil. | 

To some she taught the fabric of the sphere, | 

The changeful moon, I the circuit of the stars, 

The golden zones of heaven : I to some she gave 

To weigh the moment of eternal things, | 

Of time, and space, and Fate's unbroken chain, | 

And will's quick impulse ; | others by the hand ! 

She led o'er vales and mountains, I to explore 

Wha healing virtue I swells the tender veins 

Of herbs and flowers ; | or whaZ the beams of morn 

Draw forth, | distilling from the clifted rind 

In balmy tears. | 

Rut some to higher hopes 
Were destin'd ; | some within a finer mould 
She wrought, | and temper'd with a purer flame : I 
To these the Sire Omnipotent I unfolds 
The world's harmonious volume, I there to read 
The transcript of /amself. | On every part I 
They trace the bright impressions of his hand ; | 
In earth or air, ! the meadow's purple stores, | 
The moon's mild radiance, I or the virgin's form, ( 
Blooming with rosy smiles, 1 they see pourtray'd 
Tha* uncreated beauty i which delights 
The Mind Supreme. I They also feel her charms, 
Enamour'd ; i they partake the eternal joy. | 



Say, why was man so eminently raised | 
Amid the vasZ creation ? I why ordain'd 
Thro' life and death | to dart Ais piercing eye, I 


With though* beyond the limi* of Ms frame, | 
Bu* tha* the Omnipotent migh* send Aim forth, | 
In sigh* of mortal and immortal powers, I 
As on a boundless theatre, | to run 
The grea* career of justice : | to exal* 
His generous aim to all diviner deeds ; | 
To chase each partial purpose from his breas* ; I 
And thro' the mis*s of passion ana 7 of sense, | 
And thro' the tossing tide of chance and pain, | 
To hold his course unfaltering, I while the voice 
Of Truth ana" Virtue, | up the steep ascend 
Of Nature, I calls Aim to h is high reward, | 
The applauding smile of Heaven? | 

Else wherefore burns 
In mortal bosom this unquenched hope, I 
Tha* breathes from day to day sublimer things, | 
And mocks possession ? I Wherefore darts the mine 7 , | 
With such resistless ardour I to embrace 
Majestic forms, | impatient to be free ; j 
Spurning the gross control of wilful migh* ; | 
Proud of the strong contention of Aer toils ; | 
Proud to be daring ? j Who bu* rather turns 
To Heaven's broao 1 fire Ais unconstrained view, I 
Than to the glimmering of a waxen flame ? I 
Who tha*, from Alpine heights, | Ais labouring eye 
Shoots round the wide horizon, I to survey 
Nil us or Ganges rolling Ais brigh* wave I 
Thro' mountains, plains,| thro' empires black with shade,! 
And continents of sand, I will turn Ais gaze | 
To mark the windings of a scanty rill I 
Tha* murmurs a* Ais fee* ? \ 

The high-born soul | 

Disdains to res* Aer heaven aspiring wing 
Beneath its native quarry. Jf Tired of earth 
And this diurnal scene, I she springs alof* 
Thro' fields of air ; I pursues the flying storm ; | 
Rides on the volley'd lightning thro' the heavens ; | 
Or, yoked with whirlwinds and the northern bias*, | 


Sweeps the long tract of day. | Then high she soars 

The blue profound, | and hovering round the sun, | 

Beholds him pouring the redundant stream 

Of lighz ; | beholds his unrelenting sway | 

Bend the reluctant planets to absolve 

The fated rounds of time. | Thence far effused | 

She darts ^er swiftness up the long career 

Of devious comets : | thro' its burning signs 

Exulting I measures the perennial wheel 

Of Nature, | and looks bacA; on all the stars, | 

Whose blended lightf, as with a milky zone, | 

Invests the orient. I 

Now amazed she views 

The empyreal waste, I where happy spirits hold, | 
Beyond this concave heaven, I their calm abode ; I 
And fields of radiance, | whose unfading light \ 
Has travelled the profound six thousand years, | 
Nor yet arrives in sight of mortal things. | 
E'en on the barriers of the world untired | 
She meditates the eternal depth below, | 
Till, half recoiling, | down the headlong steep 
She plunges ; I soon o'erwhelm'd and swallowed up \ 
In that immense of being. | 

There her hopes 

Res at the fatal goal : | for, from the birth 
Of mortal man, I the sovereign Maker said, | 
Tha not in humble nor in brief delight, I 
No in the fading echoes of renown, | 
Power's purple robes, I nor Pleasure's flowery lap, \ 
The soul should find enjoyment ; I but, from these 
Turning disdainful to an equal good, I 
Thro' all the ascend of things enlarge her view, | 
Till every bound at length should disappear, | 
And infinite perfection clo^e the scene. | 




Some wi of old | such wits of old there were, 1 
Whose hints show'd meaning, I whose allusions care, | 
By one brave strode, | to mark all human kind, \ 
Call'd clear blank paper ev'ry infant mine? ; | 
Where, still, as opening sense her dictates wrote, I 
Fair Virtue put a seal, | or Vice, a blot. | 
The thought was happy, pertinent, and true ; | 
Methinks a genius might the plan pursue. I 

I (can you pardon my presumption ?), | I, 
No wk, no genius, | yet, for once, will try. | 
Various the paper, various wans produce ; | 
The wants of fashion I elegance, I and use. I 
Men are as various ; i and if right I scan, I 
Each sort of paper i represents some man. | 

Pray note the %>, 1 half powder and half lace ; | 
Nice, as a band-box were his dwelling place; | 
He 's the giU-paper, | which apart you store, I 
And lock from vulgar hands in the scrutoire. a 

Mechanics, servants, farmers, and so forth, | 
Are copy-paper, I of inferior worth ; | 
Less priz'd, I more useful, | for your desk decreed ; \ 
Free to all pens, | and prompt at ev'ry need. I 

The wretch, whom avarice bids to pinch and spare, 
Starve, chea, and pilfer, to enrich an heir, | 
Is coarse brown paper, I such as pedlars choose | 
To wrap up wares, | which better men will use. I 

Take next the miser's contrast, \ who destroys I 
Health, fame, and fortune, in a round of joys ; | 

* Scrutoire, a case of drawers for writings. 


Will any paper match Aim ? I Yes, throughout ; | 
He 's a true sinking paper, | pas* all doub*. ] 

The retail politician's anxious thought | 

Deems this side always riglu, | and that stark nought ; > 

He foams with censure ; | with applause he raves ; | 

A dupe to rumours, | and a tool of knaves ; | 

He '11 wan* no type his weakness to proclaim, j 

While such a thing as foolscap has a name. I 

The hasty gentleman, whose blood runs high, | 
Who picks a quarrel if you step awry, | 
Who can'* a jes, a hin, or loo&, endure ; I 
Wha* is he ? | Wha* ? \ Touch-paper to be sure. | 

What are our poets, | take them as they fall, { 
Good, | bad, I rich, i poor, | much read, I not read at all ? | 
Them and their works in the same class you '11 find : | 
They are the mere waste-paper of mankind. | 

Observe the maiden, I innocently sweeZ ; I 
She 's fair white paper, I an unsullied sheeZ; | 
On which the happy man whom fate ordains, | 
May write his name, I and take Aer for Ais pains. J 

One instance more, I and only one, I '11 bring : | 
'T is the greaZ man who scorns a little thing ; | 
Whose thoughts, whose deeds, whose maxims are Ais 

own, | 

Form'd on the feelings of Ais heart alone : 
True, genuine, royal-paper is his breast; | 
Of all the kinds most precious, purest, I best. | 


On the parch'd plains | the tribes of Israel lay, | 
Fatigued and sad, | to raging thirst a prey : | 
In that lone region, I in that deser/ drear, | 
No streamlet's murmur stole upon the ear ; I 
No broo/c pellucid glanc'd its light along, j 
To cheer the vision of that fainting throng. | 


Nought met the eye | save Horeb's roc& thai frown'd, | 
In gloomy grandeur, on the scene around, j 

At its broad base, I behold the patriarch stand, | 

And with Ais roc?, a.t the Divine command, ] 

Smite its dar& fronZ ; | o'erawed by Power Supreme, 1 

Its riven breast expell'd a copious stream ; | 

The new-born waters pour'd their torrents wide, I 

And foam'd, and thunder'd, down its craggy side. | 

At the glad sound each Hebrew mother there ] 

Her infant clasp'd, | and look'd to Heaven a prayer : | 

Joy thrill'd all hearts ; J for lo ! the sunbeams play, | 

In radiant glory, on the flashing spray | 

ThaZ dash'd its crystals o'er the rocky pile, | 

A beauteous emblem of Jehovah's smile. | 


My silent and mysterious flight I 
Reveals each morn the glorious light I 

Tha gilds the passing year ; | 
I never stop to lest my wing : | 
Triumphant on the blasZ I spring | 

My plumage, dar& and sere. I 

Onward I speed my flight sublime ; 1 
Before me withers manhood's prime, I 

While pillar, dome, and tower, | 
And massy piles, and temples grand, I 
Lie crush'd beneath my iron hand | 

Resistless is my power. | 

Remorseless boaster, hold / | thy wings | 
May sweep aside earth's mightiest things, | 

Mere creatures of an hour : I 
Thou cansZ not reach the Heavenly bloom, | 
Celestial tints, and rich perfume, I 

Of virtue's lovely flower. I 




When freedom from her mountain heigh* | 

Unfurl'd Aer standard to the air, | 
She tore the azure ro6e of nigh*, | 

And set the stars of glory there ! | 
She mingled with its gorgeous dyes | 
The milky baldric of the skies, | 
And striped its pure celestial white, | 
With streakings from the morning ligh* / | 
Then, from h is mansion in the sun, | 
She called her eagle-bearer down, | 
And gave into his mighty hand | 
The symbol of her chosen land / | 

Majestic monarch of the cloud / 1 

Who rear's* aloft thy regal form, | 
To hear the tempes* trumping loud, | 

And see the lightning lances driven, | 
When strides the warrior of the storm, | 

And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven ! I 
Child of the sun ! |to thee 't is given | 

To guard the banner of the free ' 
To hover in the sulphur smoke, | 
To ward away the battle-strode, | 
And bid its blendings shine afar, I 
Li&e rainbows on the cloud of war, I 

The harbinger of victory ! I 

Flag of the brave ! I thy folds shall fly, J 
The sign of hope and triumph high ! | 
When speaks the signal-trumpets tone, I 
And the long line comes gleaming on ; | 
Ere ye* the life-blood, warm and we*, | 
Has dimm'd the glistening bayone* I 
Each soldier's eye shall brightly turn, | 
To where thy meteor glories burn, I 


And as Ms springing steps advance, I 
Catch war and vengeance from the glance 1 1 
And when the cannon's mouthings loud, | 
Heave in wild wreaths the battle-shroud, | 
And gory sabres rise and fall, | 
Like shoots of flame on midnight pall ! 1 
There shall thy victor glances glow, | 

And cowering foes shall fall beneath | 
Each gallant arm tha strikes below | 

That lovely messenger of death ! | 

Flag- of the seas !| on ocean's wave, | 
Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave. | 
When death, careering on the gale, I 
Sweeps darkly round the swelling sail, I 
And frighted waves rush wildly back | 
Before the broadside's reeling rack ; | 
The dying wanderer of the sea | 
Shall look at once to heaven and thee, 1 
And smile to see thy splendours fly, I 
In triumph o'er the closing eye. ] 

Flag of the free heart's only home, I 

By angel hands to valour given ! I 
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome | 

And all thy hues were born in heaven ; | 
For ever float that standard sheet ! | 

Where breathes the foe but falls before us, | 
With freedom's soil beneath our feet, | 

And freedom's banner streaming o'er us ! | 



To promote the virtue of gentleness, | we ough to 
view our character with an impartial eye; I and to 
learn, from our own failings, | to give thai indulgence 
which in our turn we claim. | It is pride which fills 
the world with so much harshness and severity. | In 


the fulness of self-estimation, I we forged wha we are. \ 
We claim attentions to which we are not entitled. ; 
We are rigorous to offences, | as if we had never offend- 
ed; | unfeeling to distress, | as if we knew not what it 
was to suffer. | From those airy regions of pride and 
folly, | let us descend to our proper level. I Let us 
survey the natural equality | on which Providence has 
placed man with man, | and reflect on the infirmities 
common to all. | If the reflection on natural equality 
and mutual offences, I be insufficient to prompt hu- 
manity, | let us at leas* remember wha we are in the 
sigh of our Creator. I Have we none of thai forbear- 
ance to give one another, | which we all so earnestly 
entreat from heaven ? I Can we look for clemency or 
gentleness from our Judge, | when we are so backward 
to show it to our own brethren ? | 

Let us also accustom ourselt-es | to reflect on the 
small moment of those things I which are the usual in- 
centives to violence and contention. | In the ruffled 
and angry hour, | we view every appearance through 
a false medium. I The most inconsiderable poin* of 
interest or honour, j swells into a momentous object ; | 
and the slightest attac/D seems to threaten immediate 
ruin. | Bu after passion or pride has subsided, | we 
look around in vain for the mighty mischiefs we dread- 
ed. | The fabric which our disturbed imagination had 
reared, I totally disappears. I BuZ though the cause of 
contention has dwindled away, I its consequences re- 
main, j We have alienated a friend ; | we have em- 
bittered an enemy ; | we have sown the seeds of future 
suspicion, malevolence, or disgust. | Let us suspend 
our violence for a moment, I when causes of discord 
occur. | Let us anticipate that period of coolness, ! 
which, of itself, will soon 'arrive. | Let us reflect how 
little we have any prospect of gaining by fierce con- 
tention; I lout how mucli of the true happiness of life j 
we are certain of throwing away. | Easily, and from 
the smallest chinA;, | the bitter waters of strife are let 


fortn ; | but their course cannot be foreseen ; | and he 
seldom fails of suffering most from their poisonous 
effect, I who first allows them to flow. I 



Time we ought to consider | as a sacred trust com- 
mitted to us by God ; \ of which we are now the de- 
positaries, I and are to render an account at the las. | 
ThaZ portion of it which he has allotted to us, | is in- 
tended partly for the concerns of this world, | partly 
for those of the nex. | Let each of these occupy, | in 
the distribution of our time, | that space which pro- 
perly belongs to it. 1 Le not the hours of hospitality 
and pleasure, I interfere with the discharge of our neces- 
sary affairs ; I and let not what we call necessary affairs, | 
encroach upon the time which is due to devotion. | To 
every thing there is a season, | and a time for every 
purpose under heaven. I If we delay till to-morrow, 
whai ough* to be done to-day, | we overcharge the 
morrow with a burden which belongs not to it. \ We 
load the wheels of time, I and prevent them from carry- 
ing us along smoothly. I He who every morning plans 
the transactions of the day, I and follows out that plan, I 
carries on a thread | which will guide Aim through the 
labyrinth of the most busy life. | The orderly arrange- 
ment of his time is Me a ray of light, | which darts 
itself through all his affairs. I BuZ, where no plan is 
laid, | where the disposal of time I is surrendered mere- 
ly to the chance of incidents, I all things lie huddled 
together in one chaos, | which admits neither of distri- 
bution nor review. I 

The first requisite for introducing order into the 
management of time, I is, to be impressed with a just 
sense of its value. I Let us consider well how much 
depends upon it, and how fast it flies away. | The 


bulk of men are in nothing more capricious and incon- 
sistent, I than in their appreciation of time. | When 
they think of it as the measure of their continuance 
on earth, I they highly prize it, I and with the greatest 
anxiety seek to lengthen it out. \ Rut when they view 
it in separate parcels, | they appear to hold it in con- 
tempt, I and squander it with inconsiderate profusion, j 
While they complain that life is short, I they are often 
wishing its different periods at an end. \ Covetous of 
every other possession, | of time only they are prodi- 
gal. | They allow every idle man to be master of this 
property, I and make every frivolous occupation wel- 
come | that can help them to consume it. | Among 
those who are so careless of time, | it is not to be 
expected | that order should be observed in its distribu- 
tion. I Bu, by this fatal neglect, I how many materi- 
als of severe and lasting regret I are they laying up in 
store for themselves ! I The time which they suffer to 
pass away in the mids of confusion, | bitter repentance 
seeks afterwards in vain to recall. I What was omit- 
ted to be done at its proper moment, | arises to be the 
torment of some future season. | Manhood is dis- 
graced by the consequences of neglected youth. I Old 
.. age, | oppressed by cares that belonged to a former 
period, | labours under a burden not its own. I At the 
close of life, I the dying man beholds with anguish that 
Ais days are finishing, I when his preparation for 
eternity is hardly commenced. I Such are the effects 
of a disorderly waste of time, I through not attending 
to its value. I Every thing in the life of such persons 
is misplaced. I Nothing is performed aright, | from not 
being performed in due season. I 

~But he who is orderly in the distribution of his time, | 
takes the proper method of escaping those manifold 
evils. | He is justly said to redeem the time. | By 
proper management, he prolongs it. I He lives much 
in little space ; I more in a few years, than others do in 
many. I He can live to God and Ais own soul, I and 


at the same time, | attend to all the lawful interests of 
the present world. I He looks back on the pasi, | and 
provides for the future. | He catches and arresis the 
hours as they fly. | They are marked down for useful 
purposes, | and their memory remains. I Whereas those 
hours fieei by the man of confusion like a shadow. | 
His days and years are either blanks, | of which he 
has no remembrance, | or they are filled up with so 
confused and irregular a succession of unfinished trans- 
actions, | thai though he remembers he has been busy, | 
yet he can give no account of the business which has 
employed him. \ 



The history of the world is full of testimony | to 
prove how much depends upon industry ; I not an emi- 
nent orator has lived bui is an example of it. \ Yei, 
in contradiction to all this, I the almost universal feel- 
ing appears to be, 1 thai industry can effect nothing, | 
thai eminence is the resuli of accident, I and thai every 
one musi be conteni ! to remain jusi whai he may hap- 
pen to be. | Thus multitudes, who come forward as 
eachers and guides, I suffer themselves to be satisfied 
,vith the mosi indifferent attainments, | and a miserable 
mediocrity, | withoui so much as inquiring how they 
may rise higher, I much less making any attempt to 
rise. | 

For any other art they would have served an ap- 
prenticeship, | and would be ashamed to practise it in 
public before they had learned it. I If any one would 
sing, | he attends a master, | and is drilled in the very 
elementary principles ; I and only after the mosi labori- 
ous process, I dares to exercise his voice in public. | 
This he does, | though he has scarce any thing to learn 
but the mechanical execution ! of whai lies in sensible 


forms before the eye. | Bui the extempore speaker, | 
who is to invent as well as to utter, I to carry on an 
operation of the mind | as well as to produce sound, | 
enters upon the wor/c without preparatory discipline, | 
and then wonders thai he fails ! | 

If he were learning to play on the flute for public 
exhibition, I whai hours and days would he spend in 
giving facility to his fingers, 1 and attaining the power 
of the sweetest and most expressive execution ! \ If he 
were devoting himself to the organ, I whai months and 
years would he labour, I thai he mighi know its com- 
pass, 1 and be master of its keys, I and be able to draw 
out, at will, | all its various combinations of harmoni- 
ous sound, | and its full richness and delicacy of expres- 
sion ! | And yet he will fancy thai the grandest, | the 
most various and most expressive of all instruments, ] 
which the infinite Creator has fashioned | by the union 
of an intellectual soul with the powers of speech, | may 
be played upon without study or practice ; I he comes 
to it a mere uninstructed tyro, I and thinks to manage 
all its stops, | and command the whole compass of its 
varied and comprehensive power ! I He finds Aimself 
a bungler in the attempt, I is mortified at Ms failure, | 
and settles it in his mind for ever, thai the attempi is 
vain. | 

Success in every ari, I whatever may be the natural 
taleni, I is always the reward of industry and pains. | 
Bui the instances are many, | of men of the finesi 
natural genius, | whose beginning has promised much, | 
but who have degenerated wretchedly as they ad- 
vanced, | because they trusted to their gifis, | and made 
no efforts to improve. | Thai there have never been 
other men I of equal endowments with Demosthenes 
and Cicero, | none would venture to suppose ; I bui who 
have so devoted themselves to their ari, | or become 
equal in excellence? I If those greai men had been 
conteni, like others, | to continue as they began, i and 
had never made their persevering efforts for improve- 


rnenZ, | whai would their countries have benefited from 
their genius, I or the world have known of their fame ? I 
They would have been lost in the undistinguished 
crowd j thai sun/t to oblivion around them. I 



The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, | 
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold / | 
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, j 
When the blue w T ave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. | 

Like the leaves of the fores* when summer is green, j 
Thai hosi with their banners ai sunsei were seen : | 
Li&e the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown, | 
Thai host on the morrow i lay wither'd and strown. | 

For the angel of death ! spread his wings on the blasi, j 
And breath'd in the face of the foe as he pass'd ; j 
And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill, | 
And their hearts but once heav'd, | and for ever were 
still! | 

And there lay the steed with his nostrils all wide, I 
Bui through them there roll'd not the breath of his 

pride ; | 

And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, | 
And cold as the spray on the roc/c-beating surf, i 

And there lay the rider, | distorted and pale, j 
With the dew on his brow | and the rusi on his mail ; | 
And the tents were all sileni, I the banners alone, | 
The lances unlifted, | the trumpei unblown, j 

And the widows of Ashur | are loud in their wail, i 
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal ; I 
And the might of the Gentile, i unsmote by the sword, j 
Hath melted like snow I in the glance of the Lord / | 




O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west, j 
Through all the wide border his steed was the best ; I 
And save his good broadsword, I he weapon had none, i 
He rode all unarm'd, I and he rode all alone. I 
So faithful in love, | and so dauntless in war, | 
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. | 

He staid not for brake, I and he stopped not for stone, | 
He swam the Eske river | where ford there was none ; j 
But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, | 
The bride had consented, | the gal'lant came late : j 
For a laggard in love, I and a dastard in war, | 
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. I 

So, boldly he entered the Netherby hall, | 

Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and 

all: | 

Then spoke the bride's father, I his hand on his sword, I 
(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,) | 
" O come ye in peace here, | or come ye in war, | 
Or to dance at our bridal, [ young lord Lochinvar ?" | 

'* I long woo'd your daughter, 1 my suit you denied ; | 
Love swells like the Solway, I but ebbs like its tide ; j | 
And now am I come, I with this lost love of mine, I 
To lead but one measure, I drink one cup of wine. I 
There are maidens in Scotland, i more lovely by far, ! 
That would gladly be bride I to the young Lochinvar." | 

* The ballad of Lochinvar is in a very slight degree founded on 
a ballad called " Katharine Janfarie," which may be found in the 
" Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border/' 

f See the novel of Red gauntlet, for a detailed picture of some of 
the extraordinary phenomena of the spring-tides in the Solway 


The bride kiss'd the goblet ; I the knight took it up, | 
He quaff'd off the wine, I and he threw down the cup. j 
She look'd down to blush, I and she look'd up to sigh, | 
With a smile on her lips, | and a tear in her eye. | 
He took her soft hand, | ere her mother could bar, | 
" Now tread we a measure !" | said young Lochinvar. I 

So stately his form, I and so lovely her face, I 
That never a hall such a galliard a did grace : | 
While her mother did fret, I and her father did fume, | 
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and 

plume ; | 
And the bride-maidens whisper'd, I " 'T were better by 


To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochin- 
var." | 

One touch to her hand, | and one word in her ear, | 
When they reach'd the hall-door, ! and the charger 

stood near ; I 

So light to the croup the fair lady he swung, | 
So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! I 
" She is won ! I we are gone, I over bank, bush and 

scaur ; b | 
They Ml have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young 

Lochinvar. | 

There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby 

clan ; I 
Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, | they rode and 

they ran : I 

There was racing, and chasing, on Cannobie Lee, J 
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. | 
So daring in love, I and so dauntless in war, 1 
Have ye e'er heard of gal'lant, like young Lochinvar ! I 

* G&l'ydrd. b Sk&r, a craggy, stony hill ; a cliff, cleft, or divi- 
sion, or separation in a bank, hill, or any thing else. 
29 Y 




The boy stood on the burning dec&, | 

Whence all bu* him had fled ; | 
The flame tha* lit the battle's wrecfc, I 

Shone round him o'er the dead. I 

Ye* beautiful and bright he stood, | 

As born to rule the storm ; | 
A creature of heroic blood, | 

A proud, though child-li&e form. I 

The flames roll'd on | he would no* go, 

Without his father's word ; | 
Tha* father, fain* in death below, j 

His voice no longer heard. | 

He call'd aloud | " Say, father, say | 

If yet my task is done ?" I 
He knew not that the chieftain lay | 

Unconscious of his son. | 

" Spea&, father !" | once again he cried, | 

" If I may ye* be gone !" | 
And bu* the booming shots replied, I 

And fas* the flames roll'd on. | 

Upon his brow he felt their breath, | 

And in his waving hair ; I 
And look'd from that lone pos* of death, 1 

In still, ye* brave despair. | 

* Young Casablanca, a boy about thirteen years old, son to tho 
admiral of the Orient, remained at his post (in the battle of the 
Nile,) after the ship had taken fire, and all the guns had been 
abandoned ; and perished in the explosion of the vessel, when the 
flames had reached the powder. 


And shouted but once more , alow/, | 

" My father ! must I stay ?" | 
While o'er him fas/, through sail and shroud, 1 

The wreathing fires made way. | 

They wrap/ the ship in splendor wild, j 

They caugh/ the flag on high, | 
And stream'd above the gallant child, | 

Li/te banners in the sky. | 

There came a burs* of thunder sound 1 
The boy I oh ! where was he ? | 

AsA; of the winds tha/ far around | 
With fragments strew'd the sea ! | 

With mas/, and helm, and pennon fair, | 
Tha/ well had borne their par/ I 

Bu/ the nobles/ thing tha/ perish'd there, | 
Was tha/ young faithful hear/. ] 



Meanwhile the adversary of God and man, | 
Satan, I with thoughts inflarn'd of highes/ design, | 
Puts on swift wings, ! and towards the gates of Hell j 
Explores Ais solitary fligh/ ; I sometimes 
He scours the righ/ hand coast, | sometimes the left ; \ 
Now shaves with level wing the dee;?, i then soars 
Up to the fiery concave I towering high. | 

As when far off a/ sea a flee/ descried | 

Hangs in the clouds, 1 by equinoctial winds | 

Close sailing from Bengala, I or the isles 

Of Terna/e and Tidore, I whence merchants bring 

Their spicy drugs ; I they, on the trading flood, | 

Through the wide Ethiopian to the Cape, I 

Ply, | stemming nightly toward the pole : | so seenVd 

Far off* the flying fiend. I 


At last appear 

Hell bounds, | high, reaching to the horrid roof, | 
And thrice three fold the gates : | three folds were 

brass, | 

Three iron, I three of adamantine rocA: 
Impenetrable, I impaled with circling fire, | 
Ye* unconsum'd. I Before the gates | there sat, 
On either side, | a formidable shape : I 
The one seem'd woman to the waist, and fair ; I 
Bu ended foul in many a scaly fold | 
Voluminous and \ast, I a serpent, arm'd 
With mortal sting ; I about her middle round | 
A cry of hell-hounds, never ceasing, bark'd | 
With wide Cerberean mouths I full loud, and rung 
A hideous peal ! | 

Far less abhorr'd than these | 
Vex'd Scylla, a | bathing in the sea i that parts 
Calabria b | from the hoarse Trinacrian c shore ; I 
Nor uglier follow the night hag, when, call'd 
In secret, I riding through the air, she comes, | 
Lured with the smell of infant blood, | to dance 
With Lapland witches, I while the labouring moon | 
Eclipses at their charms. | 

The other shape, | 

If shape it mighZ be call'd | that shape had none ] 
Distinguishable in member, join, or limb; | 
Or substance might be call'd | that shadow seem'd; i 
For each seem'd either ; I blacA; it stood as night, \ 
Fierce as ten furies, I terrible as Hell, | 
And shook a dreadful dart ; I what seem'd his head \ 
The likeness of a kingly crown had on. | 

a SCYLLA, a fabled monster, of whom mention is made in the 
Odyssey. She is said to have twelve feet and six long necks, with 
a terriric head, and three rows of close-set teeth, on each. 

b CALABRIA, the part of Italy occupied by the ancient Calabri. 
, one of the ancient names of Sicily. 


Satan was now at hand ; I and from his seat I 
The monster, moving, I onward came as fas, | 
With horrid strides ; I Hell trembled as he strode. I 
The undaunted fiend I wha this might be admired, | 
Admired, | not fear'd : I God and his Son except I 
Created thing I naught valued he, | nor shunn'd ; j 
And with disdainful loo& | thus first began : | 

" Whence and wha* art thou, | execrable shape ! I 
That dar'sf, | though grim and terrible, | advance 
Thy miscreated fron I athwart my way 
To yonder gates ? I through them I mean to pass, I 
That be assured, I without leave ask'd of thee. j 
Retire, I or taste thy folly ; I and learn by proof, | 
Hell-born ! | not to contend with spirits of Heaven !" | 

To whom the goblin, full of wrath, replied, | 
" Art thou that traitor angel, I art thou he 
Who first broke peace in heaven, I and faith, | till then 
Unbroken, I and in proud rebellious arms | 
Drew after him the third par of Heaven's sons, I 
Conjured against the Highest, I for which both thou 
And they, I outcast from God, I are here condemned I 
To waste eternal days in woe and pain ? I 

And reckonesZ thou thyself with spirits of Heaven, | 
Hell-doom'd / I and breath's^ defiance here and scorn, | 
Where I reign king, I and, to enrage thee more, | 
Thy king, and lord ? \ BacA; to thy punishment, I 
False fugitive ! I and to thy speed add wings, | 
Les with a whip of scorpions I I pursue 
Thy lingering, | or with one stro/ce of this dart I 
Strange horror seize thee, I and pangs unfeU before." | 

So spa&e the grisly terror, | and in shajoe, | 
So speaking and so threat'ning, 1 grew tenfold 
More dreadful and deform. I On the other side, | 
Incens'd with indignation, | Satan stood 
Unterrified, ! and like a corned burn'd, | 


Thai fires the length of Ophiucus a huge | 
In the arctic sky, | and from his horrid hair I 
Shakes pestilence and war. | 

Each at the head | 

LevelPd his deadly aim ; | their fatal hands | 
No second strode intend ; | and such a frown 
Each cast at the other, I as when two black clouds 1 
With heaven's artillery fraught, ( come rattling on 
Over the Caspian, | then stand front to front \ 
Hovering a space, | till winds the signal blow | 
To join their darA: encounter in mid air : | 

So frown'd the mighty combatants, I tha hell 

Grew darker at their frown ; I so match'd they stood; I 

For never but once more | was either like 

To meet so great a foe. | And now great deeds 

H&d been achiev'd, | whereof 6 all Hell had rung, | 

Had not the snaky sorceress | that sat 

Fast by Hell-gate, I and kepi the fatal key, I 

Risen, | and with hideous outcry rush'd between. | 


In joyous youth, what soul hath never known I 
Thought, feeling, taste, harmonious to its own? | 
Who hath not paused while Beauty's pensive eye | 
Ask'd from his heart the homage of a sigh 1 \ 
Who hath not own'd, with rapture-smitten frame, ! 
The power of grace, '| the magic of a name? | 

There be, perhaps, who barren hearts avow, | 
Cold as the rocks on Torneo's hoary brow ; | 
There be, whose loveless wisdom never fail'd, I 
In self-adoring pride securely mail'd ; | 

OPHIUCUS, a constellation. > WMr-6f . 


But, triumph noZ, ye peace-enamour'd few ! | 
Fire, Nature, Genius, never dweU with you ! J 
For you no fancy consecrates the scene I 
Where rapture utter'd vows, and wep* between : 
'T is yours, unmoved, to sever and to meet ; I 
No pledge is sacred, 1 and no home is sweei / I 

Who tha would asA; a heart to dullness wed, I 
The waveless calm, | the slumber of the dead ? ( 
No ; | the wild bliss of nature needs alloy, | 
And fear and sorrow fan the fire of joy ! | 
And say without our hopes, without our fears, | 
Without the home thai plighted love endears, | 
Without the smile from partial beauty won, I 
O ! wha* were man ? I a world without a sun , i 

Till Hymen brought ^is love-delighted hour, | 

There dwelt no joy in Eden's rosy bower ! I 

In vain the viewless seraph lingering there, I 

A* starry midnight charm'd the silent air ; ] 

In vain the wild-bird carol'd on the steep, | 

To hail the sun, slow-wheeling from the deep ; \ 

In vain, to soothe the solitary shade, | 

Aerial notes in mingling measure play'd ; | 

The summer wind thai shook the spangled tree, I 

The whispering wave, the murmur of the bee ; i 

Still slowly pass'd the melancholy day, I 

And still the stranger wist not where" to stray : | 

The world was sad/ | the garden was a wild/ I 

And man, the hermit sigh'd | till woman smiPd / 1 



Truth and sincerity | have all the advantages of ap 
pearance, and many more. | If the show of any thing 
be good, ! I am sure the reality is better ; | for why 


does any man dissemble, a | or seem to be thai which 
he is noi, | but because he thinks it good \ to have 
the qualities Ae pretends to ? I Now the besi way for 
a man to seem to be any thing, | is to be in reality 
what he would seem to be : I besides, ) it is often as 
troublesome to support the pretence of a good quality, | 
as to have it : \ and, if a man have it not, \ it is most 
likely he will be discovered to want it ; \ and, then, all 
his labour to seem to have it, is lost. \ There is some- 
thing unnatural in painting, | which a skilful eye | will 
easily discern b from native beauty and complexion. | 

Therefore, if any man think it convenient to seem 
good, | let him be so indeed ; I and then his goodness 
will appear to every one's satisfaction. I Particularly, 
as to the affairs of this world, I integrity hath many 
advantages I over all the artificial modes of dissimula- 
tion and deceit | It is much the plainer and easier, | 
much the safer, and more secure way of dealing in the 
world; | it has less of trouble and difficulty, | of entan- 
glement and perplexity, | of danger and hazard in it. \ 

The arts of deceit and cunning I continually grow 
weaker, and less serviceable to those thai practise 
them ; I whereas integrity gains strength by use ; | and 
the more and longer any man practiseth it \ the greater 
service it does him ; I by confirming Ais reputation, | 
and encouraging those with whom he hath to do, | to 
repose the greatest confidence in him ; I which is an 
unspeakable advantage in business | and the affairs of 
life. | 

Bui insincerity is very troublesome to manage. | A 
hypocrite hath so many things to attend to, I as make 
his life a very perplexed and intricate thing. | A liar 
hath need of a good memory, | lesi he contradici at one 
time, I whai he said at another ; but truth is always 
consistent, I and needs nothing to help it oui ; f it is 
always near at hand, I and sits upon our lips ; | whereas 


a lie is troublesome, I and needs a great many more to 
make it good. I 

In a word, I whatsoever convenience may be though* 
to be in falsehood and dissimulation, 1 it is soon over ; | 
but the inconvenience of it i% perpetual ; I because it 
brings a man | under an everlasting jealousy and sus- 
picion ; 1 so thai he is not believed when he speaks the 
truth ; | nor trusted when, perhaps, he means honestly. | 
When a man hath once forfeited the reputation of ^is 
integrity, I nothing will then serve his turn ; I neither 
truth nor falsehood. | 

Indeed, if a man were only to deal in the world for 
a day, | and should never have occasion to converse 
more with mankind, I it were then no great matter | (as 
far as respects the affairs of this world) | if he speni 
his reputation all at once ; | or ventured it at one 
throw. | Bui if he be to continue in the world, | and 
would have the advantage of reputation whilst he is 
in it, | lei him make use of truth and sincerity | in all 
his words and actions ; | for nothing bui this will hold 
oui to the end. | All other arts may fail ; | bui truth 
and integrity | will carry a man through, | and bear 
Aim out to the last. ! 



From an Address delivered at Washington City, on the Centennial Anniversarj 
of the Birth of Washington. 

There was in the breast of Washington | one senti 
meni deeply felt, \ so constantly uppermost, | thai no 
proper occasion I escaped without its utterance. /> 
From the letter which he signed in behalf of the con- 
vention, | when the constitution was sen* out to the 
people, | to the moment when he put his hand to thai 
lasi paper, | in which he addressed his countrymen, ( 
the union was the great object of his thoughts. | 

In thai first letter, | he tells them thai to him, | and 


his brethren of the convention, | union is the greatest 
interest of every true American ; | and in tha las* 
paper I he conjures them to regard that unity of go- 
vernment, I which constitutes them one people, j as the 
very palladium a of thei$, prosperity and safety, | and 
the security of liberty itself. I He regarded the union 
of these states, j not so much one of our blessings, ! as 
the greaZ treasure-house which contained them all. | 

Here, in his judgment, | was the grea magazine of 
all our means of prosperity ; | here, as he thought, j and 
as every true American still thinks, I are deposited all 
our animating prospects, | all our solid hopes for future 
greatness. | He has taught us to maintain this govern- 
ment, | not by seeking to enlarge its powers on the one 
hand, | nor by surrendering them on the other ; | but by 
an administration of them, | a.t once firm and moder- 
ate, | adapted for objects truly national, | and carried 
on in a spirit of justice and equity. | 

The extreme solicitude for the preservation of the 
union, | at all times manifested by him, \ shows not only 
the opinion he entertained of its usefulness, | but his 
clear perception of those causes | which were likely to 
spring up to endanger it, | and which, | if once they 
should overthrow the present system, ! would leave 
little fio/?e of any future beneficial reunion. | 

Of all the presumptions indulged by presumptuous 
man, | tha is one of the rashes^, | which looks for re- 
peated and favourable opportunities, | for the deliberate 
establishment of a united government, | over distinct 
and widely extended communities. | Such a thing has 
happened once in human affairs, | and but once : j the 
event stands out, as a prominent exception to all ordi- 
nary history ; | and, unless we suppose ourselves run- 
ning into an age of miracles, | we may no* expect its 
repetition. | 

a P^l-li'-de-um, [Lat] a statue of Pallas, pretended to be the 
guardian of Troy ; thence any security or protection. 


Washington, therefore, 1 could regard, I and did re- 
gard, | nothing as of paramount political interest, | but 
the integrity of the union itself. | With a united go- 
vernment, | well administered, | he saw we had nothing 
to fear ; | and without it, \ nothing to hope. | The 
sentiment is jusi, I and its momentous truth should 
solemnly impress the whole country. | 

If we mighi regard our country I as personated in 
the spirit of Washington ; I if we mighi consider him 
as representing her, \ in Aer pasi renown, I her present 
prosperity, i and her future career, I and as in thai cha- 
racter demanding of us all, | to account for our con- 
duct, as political men, I or as private citizens, | how 
should he answer him, \ who has ventured to tal/c of 
disunion 11 and dismemberment ? b \ Or, how should he 
answer him, \ who dwells perpetually on local inter- 
ests, | and fans every kindling flame of local prejudice ? | 
How should he answer him, \ who would array state 
against state, I interest against interest, | and party 
against party, | careless of the continuance of thai 
unity of government \ which constitutes us one people ? \ 

Gentlemen, I the political prosperity which this coun- 
try has attained, I and which it now enjoys, | it has ac- 
quired mainly through the instrumentality of the pre- 
sent goverttmeni. | While this ageni continues, the 
capacity of attaining to still higher degrees of pros- 
perity | exisis also. I We have, while this lasis, | a 
political life, capable of beneficial exertion, | with 
power to resist or overcome misfortunes, ! to sustain us 
against the ordinary accidents of human affairs, | and 
to promote, by active efforts, I every public interest | 

Bui dismemberment I strikes at the very being which 
preserves these faculties ; i it would lay its rude and 
ruthless hand | on this greai ageni itself. ! It would 
sweep away, not only whai we possess, | but all power 
of regaining lost, \ or acquiring new possessions. I It 


would leave the country, I no* only bereft of its pros 
perity and happiness, | bui withoui limbs, or organs, or 
faculties, I by which to exert itself, hereafter, | in the 
pursuit of thai prosperity and happiness. | 

Other misfortunes may be borne, | or their effecis 
overcome. I If disastrous war sweep our commerce 
from the ocean, | another generation may renew ii ; | if 
it exAausi our treasury, I future industry may replenish 
it ; | if it desolate and lay waste our fields, | still, under 
a new cultivation, ! they will grow green again, | and 
ripen to future harvests. | It were but a trifle, I even 
if the walls of yonder Capitol were to crumble, I if its 
lofty pillars should fall, | and its gorgeous decorations 
be all covered by the dust of the valley. I 

All these might be rebuild | Bui who shall recon- 
struct the fabric of demolished government ? \ Who 
shall rear again I the well proportioned columns* of 
constitutional liberty ? I Who shall frame together the 
skilful architecture | which unites national sovereignty j 
with state rights, | individual security, and public pros- 
perity ? | 

No, gentlemen, | if these columns fall, j they will be 
raised not again. I Li/ce the Colise'um b and the Par- 
thenon, 1 they will be destined to a mournful, \ a melan- 
choly immortality. I Bitterer tears, however, will flow 
over them, i than were ever shed over the monuments 
of Roman or Grecian art ; for they will be the rem- 
nants of a more glorious edifice I than Greece or Rome 
ever saw | the edifice of constitutional American 
liberty. | 

Bui, gentlemen, i lei us hope for better things. | Let 
us trusi in thai Gracious Being, I who has hitherto held 
our country | as in the holl jw of ^is hand. | Let us 
trusi to the virtue and the intelligence of the people, ] 

K6l'l&mi. I COLISE'UM, an amphitheatre at Rome, in which 
the people assembled to witness the combats of gladiators and wild 
beas{s. It is said to be capable of containing 60,000 spectators. 
* PAR'THENON, a celebrated temple at Athens, sacred to Minerva. 


and to the efficacy of religious obligation. I Let us 
trust to the influence of Washington's example. | Let 
us hope that tha fear of Heaven, | which expels all 
other fear, and that regard to duty, I which transcends 
all other regard, I may influence public men and pri- 
vate citizens,! and lead our country still onward in her 
happy career. | 

Full of these gratifying anticipations and hopes, | let 
us look forward to the end of tha* century | which is 
now commenced. A hundred years hence, I other dis- 
ciples of Washington ! will celebrate his birth, | with 
no less of sincere admiration I than we now commemo- 
rate it. | When they shall meet, \ as we now meet, \ to 
do themselves and him that honour, j so surely as they 
shall see the blue summits of his native mountains | 
rise in the horizon ; I so surely as they shall behold the 
river | on whose banks he lived, | and on whose banks 
he rests, \ still flowing to the sea ; I so surely may they 
see, | as we now see, | the flag of the union floating on 
the top of the Capitol ; I and then, as now, 1 may the 
sun in his course | visi* no land more free, I more happy, | 
more lovely, | than this our own country. | 


The fame of Ais discovery I had resounded through- 
out the nation, | and as Ais route | lay through several 
of the fines* I and mos* populous provinces of Spain, | 
his journey appeared like the progress of a sovereign. | 
Wherever he passed, I the surrounding country poured 
forth its inhabitants, ] who lined the road and thronged 
the villages. | In the large towns, | the streets, win- 
dows, and balconies, | were filled with eager specta- 
tors. I who ren the air with acclamations. I 

His journey was continually impeded I by the multi- 
tude | pressing to gain a sigh* of him, \ and of the In- 
dians, | who were regarded with as much admiration ] 


as if they had been natives of another plane*. | It was 
impossible to satisfy the craving curiosity j which as- 
sailed Aimself and his attendants, | at every stage, I 
with innumerable questions: j popular rumour, as usual, | 
had exaggerated the truth, | and had filled the newly- 
found country with all kinds of wonders. | 

It was about the middle of April, I that Columbus 
arrived at Barcelona, ) where every preparation had 
been made I to give Mm a solemn and magnificent re- 
ception. | The beauty and serenity of the weather, | 
in ihat genial season and favoured climate, I contributed 
to give splendour to this memorable ceremony. | As 
he drew near the place, | many of the more youthful 
courtiers, I and hidal'gos a of gallant bearing, I together 
with a vast concourse of the populace, | came forth to 
meet and welcome him. \ 

His entrance into this noble city I has been compared 
to one of those triumphs, | which the Romans were ac- 
customed to decree to conquerors. | Firs* were para- 
ded the Indians, I painted according to their savage 
fashion, | and decorated with tropical feathers, I and 
with their national ornaments of gold; I after these 
were borne various kinds of live parrots, | together 
with stuffed birds and animals of unknown species, | 
and rare plants, supposed to be of precious qualities : j 
while great care was taken to make a conspicuous dis- 
play of Indian coronets, 1 bracelets, | and other decora- 
tions of gold, | which might give an idea of the wealth 
of the newly-discovered regions. | After these follow- 
ed Columbus, on horseback, ! surrounded by a brilliant 
cavalcade of Spanish chivalry. | 

The streets were almost impassable from the count- 
less multitude; I the windows and balconies were 
crowded with the fair ; I the very roofs were covered 
with spectators. | It seemed, as if the public eye could 
not be sated | with gazing on these trophies of an un- 

* Hidal'go, (Spanish) a noble man or woman. 


known world, | or on the remarkable man by whom it 
had been discovered, i There was a sublimity in this 
even*, | thai mingled a solemn feeling with the public 
joy. | It was looked upon as a vasi and signal dispen- 
sation of Providence, I in reward for the piety of the 
monarchs ; I and the majestic and venerable appearance 
of the discoverer, I so different from the youth and 
buoyancy* | thai are generally expected from roving 
enterprise, 1 seemed in harmony with the grandeur and 
dignity of his achievement. I 

To receive him with suitable pomp and distinction, | 
the sovereigns had ordered their throne to be placed 
in public, | under a rich canopy of brocade b of gold, ) 
in a vasi and splendid saloon. | Here the king and 
queen awaited Ais arrival, | seated in state with the 
prince Juan beside them, I and attended by the digni- 
taries of their couri, j and the principal nobility of 
Castile, | Valentia, | Catalonia, | and Arragon, i all im- 
patieni to behold the man, i who had conferred so in- 
calculable a benefit upon the nation. | 

At length Columbus entered the hall, ! surrounded 
by a brilliant crowd of cavaliers, I among whom, says 
Las Casas, | he was conspicuous for his stately and 
commanding person, | which, with his countenance 
rendered venerable by fas gray hairs, I gave him the 
augusi appearance of a senator of Rome. | A modesi 
smile lighted up his features, | showing that he enjoyed 
the state and glory in which he came ; | and certainly 
nothing could be more deeply moving, | to a mind in- 
flamed by noble ambition, | and conscious of having 
greatly deserved, I than were these testimonials of the 
admiration and gratitude of a nation, | or rather of a 
world. | 

As Columbus approached, | the sovereigns rose, | as 
if receiving a person of the highest ran/c. | Bending 
his knees, | he requested to kiss their hands ; | but there 


was some hesitation on the par of their majesties | to 
permit this act of vassalage. | Raising him in the 
rnos gracious manner, | they ordered Aim to seat Aim- 
self in their presence ; | a rare honour in this proud 
and punctilious court. | 

At the request of their majesties, | Columbus now 
gave an account of the mos striking events of A is voy- 
age, | and a description of the islands which he had 
discovered. 1 He displayed the specimens Ae had 
brought 1 of unknown birds and other animals ; | of rare 
plants, of medicinal and aromatic virtue ; | of native 
gold, | in dusZ, I in crude masses, | or laboured into bar- 
baric ornaments ; I and, above all, I the natives of these 
countries, | who were objects of intense and inexAaust- 
ible interest ; I since there is nothing to man 1 so curi- 
ous as the varieties of Ais own species. I All these he 
pronounced mere harbingers of greater discoveries I he 
had yet to make, | which would add realms of incalcu- 
lable wealth to the dominions of their majesties, | and 
whole nations of proselytes to the true faith. | 

The words of Columbus | were listened to with pro- 
found emotion by the sovereigns. | When he had 
finished, I they sunk on their knees, I and raising their 
clasped hands to heaven, | their eyes filled with tears 
of joy and gratitude, | they poured forth thanks and 
praises to God for so great a providence ; | all present 
followed their example ; I a deep and solemn enthusiasm 
pervaded that splendid assembly, 1 and prevented all 
common acclamations of triumph. I 

The anthem of Te Deum laudamus* \ chanted by 
the choir of the royal chapel, 1 with the melodious ac- 
companiments of the instruments, rose up from the 
midsZ, I in a full body of sacred harmony, I bearing up. 
as it were, i the feelings and thoughts of the auditors 
to heaven, I ' so that,' says the venerable Las Casas, | 
' it seemed as if in that hour they communicated with 

a We praise thee, God. 


celestial delights.' 1 Such was the solemn and pious 
manner I in which the brilliant court of Spain, I cele- 
brated this sublime event : \ offering up a grateful tri- 
bute of melody and praise ; | and giving glory to God 
for the discovery of another world. | 

When Columbus retired from the royal presence, I 
he was attended to 7iis residence by all the court, I and 
followed by the shouting populace. | For many days 
he was the object of universal curiosity, I and wherever 
he appeared, | he was surrounded by an admiring mul- 
titude. | 


In the structure of their characters ; | in the course 
of their action ; I in the striking coincidences which 
marked their high career ; | in the lives and in the 
deaths of these illustrious men, I and in thai voice of 
admiration and gratitude | which has since bursi, with 
one accord, j from the twelve millions of freemen who 
people these states, | there is a moral sublimity which 
overwhelms the mind, | and hushes all its powers into 
silent amazement | 

The European, who should have heard the sound | 
without apprehending the cause, | would be api to in- 
quire, What is the meaning of all this ? | what 
have these men done I to elicii this unanimous and 
splendid acclamation? I Why has the whole Ameri- 
can nation risen up, as one man, | to do them honour, j 
and offer to them this enthusiastic homage of the 
heart ? \ Were they mighty warriors, I and was the 
peal thai we have heard, the shoui of victory ? I 

Were they great commanders, returning from their 
distant conquests, I surrounded with the spoils of war, i 
and was this the sound of their triumphal procession ? j 
Were they covered with martial glory in any form, j 
and was this the noisy wave of the multitude, | rolling 
30* z 


bacA: at their approach V \ Nothing of all this : | No ; j 
they were peaceful and aged patriots, \ who, having 
served their country together, | through their long and 
useful lives, | had now sunA; together to the tomb. | 

They had not fought battles ; 1 but they had formed 
and moved the great machinery, | of which battles 
were only a small, I and, comparatively, trivial conse- 
quence. 1 They had not commanded armies ; j but 
they had commanded the master springs of the nation, I 
on which all its great political, as well as military 
movements, depended. I By the wisdom and energy 
of their counsels, i and by the potent mastery of their 
spirits, | they had contributed preeminently to produce 
a mighty revolution, I which has changed the aspect 
of the world. | 

A revolution which, in one-half of that world, | has 
already restored man to his ' long lost liberty ;' | and 
government to its only legitimate object, I the happi- 
ness of the people : | and, on the other hemisphere, | 
has thrown a light so strong, | that even the darkness 
of despotism is beginning to recede. | 

Compared with the solid glory of an achievement 
like this, | wha are battles, I and wha the pomp of 
war, | but the poor and fleeting pageants of a theatre ? | 
What were the selfish and petty strides of Alexander, | 
to conquer a little section of a savage world, | com- 
pared with this generous, this magnificent advance | 
towards the emancipation of the entire world / I 

And this, be it remembered, ! has been the fruit of 
intellectual exertion !! the triumph of mind/ | Whaz 
a proud testimony ! does it bear to the character of our 
nation, I that it is able to make a proper estimate 1 of 
services like these ! That while, in other countries, | 
the senseless mob fall down in stupid admiration, | be- 
fore the bloody wheels of the conqueror ! even of 
the conqueror by accident | in this, our people rise, 
with one accord, 1 to pay their homage to intellect and 
virtue ! 


WhaZ a cheering pledge does it give I of the stability 
of our institutions, | that while abroad, | the yet be- 
nighted multitude I are prostrating themselves before 
the idols, | which their own hands have fashioned into 
kings, | here, in this land of the free, | our people are 
everywhere starting up, with one impulse, I to follow 
with their acclamations | the ascending spirits of the 
greaJ fathers of the republic / | 

This is a spectacle I of which we may be permitted 
to be proud. I It honours our country no less than the 
illustrious dead. I And could these greaj patriots 
spea/c to us from the tomb, I they would tell us that 
they have more pleasure in the testimony, | which 
these honours bear to the character of their country, | 
than in that, which they bear to their individual ser- 
vices. | 

They now see as they were seen, while in the body, | 
and know the nature of the feeling from which these 
honours flow. | It is love for love. | It is the grati- 
tude of an enlightened nation | to the nobles* order of 
benefactors. I It is the only glory worth the aspira- 
tion of a generous spirit. | Who would not prefer this 
living tomb in the hearts of his countrymen, I to the 
proudest mausoleum that the genius of sculpture could 
erect / 1 

Jefferson and Adams were greaZ men by nature. | 
No great and eccentric minds, | 'shot madly from 
their spheres/ | to affright the world and scatter pesti- 
lence in their course, I bu minds whose strong and 
steady lights, | restrained within their proper orbits | 
by the happy poise of their characters, I came to cheer 
and gladden a world | that had been buried for ages in 
political night. | 

They were heaven-called avengers of degraded man. { 
They came to lift him to the station for which God had 
formed him, | and to put to flight those idiot supersti- 
tions, | with which tyrants had contrived to inthral his 
reason and his liberty. | And that Being, who had 


sent them upon this mission, | had fitted them, pre- 
eminently, for his glorious \vork. I He filled their 
hearts with a love of country i which burned strong 
within them, even in death. | He gave them a power 
of understanding | which no sophistry could baffle, j no 
art elude ; I and a moral heroism which no dangers 
could appal. I 

Careless of themselves, I reckless of all personal con- 
sequences, ! trampling under foot that petty ambition 
of office and honour, I which constitutes the master- 
passion of little minds, I they bent all their mighty 
powers I to the task for which they had been dele- 
gated | the freedom of their beloved country, | and 
the restoration of fallen man. I They Mt that they 
were apostles of human liberty ; ! and well did they 
fulfil their high commission. I They rested not till 
they had accomplished their work at home, I and given 
such an impulse to the great ocean of mind, | thai they 
saw the waves rolling on the farthest shore, i before 
they were called to their reward. I And then left the 
world, hand in hand, I exulting, as they rose, in the 
success of their labours. I 



Your parents have watched over your helpless in- 
fancy, | and conducted you, with many a pang, | to an 
age at which your mind is capable of manly improve- 
ment. 1 Their solicitude still continues, | and no trou- 
ble nor expense is spared, | in giving you all the in- 
structions and accomplishments i which may enable 
you to act your part in life, | as a man of polished 
sense and confirmed virtue. I 

You have, then, | already contracted a great deb* o, 
gratitude to them. | You can pay it by no other 
method, I but by using properly ! the advantages which 


their goodness has afforded you. | If your own en- 
deavours are deficient, I it is in vain ihat you have 
tutors, | books, i and all the external apparatus of lite- 
rary pursuits. | You must love learning, | if you would 
possess it. | In order to love it, \ you must feel its 
delights ; j in order to feel its delights, | you mus* apply 
to it, | however irksome at first, j closely, constantly, 
and for a considerable time. ] 

If you have resolution enough to do this, I you can 
not but love learning ; I for the mind always loves that i 
to which it has been so long, | steadily, I and voluntarily 
attached. I Habits are formed, | which render what 
was at first disagreeable, | not only pleasant, but neces- 
sary. | Pleasant indeed, | are all the paths which lead 
to polite and elegant literature. I Yours then is surely 
a lot particularly happy. I Your education is of such 
a sort, | that its principal scope i is to prepare you to 
receive a refined pleasure during your life, i 

Elegance, or delicacy of taste, I is one of the first 
objects of classical discipline ; | and it is this fine qual- 
ity | which opens a new world to the scholar's view. | 
Elegance of taste I has a connexion with many virtues, I 
and all of them virtues of the most amiable kind. | It 
tends to render you at once good and agreeable ; | you 
must therefore be an enemy to your own enjoyment, | 
if you enter on the discipline ) which leads to the at- 
tainment of a classical and liberal education, I with 
reluctance. I Value duly the opportunities you enjoy, | 
and which are denied to thousands of your fellow-crea- 
tures. | 

By laying in a store of useful knowledge, adorning 
your mind with elegant literature, | improving and 
establishing your conduct by virtuous principles, | you 
cannoZ fail of being a comfort to those friends who 
have supported you, ! of being happy within yourself, | 
and of being well received by mankind, j Honour 
and success in life will probably attend you. | Under 
all circumstances | vou will have an eternal source of 


consolation and entertainment, | of which no sublunary 
vicissitude can deprive you. I 

Time will show how much wiser hds been your 
choice I than tha of your idle companions, I who would 
gladly have drawn you into their association, | or 
rather into their conspiracy, | as it has been called, | 
against good manners, | and againsZ all that is honour- 
able and useful. I While you appear in society | as a 
respectable and valuable member of \t, \ they will, per- 
haps, | have sacrificed at the shrine of vanity, I pride, I 
and extravagance, I and false pleasure, | their health 
and their sense, | their fortune and their characters. ! 



Woman, / 

Oh, the woe that woman brings ! I 
Source of sorrow, grief and pain ! 1 

All our evils have their springs, | 
In the first of female train. | 

Eve by eating led poor Adam \ 
Out of Eden, and astray ; | 

Look for sorrow still where Madam, | 
Pert and proud, directs the way. I 

Courtship is a slavish pleasure, I 
Soothing a coquettish train ; I 

Wedded what the mighty treasure? 
Doom'd to drag a golden chain. | 

Noisy clac& and constant brawling, ! 

Discord and domestic strife ; | 
Empty cupboard, | children bawling, j 

Scolding woman made a wife. | 


Gaudy dress and haughty carriage, | 
Love's fond balance fled and gone ; | 

These, the bitter fruits of marriage ! ; 
He that 's wise will live alone ! I 

Contra, Or. 
Oh ! \\hat joys from woman spring, I 

Source of bliss and purest peace, I 
Eden could no* comfort bring, I 

Till fair woman show'd her face. I 

When she came, | good honest Adam I 
Clasp'd the gift with open arms, I 

He left Eden for his madam, j 

So our parent prized her charms. | 

Courtship thrills the soul with pleasure ; I 
Virtue's blush on beauty's cheeA; : | 

Happy prelude to a treasure I 

Kings have left their crowns to see& / | 

Lovely looks and constant courting, I 

Sweet'ning all the toils of life ; I 
Cheerful children, harmless sporting. I 

Lovely woman made a wife ! ) 

Modest dress and gentle carriage, | 

Love triumphant on his throne ; | 
These the blissful fruits of marriage ] 

None but fools would live alone. 1 



Omar, the son of Hassan, 1 had passed seventy-five 
years in honour and prosperity. I The favour of three 
successive califs a | had filled his house with gold and 

Ki'llf, a title assumed by the successors of Mahomet among the 


silver ; | and whenever he appeared, 1 the benedictions 
of the people proclaimed his passage. | 

Terrestrial happiness is of short continuance. | 
The brightness of the flame is wasting its fuel ; | the 
fragrant flower is passing away in its own odours. ' 
The vigour of Omar began to fail ; | the curls of beauty 
fell from his head ; | strength departed from his hands ;' ! 
and agility from his feet. \ He gave bac/c to the calif 
the keys of trusZ, I and the seals of secresy : | and 
sought no other pleasure for the remains of life, than 
the converse of the wise, | and the gratitude of the 
good. | 

The powers of his mind were yet unimpaired. | 
His chamber was filled by visitants, | eager to catch 
the dictates of experience, I and officious to pay the 
tribu/e of admiration. I Caled, the son of the viceroy 
of EgypZ, | entered every day early, and retired late. \ 
He was beautiful and eloquent ; | Omar admired his 
wif, | and loved fas docility. | " Tell me," said Caled, 
" thou to whose voice nations have listened, I and whose 
wisdom is known to the extremities of Asia, | tell me 
how I may resemble Omar the prudent | The arts by 
which thou hast gained power and preserved it, \ are 
to thee no longer necessary or useful ; | impart to me 
the secret of thy conduct, | and teach me the plan | 
upon which thy wisdom has built thy fortune." | 

" Young man," said Omar, | *' it is of little use to 
form plans of life. | When I took my firs* survey 
of the world, | in my twentieth year, | having consider- 
ed the various conditions of mankind, | in the hour of 
solitude I said thus to myself, | leaning against a cedar, 
which spread its branches over my head, I " Seventy 
years are allowed to man ; 1 1 have yet fifty remain 
ing. | 

" Ten years I will alloZ to the attainment of 
knowledge, I and ten I will pass in foreign countries ; | 
I shall be learned, | and therefore shall be honoured ; j 
every city will shou* at my arrival, | and every stu- 


dent will solicit my friendship. | Twenty years thus 
passed, | will store my mind with images, I which 1 
shall be busy, through the rest of my life, I in combin- 
ing and comparing. | I shall revel in inexhaustible 
accumulations of intellectual riches ; I I shall find new 
pleasures for every moment ; | and shall never more be 
weary of myself. | 

" I will no*, however, | deviate too far from the 
beaten tracA; of life ; I bu* will try wha* can be found 
in female delicacy. | I will marry a wife beautiful as 
the Houries, a | and wise as Zobeide : b | with her I will 
live twenty years within the suburbs of Bagdad, | in 
every pleasure tha* wealth can purchase, and fancy 
can invent, i 

" I will then retire to a rural dwelling, I pass my 
days in obscurity and contemplation, | and lie silently 
down on the bed of death. I Through my life it shall 
be my settled resolution, | that I will never depend 
upon the smile of princes ; | tha* I will never stand ex- 
posed to the artifices of courts ; i I will never pan* for 
public honours, | nor disturb my quie* with the affairs 
of state." | Such was my scheme of life, which I 
impressed indelibly upon my memory. I 

" The firs* par* of my ensuing time | was to be 
spen* in search of knowledge, I and I know no* how I 
was diverted from my design. | I had no visible im- 
pediments withou*. I nor any ungovernable passions 
within. | I regarded knowledge as the highes* hon- 
our, | and the mos* engaging pleasure ; I ye* day stole 
upon day, | and month glided after month, i till I found 
tha* seven years of the firs* ten had vanished, | and 
lef* nothing behind them. | 

" I now pos*poned my purpose of travelling ; ! for 
why should I go abroad, | while so much remained to 
be learned at home ? | I immured myself for four 

* H6're, the girls of Mahomet's Paradise. b Z6-bl'de, wife of 
the Calif, a fictitious character. (See Arabian Nights Entertain- 



pars, j and studied the laws of the empire. ' The 
fame of my skill reached the judges ; I I was fount/ 
able to speaA; upon doubtful questions ; | and was com- 
manded to stand at the footstool of the calif. | I was 
neard with attention;! I was consulted with confi- 
dence ; | and the love of praise fastened on my heart. | 

" I still wished to see distant countries ; listened 
with rapture to the relations of travellers ; | and re- 
solved some time to as/c my dismission, | tha I mighz 
feas* my soul with novelty : | but my presence was 
always necessary ; | and the stream of business hurrieiy 
me along. | Sometimes I was afraid lest I should bi 
charged with ingratitude : I but I still proposed tt 
travel, | and therefore would not confine myself by 
marriage. | 

" In my fiftieth year, 1 1 began to suspect that the 
time of travelling was pas* ; j and thought it best to 
lay hold on the felicity yet in my power, I and indulge 
myself in domestic pleasures. I Rut at fifty | no man 
easily finds a woman | beautiful as the Houries, and 
wise as Zobeide. | I inquired and rejected, | consult- 
ed and deliberated, | till the sixty-second year made 
me ashamed of wishing to marry. I I had now no- 
thing left but retirement / | and for retirement I never 
found a time, i till disease forced me from public em- 
ployment | 

" Such was my scheme, I and such has been its con- 
sequence. | With an insatiable thirst for knowledge, I 
I trifled away the years of improvement ; I with a rest- 
less desire of seeing different countries, | I have always 
resided in the same city ; I with the highest expectation 
of connubial felicity, | I have lived unmarried; | and 
with unalterable resolutions of contemplative retire- 
ment, I I am going to die within the walls of Bag- 
daZ." I 




Smk or swim, | live or die, I survive or perish, 1 1 give 
my hand, and my hear/, to this vote. | It is true, in- 
deed, | thai in the beginning, | we aimed not at Inde- 
pendence. | Bui there's a Divinity which shapes our 
ends. | The injustice of England has driven us to 
arms ; I and blinded to for own interest for our good, | 
she has obstinately persisted, I till Independence is now 
\vithin our grasp. | We have but to reach forth to ii,| 
and it is ours, j Why then should we defer the Decla- 
ration 1 | Is any man so weak | as now to hope for a 
reconciliation with England? I Do we mean to sub- 
mit to the measures of parliament, I Boston port-bill 
and all ? I I know we do noi mean to submit, j We 
never shall submit | 

The war, then, must go on. | We must fight it 
through. | And if the war must go on, | why put off 
longer the Declaration of Independence ? 1 That mea- 
sure will strengthen us. I It will give us character 
abroad, i The nations will then treat with us, | which 
they never can do i while we acknowledge ourselves 
subjects, in arms against our sovereign. I Nay, I main- 
tain thai England forself, I will sooner treai for peace 
with us|on the footing of Independence, I than consent, 
by repealing her acis, i to acknowledge thai for whole 
conduci towards us | has been a course of injustice and 
oppression. I 

Sir, | the Declaration will inspire the people with in- 
creased courage. | Instead of a long and bloody war 
for restoration of privileges, I for redress of grievances, | 
for chartered immunities, I held under a British king, | 
set before them the glorious object of entire Indepen- 
dence, I and it will breathe into them anew the breath 
of life. I Read this Declaration at the head of the 


army : J every sword will be drawn from its scabbard, | 
and the solemn vow uttered, to maintain it, | or to 
perish on the bed of honour. | Publish \t from the pul- 
pit ; I religion will approve it, \ and the love of religious 
liberty will cling round it, \ resolved to stand with it,\ 
or fall with it. \ Send it to the public halls ; | proclaim 
it there ; I let them hear i,|who heard the first roar of 
the enemy's cannon ; I let them see it, \ who saw their 
brothers and their sons | fall on the field of Bunker 
Hill, | and in the streets of Lexington and Concord, | 
and the very walls will cry out in its support. | 

Sir, before God,| I believe the hour is come. I My 
judgment approves this measure, | and my whole heart 
is in it. | All tha I have, I and all thaZ I am, | and all 
that I hope, in this life, 1 1 am now ready here to stake 
upon it ; \ and I leave off as I began, | tha live or die, | 
survive or perish, | I am for the Declaration. I It is 
my living sentiment, | and. by the blessing of God | it 
shall be my dying sentiment ; | Independence now ; \ 


Pleasure is a shadow : 1 wealth is vanity : | and power 
is a pageant : | but knowledge is ecstatic in enjoy- 
ment | perennial in fame, I unlimited in space, I antf 
infinite in duration. I In the performance of its sacred 
offices, | it fears no danger I spares no expense | 
omits no exertion. I It scales the mountain I looks 
into the volcano | dives into the ocean | perforates 
the earth I wings its flight into the skies I encir- 
cles the glo&e | explores sea,and land I contem- 
plates the distant 1 examines the minute | compre- 
hends the great | ascends to the sublime. I No 
place too remote for its grasp | no heavens too ex- 
alted for its touch, j 




SINCE the commencement of the present year, (1841,) a variety 
of operations have been performed on the tongue, for the radical 
cure of Stammering. This method of treating the disease is due 
to the genius of Professor Dieffenbach,* of Berlin, author of the 
operation for the cure of Strabismus. 

From the American Journal of the Medical Sciences, July, 1841. 

The greatest novelties in Surgery, which the Foreign Journals 
for the last three months present us, are the operations for the cure 
of Stammering. 

Operation of Dieffenbach. " The idea lately suggested itself 
to me," says the celebrated Berlin Professor, " that an incision car- 
ried completely through the root of the tongue, might possibly be 
useful," in relieving Stuttering which had resisted other means of 
cure, "by producing an alteration in the condition of the nervous 
influences, allaying spasm of the chordee vocales, &c." ; and, on 
this slender possibility, based on a most vague notion (it is not 
worthy of being termed a theory), he proceeded at once boldly to 
divide completely the root of the tongue. 

Three modes of operating are described by Dieffenbach : " 1st. 
The transverse horizontal division of the root of the tongue. 2d. 
The subcutaneous transverse division. 3d. The horizontal division, 
with excision of a wedge-shaped portion." 

The inventor of this operation thus characterizes it: "It can 
never be performed by one who has not the temperament of an 
operator; the haemorrhage must hold all others at a respectable 
distance. The extent and importance of the operation, the possi- 
ble danger to life, or loss of the tongue either through want of skill 
in the assistants, who may tear -it off when so nearly separated, or 
through mortification or ulceration of its connecting isthmus. 
These are contingencies rationally to be feared, and which must be 
carefully weighed beforehand." We commend this to the con- 
sideration not only of the Surgeon, but most earnestly also to the 
unfortunate subjects of the operation. 

It is said to have been fatal in one of Dieffenbach's cases, that of 

* Pronounced D 
31 * CD 


a young man who was dismissed seemingly cured. Owing to the 
irritation caused by the cicatrix, this patient commenced picking 
his tongue; haemorrhage came on, which proved -so alarming that 
Dieffenbach was sent for, but so much blood had been lost that the 
man sank. 

Notwithstanding the imminently dangerous nature of this opera- 
tion, several of the most distinguished Surgeons of Paris havo 
hastened to execute it, and seem now to be contending who shall 
perform it most frequently, and boast most loudly of their success. 

From Dr. Post's Observations on the New Operation for the Cure 
of Stammering. (New-York.) 

The operation has been repeated a considerable number of timea 
in Paris, by Amussat, Baudens, Velpeau, &c., &c., by whom it has 
been essentially modified, and rendered easier to the Surgeon, and 
less formidable to the patient. Amussat pursues the following 
mode of operating: 

1st. He separates with a bistoury, the franum lingua from its 
attachment to the lower jaw, and divides the fibre-cellular mem- 
brane beneath it. In a few cases, he has found this part of the 
operation to be of itself sufficient to restore freedom of speech. 

2d. He divides the genio-hyo-glossi muscles at their origin from 
the lower jaw. The wound generally heals in about eight days. 

Amussat has had some cases followed by troublesome hemor- 
rhage, which he has generally arrested by the free use of ice ; some- 
times by introducing compresses of lint, and making pressure on 
them with two fingers of each hand introduced into the mouth, 
while the thumbs are applied below the chin. In one case only it 
was found necessary to make pressure by means of a hard body 
applied over the lint. If these means should fail, he recommends 
the use of styptics or of the actual cautery. 

Baudens operates in the following manner. An assistant stands 
behind the Stammerer, and holds his head slightly thrown back, 
with his mouth widely opened, and the two little fingers of the 
assistant in the angles of the mouth, drawing back the lips. The 
Surgeon with his left hand holds a sharp hook, which he inserts 
into the frsenum lingua?, near the insertion of the genio-hyo-glossi, 
which he thus puts on the stretch. He then plunges the points of 
a sharp pair of scissors on each side of the origin of the muscles, 
to the depth of about an inch, and by closing the scissors divides 
the muscles. If any fibres remain undivided, he cuts them with a 
probe-pointed bistoury. 

Velpeau divides the genio-hyo-glossi, sometimes with a narrow 
bistoury, through a puncture of the mucous membrane, and some- 
times with scissors, dividing the mucous membrane more exten- 


From the American Journal of the Medical Sciences. October. 

Operations for Stammering. A reviewer in the British and 
Foreign Medical Review, July, 1841, thus speaks of them. "The 
sanguinary operations which have been recently devised and exe- 
cuted, with the view of curing Stammering, are one of the great- 
est outrages upon modern Surgery. Although some of them had 
their origin in legitimate motives, most, we fear, serve but to show 
what ruthless expedients will be occasionally resorted to for the 
purpose of acquiring professional fame, however short-lived, and to 
what extent the ignorant and credulous will become a prey to craft 
and subtlety. If our indignation was awakened at the barbarous 
cruelties practised upon dumb animals for the sake of elucidating 
the truths of Physiology, how much more ought it to be when we 
consider the multitude of our fellow-beings who have suffered 
themselves to be maimed and mutilated at the instigation of indi- 
viduals more remarkable for their reckless use of the knife than 
for the soundness of their Medical Science !" 

From a very intelligent young German Physician, recently on a 
visit to this country, we learn that Dieffenbach has abandoned his 
operation, on the ground that the danger to the life of the patient 
exceeds the chance of a cure. And we also learn that many of 
the cases announced as cures, were merely temporarily relieved. 


Nothing can be more unphilosophical and absurd than theso 
operations for the radical cure of Stammering. Will removing 
"wedge-shaped" portions of the tongue, passing needles through 
its substance, or dividing the genio-hyo-glossi muscles, inspire a 
Stammerer with confidence, or give him a knowledge of Elocu- 
tion 1 If Stammering depended on the permanent contraction of a 
muscle, as in Strabismus, it would be rational to conclude that it 
might be relieved by a surgical operation; but as the exciting 
cause, in the majority of cases, exists in the mind, and not in the 
tongue, an operation on the latter can be of no permanent advan- 



[NOTE. These Questions were omitted in the proper place 
they should have followed those on page 166.] 

Page 134. What letters are employed for noting the disposition 
of the fingers 1 What letters are used for noting the manner of 
presenting the palm ? What letters are used for noting the eleva- 
tion of the arms'? What letters are used for noting the posture 
of the arms in the transverse direction! What letters are used 
for noting the force of motion of the hands and arms ? What let- 
ters are used for noting the direction of motion 1 

Page 135. What letters are used for noting the manner of 
motion? W T hat letters are used for noting the posture of the head 
and direction of the eyes? What letters and numerals are used 
for noting the positions of the feet? What letters are used for 
noting the degree of extension of the feet ? What letters are used 
for noting the steps ? 

Page 136. What letters are used to note parts on which the hand 
may be placed ? What letters are used to note the manner of com- 
bining the fingers of both hands "? What letters are used for noting 
the combinations of both arms ? What does a capital B, preceding 
and joined to a set of small letters, signify ? Name some of the 
letters used in noting significant gestures. 

Page 137. Into how many classes are the notation letters divi- 
ded ? What is meant by a set of letters? To what does each 
letter in a set, respectively relate? Illustrate this by an example. 
Do the letters and sets of letters relate to both arms indifferently? 
How are they distinguished ? When there is a single set of let- 
ters, how is it known whether it belongs to the right hand and arm, 
or to the left ? 

Page 138. How is a set of letters, designed for both arms, dis- 
tinguished ? How is a change of gesture noted ? How is alter- 
nate gesture expressed ? By what kind of letters are the postures 
of the head and the direction of the eyes indicated, and where are 
they placed ? Where are the letters placed, which mark the posi- 
tions of the feet ? 

Page 156. In notating an oration, is it necessary to mark every 
gesture ? 

Page 157. What is necessary to be attended to in the recitation 
of descriptions of any kind ? Why should not the same gesture 
be often repeated? What general rule should be observed in ora- 
torical action ? What is the best method for acquiring a finished 
rhetorical delivery ? 





Complex Significant Gestures are employed chiefly in 
dramatic representation. They are combinations of 
simple significant gestures, variously associated accord- 
ing to the mingled passions which they represent. The 
boldest and most magnificent of them are termed atti- 
tudes. The following are examples of complex signifi- 
cant gestures : 

Reproach puts on a stern aspect : the brow is con- 
tracted, the lip is turned up with scorn, and the whole 
body is expressive of 
aversion. Fig. 166 
represents Queen Ka- 
tharine, in the trial 
scene, in the play of 
Henry VIII. reproach- 
ing Wolsey for the in- 
juries which had been 
neaped upon her. 

Apprehension is the 
prospect of future evil 
accompanied with un- 
easiness of mind. Fig. 
167 is a good example. 
It represents Hamlet 
in the act of exclaiming, "Ay, there's the rub." [See 
Hamlet's Soliloquy, p. 249.] 

Terror excites the person who suffers under it, to 
avoid the dreaded object, or to escape from it. If it be 
some dangerous reptile on the ground, and very neai, 
the expression is represented by starting back and look - 

* This Chapter should have followed p. 130. 



ing downwards. If the danger threaten from a dis- 
tance, the terror arising is expressed by looking for- 
wards, and not starting back, but merely in the retired 
position. But if the dread of impending death from 
the hand of an enemy awaken this passion, the coward 
flies. Of this there is a fine example in the battles of 

Alexander, by 
LeBrun. Fig. 
terror as de- 
scribed byEn- 
gel. It is that 
of a man a- 
larmed by 
lightning and 
thunder. He 
shuts his eyes, 
covers them 
with one hand 

168 169 and extends 

the other behind him, as if to ward off the dreaded stroke. 
Aversion, as already observed, is expressed by two 
gestures. (See p. 122.) 

Horror, which is aversion or astonishment mingled 
with terror, is seldom capable of retreating, but remains 
in one attitude, with the eyes riveted on the object, the 
arms, with the hands vertical, held forward to guard 
the person, and the whole frame trembling. (Fig. 169.) 
Listening in order to obtain the surest and most va- 
rious information, first casts the eye quickly in the ap- 
parent direction of the sounds ; if nothing is seen, the 
ear is turned towards the point of expectation, the eye 
is bent on vacancy, and the arm is extended, with the 
hand vertical ; but all this passes in a moment. If the 
sounds proceed from different points at the same time, 
both hands are held up, and the face and eyes alternately 
change from one side to the other with a rapidity go- 
verned by the nature of the sound ; if it be alarming, with 


trepidation ; if pleasing, with gentle motion. 
The figure is listening fear. 

(Fig. 99.) 

Admiration, if of surrounding natural objects, of a 
pleasing kind, holds both hands vertical, and across, 
and then moves them outwards to the position extended 
as in the figure. (Fig. 100.) In admiration arising 
from some extraordinary or unexpected circumstances, 
the hands are thrown up supine elevated, together with 
the face and the eyes. 

Veneration crosses both hands on the breast, casts 

down the eyes slow- 
ly, and bows the 
head. (Fig. 101.) 

Deprecation ad- 
vances in the ex- 
tended position of 
the feet, approach- 
ing to kneeling, 
clasps the hands 
forcibly together 
throws back the 
head, sinking it be- 

101 102 tween the shoul 

ders, and looks earnestly up to the person implored, 
(Fig. 102.) 



In appealing to heaven, the right hand is laid on the 
breast, then the left is projected su- 
pine upwards; the eyes are first di- 
rected forwards, and then upwards. 
(Fig. 103.) 

In the appeal to conscience, the 
right hand is laid on the breast, the 
left drops unmoved, the eyes are fixed 
upon the person addressed (Fig. 80, p. 
99) ; sometimes both hands press the 

Shame in the extreme sinks on the 
knee, and covers the eyes with both 
hands. (Fig. 104.) This is a femi- 
nine expression of it. 

Mild resignation falls on the knee, 
crosses the arms on the breast, and looks forwards and 
upwards towards heaven. (Fig. 105.) 


Resignation mixed with desperation, stands erect and 
unmoved, the head thrown back, the eyes turned up- 
ward, and fixed, the arms crossed. A fine instance is 
seen in Fig. 106, from an attitude of Mrs. Siddons. 

Grief arising from sudden and afflicting intelligence, 
covers the eyes with one hand, advances forwards, and 
throws back tne other hand. (Fig. 107, and Fig. 8 1 , p. 99.) 



Attention demanding silence, holds the finger on the 
lips, and leans forwards, sometimes repressing with the 
left hand. (Fig. 82, p. 99.) 

Distress, when extreme, lays the palm of the hand 
upon the forehead, throws back the head and body, 
and retires with a long and sudden step. (Fig. 83. p. 99. 

Deliberation on ordinary subjects, holds the chin 
and sets the arm a-kimbo. (Fig. 84, p. 99.) 

Self-sufficiency folds the arms, and sets himself on 
his centre. (Fig. 48, p. 92.) This was a favourite 
posture of Bonaparte. 

Pride throws back the body, and holds the head high. 

These few complex significant gestures are some of 
the most obvious, and principally such as occurred in 
the illustration of other parts of this system; they 
serve, however, in some degree, to explain the nature 
of these gestures. But among the writers who have 
treated particularly of significant gestures, none have 
written with greater ingenuity than Engel : we will 
borrow, therefore, an example or two from him. 

Surprise causes the body and lower limbs to retire 

and affection stimulates the person to advance. (Fig. 

108.) The figure represents Frederick de Reuss, in a 

German play, who unexpectedly sees his dear friend. 




He withdraws, in surprise, his body and lower limbs, 
and, in the ardour of friendship, immediately stretches 
forwards his head and his arms. 

When the thoughts flow without 
difficulty or opposition, the move- 
ment of the limbs is free and direct. 
But when difficulties occur, or ob- 
stacles are discovered, a man either 
arrests his action entirely, or changes 
it to something altogether different. 
The direction of his eyes, and the, 
action of his head, are also, under 
similar circumstances, quite altered. 
The eyes, instead of moving freely 
from object to object, become fixed, 
and the head is thrown back, if be- 
fore hanging down on the breast. As an example of 
these effects, M. Engel refers to a scene in a play of 
Lessing, in which an old gentleman is very much 
puzzled how to ma- 
nage, in a situa- 
tion of great diffi- 
culty and delicacy. 
In the commence- 
ment of his delibe- 
rations he is repre- 
sented as in Fig. 109, 
and in the next pe- 
riod of them, as in 
Fig. 110. 

These examples 
are introduced by 

M. Engel to illus- 109 no 

trate his analogous gestures, but they may also be 
very well applied to illustrate the complex, significant 
gestures, which are the present subject of investigation. 
The description which he gives of melancholy, con- 
trasted with anxiety, is, throughout, correct, and full 
of nice discrimination. 



Melancholy is a feeble and passive affection ; it is 
attended by a total relaxation of the muscles, with a 
mute and tranquil resignation, un- 
accompanied by opposition either 
to the cause or the sensibility of 
the evil . The character, externally, 
is languor, without motion, the 
head hanging at the " side next the 
heart," the eyes turned upon its 
object, or, if that is absent, fixed 
upon the ground, the hands hang- 
ing down by their own weight, 
without effort, and joined loosely 
together. (Fig. 111.) 

Anxiety is of a different charac- 
ter; it is restless and active, and 
manifest by the extension of the muscles ; the eye is 
filled with fire, the breathing is quick, the motion is 
hurried, the head is thrown back, the whole body is 
extended. The sufferer is like a sick 
man, who tosses incessantly, and finds 
himself uneasy in every situation. (Fig. 

One of the causes of M . Engel's ges- 
tures of analogy is, as he observes, the 
" disposition of the mind to refer intellec 
tual ideas to external objects. When 
king Lear recollects the barbarous treat- 
ment of his daughters, who, in the midst 
of a stormy night, had exposed his hoary 
head to the inclemency of the weather ; 
and when he immmediately exclaims 

O that way madness lies ; let me shun that ; 
No more of that, 

there is not, in reality, any external object from which 
this unhappy prince should avert his eyes with horror 
and yet he turns his head away to the side opposite 
that to which it was directed before, endeavouring, as 


it were, with his hand reversed, to banish that cruel 

and afflicting recollection." (Fig. 


The significant gestures, how- 
ever numerous and correct, which 
a great actor makes in the repre- 
sentation of an entire dramatic, 
character, bear no proportion to 1 
the number of those gestures 
which do not belong to this class, 
and which are no less necessary, 
though they are not so splendid 
and imposing. The painter is 
struck by the boldest and finest 
of the significant gestures, which are called attitudes ; 
and he records them : they are the proper objects of 
his art ; they are striking, and less evanescent than the 
other gestures which pass unnoticed by him, although 
they make up by far the greater and more important 
part of the gestures requisite for illustrating the senti- 
ments. These less prominent gestures give to the de- 
clamation its precision and force. A slight movement 
of the head, a look of the eye, a turn of the hand, a ju- 
dicious pause, or interruption of gesture, or a change 
of position in the feet, often illuminates the meaning 
of a passage, and sends it, full of life and warmth, into 
the understanding. And the perfection of gesture, in 
a tragedian, will be found to consist more in the skilful 
management of the less showy action, than in the exhi- 
bition of the finest attitudes. Attitudes are danger 
ous to hazard : the whole powers of the man mu?t be 
wrought up to their highest energy, or they become 
forced and frigid. Excellent players have been seen, 
who have never ventured an attitude ; but none, deserv- 
ing the name of excellence, have ever appeared, whose 
declamation has been deficient in precision or propriety 
Where all the solid foundation of just and appropriate 
action has been laid, attitude, when regulated with 


taste and discretion, may be added to ornament the su- 
perstructure ; but, when it is introduced unseasonably, 
or is overcharged, it is an evidence of deficiency of un- 
derstanding, as well as of depravity of taste. 


185 186 

U '~ i z >p xdx thf 

Fig. 185. This' arm shall vindicate a father's cause. G. Dau'r., A.I, S. last. 


S iZip-pdx 

Fig. 186. Wert thou the son of Jupiter. Imogen, Act 2, S. 3. 

a R 2 


U B cl. eb 

Fig. 187. A widow cries, Be husband to me, heaven. K. John, A. 3, S. 2 

D Bel ef U heq bn~hdx 

Fig. 188. Pity and forgiveness. Venice Preserved, Act 5, S. I 

32* >* 


vef-phx shf-sdx 

Ye crags and peaks, I I'm with you once again ; 


I hold to you the hands 
you first beheld, | 


to show they still 



ar r ree. | Methinks I hear a 


spii .t in your echoes, answer 
me, | and bid your tenant 


welcome to his home 


again ! | O sacred forms, I 

R i 

how proud vou look ! 

stfsdx ^ sky 

How high you lift your 

heads into the sky ! I 



How huge you are ! | 


How mighty ! I 

HI ' 

B shf Z-pM 

and how free ! | Ye are the things that tower; 

*2 -RI 


shfsdx _ 

that shine ; | whose smile makes glad ; 


B veq B vec 

frown is terrible ; 1 whose forms, robed, 





or unrobed, do all the 
impress wear 

vef-phz t 

of awe divine, j 

203 . 

fl-phx shfshx 

Ye guards of liberty, | Pm with you once again ! ! 




I call to you with all my 

207 208 

B a*q B vec 

I hold my hands to you, | to show they still are | 

L 2 


free j 


I rush to you, I 



as though I could 

Bshf R 

embrace you, 





From experience in teaching without Jixed rules for the regula* 
tion of the conduct of the different classes, the Proprietor of the 
Institution is convinced of their importance. He has, therefore, 
drawn up the following, to which he requires each member to sub' 
scribe on entering the school. 

1. Each member of the Institution must be punctual in atten- 
dance at all the exercises : he must not leave till their close. 

2. Each member must attend every exhibition at the Vocal Gym- 
nasium, and at every other place. 

3. Each member, while exercising 1 , must stand or sit erect. 

Neither postures, motions, nor acts, unfavourable to vocal delivery, are allow- 
ed: such as rocking, throwing one's self back in the chair, or resting the anna 
upon the back of it, or even the feet upon the rounds. 

4. When, in concert exercises, a section is given out, it must be 
immediately repeated by every member of the class, in the proper 
pitch and time, and with the requisite degree of force. 

5. When a piece is given out with gesticulation, the members 
of the class must rise simultaneously, immediately after the first 
section is pronounced, and repeat the words and gesture. 

6. Each student must perform all the exercises with unwearied in- 
dustry : in a manner which shall indicate that he is resolved on a cure. 

7. As walking about the room, changing seats, &c., greatly in 
terrupt the process of instruction, the members of the class are re- 
quired to keep in their places during the exercises. 

This rule, of course, does not apply to those exercises which require the class to 
keep time by marching. 

8. No one is allowed to have any thing in his hands, except his 
book, during the exercises. 

9. All colloquial intercourse, in the time of exercising, is strictly 

10. No whistling, loud talking, or other unnecessary noise, in 
entering, or in leaving the room, is allowed. 

11. As any remarks calculated to discourage the Stammerer 
from persevering in the exercises, greatly retard, if not entirely 
prevent a cure, every member of the Institution is required to re- 
frain from making them. 

Pi esuming that the deportment of each Student, will, on every 
occasion, be that of a gentleman ; the Proprietor of the Institu- 
tion confidently trusts that the above rules will not be violated. 

33 f5) 






This Institution is open from the first of October till the last of March ; 
April, May, June, July, August, and September being vacation months. 
Students in Elocution are admitted at any time during the term ; Stam. 
merers, at any time between the first of October and the first of Feb. 

In this Institution, Elocution is treated as a science, as well as an art. 
The various movements of the voice, both in speech and song, are illus 
trated by original diagrams and by oral instruction. The exercises give 
the pupil complete command of the muscles of articulation, extend the 
compass of the voice, and render it smooth, powerful, and melodious. 
They not only call forth all the energies of the vocal organs, correct 
stammering, lisping, and other impediments of speech ; but they invigo- 
rate the lungs, and, consequently, fortify them against the invasion of 
disease. The vocal exercises are accompanied by gesticulation. Hence 
to a certain extent, general gymnastics are associated with those of the 
voice ; and awkwardness of manner and posture, is removed by the sub- 
stitution of rhetorical grace. In other words, all the voluntary muscles 
of the trunk and limbs are so trained as to move in the order required 
by the will, synchronously and harmoniously with those of the voice. 


Cure of Stammering 10 weeks instruction. .... .$50 

Private instruction in Elocution. . . 36 lessons 30 

Instruction in the morning class. . 10 weeks, each pupil 20 

Instruction in the afternoon class . . 10 weeks, each pupil 20 

Instruction in the evening class. . . 10 weeks, each pupil 10 

Instruction in seminaries 25 weeks, 2 hours per week. 50 

[CFThe ticket, in each case, to be paid for in advance. Satisfactory 
references will be given in the principal cities throughout the Union. 

No. 100 Mulberry Street, Philadelphia, 


To the Editor of the Troy Daily Whig : 

SIR You are aware that a gentleman from Philadelphia, Dr. Comstock, 
is now giving lessons in Elocution ; but perhaps you arc not aware of the 
merits of his system or the extent of its usefulness; it is in many respects 
entirely original, in others founded on the investigations of the most dis- 
tinguished vocalists. I have attended a few lessons, and am highly grati- 
fied that I have embraced the opportunity. Some of the gentlemen who 
have professed to teach Elocution in our city have given some satisfaction, 
but none have been able to handle the subject as he takes it up ; his treat- 
ment of it is simple, natural, philosophical ; he is prepared to meet any 
case of impediment in speaking, reading, or singing. If a pupil can speak 
or read at all, Dr. Comstock will teach him to do it well. Musicians also 
would do well to look into his system : they will find in it exercises to give 
force and melody to the voice that have never occurred to them. And 
besides the improvement in singing, and that most valuabl . of all accom- 
plishments,^oo? reading, there is another to be derived from these exer- 
cises, which is far more important than either it promotes health. The 
plan is so constructed as to call forth all the energies of the vocal organs 
the lungs particularly are fortified and invigorated by practice according 
to his system ; and in this view of the subject I would suggest to our phy- 
sicians, who in general evince great assiduity and skill in preventing as 
well as removing disease, that they do so much for the public weal, as to 
call on Dr. Comstock that they may know the advantages of the vocal 

It is to be regretted that Dr. Comstock will remain but a short time 
with us; but short as it is, those who wish to profit by his instructions will 
have time to do so. Yours, P. 

August 15, 1834. 

From the Philadelphia Commercial Intelligencer, August 20, 1834. 

We have observed with pleasure in the Troy Whig of the 15th instant, 
a favourable notice of that excellent Elocutionist of our city, Dr. Comstock, 
He is giving lessons in Elocution at Troy with much success. 

F*om the Troy Daily Whig of August 30, 1834. 

MR. EDITOR Yesterday, I had the pleasure to hear an interesting Lec- 
ture on Elocution, by Andrew Comstock, M. D. from the city of Philadel. 
phm. He understands the elementary sounds of the English Language 
well, and appears to have entire command over the vocal organs. He ex- 



plains the movements of the voice by diagrams, and measures the rnria, 
iious of pitch by the musical scale. He has with him two books on prac- 
tical elocution, of which he is the author the Rhythmical Reader, wiiinh 
contains pieces adapted to the taste of ladies, and Practical Elocution, 
which is designed for gentlemen. He teaches his pupils iron) these books 
how to read in a graceful manner. If an individual has a feeble voice, it 
can be strengthened ; if harsh, softened, by pursuing the course he recom- 
mends. He clearly points out the difference between boisterous and elo- 
quent speaking-; and he shows how to produce a great effect upon a public 
assembly, with very little effort. 

The simplicity and power of the organs of speech furnish, I think, su 
ficient reason for the exclamation: 

" How wonderful is man . 
How passing wonder He 
Who made him such." 

Whoever wishes to attain the faculty of speaking" with correctness and 
elegance, in public places, and in the social circle, would do well to call and 
examine the system for themselves. 

A Friend to the Science of speaking well. 

From the Troy Daily Budget of September 8, 1834. 

MR. EDITOR There is no branch of education more deserving of public 
attention than oratory. Volumes have been written upon it. It has been 
cultivated, as a science, in all civilized countries; and its power has been 
universally felt and acknowledged. Its use and importance have occupied 
the attention of many distinguished men of our ewn and other countries. 
Were it otherwise, orators could not command, as they now do, " the ap. 
plause of listening senates." To speak well is one of the highest attain- 
ments to which our hopes can aspire. 

Permit me, Sir, to invite those who wish to attain this invaluable science, 
to attend Dr. Comstock's Lectures on Elocution, at the Court House. His 
manner of reading is bold, original, and striking. I have attended his 
Lectures for several days ; and, in common with his other pupils, highly 
appreciate them. He is, in the opinion of all who have heard him lecture, 
a faithful, capable, and excellent elocutionist. 

A Friend to Oratory 

Dr. Comstock has been instructing my pupils two hours in a day for 
two weeks, in Elocution; and I am happy in having an opportunity to 
bear testimony to their unexampled improvement in reading and speaking 

Troy. September 5, 1835. 


From tJie Philanthropist, Philadelphia, January 16, 1836. 

We would recommend to those individuals who wish to become chaste 
and accomplished speakers, to take a course of instruction of Dr. Andrew 
Comstock, whose merits as an elocutionist we have had the opportunity to 

His system, which has the best claims to respect, will commend itself 
to persons of taste, as it is entirely free from theatrical affectation, or arti- 
ficial display, and founded on truth and nature. Many gentlemen in the 
learned professions, and individuals in other spheres of life, who have 
received the benefits of his instruction, and who are therefore the well- 
qualified judges of his skill in this science, have given him unsolicited 
and unqualified praise. We wish him continued success. 

From the United States Gazette, May 7, 1836. 

Mr. EDITOR : Having occasion on my return from Washington to New- 
York, to stop a few days at Philadelphia, I most cheerfully availed myself 
of the opportunity of witnessing the exercises in Elocution in which Dr. 
Comstock's pupils are engaged, and it affords me pleasure to say, that I 
have been very highly gratified. 

The skill with which the Doctor imparts to his pupils a knowledge of 
the science and art of Elocution, and the proficiency which they have 
already made, are conclusive evidences that Elocution " can be taught." 
It was taught during the flourishing ages of Greece and Rome. Demos- 
thenes and Cicero studied it in those republics, and studied it thoroughly 
anterior to their successful appearance before their fellow-citizens as 

I wish, Mr. Editor, that some of our members of Congress could, or 
rather would, put themselves under the tuition of Dr. Comstock, or some 
other accomplished Elocutionist, long enough, at least, to learn the princi- 
ples upon which good reading and speaking are founded. If our national 
legislators had a knowledge of Elocution, as taught by Dr. Comstock, they 
certainly would be heard with much more attention and interest ; and, I 
may add, they would be more useful to the country. 

Ministers of the Gospel, too, by becoming first-rate readers and speakers, 
can promulgate with ease and facility, the truths of Christianity. Reli 
gion has suffered much in consequence of the bungling manner in which 
preachers and professors have presented it to the world. It is gratifying 
to know that several clergymen are now taking lessons in Elocution, of 
Dr Comstock, and that they are making great improvement. 



It would be well for gentlemen of the legal profession, to study the laws 
of Elocution, as well as those of the land. Ladies, too, ought to feel in- 
terested in improving their Elocution, some of the Philadelphia ladies 
do ; and I have had the satisfaction of hearing one of the Doctor's classes 
exercise, the members of which are becoming excellent readers. 

There are two or three literary institutions in which Dr. Cornstock's 
Valuable services have been retained. It is to be regretted that any semi- 
nary of learning, especially any college, should exist without a professor- 
ship of Elocution. It is not only an important branch of education, bu 
s much so as any to which the attention of youth can be directed. 

S. N. S. 

U. S. Hotel, May 2, 1836. 

From the Episcopal Recorder, Rev. George A. Smith, Editor. 
Philadelphia, Saturday Morning, June 18, 1836. 


The following communication is from the United States Gazette. The 
subject is one of importance, and we are enabled from our own observa- 
tion to confirm the statements of the writer. Several of our clergy have 
attended Dr. Comstock's lectures, and consider the system which he has 
adopted well calculated to assist in ease and propriety of reading and 

Mr. EDITOR : Impressed with the value of education, and inclined to 
contribute aught in my power to aid those who are in the pursuit of its 
benefits, allow me, through your columns, to make a public expression of 
my sentiments, regarding the character of Dr. Andrew Cornstock, as a 
teacher of Elocution, and its kindred branches. Having been a common 
inmate in the Doctor's office for many weeks, examined his publications 
and diagrams, and witnessed his method of instruction, with the cheering 
success by which it has been characterised, I write understandingly upon 
this occasion. 

From the Doctor's knowledge of our organs of speech, of their diseases 
and remedies, and the best mode of imparting to them vigour and activity 
from his knowledge of the laws of sound, ample experience in his present 
vocation, joined with his acknowledged integrity, I am^ persuaded he is 
eminently qualified to sustain his highest pretensions as~a scientific and 
practical Elocutionist. 

Dr. Comstock's mode of instruction is founded in the philosophy of his 
subject, is abundantly successful in its application stands the scrutiny of 
talents challenges the confidence of society. 

Graduates from our halls of science, gentlemen of the learned profes 
sions ladies of cultivated minds, have been pleased to testify the essen 
tial advantage they have derived from his lectures. 

I have myself been much delighted in seeing the rapid, material, and 
ofltimes complete improvement which unfortunate stammerers have made, 
under his tuition, in their enunciation while teacher and pupils cordially 
indulged in theii mutual congratulations. A CLERGYMAN. 


From the U. S. Gazette. 

Mr. EDITOR : Having experienced, to a very painful extent, the many 
privations necessarily and peculiarly connected with inveterate stammer- 
ing, to which I have been subject from early liie, I am anxious thus to 
acknowledge the restoration that has been effected in my case, under the 
instruction of Dr. Comstock. Knowing, as I well do, how valuable such 
a communication would have once been to me, I arn induced to pen this 
for the benefit of others. 

My articulation, until very lately, was so embarrassing and difficult, 83 
to have, in a very great degree, shut out from me the pleasure of conver- 
sation. I could scarcely articulate a single sentence without considerable 
ctfort on my part, and apparent anxiety and pain to others. I therefore 
seldom spoke from choice, and even avoided, when possible, the necessity 
of doing so. I am, however, no longer subjected to these severe depriva- 
tions, but so relieved from them, that I can now converse with friends or 
strangers, and feel confident of my power to do so. 

Many years ago, and at some expense and trouble, I sought out Mr 
Chapman, a teacher then of considerable notoriety, and placed myself im- 
mediately under his care. Of him I do not complain, but notice the fact 
as part of my experience. Those who are aware of his injunctions know 
how impossible it is here to compare the peculiarities of his plan with the 
principles of my last tutor's, whose system, however, I should unhesi- 
tatingly prefer. A. EVANS. 

Philadelphia, June 24, 1836. 

A gentleman named Abner Evans called on me a few weeks ago, and 
desired me to examine him, in his conversation and in his reading 
with reference to stammering in his speech. He informed me that he 
was 34 years of age that he had been an inveterate stammerer from his 
infancy ; but that he had, about two weeks before that time, placed him- 
self under the care of Dr. Andrew Comstock, and that he now believed 
himself cured of the infirmity under which he had so long laboured. I 
examined the gentleman with considerable care, and was unable to dis- 
cover anything like stammering, or embarrassment or impediment in his 
speech, either in conversation or reading. 


July 15th, 1836. 

I certify, that I have known Mr. A. Evans for a number of years, that 
he was an irveterate stammerer, and that he was completely relieved in 
two weeks, under the instruction of Dr. Comstock. I will further add, 
that I am intimately acquainted with Dr. C., that he has devoted several 
years to the study of the subject which he professes to teach, and that I 
believe he is fully prepared to meet any case of impediment in reading or 
Bpeaking JOS. P. MUSGRAVE, M. D. 

No. 142, Pine Street, Phila., July 16, 1836. 


From the Philadelphia Saturday Courier, October 29, 1836. 


A young gentleman named Samuel E. Duth'eld, of M'Connelsburg, in 
this state, called upon us the other day, and wished us to state that he has 
always been subject to a natural impediment of speech, which of late years 
had been increasing upon him. He visited this city, placed himself tinder 
the care of Dr. Comstock, and has been entirely cured. He can speak and 
read with as much fluency as though he had never been subject to any 
impediment of speech. 

From the United States Gazette, Philadelphia, Oct. 31, 1936. 

We had on Saturday the pleasure of listening to the reading, recitation 
and discourse of a pupil of Dr. Comstock, who has been with him less 
than three weeks, and was from his infancy a stammerer, the evil increasing 
with the growth of the youth, and with his intercourse with society. He 
is now able to speak and read without the least sign of hesitancy. Dr. 
Comstock's system is simple, and, as it appears, efficacious, and he affects 
no mystery : we trust that those who are subject to the painful inconveni- 
ence of stammering, will apply to him; and we really believe that if they 
will give attention to his rules, they may be entirely cured. 

From the Philadelphia Gazette, Nov. 29, 1836. 
The following tribute to the skill of a Gentleman whose success in a 
very difficult profession has been astonishing, is not less grateful to the ob- 
ject of it himself, than it is useful to the public at large. We perform a 
general benefit by giving it currency through the press. 
Letter to Dr. Comstock, of Philadelphia. 

M'CoNNELSBURG, Nov. 13, 1836. 

DEAR SIR ; My son has returned from the city, after an absence of about 
four weeks,and I cannot refrain from acknowledging my unfeigned satisfac- 
tion in the improvement of his speech. Before he left home it gave me 
pain to hear him attempt to speak ; now I will defy any person to know 
he had ever been a stammerer. I do cordially recommend all who have 
an impediment in their speech, if possible to avail themselves of your sys 
tern for the cure of stammering. I am, with respect, yours, &c. 


From the United States Gazette. 


We publish a communication from the Rev. O. C. Comstock, Chaplain 
to Congress, upon the merits of his relative, Dr. A. COMSTOCK, of this 
city, as a professor of Elocution. From some knowledge of the scientific 
gentleman alluded to, and the great success which has attended his exer- 
tions in the cure of stammering, we cordially endorse the testimony. The 
Rev. Dr. Comstock, of Washington, being himself an eloquent divine, 
much credit may be attached to his opinions on a topic so entirely within 
his sphere. 

Letter to the Editor, from the Rev. O. C. Comstock, Chaplain to Congress. 

WASHINGTON, January 26, 1837. 
SIR In this age of arrogant pretension and stupendous humbuggery 


the public should receive with becoming caution, every announcement of 
extraordinary achievements in any of the departments of useful knowledge. 
The wonderful exploits of ignorant and unprincipled pretenders, are fre- 
quently lauded to the skies, in the newspaper paragraphs of anonymous 
writers. Disdaining to impose on honest credulity, by making an asser- 
tion where I cannot establish a fact indisposed to avoid any responsibility, 
that may be attached to my character, I will not be induced to do so upon 
this occasion, by withholding my humble name from this article, in con- 
sequence of the delicate collateral relation subsisting between myself and 
the talented and honourable gentleman to whom it alludes I mean Dr. A. 
Comstock, of Philadelphia. The Dr. before and since his graduation at the 
uni versity of Pennsylvania, has been muchemployed in theeducation of youth. 

The books and diagrams which he has published, illustrating the true 
principles of elocution, and the methods by which it can be most successfully 
taught the high state of improvement witnessed and admired, in the voice, 
reading and speaking of his pupils, render him deservedly celebrated as 
an elocutionist, wherever his reputation is known. 

But I should not have obtruded these remarks upon the consideration of 
your readers, would they not conduce to a better understanding of the follow- 
ing intelligence, which I hope may subserve the interests of suffering 

My friend has removed, in numbers of unfortunate stammerers, that most 
embarrassing and painful difficulty of enunciation with which they have 
been affected. Some of these sufferers had been long schooled by others, 
with reference to the removal of this calamity, with little or no success. 

That a cure, in this case, is an object most ardently to be desired, is deeply 
felt by every victim of this misfortune by every fond parent, who, but for 
stammering, might regard his darling boy a fair candidate for the highest 
academic honours the applause of listening Senates. There is now before 
my mental vision a lovely boy of great promise, on whom his parents design 
to bestow a finished education ; but who, alas ! was painfully afflicted with 
stammering. He is now, however, under the tuition of Dr. Comstock. greatly 
improving in his elocution ; inspiring the confident expectation of perfect 
victory over the source of so much unhappiness. The sparkling animation 
of his eye his cheering smiles express the rapture of his grateful heart. 
The thankfulness and joyful anticipation of his parents cannot be described, 
or even imagined, but by those in similar circumstances. 

Having spent some months with my relative, I am well acquainted with 
his system, and manner of instruction, and its delightful results. 

Unlike all sorts of imposture, there is no affectation of superlative wisdom 
held as a profound secret, in the theory and practice of this valuable art 
as triumphantly explored and applied by the Doctor. His course of opera- 
tion is founded in an extensive knowledge of his subject the fruit of his 
ample study and practice. His discipline developes, invigorates, and ren- 
sers flexible the organs of speech. He teaches his pupils how these organs 
are to be properly exercised. They are made obedient to the will capable 
of much and various accomplishments. In short, he cures stammerers, by 
teaching them scientific and practical elocution. 

How much reason have we to rejoice in the march of mind the effort? 
of philanthropy the benevolence of God. Yours, with respect, 



Certificates from Professor Homer and Professor Hare, of the Univer- 
sity of Pennsylvania. 

Having been present on the 10th inst. at the exercises of the pupils in Dr 
Andrew Comstock's Gymnasium, for the improvement of the voice and of 
the articulation in stammerers and others, the impression made upon me was 
highly favourable to his method of instruction. 

The system is founded upon an exact anatomical and physiological inform, 
ation, in regard to the organs concerned in the production and modification 
of sound. Its several parts appear to have been evolved and matured upon a 
degree of thought and an extent of experiment reflecting much credit upon 
his sagacity and industry, and it inspires a very strong confidence of its ap- 
plicability to the faults generally of speech or phonation. One of his pupils, 
who only a week before the occasion alluded to, had been a most unpleasant 
stammerer, was then heard to recite publicly with great ease and fluency, 
with a full intonation. W. E. HORNER, M. D. 

Professor of Anatomy in the University of Pennsylvania. 

Philadelphia, Aug. 11, 1837. 

PHILADELPHIA, Aug. 14th, 1837. 

Having been present on the occasion alluded to in the preceding letter of 
the Professor of Anatomy, I have no hesitation in alleging that my impres- 
sions are consistent with those which my colleague has therein expressed. 

Professor of Chemistry in the University of Pennsylvania. 

From the Select Medical Library and Eclectic Journal of Medicine, 
edited by John Bell, M. D., Lecturer on the Institutes of Medicine 
and Medical Jurisprudence, Member of the College of Physicians 
of Philadelphia, and of the American Philosophical Society, etc, 
September, 1837. 


IT is not necessary that a man should be a stammerer, in order to be aware, 
from personal experience, of his imperfection in vocal utterance and speech, 
We are taught to read and to express ourselves grammatically in conversa- 
tion ; but how few learn suitable intonation, and a full and a distinct utter- 
ance, by which speech obtains much of its charm and acquires often all its 
influence. Graceful gestures in walking and dancing, and in presenting 
one's self in company, are thought by many to be of paramount importance; 
and hence, as a matter of course, the majority of young persons of both sexes 
are placed under the direction of a teacher of dancing. And yet, after all, 
what are the graces of manner compared to the melody of voice; and how 
imperfect the address of the otherwise accomplished gentleman or lady, with- 
out full and mellifluous speech ! Nature here, as in all that concerns either 
bodily or mental endowment, does, it is true, establish great differences 
amongst individuals. One person lias, naturally, a musical voice, as it is 
called ; another a harsh or somewhat dissonant one. But still, education poi 


Besses, we also know, a good deal of plastic power ; and in no case is the in. 
duencu of physical education more evident than in the strength which exer. 
cise gives to the muscles in general, and in the agility and grace which prac- 
tice imparts to the movements of the limbs; as in the evolutions of the dance, 
and on the tight rope, &c. On the same principle precisely, without any 
charm, magic or mystification, can the muscles which, by their successive or 
alternate and combined action, give rise to voice and speech, be educated into 
strength and measured and harmonious movement, and produce clear and 
full intonation, distinct articulation, and emphatic utterance. 

This particular department of muscular exercise and education, has greater 
claims on our time and attention than any other. The organs of speech, with 
few unfortunate exceptions, are possessed by all mankind ; they are in con- 
stant use by all, their functions are of the highest moment to all, whether 
for the display of the charms of song and poetry, the persuasion of oratory, 
the invocation of prayer, and the numberless exchanges of opinion and ex- 
pression of the affections and emotions in social intercourse. The most rigid 
puritan or methodist, who would regard with distaste, perhaps horror, the ex- 
ercises of the dance, and attach no importance to the graces of bodily move- 
ment, will still be as naturally and properly desirous of cultivating the voice, 
as the greatest stickler for worldly accomplishments. He does it in learning 
to sing the praises of his Maker, and when engaged in the solemn exercises 
of prayer and exhortation. 

With the other sex, the charm of voice is a powerful means of persuasion 
and control. It gives to woman much of her influence an influence de- 
pending on the mildness of her manner, and her soft and musical tones, dis- 
played in the language of sympathy, entreaty, and of kind remonstrance. 
Her's is the privilege and the duty to be at the side of the suffering invalid, 
in infancy, in youth, and in mature age ; to comfort the mourner, and to aid 
the poor and distressed. And what makes the potions to the feverish patient 
less nauseous what gives balm to the language of resignation, and imparts 
the glow of pleasure to the wan and weary beggar, when she is, in each 
rase, the ministering angel ! Much is in the pitying look, much in the in- 
clining gesture and softened manner ; but still more in the tones of her voice, 
her low and smoothly uttered words of solace and of hope. 

Why then should this instrument, which is capable of giving out such ex- 
quisite music, be jarred and discordant in its tones, through early neglect and 
bad habits. It has been said by European travellers of both sexes, that Amer- 
ican women would be in all respects charming, but for their want of melody 
of voice in common speech. Surely this stigma, for such in one sense it is, 
might be, and ought to be removed, just as the flutter, agitation, and jerking 
movements of the body and limbs would be corrected, by appropriate exercise 
and training under tasteful guidance and precept. 

Still more necessary is this kind of education where the imperfection 
amounts to disease, as in hesitancy, stammering, and other imperfect artieu- 
iation. The cure requires time, patience on the part both of the invalid and 
of the vocal doctor, and practice in the manner which scientific experience, 
not impudent and boastful quackery, has shown to be most serviceable, so as 
to give that confidence which is the result of conscious ability. The timidity 
and feeling of embarrassment of the stammerer, are both effects and sustain, 
ing causes of his impediment. So soon as he knows that his vocal organs 


are capable of obeying the commands of his will, and of giving expression 
to his thoughts, his mind acts with more energy and intentness ; and he no 
longer allows himself to be trammelled in his speech, by the weak, tremulous 
and convulsive movements of the muscles, which, under less energetic voli- 
tion, used to be so common with him. 

When we wrote the caption of this article, we did not intend to direct the 
attention of our professional brethren merely to the existing evils, but were 
desirous to apprize them of the fact, that one of our own number has for many 
years past concentrated his talents and his time exclusively to the subject of 
Elocution, both in its hygienic relations with fluent speech in private and 
public, in the social circle and at the bar, the pulpit and the legislative hall; 
and, also, in its curative character, to remove stammering and other impedi. 
ments to clear and distinct articulation and utterance. The gentleman to 
whom we refer, is Dr. Andrew Comstock of this city. He makes no preten- 
sion to a knowledge of any specific for the cure of stammerers, nor does he 
attempt to shroud his method in unintelligible jargon, nor to conceal it from 
public and scientific investigation, by swearing his pupils to secrecy. All 
these are arts and tricks unworthy of the literary and professional character, 
and disreputable, above all, to him who professes to be a teacher, and in whom 
manly sincerity ought ever to shine conspicuously, as an example to those 
under his charge. 

In Doctor Comstock's Institution, " Elocution is treated as a science as well 
as an art. The various movements of the voice, both in speech and song, 
are illustrated by original diagrams, and by oral instruction The exercises 
give the pupil complete command of the muscles of articulation, extend the 
compass of the voice and render it smooth, powerful, and melodious. They 
not only call forth all the energies of the vocal organs, correct stammering, 
lisping, and other impediments of speech ; but they invigorate the lungs, and 
consequently fortify them against the invasion of disease." To a certain ex- 
tentj general is associated with vocal gymnastics ; and one great cause of em- 
barrassment from awkwardness of manner and posture in the stammerer, is 
removed by the substitution of a free and easy carriage and movements of the 
arms in gesticulation. In other words, all the voluntary muscles of the trunk 
and limbs move in the order required by the will, synchronously and harmo- 
niously with those of the voice. 

In proof that Doctor Comstock is above the petty arts of making elocution 
a mere craft and mystery, we have now before us, Remarks on Stammering, 
from a Lecture on Elocution, delivered before the American Lyceum, May 6, 
] 837, in which he explains the chief features of his system, and indicates the 
kind and order of exercises to be pursued for the cure of Stammerers. But 
like all other branches of professional knowledge, this can only be rendered 
efficient and applicable to the cure of individual cases by a practitioner, a 
person who directs knowingly and understandingly, and superintends care- 
fully and patiently, the treatment, making such modifications as seem to bo 
called for by his own personal experience and the idiosyncracy of the patient. 


From the Public Ledger, July 27, 1837. 

Remarks on Stammering. We f have received a small pampMet with this 
utle, being the substance of a lecture delivered before the American Lyceum, 
May 6, 1837, by Andrew Comstock, M. D., of this city. He has treated his 
subject scientifically, and in a manner showing that he understands the 
human voice both theoretically and practically. He has been engaged for ten 
years, investigating the human voice, for the purpose of forming a system of 
iust elocution, and of removing impediments of speech ; and from reading 
*his little pamphlet, we should infer that he had been successful. 

From the United States Gazette. 

CONGRESS HALL, Philadelphia, Nov. 25, 1837. 

DEAR SIR, Before leaving your city, allow me to express to you the perfect 
satisfaction I feel, in witnessing the progress which my son has made in 
Elocution under your instruction. 

The habit of stammering which commenced with his early efforts to speak, 
and which thirteen years (his present age) seemed only to confirm, is now, 
with six weeks' instruction, completely eradicated. 

Though delighted beyond expression in this result, I am not disappointed. 
From the moment I became acquainted with your method of instruction, I 
did not doubt its entire success. Founded on scientific principles, it must 
succeed in all cases where there is no malformation of the organs of speech. 

You have reduced to a system what before was but imperfectly understood, 
and done most essential service to mankind in elevating a numerous class of 
unfortunate fellow-beings, and saved them from the impositions of ignorant 
and unprincipled empirics. 

Very respectfully, your obedient sen-ant, 

E. PIERCE, M. D. of Athens, N. Y. 

From the Public Ledger, March 17, 1838. 

PHILADELPHIA, March 1, 1838. 

MESSRS. EDITORS, Being about to leave this city for the West, I would 
ihank you to give publicity to my testimony as to the skill of Dr. Andrew 
Comstock, No. 100, Arch street, Philadelphia, in removing stammering. I 
have been under his care about eight weeks, for the removal of a painful 
impediment of eighteen years standing, which debarred me from the plea- 
sures of conversation and social intercourse. I can now converse very 
fluently, and have addressed large audiences without the least hesitation, 



I am now 23 years of age, and you can judge of my gratitude to him for 
removing a complaint which has embittered the greatest part of my life. I 
take great pleasure in recommending him to those similarly afflicted. His 
system being founded on scientific principles, and the fact of his being the 
only individual in America, who professes the cure of stammering, without 
exacting from his patient a promise of secrecy, proves that his system wi,i 
bear investigation. 


WE certify that we have been intimately acquainted with Wtii. R. Combt 
for the last three years ; that he was a very bad stammerer, and that he was 
entirely relieved under the instruction of Dr. Andrew Comstock, of No. 100, 
Arch street, Philadelphia. 

JOHN R. BECK, No. 17, Elizabeth st. 

THOMAS J. WHITE, No. 380, N. Second st 

JACOB GRIM, No. 480, N. Third st. 

THOMAS P. HEYL, No. 173, Green st. 


PHILADELPHIA, March 9, 1838. 

MESSRS. EDITORS, About seven weeks since I placed myself under the 
care of Dr. Andrew Comstock, No. 100, Arch street, Philadelphia, for the 
removal of an impediment in my speech, with which I had been afflicted for 
thirteen years. I am now happy to state that I am able to converse with 
ease and fluency, and that I feel no hesitation in speaking in public. I have 
witnessed the same happy results in many other cases, both of ladies and 
gentlemen. I have not a doubt of his success in curing the most inveterate 
stammerer. Unlike all others who have professed to cure stammering in this 
country, Dr. Comstock exacts no promise of secrecy from his patient. 

No. 248, Pearl street, New- York. 

From the Phcenix Civilian, Cumberland, Md., May 19, 1838. 

Our acquaintance with the young gentleman mentioned below, who ha 
received the benefit of Dr. Comstock's treatment in the cure of an impedi- 
ment of speech under which he laboured, enables us to bear evidence of the 
efficacy of that treatment. Since his return from Philadelphia, where ho 
had been under Dr. Comstock's care for a short time, we find that his speech 
is free and easy ; so much so, that had we not been aware of the great difil 
culty under which he laboured before, we should not now kn^v that he evei 
had been cured of such an affliction. 


From the Pennsylvania^ Philadelphia, April 26, 1838. 

The subjoined letter to Dr. Comstock, Professor of Elocution, of this city, 
is from a young gentleman of great respectability, residing at Cumberland, 
Allegany county, Maryland, where his father is one of the leading prac- 
titioners at the bar. The writer of the letter, who, we believe, is a student 
at law, laboured under a serious impediment in speech, which would have 
greatly interfered with his professional advancement; but it appears from hia 
own statement, that under the care of Dr. Comstock, he was completely and 
radically cured. The letter subjoined, is a voluntary and grateful testimonial 
to that effect 

CUMBERLAND, Md., April 20, 1838. 

DEAR SIR, I have deferred giving a certificate with regard to the success 
I met with in my recent visit to your Institution, No. 100, Arch street, Phi- 
ladelphia, for the purpose of removing an impediment in my speech, until 
the present period, that I might thoroughly test the effects of your system 
upon my articulation by time and experience. Both of these, I am happy 
to inform you, find me now as was the case when I left Philadelphia on 
the 13th of February last perfectly fluent in reading as well as in conversa- 
tion so much so, that it would be impossible for any one who had no pre- 
vious knowledge of my impediment, to know that any such defect ever 
afflicted me. 

But besides the happy effect your system has had in relieving my impedi- 
ment, it has been of incalculable benefit to me in many other respects. My 
voice, which was formerly weak, and incapable of being raised very little 
higher than the ordinary tone used in common conversation, has been 
greatly improved and strengthened ; and now it costs me but a slight 
physical effort to fill a considerable space. 

In conclusion, I unhesitatingly recommend all those similarly afflicted, to 
make a trial of your system. Besides the success which has attended it in 
my own case, I have seen many others greatly benefited both ladies and 
gentlemen. This speaks more strongly in its favour than words can express, 
and should remove all doubt from the minds of individuals, if any exist, as 
to its efficacy in effecting a cure. 

Very respectfully, your obedient servant, 



The STAMMERERS under Dr. Comstock, both Ladies 
and Gentlemen, give a variety of recitations, at the Vocal 
Gymnasium, (entrance by Ranstead Court, Fourth St. above 
Chesnut,) every Tuesday evening. 

TICKETS, 25 cents each, and may be obtained at 
Osborn's Music Store, Fourth Street, two doors below Ran- 
stead Court. Each ticket admits a gentleman and two 
ladies. The exercises commence at 8 o'clock. 

jXT 3 The design of these Exhibitions is to give confidence 
to the Stammerer, which is so essential to his relief, and 
make the public better acquainted with the system of 
instruction and its beneficial results. The sale of tickets is 
to secure an audience of respectable persons, and defray the 
incidental expenses. 



From the Public Ledger, February 6, 1838. 

A class of students in elocution, and stammerers, under Dr. Comstcck, 
exhibited at the Vocal Gymnasium, (Ranstead Court, Fourth Street, above 
Chesnut,) on Saturday evening last. Dr. Comstock's lecture on elocution 
and stammering displayed an intimate knowledge of his subject, and the 
performances of the class did infinite credit to his talents as a teacher. 



From the Pennsylvanian, February 6, 1838. 

DR. COMSTOCK, the professor of elocution, gave an exhibition on Saturday 
evening, at the Temperance Hall, N. L., for the purpose chiefly of affording 
a practical explanation of his system of instruction, and showing its success 
in the cure of stammering and other defects of speech. A large audience, 
many ladies being among the number, was present, and the exercises evi- 
dently gave general satisfaction. It was surprising to hear the firmness and 
smoothness with which the pupils spoke, many of whom until recently were 
confirmed stammerers, and it was still more surprising to learn in how short 
a tiro? the evil habit had been eradicated, the consciousness of a complete 
cure bing strongly manifest in the modest confidence with which the Doc- 
tor's pupils, several of whom were young ladies, went through their recita- 
tions before so large an audience. It must not, however, be supposed that 
this system of instruction is intended solely for the stammerer. Founded 
upon the sound philosophical principles laid down by Dr. Rush, it is impor 
tant in many respects. It has a wonderful effect in developing the voice, 
and in giving it volume, flexibility and compass, while the practice of the 
elements strengthens the chest, and 's very beneficial to the general health, 
fortifying it in a measure against the approach of diseases of the lungs. 
The advantage of vocal gymnastics judiciously conducted, is not yet per- 
haps fully appreciated, but it is more than probable that the time will come 
when they will form a part of every liberal course of instruction. 

From the Public Ledger, February 16, 1838. 

The exhibition of Dr. Comstock's class of Stammerers, at Temperance 
Hall, on Wednesday evening, was highly gratifying to a numerous and 
highly respectable audience of ladies and gentlemen. The system pursued 
appears to be calculated to accomplish the end in view ; but the eminent 
success it has so far met with, is to be ascribed, in a great degree, to the 
talents of Dr. Comstock as a teacher. 

From the Christian Advocate and Journal, New - York, April 27, 1838. 

PHILADELPHIA, April 2, 1838. 

DEAR BRETHREN, Having attended Dr. Comstock's exhibitions, I am fully 
persuaded, that with proper attention on the part of the pupils, he can cure 
them. I was induced to attend in consequence of his having in his class a 
particular friend of mine, whose case was one of the worst I ever knew 
and to my astonishment, he addressed an audience without the least diffi 
culty, making quite a display as an orator. His age is about twenty-one 
years. If you feel at liberty to notice him in your paper, you may render 
essential service to stammerers. Respectfully, 

34* c2 


From the United States Gazette, April 30, 1838. 

The recitations, and other vocal exercises, made on Tuesday evenings, at 
Dr. Comstock's Vocal Gymnasium, in Ranstead Court, furnish evidence of 
great success in his mode of teaching. His pupils, to the number of thirtj 
or forty, male and female, give recitations in a style that shows, not only th 
entire absence of any disposition to stammer, but evincing also a striking 
proficiency in the agreeable, as well as useful science of elocution. 

From the Pennsylvania Inquirer, May 10, 1838. 

A friend in whose judgment as well as impartiality we place reliance, 
speaks in terms of warm commendation of Dr. Comstock's success in curing 
Impediments in speech, and imparting a free action to the organs of articu- 
lation. The public recitations of his class, which take place every Tuesday 
evening, at his room adjoining the Church in Ranstead Court, are spoken of 
as furnishing evidence of success in curing stammerers, as well as of striking 
proficiency in elocution, which Dr. C. teaches with great effect. 

From the United States Gazette. 

MR. EDITOR, I have attended two of the Vocal Gymnastic Exhibitions 
which have attracted so much attention in our city. The design of these 
exhibitions, as stated by Dr. Comstock, with whom they have originated, and 
by whom they are conducted, is to enable the stammerer to rid himself of 
that timidity which is a greater or less aggravation of his disease. If 
timidity in one who has no impediment of speech, interrupts the utterance 
of thoughts, surely in a confirmed stammerer, it must be a source of the 
highest degree of embarrassment to the vocal organs. Timidity, then, must 
be removed before the stammerer can have full command of his own organs 
of speech. To do this, Dr. Comstock brings his whole class, both ladies and 
gentlemen, before the crowded houses which assemble to hear the welkin 
ring with their various exercises in what is well denominated by Dr. C. 
VOCAL GYMNASTICS. Could art, science, experience, wisdom, or philosophy, 
suggest a more efficacious means for the destruction of timidity than the 
production of courage by individual and collective public speaking ? Nor is 
the performance of these stammerers void of all powers to edify, and amuse 
there is much to instruct, and please, both in manner and matter, in these 
exhibitions, which, for the sake of the great good they seem likely to pro 
duce to the afflicted stammerer, I hope will be fully sustained by this 
enlightened public. 

A WELL WISHER to Freedom of Speech, 

Gymnastics, comprising Diagrams, illustrative of the sub- 
ject, and Exercises, designed for the Promotion of Health, 
the Cure of Stammering, and Improvement in Reading 
and Speaking. By ANDREW COMSTOCK, M. D. Second 
Edition. Kay & Brother, 122, Chesnut Street. 


From the Philadelphia Saturday Courier, Dec. 2, 1837. 

Dr. COMSTOCK, a gentleman with whose name our readers are familiar as 
the scientific curer of Stammering, has issued a second edition of his work 
on Practical Elocution. It is believed to be the best practical work extant 
upon this important subject It is based upon the philosophical develope- 
ments of the celebrated Dr. Rush ; and so far as strengthening the lungg is 
concerned, the exercises it teaches are of vast importance. Those who do 
not intend to become orators, may cultivate and improve the conversational 
and colloquial powers, and secure a grace, ease and power, that will render 
them polished and sought-for intelligences in the mystic roads of social 
intercourse. The work is illustrated with engravings, and very beautifully 
got up both in paper and print. 

From the Philadelphia Saturday News, Dec. 2, 1837. 

RACTICAL ELOCUTION, Or, A System of Vocal Gymnastics, &c. By 


Dr. Comstock is known as a skilful and scientific teacher of elocution. 
He has devoted much study to the subject, and has had the advantage of 
very considerable experience in the practical application of his knowledge. 
His classes are generally filled with pupils, and their success is the best 
testimonial of the merits of his system. 

This volume will be found a valuable aid to those who are engaged eithei 
in teaching or acquiring the important art of elocution. Besides a concise 
but sufficiently clear, analysis of the subject, and various explanatory details, 
it furnishes a series of diagrams calculated very much to facilitate the pro. 
gress of the learners. These diagrams have been prepared with much care 
and labour, and reflect high praise on the industry and ability of Doctor 



From the United States Gazette. 

Messrs. Kay & Brother, 122, Chesnut street, have published a second edi- 
tion of Dr. Andrew Comstock's PRACTICAL ELOCUTION, OR, A SYSTEM OF 
VOCAL GYMNASTICS. We really believe that the great labour and amount of 
time which Dr. C. has bestowed upon this volume, will be productive of essen- 
tial benefits to the learner. The selections are apposite, and the remarks 
such as show the author master of his subject. 

From the Saturday Chronicle, Philadelphia, Dec. 2, 1837. 
PRACTICAL ELOCUTION. Kay <^ Brother. Philadelphia. 

The volume now before us, comprises a system of " Vocal Gymnastics," 
by Andrew Comstock, M. D., and consists of diagrams, illustrative of the 
subject, and exercises. The plan recommended is designed for thf promotion 
of health, cure of stammering, and improvement in reading and speaking. 
The rapid sale of its first edition seems to be a proof of Us popularit} ; while 
several men of eminence in literature and science have pronounced Doctor 
Comstock's system a decided improvement upon the usual routine of teach- 
ing in Elocution. 

From the Public Ledger, Philadelphia, Dec. 5, 1837. 

We have received from Dr. Andrew Comstock, of this city, a copy of his 
late work, entitled " Practical Elocution, or, a System of Vocal Gymnastics, 
comprising Diagrams and Exercises, &c., designed for the promotion of 
health, the cure of stammering, and improvement in reading and speaking." 

This work contains rules for pronouncing all the vowels, sub-vowels, and 
diphthongs in the English language, with plates to illustrate the position of 
the mouth in pronouncing them. These sounds he denominates elements ; 
and he gives tables exhibiting an analysis of words, consisting of both easy 
and difficult combinations of these elements. In spelling these words, the 
pupil is required to pronounce the clement or vowel sound, and not the name 
of the letter or combination of letters which represent it, as is usual in the 
schools. The book also contains rules for every species of modulation and 
intonation of the voice, and of time, in reading, speaking, and singing. 

It contains remarks on stammering, and rules for curing it; and practical 
lessons in reading and speaking, consisting of selections in prose and verse, 
printed with different characters, to denote the proper modulations. It also 
contains plates, representing every variety of attitude and gesture required 

good speaking. 


This mast be a valuable work to those who would learn to read or speak 
well, and especially to those afflicted with stammering or other impedimenta 
of speech. It is useless to dilate upon the importance of elocution to all 
who have occasion to read or speak to others. To lawyers, legislators, cler- 
gymen, and speakers in public meetings, it is particularly important; for 
though to intelligent and well informed minds, the graces of manner add 
nothing to the force of argument, they are exceedingly important in securing 
an attentive hearing. An indifferent sermon, if well preached, will produce 
great effect, while one of the highest order, badly delivered, will be lost upon 
a great portion of the audience. This is entirely because the first secures 
the attention of its hearers, and thereby enables every argument or illustra- 
tion to reach their understandings; while the second is not understood, 
because not heard. 

We recommend Dr. Comstock's book to every person who would wish to 
speak or read well. 

From the Herald and Sentinel, Philadelphia, Dec. 11, 1837 

Dr. COMSTOCK has been long and favourably known in this city as a 
teacher of elocution. The art of public speaking is a common attainment; 
but the art of speaking effectively, powerfully, and well, by a proper disci- 
pline of voice, gesture and action, is no easy acquisition. The voice is a 
great instrument of influence. Some orators who have been " vox et pra- 
terea nihil" by means of a good voice alone, have been able to exercise an 
astonishing sway over their auditors. The full developement of the vocal 
organs should be a primary exercise with all ambitious for the honours of 
successful orators, and we know of no better disciplinarian in these matters 
than Dr. Comstock. The work before us, entitled " Practical Elocution," is 
an expose of his principles of teaching, and will serve as an instructive 
manual to those studying his method. It is better calculated, however, as a 
manual for his pupils, than for students in general. It shows great skill and 
industry, and is highly creditable to the knowledge and research of the 

From Atkinson's Saturday Evening Post, Dec. 16, 1837. 

Dr. ANDREW COMSTOCK, of this city, has published a second edition of a 
work entitled "Practical Elocution," of which he is the author. There are 
few subjects which receive less, while its importance demands a greater 
share of attention, than this of Elocution. Every organ of the human body 
is dependent on exercise for its true and proper developement. There are 
<ew persons who do not feel the embarrassment which arises from an imper 


feet enunciation. The work before us conveys much valuable instruction on 
this subject. To render the doctrine it communicates more evident, the 
different movements of the voice are illustrated by original diagrams. Dr. 
Cornstock has for some years been a successful teacher of Elocution, and in 
his experience has found the exercises in these diagrams happily adapted to 
render the muscles of speech subject to volition, to extend the compass of 
the voice and increase its power. 

From the American Weekly Messenger, Dec. 20, 1837. 

Dr. COMSTOCK is well known in this city as a practical teacher of Elocu- 
tion. His experience with his classes has given him great advantages m the 
preparation of this volume, which appears to be complete, so far as diagrams, 
marks expressive of the pronunciation of words, and minute practical direc- 
tions, can render it so. To those persons who are so unfortunate as to have 
contracted a habit of stammering, and to foreigners who wish to acquire a 
correct pronunciation of our language, this volume will prove an invaluable 
acquisition. Students in oratory may consult the figures illustrative of ges- 
ture with advantage ; and teachers of reading and declamation should not 
consider their libraries complete without this volume. 

From the Daily Focus, Philadelphia, April 17, 1838. 

COMSTOCK'S PRACTICAL ELOCUTION : Published by Kay Sf Brother, 122, Chea 

nut Street. 

We have received a very handsome edition of the above work, which we 
cheerfully recommend to young men, as a valuable assistant in the study of 
true oratory. The work is illustrated with a number of plates representing 
the proper position of the mouth in pronouncing, and also the most graceful 
and natural attitudes and gestures of the limbs and body, in order to give 
full force and expression to language. 

Dr. Comstock has, in the book before us, proved himself abundantly quali- 
fied to teach the oral developement of thought, and we therefore wish he 
may continue his labours, and have large classes of pupils. 


From the Public Ledger, Philadelphia, February 27, 1838. 

We observe, by a notice among our list of business cards this morning, 
Umt the residence of Dr. Comstock, whose success in the cure of impedimenta 
in the speech, and improvement in elocution and address of his pupils, we 
believe is unsurpassed by any instructor in the country, is at 100 Arch Street. 
Dr. C. possesses a double advantage over most of his profession, in his tho- 
rough acquaintance with the physical, as well as mental, capacity of hia" 
fellow man. The fourth exhibition of his class of young ladies and gentle- 
men, will be given this evening, at the Commissioners' Hall, Southwark, 
where, in addition to their various recitations, a lecture will be delivered by 
the Rev. Jacob M. Douglass. 

From the Saturday Courier, Philadelphia, Dec. 15, 1838. 

Mr. John Taylor, of Hinsdale, N. H., was the other morning in our study 
and exhibited the wonderful improvement made by eleven weeks' residence 
with Dr. Comstock. He told us he had been all his life dreadfully troubled 
with an impediment of speech ; but he read to us with the most perfect ease 
and freedom. We take pleasure in recording such cases for the benefit of 

From the Daily Buffalo Journal, (N. F.,) March 27, 1839. 

DR. COMSTOCK, of Philadelphia, has acquired great fame, both as a teacher 
of elocution, and as a successful practitioner in removing all defects in speech. 

The voice is produced by muscular contraction, and hence depends wholly 
on the power of the muscles, which propel the air through the vocal organs, 
and modulate the same, for the strength, compass, distinctness, or confusion 
of the various sounds emitted in speaking or singing. 

Dr. Comstock has investigated this subject in all its bearings, and pointed 
out, in a clear and scientific manner, the cause of stammering, and other de- 
fects of speech, in his work on Practical Elocution, (which has been some 
years before the public ;) and has opened a school in Philadelphia for teaching 
elocution, and removing defects in speech, upon philosophical principles. 


A late number of the World, published in the city of brotherly love, con. 
tains a very commendatory notice of the eminent ability and success which 
attend the labours of this learned and indefatigable practitioner, in an im- 
portant branch of science, to the investigation of which his whole life has 
been devoted. Knowing well the history of this gentleman, and having once 
enjoyed the honour of a personal acquaintance, we do not hesitate to recom- 
mend his school as possessing the highest claims to public confidence. 

Extract from the Lyceum Report, published in the World, Philadel- 
phia, June 19, 1839. 

At 4i o'clock the meeting was called to order, and a lecture delivered on 
Elocution, by Dr. Comstock, and an interesting exhibition by his class, several 
of whom had been inveterate stammerers ; one in particular, a married gen- 
tleman from the east, (who said he had to do his courting by signs,) spoke so 
well, after only six weeks' instruction, as to prove Dr. C.'s teaching completely 

Half-past 5 o'clock, the company, in fine health and spirits, adjourned. 

G. W. WOOLLEY, Secretary, pro. tern. 

From the United States Gazette, June 29, 1839. 

Sometime since, Dr Comstock called on us with a person from Vermont, 
who had applied to him to be cured of stammering ; he certainly needed help. 
Yesterday, the Doctor and his patient called on us again ; the latter talked 
and read as fluently as any person we ever saw. The person to whom we 
refer, mentioned that he should now go home, and talk with a near relation, 
to whom he had never spoken, as she was rather deaf, and he had stammered 
so abominably as to be wholly unable to make her comprehend him. 

From the Village Record, West Chester, Penn., September 10, 1839. 

From numerous testimonials of the success of DR. COMSTOCK, of Philadel- 
phia, in improving the voice, particularly of Stammerers, we sometime since 
selected the following from a Philadelphia paper, for presentation to our 
readers. To those afflicted with an impediment of the speech, all discoveries, 
or efficient modes for amending the vocal organs, must be matter of peculiar 
interest. We have repeatedly visited the institution of Dr. C., and have seen 
numerous instances of improvement no less striking than the one referred to 
below. Dr. C. is unremitting in his attention to his pupils ; exact in his ex- 
position of the principles of elocution ; and affords to his pupils a wide range 
*br practice. As a teacher, he commands the respect of his pupils, while his 
gentlemanly deportment towards them is sure to win their permanent esteem. 
His office is at No. 100 Arch Street, Philadelphia. 


" M* CHARLES R. READ, from Vermont, called upon us, and read as fluently 
as any one. Eight weeks since we conversed with the same gentleman, and 
he could not articulate a sentence without stammering badly. He had been 
afflicted from his infancy. His mother stammered, and he has a sister who 
is also subject to the same infirmity. Mr. Read tells us he intends to send 
her to the care of Dr. Comstock, who has been so successful in his own case. 
We look upon it as doing stammerers a kindness, by constantly keeping them 
advised of such important facts." Saturday Courier. 

From the Philadelphia Gazelle, October 5, 1839. 

We attended an exhibition of DR. COMSTOCK'S class of stammerers last 
evening, at the Temperance Hall, N. L., and were much pleased with the 
exercises. We believe that Dr. C.'s system is well calculated to accomplish 
the very desirable relief so much needed by those afflicted with a hesitancy 
of speech. One individual, who had been under tuition but nine days, gave 
ample testimony of the efficiency of the system. 

From the Pennsylvania Inquirer, Philadelphia, Nov. 22, 1839. 

We were called upon yesterday by a gentleman of Bradford county, Pa., 
thirty -seven years of age, who, until within a month, had been an inveterate 
stammerer from childhood. A few weeks since, however, he was induced to 
place himself under the care of Doctor Comstock, of this city, who speedily 
effected a perfect cure. The gentleman called upon us to illustrate the excel- 
lence of the system, in his own case ; and, also, with the object of making 
some public acknowledgment of the great and important benefit that had 
been conferred. He spoke with ease and fluency, and recited one or two 
passages of poetry, with taste and discrimination. Those of our citizens, 
however, who desire the most satisfactory evidence of the effects of this sys- 
tem, are invited to visit the Musical Fund Hall, on Monday evening next, 
when Dr. Comstock and his class of stammerers will give a variety of exer- 
cises and recitations. 

From the Public Ledger, November 25, 1839. 

Dr. Comstock's exhibition of Vocal Gymnastics takes place at the Musical 
Fund Hall, this evening, November 25, at half-past seven o'clock. It gives 
us pleasure to recommend the Doctor's system of instruction, which, after 
cool examination, we believe to be excellent and unrivalled. The perform, 
ances of his pupils, who were formerly stammerers, are truly astonishing. 
Let every one judge for himself. We were pleased to see his former exhibi- 
tion, at Temperance Hall, attended by a crowd of ladies and gentlemen. 



From the North American, Philadelphia, March 19, 1840. 
Dr. COMSTOCK left with us yesterday for exhibition, one of his charts repre- 
senting the mouth in every form and position which it seems to be enabled 
to assume in the enunciation of sounds. Attached to it are scales for the 
modulation of the voice, which are of great service to the student. The sue- 
cess which has attended Dr. Comstock's instructions, has been of the most 
striking character. 

From the Philadelphia Crazette, March 21, 1840. 
Dr. COMSTOCK, elocutionist of this city, has published a large chart, mount- 
ed on rollers and varnished, entitled " A Table of the Elements of the Eng- 
lish Language." This table condenses, as it were, the instruction of a half 
years' study, in the useful and requisite art of elocution. It should 1 be hung 
up in the library of every orator, or every one who would be an orator, whe- 
ther of the Pulpit or the Bar. If one is naturally an orator, it will assist in 
developing those powers; if he is not, an assiduous study of the chart will 
make him one. Pebbles helped DEMOSTHENES, until the wide round world 
was vocal with his name ; and why should not a map of mounted eloquence 
do the same, to some one in the nineteenth century ? 

From the Pennsylvanian, March 24, 1840. 

ELOCUTION. Dr. Comstock, of this city, has published a large chart mount- 
ed upon rollers, entitled " A Table of the Elements of the English Language." 
This Table gives, in a condensed form, and as it were, at a single view, the 
principles upon which Dr. Comstock's system of instruction in elocution is 
founded, and as he is eminently successful in making good speakers, and in 
curing defects in articulation, the chart will doubtless be found very service- 
able both to his pupils and to others. 

From the Inquirer, Philadelphia, March 30, 1840. 
Dr. COMSTOCK'S TABLE. Dr. Andrew Comstock, of this city, has published 
a Table of the Elements of the English Language, which appears to us ad- 
mirably suited to facilitate boys in their exercises of reading and improve- 
ment of gesticulation. For stammerers, and those affected with impediments 
of speech, it possesses great merit. Indeed, the chart is particularly calcu 
lated for schools, and embodies, in a single sheet, an entire system, very sim- 
ple in its operation, and the result of years of labour. Dr. Comstock has de- 
servedly acquired much reputation, in Philadelphia, as a successful teachei 
in the particular branch to which he- devotes his attention. 

From the United States Gazette, Philadelphia, April 15, 1840. 

Dr. COMSTOCK has issued a large sheet, containing the Elements of the 
English Language, with illustrations of the mode of uttering simple and com- 
pound sounds, figures exemplifying the gestures for certain recitations, and 
mots or notes for the pitch and government of the voice in reading ; the lat 
ter in accordance with Dr. Rush's system of the human voice. 

Dr. Comstock has been eminently successful as a teacher of elocution, be 
cause he teaches radically ; and, as a curer of stuttering, we believe Dr. C 
has never been excelled. 


From the World, Philadelphia, March 20, 1839. 

DR COMSTOCK. We have received^ from the author a small pamphlet, con- 
taining a Lecture on Elocution, with remarks on stammering, delivered before 
the American Lyceum in this city, on the 6th of May, 1837, by Dr. Com- 
stock. He is well known in this city, as remarkably successful in the cure 
of all defects in speech, and also for teaching elocution upon philosophical 
principles. His school contains pupils from various and distant parts of the 
country, resorting to him for the cure of stammering and other vocal defects. 

He h o published a work on Practical Elocution, the perusal of which will 
show that his lessons are important to others besides those afflicted with 
stammering; for all public speakers, whether lawyers, preachers or politicians, 
will derive advantages from observing his rules. The voice, like any other 
part of the system connected with voluntary muscular action, is susceptible 
of cultivation. It is regulated by a very complicated system of muscles, and 
must therefore be more or less under command, in proportion to the control 
of the individual over these muscles. Why are the muscles of a blacksmith's 
striking arm larger than those of his holding arm ? Because they are more 
exercised. Why have porters, stage drivers, and those whose legs are most 
exercised, larger femoral and crural muscles, than people of sedentary habits? 
For the same reason. Then if one set of muscles is improved by cultiva- 
tion, so may be another ; and therefore, as the voice is regulated by mus- 
cular action, it must necessarily be improved by proper exercise. 

This theory, which, as every anatomist knows, is founded on fact, explains 
the whole system of stammering and other vocal defects. They proceed from 
paralysis, weakness, or other causes, producing want of control over the vocal 
muscles. Such defects in the leg or arm, produce lameness in these limbs. 
Similar defects or infirmities in the vocal muscles, must produce lameness of 
the voice. This point established, the indication of cure is obvious. It con- 
sists in restoring activity to the vocal muscles by exercise, by cultivation 
Singers never stammer, and stammering is often cured by singing. Why ? 
Because singing gives active exercise to the vocal muscles. But it will not 
always cure stammering, because the defect may be in certain muscles 
which singing cannot reach, or reach with sufficient force. To supply the 
deficiency, we need the professor of elocution, who understands the voice 
anatomically, physiologically, and pathologically, or in other words, who un- 
derstands the structure, actions, and diseases of the parts of the human 
system subservient to the voice. Dr. Comstack has particularly studied this 
subject, and his success as a practitioner proves that he has studied it faithfully. 

I most cheerfully endorse the preceding certificates relative to Dr. Com- 
stock's success in removing impediments of speech. Having spent several 
weeks in his Gymnasium, for the purpose of improving my voice, and of 
removing an impediment to which I had always been more or less subject, I 
am able to speak both from observation and experience. I consider his svstern 
of vocal gymnastics eminently fitted to accomplish the end designed : viz. to 
bring the orgdns of speech, by a thorough cuurse of drilling, entirely under 
the control of volition. True it is, that much energy and perseverance, 
as well as time and patience, are necessary on the part of the afflicted in 
order to be entirely relieved. But I am confident that where there is no 
rnal-formation of the vocal organs, an entire cure may be effected. 

F. W. FISK. 

Philadelphia, Avril 27A, 1840. 


From the Philadelphia Saturday Courier, April 3, 1841. 

Two young gentlemen called in our sanctum the other morning, and we 
had a pleasant conversation with them on the extraordinary benefit they had 
derived from having been a few weeks in the Vocal Gymnasium of Dr. Corn- 
stock. One of them, John Scribner, jr., is from. Poplin, N. H. He told us, 
that fourteen weeks ago he could not converse at all without stammering in 
the pronunciation of almost e*ery word. He conversed with us the morning 
we saw him, as fluently as Daniel Webster or Mr. Forsyth could ; and we 
should say his friends will be delighted to hold converse with him on his re- 
turn to the salubrious atmosphere of the " Granite State." The other young 
gentleman is Mr. William H. Cornell, of Clinton, New York. He is eighteen 
years old, and had been a stammerer all his life, until Dr. Comstock had the 
gratification of receiving him under his discipline of the vocal powers. He 
has been there but four weeks, and conversed with us with very little impedi- 
ment of speech ; and by the first of May, when he proposes to return to the 
beautiful region of Dutchess county, he will be able to descant upon the 
sweets of the " buds and the flowers " with as much buoyancy of speech as 
the most lovely young damsel around his romantic home. We are happy in 
stating such cases, for the encouragement of others in distant portions of the 
country, who may be labouring under the painful difficulties which impedi. 
ments of speech impose. 

From the National Gazette, Philadelphia, Nov. 17, 1841. 

PHILADELPHIA, Nov. 10, 1841. 

Messrs. EDITORS For nearly twenty years I was an inveterate stammerer. 
The habit was contracted when I was four years old, in consequence of the 
severe treatment of a schoolmaster. Being anxious to have a cure effected, if 
possible, but almost despairing, I placed myself, six weeks ago, under the 
care of Dr. Andrew Comstock of this city, and the result has been a most 
happy one. Since the third day after I entered his Vocal Gymnasium, I have 
been able to converse with friends and strangers, without any impediment 
whatever. I unhesitatingly recommend all who stammer to make a trial of 
Dr. C.'s mode of treatment. It is founded on philosophical principles, and I 
feel confident, if persevered in, will always produce the same beneficial results 
as my own case. I shall reside, during the winter, at No. 200 Arch Street, 
where I shall be happy to receive a visit from any one who may desire far- 
ther information on the subject. Respectfully, 

LEVI S. YATES, of Williamston, N. C., 
Student of Medicine in the University of Pennsylvania. 

From the Philadelphia Saturday Courier, July 21, 1838. 


WE notice as an interesting fact, that C. H. J. Pieman, Esq., (a young gentleman who 
was recently in our office, while under the care of Dr. Comstock. for stammering,) de- 
livered the oration at Cumberland, Md., on the 4th instant. ]t was a clear and distinct 
performance, and was well received by a large auditory. A copy in print has been re- 
ceived hy us. The Civilian of that place remarks, that the enunciation of Mr. Pigmaa 
is so clear, that if it had not previously been known that he had laboured severely under 
an impediment, none who hear him speak would be aware that he had ever been troubled 
with such a difficulty. Mr. Pigmau and his friends (who are highly respectable), unite 
in bestowing great credit upon the scientific skill of Dr. Comstock. We think we do 
unfortunate stammerers a kindness by commending this gentleman to their consideration 



















IN the following Table there is a character for each of the 38 ele- 
mentary sounds of the English Language. For the sake of brevity, 
there are also 6 compound letters, each to be used, in particular instances, 
to represent two elementary sounds. 


15 Vowels. 

14 Subvowels. 

9 Aspirates. 

E e 


B b 


P p 


A a 


D d 


T t 


Q o 


J j 


C c 


A a 


G g 


K k 


I i 


Z Z 


S s 


E s 


V v 


F f 


I i 


A 6 




I i 


L 1 


H h 


Q G) 


R r 


Q q 


^ 8 


M m 


O o 


N n 


11 LI 


JJ i] 


U u 






Y y 





a a 


JO cj 


T3 6 




Q 2 


X x 



Furst Lxursiz. 



X x 
I i 

I z 



II u 




B b 
D d 

J J 
Z z 
V v 

A 5 

L 1 

R r 


N n 




e? t 

T t 
C c 
S s 
F f 





E a o a | x c | i x|o 8 o|u u u | (p. || 

Be ba bo ba | bx be | bi bx | bo bs bo | bu bu bu | bcp.|| 
De da do da | dx de | di dx | do ds do | dii du du | dcp.|| 

Ge ga go ga | gx gs | gi gx | go g8 go | gir gu gu | gcp.|| 

Ve va vo va 
Ae 8a 80 8a 
Ze za zo za 

vx ve 

ZX Z8 

Vi VX | VO V8 VO 

8i 8x | 80 8s 80 

Zl ZX | ZO Z8 ZO 

VII VU VU | VCp.|| 

8u 8u 8u | 8q>.|| 
zir zu zu | zcp.|| 

Je ja jo ja 

JX J8 

jl JX | JO J8 JO 

F ju J u 1 J<P-II 

Le la lo la 

Ix le | li Ix | lo 18 lo 

lir lu lu | lcp.|| 

Re ra ro ra 

rx re 

ri rx | ro r8 ro 

rir ru ru | rqp.|| 

Me ma mo ma 


mi mx|mtD ms mo 

mil mu mu|mq>.|| 

Ne na no na 


ni nx | no na no 

nil nu nu | ncp.|| 

We wa wo wa 


wi WX| WO W8 WO 

WIT WU Wu|wCp.|| 

Ye ya yo ya 


yi yx j yo ys yo 


Pe pa po pa | px ps | pi px | po p8 po 

pu pu pu | pq>.|| 

Te ta to ta 

tx te 

ti tx | to ts to 

tu tu tu | top. || 

Ce 6a 60 a | 6c 6s | 6i cx | 60 6s 60 

6u <*u cu | c"(p.|| 

Ke ka ko ka 


ki kx | ko ka ko 

kir ku ku | kcp.|| 

Fe fa fo fa 


fi fx | fo fs fo 

fij fu fu | %|| 

e da do da | dx de 

di dx | do ds do 

dir du du | dcp.|| 

Se sa so sa 

sx se 

si sx | so S8 so 

sir su su | scp.|| 

Ce ca co ca 

cx ce 

ci cx | co cs co 

CIJ CU CU | CCp.|| 

He ha ho ha | hx he | hi hx | ho hs ho 

hii hu hu | h(p.|| 

Qe qa qo qa | qx qs | qi qx | qo qs qo | qu qu qu | q(p.|| 


/ ^ / 

CM &t> wzvm&n ifzem/ 

tuv-, en 
twnt''n ov- 

'<3//% ob /md a&4 fia-vz tiwn 

v< 4cm / 

G/t/z && aefcvta v 
Q/& t 







































THIS INSTITUTION is designed, not only for the CURE OF STAM- 
for the acquisition of a thorough knowledge of the most important 
ANCIENT AND MODERN LANGUAGES. The following Languages are 
now taught : 





The method of instruction here pursued is, in the main, peculiar 
to this Institution. Much of it is oral and practical. All the les- 
sons, both in foreign languages, and in English, (not even excepting 
English Grammar and Orthography) are first pronounced by the 
teacher, and repeated by the pupil, till the latter understands the 
true import, and the correct pronunciation and intonation of every 
word. The pupil then prepares himself by silent study, or by 
practising aloud in his room, for a thorough recitation. This me- 
thod possesses several obvious advantages : 

1. Knowledge is much more rapidly acquired. 

2. As the pupil learns every thing correctly in the first instance, 
he never has an thing to unlearn. 

3. As the pupil understands the leading principles at the incep- 
tive stage of each lesson, he is not dispirited, but rather encouraged. 

In this Institution, particular attention is paid to PHILOLOGY. 
The principal teacher in this department, not only composes readily 
in English, French, Italian, Greek, and Turkish, but he converses 
fluently in all these languages. 

The method of teaching the Latin is that pursued in the Italian 
Universities. By adopting this course the pupil is better prepared 
to study the Italian and other languages derived from the Latin. 

The Ancient Greek is taught according to the system adopted 
in the University of Otho, at Athens. By this method both the 
ancient and modern dialects are acquired at the same time. This 
plan is now used in the Universities of Germany. 



The method of teaching the French renders the study of it more 
like pastime than labour. They who study this language are re- 
quired to use it in their colloquial intercourse, both in the family 
and in the school. 

The Turkish is taught in the method followed by the Hodjas of 
Stamboul that of oral exercises. The pupil is immediately ini- 
tiated into the harmonic system of its suffixes, by which the words 
are speedily memorized. No other language can be learned so 
rapidly ; because the Turkish possesses a uniformity in its gramma- 
tical structure, which facilitates its acquisition. This language, 
which is enriched by words drawn ad libitum from the Arabic, and 
the Persian, is founded on a regular system of declensions. It is 
variegated by affixes to a greater extent than most other languages. 
The different terminations convey delicate shades of thought. A 
knowledge of this language prepares the pupil for the acquisition 
of most of the spoken languages of Asia. The Turkish will not 
fail to be a matter of curiosity to the lover of Oriental literature. 

The school year commences on the first Thursday in September, 
and terminates on the last Wednesday in June. 

For instruction, with boarding, '. $400 

Tickets per Course of 10 Weeks instruction, {without boarding) 

in Classes, 
For the Cure of Stammering, 15 lessons per week, . . . $50 

In Elocution 6 lessons per week, ... 20 

In Languages, 6 lessons per week, ... 20 

In Elocution, 3 lessons per week, ... 10 

In Languages, 3 lessons per week,. . . 10 

O^Five Dollars per week additional if the pupil resides in the 

Tickets per Course for Private Instruction. 

In Elocution, 36 lessons, $30 

In Languages, 36 lessons, 30 

The ticket in each case to be paid for in advance. Satisfactory 
references will be given in the principal cities throughout the 

O^rNo one can become a pupil in this Institution, who is not 
cleanly in his person and habits, and gentlemanly in his deport- 

(No Member of the Institution is allowed to use Tobacco in 
any form.) 

Apply to ANDREW COMSTOCK, M. D., Principal 

No. 100 Mulberry Street, Philadelphia. 


prefixed Exercises in Pitch and Force. By Andrew Comstock, M. D. 
No. 100 Mulberry street, Philadelphia. (Fourth Edition.) Published 
by the Author. 

DESCRIPTION. This Table is in the form of a map mounted on rollers. 
It is four feet three inches in length, and two feet five inches in breadth. 
It contains the Elements of the English Language, and the most import- 
ant Exercises in Pitch and Force found in the Author's SYSTEM OF ELO- 
CUTION. They are systematically arranged, and printed in characters 
large enough to be read at the distance of forty or fifty feet. The chart 
also contains forty-eight cuts, showing the best posture of the mouth in 
the energetic utterance of the Elements. It is designed for the use of 
colleges, schools, and private families. Price, $2. 

REMARKS. The scholars in every school, and, indeed, the members of 
every family, should practise daily the exercises which are delineated 
upon this chart. Children, even before they learn the alphabet, should 
be taught to utter the elements of the language with precision. The 
practice of these exercises produces the following beneficial results : 

1. It increases the strength and flexibility of all the muscles concerned 
in the production and modification of vocal sound. 

2. It enables the pupil, in reading, speaking, and singing, to articulate 

3. It enables the pupil to give astonishing force and fullness to his 

4. It extends the compass of the voice. 

5. It improves the ear enabling the pupil not only to appreciate, in 
the voices of others, but to execute with his own, the various modifica- 
tions of pitch and force so important in the correct expression of oral 

6. It promotes the functions of the lungs, by expanding the chest, and 
invigorating all the organs which constitute the respiratory apparatus. 
During the exercise, a larger amount of atmospheric air is respired than 
under ordinary circumstances ; hence the lungs are enabled more effect- 
ually to pump, as it were, the deleterious carbon from the blood, and 
return, in its stead, the vivifying oxygen. 

. COMSTOCK has also published a Chart, (2 feet 9 inches in 
length, and 2 feet 1 inch in breadth,) comprising a Perfect Alphabet of 
the English Language, the corresponding Phonographic characters of 
Pitman, and Exercises in Gesture. 




Certificates from Professor Homer and Professor Hare 
of the University of Pennsylvania. 

HAVING been present on the 10th inst. at the exercises of the pupils in 
Dr. Andrew Comstock's Gymnasium, for the improvement of the voice 
and of the articulation in stamm y erers and others, the impression made 
upon me was highly favourable to his method of instruction. 

The system is founded upon an exact anatomical and physiological 
information, in regard to the organs concerned in the production and 
modification of sound. Its several parts appear to have been evolved 
and matured upon a degree of thought and an extent of experiment 
reflecting much credit upon his sagacity and industry; and it inspires 
a very strong confidence of its applicability to the faults generally of 
speech or phonation. One of his pupils, who only a week before the 
occasion alluded to, had been a most unpleasant stammerer, was then 
heard to recite publicly with great ease and fluency, with a full intona- 

W. E. HORNER, M. D. 
Professor of Anatomy in the University of Pennsylvania. 

Philadelphia, Aug. 11, 1837. 

PHILADELPHIA, Aug. 14th, 1837. 

Having been present on the occasion alluded to in the preceding letter 
of the Professor of Anatomy, I have no hesitation in alleging that my 
impressions a consistent with those which my colleague has therein 

Professor of Chemistry in the University of Pennsylvania 

From the United States Gazette. 

CONGRESS HALL, Philad., Nov. 25, 1837. 

Dear Sir, Before leaving your city, allow me to express to you the 
perfect satisfaction I feel, in witnessing the progress which ray son hu 
made in Elocution under your instruction. 

The habit of stammering which commenced with his early efforts to 
speak, and which thirteen years (his present age) seemed only to con 
firm, is now, with six weeks instruction, completely eradicated. 

Though delighted beyond expression in this result, I am not disap* 
pointed. From the moment I became acquainted with your method of 
instruction, I did not doubt its entire success. Founded on scientific 
principles, it must succeed in all cases where there is no malformation 
of the organs of speech. 

You have reduced to a system what before was but imperfectly un- 
derstood, and done most essential service to mankind in elevating a 
numerous class of unfortunate fellow-beings, and saved them from the 
impositions of ignorant and unprincipled empirics. 

Very respectfully, your obedient servant, 

E. PIERCE, M. D., of Athens, N. 


From the Rev. Thomas B. Bradford. 

PHILADELPHIA, April 4, 1842. 

I take great pleasure in recommending Dr. Comstock's SYSTEM OF 
ELOCUTION. A practical acquaintance with the system, and with the 
instructions of its author, enables me to speak with confidence of the 
high superiority of this treatise, and of the ample qualifications of its 
author as an instructor in the art of speaking. 

His course of instruction is exactly adapted to the cure of stammerers; 
and my personal knowledge of the cure of those who have been thus 
afflicted, warrants me in particularly recommending such individuals to 
place themselves under the tuition of Dr. Comstock. 


From E. C. Wines, A. M., late Professor of Moral, Mental, 

and Political Science in the Central High School of 


PHILADELPHIA, Oct. 22d, 1842. 

I take pleasure in stating that Dr. A. Comstock taught Elocution in 
my school during the whole of last year, and that his SYSTEM OF ELOCU- 
TION was used as a text-book. I consider it a work of very great merit, 
admirably adapted to the end for which it was designed. The principles 
of the science are laid down with clearness and ability in the First Part ; 
and the selections for practice in the Second Part are made with excel- 
lent judgment. It is a work every way worthy of the public patronage. 

The progress of the pupils in my school under Dr. Comstock's in- 
struction was altogether satisfactory. He fully sustained his high repu- 
tation as a teacher of practical elocution. 


From S. W. Crawford, A. M., Principal of the Academy 
connected with the University of Pennsylvania. 

I have examined Dr. Comstock's ELOCUTION, and agree with Mr. 
Wines in the above recommendation. 



We always thought Dr. Comstock's system for the cure of Stammer- 
ing a sealed book, because it was so certain ; he has, however, in the 
plenitude of his benevolence, and for a small consideration, surrendered 
his knowledge and experience for the more general benefit of the world. 
He has here collected and widely diffused all that he has heretofore pub- 
lished upon this subject, and by well-executed plates illustrated what is 
not, as well as what is correct in gesture, &.C., for which we doubt not 
the heads of our public schools will be duly grateful, as affording them 
facilities and suggestions in a very important branch of education, 
which they could not before command. 

The eminent success of Dr. C. in his practical teachings, is the only 
commendation the present work can require, and we understand its 
merits are fully appreciated, if we are to judge from an extensive de- 
mand by several of our most distinguished Professors. 

We may also remark, that the work is enriched by numerous selec- 
tions from the writings of the most celebrated authors, to be spoken in 
the elocutionary exercises, with marks indicating the proper time of 
emphasis. Saturday Courier, Philadelphia, Dec. 11, 1841. 

A good system for breaking up the stiff jaws of a speaker, and round- 
ing the sharp angles in his uncouth gestures two embarrassments 
under which many labour, and which few thoroughly overcome. We 
may laugh at Dr. Comstock's mouths and gestures as much as we 
please, but it is only by such mouths and gestures that one becomes a 
graceful speaker. North American, Philadelphia, Dec. 11, 1841. 

Dr. Comstock has devoted many years sedulously to the study of 
Elocution, not merely as a declamatory art, but as a science compre- 
hending all the phenomena of the voice, and the means by which it may 
be most successfully cultivated for all the purposes of speaking. We 
have examined, with some attention, the first part of Dr. Comstock's 
book, and find that in treating of elementary sounds, he advances pre- 
cepts evincing an intelligent analysis of vocal utterance, a subject very 
lightly passed over in ordinary text-books upon Elocution. The whole 
subject of the book appears to have been digested with equal knowledge 
and care, and we would commend to teachers the adoption of his sys- 
tem, as based upon a true comprehension of the powers and uses of the 
organs of speech, and the modes of graceful and appropriate action in 
oratorical exercises. Various plates illustrate the text, and enable intel- 
ligent readers to apprehend the principles of oral delivery and gesture 
without the aid of a special preceptor. 

National Gazette, Philadelphia, Dec. 13, 1841. 

The experience of Dr. Comstock as a Professor of Elocution, and his 
eminent success in the cure of stammering afid other defects of speech, 
as well as the warm commendations of gentlemen in whose judgment 
the utmost reliance may be placed, justify us in recommending this 
work to all who are desirous of acquiring the art of reading or speaking 
with ease, grace and power. 

American Sentinel, Philadelphia, Dec. 13, 1841. 

We have found time to look with some care into Dr. Comstook's text 
book, and have been led to admire the plan and general execution. The 
author has brought to his subject a willing mind, " and long experience 
makes him sage." 

Numerous pieces of great strength, are illustrated for gesticulation, 
by engravings that are well executed, and which give a very correct 
idea to the reader of the motions to be used in an open, free reading cf 
the speech. 

The remarks and notation of the compiler are excellent, and give, so 
far as we could examine, a correct view of the pauses, volume of voice, 
and accentuation. 

We commend Dr. Comstock's volume to the consideration of teachers 
and of learners. United States Gazette, Philadelphia, Dec. 14, 1841. 

We have a distinct recollection of a tall, smiling gentleman, who, 
when we were a white-pated shaver going to school, used to come tri- 
weekly to the academy, and standing up duly before us, make us ges- 
ticulate, pronounce, read, and deliver speeches until we thought our arms 
would be jerked from their sockets, or that our lungs at least would give 
way. But we are living still, and so is our smiling friend Dr. Com- 
Btock. He has turned author too, and our table even now bears witness 
to that fact, in the presence of an admirable treatise on elocution by our 
former teacher. 

No man, perhaps, in the United States understands so well how to 
cure stammering as Dr. Comstock. His success in this department has 
been almost miraculous. Yet he does not seek to hide his secret " un- 
der a bushel," but, with true benevolence, has made it public in the 
work before us. The volume also treats generally of elocution, gesticu- 
lation, &c. fec., and should be the study of every one desirous of be- 
coming an orator, or even of reading well. The work is illustrated by 
numerous figures, displaying every position to be assumed in pronoun- 
cing a speech. Indeed, we have never seen a more complete treatise 
of the kind, and we cordially recommend it to parents, teachers, and 
others, as a work especially deserving support. Next to the privilege 
of being a pupil of the doctor is the privilege of purchasing his book. 
Saturday Evening Post, Philadelphia, Dec. 18, 1841. 

The system of Dr. Comstock is peculiar, and we cannot speak intel- 
ligently on it, because it cannot be understood without a study, which 
we are unable to give to it. We can however say, that it appears to us 
to be founded on philosophical principles, and to be exceedingly well 
illustrated in parts which we readily comprehend. Dr. Comstock is not 
a mere theorist ; he is eminently a practical man, and in the application 
of his principles he has been very successful in developing the powers 
of elocution, and in the cure of defective exercise of the organs of speech 
Presbyterian, Philadelphia, Dec. 18, 1841. 

This work contains some new and plausible principles, and it is em- 
bellished by numerous diagrams and engraved figures, illustrative of 
the subject. We have never seen a work of this kind published in a 
more elegant manner. Philadelphia Gazette, Dec. 21, 1841 

This is one of the most elaborate works on Elocution ever published 
in our country, containing the results of much study and attention to 
the subject, and a thorough acquaintance with the philosophy of the 
human voice. Its several parts are systematically arranged and its 
rules are illustrated to the eye by numerous diagrams. It is well adapt- 
ed to meet the wants of schools and colleges as well as to direct private 
individuals, who would improve themselves in reading and speaking. 
Christian Observer, Philadelphia, Jan. 7, 1842. 

The politeness of the author has placed before us his " SYSTEM OF 
ELOCUTION," but from a hurried glance at its contents, we are not able 
to say as much for it as its merits demand ; however we have seen suffi- 
cient to be enabled to recommend it particularly to the heads of families 
and schools, who cannot fail to find it an invaluable auxiliary in the 
various subjects of which it treats. Its divisions comprise Elocution, 
Vocal Gymnastics, Gesture, Practical Elocution, being exercises in arti- 
culation, pitch, force, time and gesture, and exercises in reading and 
declamation. The engravings are exceedingly numerous, and admira- 
bly adapted to the purposes for which they are designed. 

Catholic Herald, Philadelphia, Jan. 20, 1842. 

Dr. Comstock has been long and favourably known in this city, and 
elsewhere, as a distinguished and successful teacher of Elocution. His 
system views that important, yet so sadly neglected, branch of education, 
as both a science and an art. His principles are founded on truth and 
nature, and in their practical application he is evidently master of his 
subject. Friends, in whose judgment we place reliance, speak of him 
as a teacher in terms of high commendation. The work we have just 
noticed is a new edition, with special reference to gesture, to the treat- 
ment of stammering, and defective articulation ; comprising numerous 
diagrams and engraved figures, illustrative of the subject. 

Banner of the Cross, Philadelphia, Feb. 5, 1842. 

COMSTOCK'S SYSTEM OF ELOCUTION, for sale by S. S. & W. Wood. 
This is a most excellent book, containing a system of elocution, with 
special reference to gesture. It has a great number of cuts, descriptive 
of the plan, and is admirably calculated for the learner. It ought to be 
made a school-book, and be in the possession of every seminary. 
New York Express, March 2, 1842. 

Philadelphia, Dec. 10, 1841 
Philadelphia. $ 

Dear Sir I am much obliged to you for the copy which you were 
o kind as to send me of your "System of Elocution" I find youi 
book admirably adapted to the object for which it is intended. 
I am very respectfully, Dear Sir, 

your obedient servant, 



From the Rev. Thomas B. Bradford. 

PHILADELPHIA, April 4, 1842. 

I take great pleasure in recommending Dr. Comstock's SYSTEM c* 
ELOCUTION. A practical acquaintance with the system, and with the 
instructions of its author, enables me to speak with confidence of the 
high superiority of this treatise, and of the ample qualifications of its 
author as an instructor in the art of speaking. 

His course of instruction is exactly adapted to the cure of stammerers 
and my personal knowledge of the cure of those who have been thus 
afflicted, warrants me in particularly recommending such individuals to 
place themselves under the tuition of Dr. Comstock. 


From E. C. Wines, A.M., late Professor of Moral, Mental, 

and Political Science in the Central High School of 


PHILADELPHIA, Oct. 22d, 1842. 

I take pleasure in stating that Dr. A. Comstock taught Elocution in 
my school during the whole of last year, and that his SYSTEM OF ELOCU- 
TION was used as a text-book. I consider it a work of very great merit, 
admirably adapted to the end for which it was designed. The principles 
of the science are laid down with clearness and ability in the First Part ; 
and the selections for practice in the Second Part are made with excel- 
lent judgment. It is a work every way worthy of the public patronage. 

The progress of the pupils in my school under Dr. Comstock's in- 
struction was altogether satisfactory. He fully sustained his high repu- 
tation as a teacher of practical elocution. 


From S. W. Crawford, A. M., Principal of the Academy 
connected with the University of Pennsylvania. 

I have examined Dr. Comstock's ELOCUTION, and agree with Mr. 
Wines in the above recommendation. 


From the Pennsylvania Law Journal, Dec. 10, 1842. 

We acknowledge the receipt of a copy of this valuable work ; and 
although a treatise on elocution cannot be regarded as a law-book, the 
subject of vocal delivery is so nearly connected with the practice of the 
law, that we willingly accord to this volume a notice in our Journal. 

Doctor Comstock has been long known to both the editors as a suc- 
cessful teacher of the subjects treated in his book. He has, perhaps, 
paid greater and more intelligent attention to defects of articulation, and 
to the cure of them, than any other person in the United Stales. And 
while certificates from Professor W. E. Homer, and other members of 

Ihe Faculty, attest that Dr. Cotnstock's " System is founded upon an 
exact anatomical and physiological information in regard to the organs 
concerned in the production and modification of sound," numberless 
testimonials from pupils residing in every part of the Union, show that 
he has been equally successful in the more rare, though not less im- 
portant part of the teacher's office ; we mean, imparting his science 
with practical effect. A long and intimate acquaintance with the Dr. 
enables the editors to vouch for the truth of what is thus attested, and 
yet more, to, bear a ready testimonial to Dr. Comstock's merits as an 
amiable, gentlemanly, and conscientious man. 

We have, indeed, often lamented the gross, and, to an ear of any 
susceptibility, the distressing inattention to delivery so generally pre- 
valent in the pulpits and at the bar, in this country. How surprising, 
in this day of almost universal accomplishment, that in professions 
\\hose common object is persuasion through the medium of the voice, 
the management of " this mighty instrument for touching the heart of 
man," should be so much disregarded ! should be treated in one pro- 
fession as useless, in the other as almost impious ! 

How many a DIVINE, whose sermon was replete with learning, with 
piety, with all the refinements of graceful composition, has sent away a 
ready (perhaps an anxious) hearer, disgusted with the unimpressive, 
nay, sometimes the sickening manner in which the preacher's senti- 
ments were delivered ! while a Maffet or a Kirk is followed by thou 
sands whose slumbering sensibilities are first awakened to the majesty 
of the gospel truth, by the commanding power of in impressive voice ! 

How many a JURY has thought a speaker's argument without force, 
because his manner was so; and have found a verdict against law and 
against evidence, because they had been charmed into delusion by the 
potent fascination of some gifted orator! 

Who, indeed, that has listened to the ennobled voice of Kemble, to 
the chastened recitation of a Wood, to the air-dropt accents of Mrs. 
Seymour, or the sternly pleasing power of Ellen Tree ; who, that seek- 
ing a better school, may have hearkened to the unsurpassed discourses 
of a Wainwright, rising, now, to fervour almost apostolic, sometimes 
sinking into gentleness unearthly, has not acknowledged the power of 
educated tone to awaken an eloquent response from the chords of human 
feeling ? Who has not felt, on such occasion, " that when, in connection 
with a more careful culture of our moral being, the voice shall be trained 
to a more perfect manifestation of its powers, a charm, hitherto unfelt, 
will be lent to the graceful pleasures of life, and an influence of almost 
untried efficacy to its serious occasions !" 

Let, then, our preachers leave the towering heights of their divinity, 
and strive to present its humbler truths in more graceful garb. Let our 
lawyers, not neglecting the weightier matters of the law, attend to 
those embellishments of argument which, with half our race, often prove 
more effective than argument itself. 

The Author acknowledges the receipt of a recommendation from J. 
E. MVRDOCH, Esq., the well-known elocutionist of Boston ; arid he regrets 
that want of room prevents its insertion here. Mr. Murdoch has adopted 
the work as a text-book in his VOCAL AND ATHLETIC INSTITUTE. 


From the Rev. Henry W. Ducachet, M. D., D. D 

PHILADELPHIA, June 26th, 1843. 

Dear Sir I have very carefully read the " SYSTEM OF ELOCUTION,' 
&c. published by you. Indeed, ever since I have become acquainted 
with the work, I have made it a book of reference on that subject. It 
seems to rne admirably well adapted to the purposes for which it is de- 
signed. I have, indeed, no experience in the treatment of" stammering,'' 
or "defective articulation." But vour rules for their cure appear very 
natural, and I think cannot fail, in ordinary cases, to be successful. For 
myself, I can say that I have derived from your work, some hints that 
have been most useful to rne as a public speaker. I hope the book will 
be appreciated as it deserves, and that you will go on to reap a rich har- 
vest of reputation and profit from your valuable labours in that much 
neglected, but very important art. 

Very respectfully, your ob't serv't, 

Rector of St. Stephen's Church, Philadelphia. 

From G. W. Francis, A.M., Principal of a Family Board- 
ing School, Troy^ N. Y. ; and C. H. Anthony, Esq., 
Principal of the Albany Classical Institute, Albany, 
N. Y. 

We have used Dr. Comstock's SYSTEM OP ELOCUTION for some time in 
ur schools, and we do not hesitate to give it the preference to any system 
tvith which we are acquainted. 

Troy, N. Y., Feb. 3d, 1844, 

From the Faculty of the University of Michigan. 


We have examined Dr. Comstock's System of Elocution with some 
care, and we are fully persuaded that it is better adapted to assist 
pupils in acquiring a correct, easy and forcible enunciation than any 
other work with which we are acquainted. 


Professor of Languages. 

Professor of Mental and Moral Philosophy 


Professor of Mathematics 

O. C. COMSTOCK, A. M., M. D. 
Super In ten cfanl of Public Instruction, slichigan. 




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7 1 3 1 8