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"Slowly and sadly we laid him down,

From the field of his fame fresh and gory:
We carved not a line, we raised not a stone-
But we left him alone with his glory."-Wolfe.

'Slowly comes a hungry people, as a lion, creeping nigher,

Glares at one that nods and winks behind a slowly-dying fire."

Very Low Pitch.

"News fitting to the night,

Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible.".

"Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van,

Presaging wrath to Poland - and to man!".

"He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan




Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown.” — Byron.

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed on the face of the foe as he passed;
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,

And their hearts but once heaved, and forever grew still! "


"And there lay the rider, distorted and pale,
With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail;
And the tents were all silent, the banners, alone,
The lances, unlifted, the trumpet, unblown." — Ibid.

"The majority of persons in this country pitch their voices too high, not only when they read and speak in public, but also in their colloquial intercourse. We not unfrequently meet with those who always speak in the highest key of the natural voice, and we occasionally meet with some who even speak in the falsetto. A high pitch in speech is unpleasant to the cultivated ear; it is totally inadequate to the correct expression of sentiments of respect, veneration, dignity, or sublimity.”—Comstock.

"Few faults in speaking, however, have a worse effect than the grave and hollow note of the voice, into which the studious and sedentary are peculiarly apt to fall in public address. A deep and sepulchral solemnity is thus imparted to all subjects, and to all occasions, alike. The free and natural use of the voice is lost; and formality and dullness become inseparably associated with public address on serious subjects; or the tones of bombast and affectation take the place of those which should flow from earnestness and elevation of mind." Russell.

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The various kinds and degrees of emotion require different notes of the voice for their appropriate expression. Deep feeling produces low tones; joyful and elevated feeling inclines to a high strain; and pity, though widely differing in force, is also expressed by the higher notes of the scale. Moderate emotion inclines to a middle


High Pitch.

"Now is the winter of our discontent

Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds that lowr'd upon our house,

In the deep bosom of the ocean bury'd.

Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;
Our stern alarums chang'd to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim visaged war has smoothed his wrinkled front;
And now-instead of mounting barbed steeds,
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, –
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber,

To the lascivious pleasing of a lute."


"Down, down, down,

Down to the depths of the sea,

She sits at her wheel in the humming town,

Singing most joyfully.

Hark, what she sings, 'O joy, O joy,

For the humming street, and the child with its toy,
For the priest and the bell, and the holy well,

For the wheel where I spun,

And the blessed light of the sun.'

And so she sings her fill,

Singing most joyfully,

Till the shuttle falls from her hand,

And the whizzing wheel stands still.

She steals to the window, and looks at the sand;

And over the sand at the sea;

And her eyes are set in a stare;

And anon there breaks a sigh,
And anon there drops a tear,
From a sorrow-clouded eye,
And a heart sorrow-laden,

A long, long sigh,

For the cold strange eyes of a little Mermaiden,

And the gleam of her golden hair."


"But if ye saw that which no eyes can see,
The inward beauty of her lively sp❜rit,
Garnished with heavenly gifts of high degree,
Much more then would ye wonder at that sight,
And stand astonished like to those which read
Medusa's mazeful head.

There dwells sweet Love, and constant Chastity,
Unspotted Faith, and comely Womanhood,
Regard of Honour, and mild Modesty;
There Virtue reigns as queen in royal throne
And giveth laws alone,

The which the base affections do obey,
And yield their services unto her will;
Ne thought of things uncomely ever may
Thereto approach to tempt her mind to ill.
Had ye once seen these her celestial treasures,
And unrevealed pleasures,

Then would ye wonder and her praises sing,

That all the woods would answer, and your echo ring." THE EPITHALAMIUM.-Spenser,

"Sea-kings' daughter from over the sea,


Saxon and Norman and Dane are we,
But all of us Danes in our welcome of thee,

Welcome her, thunders of fort and of fleet!
Welcome her, thundering cheer of the street!
Welcome her, all things useful and sweet,
Scatter the blossom under her feet!

Break, happy land, into earlier flowers!

Make music, O bird, in the new budded bowers!
Blazon your mottos of blessing and prayer!
Welcome her, welcome her, all that is ours!
Warble, O bugle, and trumpet, blare!

Flags, flutter out upon turrets and towers!
Flames, on the windy headland flare!
Utter your jubilee, steeple and spire!
Clash, ye bells, in the merry March air!
Flash, ye cities, in rivers of fire!

Rush to the roof, sudden rocket, and higher
Melt into the stars for the land's desire!

Roll and rejoice, jubilant voice,

Roll as a ground-swell dashed on the strand,
Roar as the sea when he welcomes the land,
And welcome her, welcome the land's desire,
The sea-kings' daughter, as happy as fair,
Blissful bride of a blissful heir,

Bride of the heir of the kings of the sea—
O joy to the people, and joy to the throne,
Come to us, love us, and make us your own:
For Saxon or Dane or Norman we,
Teuton or Celt, or whatever we be,

We are each all Dane in our welcome of thee,

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Medium Pitch.

"Be sure, no earnest work

Of any honest creature, howbeit weak,
Imperfect, ill-adapted, fails so much,
It is not gathered as a grain of sand
To enlarge the sum of human action used

For carrying out God's end. No creature works
So ill, observe, that therefore he's cashiered.
The honest earnest man must stand and work;
The woman also; otherwise she drops
At once below the dignity of man,

Accepting serfdom. Free men freely work:
Whoever fears God, fears to sit at ease.


Let us be content, in work,

To do the thing we can, and not presume

To fret because it's little."-AURORA LEIGH.

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"Though we fail indeed,
You. I a score of such weak workers,
Fails never.
If He cannot work by us,
He will work over us. Does he want a man,
Much less a woman, think you? Every time
The star winks there, so many souls are born,
Who all shall work too. Let our own be calm:
We should be ashamed to sit beneath those stars,
Impatient that we're nothing "— Ibid.


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"Fail-yet rejoice; because no less
The failure which makes thy distress
May teach another full success.

"It may be that in some great need
Thy life's poor fragments are decreed
To help build up a lofty deed."

LIGHT AND SHADE.-Miss Procter.

"The highest fame was never reached except
By what was aimed above it. Art for art,
And good for God Himself, the essential Good!
We'll keep our aims sublime, our eyes erect,
Although our woman-hands should shake and fail;
And if we fail. . . But must we ? -

Shall I fail?

The Greeks said grandly in their tragic phrase,
'Let no one be called happy till his death.'
To which I add, Let no one till his death

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Be called unhappy. Measure not the work
Until the day's out and the labour done;
Then bring your gauges. If the day's work's scant,

Why, call it scant; affect no compromise;

And, in that we have nobly striven at least,

Deal with us nobly, women though we be,

And honour us with truth, if not with praise."


Mrs. Browning.

'Work, true work, done honestly and manfully for Christ, never can be failure. .. True Christian life is like the march of a conquering army into a fortress which has been breached. Men fall by hundreds in the ditch. Was their fall a failure? Nay, for their bodies bridge over the hollow, and over them the rest pass on to victory. . . These are the two remedies for doubt - Activity and Prayer. He who works and feels he works - he who prays and knows he prays-has got the secret of transforming life-failure into life-victory.' - Robertson.


"He [F. W. Robertson] lies in a hollow of the Downs he loved so well. The sound of the sea may be heard there in the distance; and, standing by his grave, it seems a fair and fitting requiem; for if its inquietude was the image of his outward life, its central calm is the image of his deep peace of activity in God. He sleeps well;

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