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2. Wide as the world is His command,
Vast as etèrnity His lòve;

Firm as a rock His truth shall stand,

When rolling years shall cease to move.

3. Here, then, is a support which will never fàil; here is a foundation which can never be mòved, the everlasting Creator of countless worlds, "the high and lofty One that inhabiteth etèr nity." What a sublime concèption! He inhabits etèrnity, óccupies this inconceivable duràtion, pervades and fills throughòut this boundless dwelling.



HE degree of force or loudness required in reading depends upon the space to be filled by the reader's voice or the distance it must reach; upon the number of persons presumed to be addressed, and upon the emotion expressed.

What is wanted in every-day use of the voice, in the schoolroom or elsewhere, is a clear tone and easy, natural utterance. The practice of loud and sustained tones is an excellent means of improving the voice, but is to be the exception, not the rule, in ordinary reading. Yet the softest tone must be elastic and full of life. To be natural it is not necessary to be dull.

I. Gentle.

1. The day is done, and the darkness
Falls from the wings of Night,

As a feather is wafted downward
From an eagle in his flight.

2. "How sweetly," said the trembling maid,
Of her own gentle voice afraid—
So long had they in silence stood
Looking upon that moonlit flood-

"How sweetly does the moonbeam smile
To-night upon yon leafy ìsle!"

3. I delighted to loll over the quarter-railing, or climb to the main-top, of a calm day, and muse for hours together on the tranquil bosom of a summer's sea; or to gaze upon the piles of golden clouds just peering above the horizon, fancy them some fairy realms, and people them with a creation of my own; or to watch the gentle undulating billows rolling their silver volumes, as if to die away on those happy shòres.

4. How still the morning of the hallowed dày!
Mute is the voice of rural labor, hushed

The ploughboy's whistle, and the milkmaid's song.
The scythe lies glittering in the dewy wreath
Of tedded grass, mingled with faded flowers,
That yestermorn bloomed waving in the brèeze.
Sounds the most fàint attract the ear,-the hum
Of early bèe, the trickling of the dèw,
The distant blèating midway up the hill.
Calmness sits throned on yon unmoving clòud.

5. See how beneath the moonbeam's smile
Yon little billow heaves its breast,
And foams and sparkles for a while,
And murmuring then subsides to rèst.

Thus màn, the sport of bliss and care,
Rises on time's eventful sea,
And having swelled a moment there,
Thus melts into eternity.

II. Moderate Force.

1. If we look to what the waters produce, shoals of the fry of fish frequent the margins of rívers, of lákes, and of the sea itself. These are so happy that they know not what to do with themselves. Their àttitudes, their vivacity, their leaps out of the water, their frolics ín it, all conduce to show their excess of spìrits, and are simply the effècts of that excess.

2. People talk of liberty as if it meant the liberty of doing what a man likes. The only liberty that a man worthy the name of a man ought to ask for, is to have all restrictions, inward and outward, removed, to prevent his doing what he dught.

3. Once more: speak clearly, if you speak at all;

Carve every word before you let it fall;
Don't, like a lecturer or dramatic star,
Try over hard to roll the British R;

Do put your àccents in the proper spot;

Don't let me bèg you-don't say “How?" for "What?"
And when you stick on conversation's burs,
Don't strew the pathway with those dreadful ùrs.

4. Exert your talents and distinguish yourself, and don't think of retiring from the world until the world will be sòrry that you retire. I hate a fellow whom pride, or cowardice, or laziness, drives into a corner, and who does nothing when he is there but sit and growl. Let him come out as Ì do, and bàrk.

5. Do not look for wrong and évil-
You will find them if you dó;
As you measure for your neighbor
He will measure back to yòu.

Look for goodness, look for glàdness,
You will meet them all the while;

If you bring a smiling visage

To the gláss, you mèet a smile.

III. Loud.


It is done!

Clang of bell and roar of gùn!
Send the tidings up and down.

How the bèlfries rock and rèel!
How the great gùns, peal on peal,
Fling the joy from town to town!

2. The storm is out; the land is ròused;
Whère is the coward who sits well hòused?
Fìe on thee, boy, disguised in cùrls,
Behind the stove, 'mong gluttons and girls.
Forth in the vàn,

Man by man!

Swing the battle-sword who can!

3. Hò, trumpets, sound a wàr-note!

Hò, lictors, clear the wày!

The knights will ride, in all their pride,
Along the streets to-day.

IV. Very Loud.

1. Up drawbridge, groom! What, warder, hò!
Let the portcùllis fall!

2. Call the watch! call the watch!
"Hò! the starboard watch ahoy!"

3. Forward, the light brigàde!
Charge for the guns!

4. They strike! hurrah! the fort has surrèndered!
Shout! shout! my warrior boy,

And wave your càp, and clap your hands for joy.
Cheer answer cheèr, and bear the cheer abòut.
Hurrah! hurrah! for the fiery fort is òurs.

"Victory! victory! victory!"

Is the shout.

Shout! for the fiery fort is òurs, and the fièld
And the day are ours!




HE proper modulation of the voice is one of the most important elements of expression. In nothing is a reader's good taste more manifest than in his adaptation of pitch and quality of tone to every different shade of thought and emotion. There can be no expressive reading without such variation. The most musical voice becomes monotonous when continued in one unvarying pitch.

Nothing but an appreciation of the sentiment can be a correct guide to the application of these tones. But the broader distinctions may be indicated as follows:

A high pitch is used in the expression of light and joyous

emotions; in pity, tenderness, and sorrow; and in acute pain, grief and fear.

The middle pitch is that of ordinary conversation, and is required in unemotional reading.

The pitch becomes lower in proportion to the gravity or solem nity of a passage.

I. High Pitch.

1. The wind, one morning, sprang up from sleep,
Saying, "Now for a fròlic! now for a leap!
Now for a madcap galloping chase!
I'll make a commotion in èvery place!"

2. Iò, they come, they còme,
Garlands for every shrine,

Strike lyres to greet them home,
Bring ròses, pour ye wine!

Swell, swell the Dorian flùte

Through the blue triumphal sky,
Let the cìthron's tone salute
The sons of vìctory!

3. Oh! then, I see Queen Màb hath been with you.

She comes,

In shape no bigger than an àgate-stone
On the forefinger of an àlderman,

Drawn by a team of little atomies

Athwart men's nòses, as they lie asleep;

Her wagon-spokes made of long spìnner's legs;
The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers;
The traces, of the smallest spider's web;

The collars, of the moonshine's watery beams:
Her whip, of crìcket's bone; the lash, of film;
Her wagoner, a smalı gray-coated gnàt:
Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut,
Made by the joiner Squirrel, or old Grùb,
Time out o' mind the fairies' còachmakers.

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