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

Carve every word before you let it fäll;
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 tàlents and distinguish yourself, and don't think of retiring from the world until the world will be sorry that you retire. I hàte 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 òut as į do, and bàrk.

5. Do not look for wrong and evil

You will find them if you dó;
As you measure for your neighbor

He will measure back to you.

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 dòwn.

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;

Where is the coward who sits well hòused ?
Fie on thee, boy, disguised in cùrls,
Behind the stove, 'mong gluttons and girls.

Forth in the vàn,

Man by mắn!
Swing the battle-sword who càn!

3. Hò, trumpets, sound a wàr-note!

Hò, lictors, clear the way!
The knights will ride, in all their pride,

Along the streets to-day.

IV. Very Loud.
1. Up dràwbridge, groom! Whàt, warder, hò!

Let the portcùllis fall !

2. Call the watch! call the watch!

“Hò! the starboard watch ahòy!"

3. Forward, the light brigade!

Charge for the gùns !

4. They strike! hurrah! the fort has surrendered !

Shòut! shòut! my warrior boy,
And wave your càp, and clap your hands for joy.
Cheer answer cheèr, and bear the cheer about.
Hurràh! hurràh! for the fiery fort is òurs.
“ Vìctory! vìctory! vìctory!"

Is the shout.
Shòut! fòr the fiery fort is ours, and the field
And the dày are ours !



, .
HE proper modulation of the voice is one of the most im-

portant 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 frölic! now for a lèap!
Now for a madcap galloping chase!
I'll make a commotion in every place!”

2. Iò, they còme, they còme,

Garlands for every shrine,
Strike lyres to greet them hòme,

Bring ròses, pour ye wine!

Swell, swell the Dorian fùte

Through the blue triumphal sky,
Let the cìthron's tone salute

The sons of victory!

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 ålderman,
Drawn by a team of little atomies
Athwart men's nòses, as they lie asleep;
Her wagon-spokes made of long spinner's legs;
The cover, of the wings of gràsshoppers;
The traces, of the smallest spider's web;
The collars, of the mòonshine's watery beams :
Her whip, of cricket'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 Grub,
Time out o’mind the fairies' còachmakers.

4. On, son of Cimon, bravely òn, and Aristides just! Your names have made the field your own, your foes are

in the dust!

5. Hurrah for the sèa! the all-glorious sèa !

Its might is so wondrous, its spirit so free!
And its billows beat time to each pulse of my soul,
Which, impatient, like them, cannot yield to control.

II. Middle Pitch. 1. A blind man would know that one was a gentleman and the other a clown by the tones of their voices.

2. A cobbler at Leyden, who used to attend the public disputations held at the academy, was once asked if he understood Làtin. “NÒ,” replied the mechanic, “but I know who is wrong in the argument." "How?" inquired his friend. "Why, by seeing who is angry first."

3. There is a tide in the affairs of men,

Which, taken at its flood, leads on to fòrtune;
Omítted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in shallows, and in miseries :
And we must take the current when it sérves,
Or lose our ventures.

4. I should say sincèrity, a deep, great, genuine sincèrity, is the first characteristic of all men in any way heròic. Not the sincerity that călls itself sincere; ah! nò, that is a very poor matter indèed; a shallow, bràggart, cònscious sincerity; oftenest self-concèit mainly. The Great Man's sincerity is of the kind he cannot speak of, is not conscious of.

7. Friend, if some actor murder Hamlet's part,

No line supplies the Histrio's want of árt,
Này, the more beauty in the words prevail,
The more it chafes you if the utterance fàil.
Snakspeare, ill-ácted, do you run to héar?
And Burke, ill-spoken, would you stay to chéer?

6. This is the forest primèval! The murmuring pines and the

hemlock, Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the

twilight, Stand like Druids of eld with voices sad and prophètic, Stand like hàrpers hoar, with beards that rest on their

bòsoms. Loud from its rocky caverns the deep-voiced neighboring

òcean Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the


III. Low Pitch. 1. “Of old hast Thou laid the foundation of the éarth; and the heavens are the work of Thy hands. They shall pérish, but Thou shalt endure; yea, all of them shall wax old like a gàrment; as a vēsture shalt Thou change them, and they shall be chànged: but Thou art the sàme; and Thy years shall have no end."

2. When all thy mercies, O my God,

My rising soul surveys,
Transported with the view, I'm lost

In wonder, love and pràise.

3. The stars shall fade away, the sun himself

Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years;
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
Unhùrt amidst the war of elements,
The wreck of matter and the crush of worlds.

4. So live, that when thy summons comes to join

The innumerable caravan, that moves
To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon; but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.

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