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lik'e-familiarity of to'ne, and mend the language/ as they go on', cr'ying, instead of par'doneth and abs'olveth, par'dons and absolves. The 'se/ are often pretty class'ical-scholars, and would think it an unpardonable offence/ to read Virgil or Mar`tial/ with so little taʼste/ as they d'o div'ine-service.
If those who e'rr/ in these parti'culars/ would please to recollect the many plea'santries/ they have read upon those/ who recite good-things/ with an ill-grace, they would go on to think tha't/ what in th`at case is only ridi'culous, in themsel ves/ is impious.
But/ leaving this to their own refle'ctions, I shall conclude with what Cæsar said/ upon the irregula'rity-of-tone/ in on'e/ who read before him, "Do you read or sing? if you sing, you sing very ill.”
ON PUBLIC SPEAKING.
Most foreign wri'ters/ who have given any character of the English n'ation, (whatever vic^es they ascrib'e-to-it,) allo'w, in general, that the people/ are naturally mo'dest. It proceeds, perhaps, from this/ our na'tional-virtue/, that our orators/ are observed to make use of less ges'ture or ac'tion, than tho ́se of o`ther-countries. Ou'r preachers stand stock-s'till/ in the pu'lpit, and will not so much as move a fin'ger/ to set off the be'st-sermons/ in the world. We meet with the same speaking statues at our bar's, and in all public places of debate. O'ur words flow from us/ in a smooth/ continued-stream, without those strai'nings of the voice, mo'tions of the body, and majesty of the ha'nd, which are so much celebrated in the orators of Gr'eece and Ro'me. W'e e can talk of life and death in cold-blood, and keep our temper in a discourse/ which turns upon every-thing/ that is de'ar-to-us. Though our zeal breaks-out/ in the finest tro'pes and figures, it is not able to stir a limb ab'out us.
It is certain/ that proper gestures and exer'tions of the voi'ce/ cannot be too much stu'died/ by a public-orator. They are a kind of com'ment to what he u'tters, and enforce e'verything he say's, better than the strongest-argument/ he can
make use of. They keep the audience awa^ke, and fix their attention to what is deli'vered to them; at the same ti'me/ that they shew the speaker/ is in earn'est, affected himself/ with what he so passionately re'commends to o^thers.
We are told that the great L'atin-orator (Ci'cero) very much impaired his he'alth/ by the vehemence of a'ction/ with which he used to deliv'er-himself. The Greek-orator (Demo'sthenes) was likewise so very famous/ for this particular in rh'etoric, that one of his antagonists ('schines), whom he had banished from Athens, reading over the ora`tion/ which had proc'ured his ban'ishment, and seeing his frie'nds adm'ireit, could not forbe'ar excl'aiming, "If you are so charmed with the bare rehearsal of this or'ation, how wo^uld you have been affected, had you heard him deliver it himself, with all his fir'e and forc ́e!
How cold and de`ad a fi'gure, (in comparison with these two great m'en,) does an o`rator often make at a British-bar, holding up his he`ad/ with the most insipid serenity, and stroking the sides of a long w'ig/ that reaches down to his mi`ddle! Nothing can be more ridiculous/ than the gestures of most of our English-speakers. You see some-of-them/ running their hands into their pockets/ as far as ever they can thru'stthem, and others/ looking with great attention on a piece of pa'per/ that has nothing writ'ten-on-it: you may see many a smart rhetorician/ turning his ha't/ in his han'ds, mould'ing-it/ into several/ di'fferent-cocks, exam'ining/ sometimes the lin'ingof-it, and sometimes the button, during the whole course of his haran'gue. A deaf man/ would think he was chea'pening a be'aver, wh'en/ perh'aps/ he is talking of the fate of the British-nation. I remember, when I was a young ma'n, and used to frequent Westminster-H'all, there was a counsellor/ who never pleaded without a piece of pa'ck-thread/ in his ha'nd, which he used to twist about a thu'mb or fin'ger all the wh'ile he was spe'aking; the wags of tho`se-days/ used to call it the thread of his disco'urse, for he was not able to u'tter a w'ord/ with`out it. One of his clients, (who was more me'rry than wi'se,) sto'le it from him one d'ay/ in the midst of his pleading; but/ he had be'tter have let it alone, f'or/ he los't his cau'se/ by the j'est.
THE PASSIONS.-AN ODE.
WHEN Mu'sic, (he'avenly-maid,*) was you'ng,
Next An'ger, rush'ed, his eyes on fir`e:
In light'nings/ owned his secret sting's.
And sw'ept, (with hurried ha'nds,) the strings.
Words, as well as phrases, in apposition, whatever may be their grammatical character, will be much improved if read parenthetically. Examples:
1st. "When Music (heavenly maid) was young."
2d. "Hope (the balm of life) is our greatest friend."
3rd. "The present life (which is the first stage of the immortal mind) abounds in materials of poetry."
4th. "As we perceive the shadow to have moved along the dial, but did not perceive its moving; so the advances we make in knowledge (consisting of insensible steps) are only perceived by the distance gone over.' They would have thought (who heard the strain) They saw, in Tempe's Vale, her native maids."
With wof'ul-measures, wan Desp'air-
'Twas sa'd, by fi'ts-by starts, 'twas wi^ld.
And bad'e the lovely scenes/ at dis'tance ha'il.
Still would her touch the strain prolo'ng,
And from the ro'cks, the woo'ds, the va'le, She called on Echo still/ through all her son'g: A'nd/ where her swe^etest-theme/ she cho'se,
A sof't, responsive-voice was heard/ at every cl'ose;
He threw his blood-stained sw`ord/ in thunder d'own;
The war'-denouncing trumpet to'ok,
And blew a blas't, so lo'ud and dre ́ad,
Were ne'er prophetic-sounds/ so fu'll of w`o:
The doubling dru'm, with furious h'eat;
And though, sometimes, (each dreary pause bet'ween,)
Her soul-subduing voice/ appli'ed,
Yet still he kept his wi'ld/ unaltered-mi ́en;
While each strained ball of si'ght seemed bur'sting/ from
They numbers, (Jealousy,) to nought were fix`ed; (Sad proof of th y/ distre`ssful-state :)
Of differing the'mes/ the veering song was mi'xed/
And, no'w, it courted L'ove: n'ow, (ra'ving,) ca ́lled-on H^ate.
With eyes-upra'ised, (as one insp'ired,)
Pale Melancholy sat retired;
And/from her wild/ sequestered se'at,
(In not'es by dis'tance/ made more sweet,)
Poured through the mellow ho'rn/ her pensive so`ul :
And, dashing so'ft, from rocks around,
Bubbling run'nels/ joined the sound:
Through gla'des, and gloo'ms, the mingled me'asure st'ole;
Lo've of peace and lonely m'using)
In ho'llow mu'rmurs/ di'ed away.
But, O', how altered was its sprightlier to'ne
Her bus'kins/ gemmed with morning de'w,
Pee'ping from for'th/ their a'lleys gre'en :
And Spo'rt leap'ed-up, and seized his be'echen sp'ear.
La'st, came Joy's ecstatic trial:
H'e, (with viny crown advancing,)
First to the lively pi'pe/ his hand addressed;
Whose sweet entrancing voice/ he loved the best.
To so'me, unwe'aried min'strel dan'cing;
Wh'ile, (as his flying fingers kis'sed the strings,)
As if he would the charming air re pay,)
Shook thousand o'dours/ from his dew'y-wings.
MONODY TO THE MEMORY OF MR. GARRICK,
R. B. SHERIDAN.
IF d'ying-excellence/ deserves a te`ar,
If fond remembrance/ still is cherished he're;