A drop of patience; but, alas! to make me
A fixed figure, for the Time of scorn

To point his slow unmoving finger at-
Oh-

FEAR WITHOUT GUILT.—VERY LOW, SLOW, THE TONE SUSTAINED,

How ill this taper burns! Ha! who comes here?
I think it is the weakness of mine eyes
That shapes this monstrous apparition-
It comes upon me: Art thou any thing?
Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil,
That mak'st my blood cold, and my hair to stand?

GUILTY FEAR.-LOW, SLOW, HARSH, THE VOICE AT TIMES
ASPIRATED.

Oh, coward conscience, how dost thou affright me!
The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight;
Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.

DEEP EMOTION.—LOW, QUICK, BROKEN.

Farewell, farewell, farewell!

She does not feel, she does not feel! Thank heaven,
She does not feel her Fazio's last, last kiss!

One other! Cold as stone-sweet, sweet as roses!

CONVERSATIONAL VOICE.-MIDDLE TONE, LIGHT, MIDDLE TIME.

Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue : but if you mouth it, as many of our players do, I had as lief the town-crier had spoke my lines. And do not saw the air too much with your hands, but use all gently; for in the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, whirlwind of your passions, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness. O, it offends me to the soul, to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings; who, for the most part, are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb show and noise.

DIGNITY.-MIDDLE TONE, LOUD, SLOW.

While there is hope, do not distrust the gods,
But wait at least till Cæsar's near approach
Force us to yield. "Twill never be too late
To sue for chains and own a conqueror.

EARNESTNESS.-MIDDLE TONE, LOUD, TIME QUICKER, Whom are we to charge as the deceiver of the state? Is it not the man whose words are inconsistent with his actions? On whom do the maledictions fall, usually pronounced in our assemblies? Is it not on this man? Can we point out a more enormous instance of iniquity in any speaker, than this inconsistency between his words and actions?

REVENGE.-MIDDLE TONE, LOUD, ASPIRATED.

O, that the slave had forty thousand lives!
One is too poor, too weak for my revenge!
Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow cell!
Yield up, O love, thy crown and hearted throne
To tyrannous hate! swell, bosom, with thy fraught,
For 'tis of aspics' tongues.

COURAGE CHIVALROUS EXCITEMENT.-HIGH, LOUD, SLOW.

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead!
In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man,
As modest stillness, and humility;

But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favoured rage—
On, on, you noblest English,

Whose blood is fetched from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers, that, like so many Alexanders,

Have, in these parts, from morn till even fought,
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot;
Follow your spirit: and, upon this charge,
Cry-Heaven for Harry! England! and St George!

COURAGE DESPERATE EXCITEMENT.-HIGH, LOUD, slow,
MORE ASPIRATED.

Fight, gentlemen of England! fight, bold yeomen!
Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head:
Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood;
Amaze the welkin with your broken staves-
A thousand hearts are great within my bosom:

E

Advance our standards, set upon our foes;
Our ancient word of courage, fair St George,
Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons!
Upon them! Victory sits on our helms.

FONDNESS, MIXED WITH SORROW.—HIGH, SOFT, SLOW.
Oh, my long lost hope!

If thou to giddy valour gav'st the rein,
To-morrow I may lose my son for ever.
The love of thee before thou saw'st the light,
Sustained my life when thy brave father fell.
If thou shalt fall, I have nor love, nor hope,
In this wide world. My son, remember me!
Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day:
It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear;
Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree:
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.

SHIFT OF THE VOICE.

In the examples given above, the prevailing tone of the voice was pointed out; but in passionate composition, and even in that of reasoning and narrative, there is frequently in the same sentence, and, generally, at the beginning of a new sentence and paragraph, a marked variety of tone. The right assumption of these keys constitutes what may be termed the feeling of a composition; without it, acting is lifeless, and argument tiresome. It is a want of this variety which distinguishes the inanimate speaker; his inflexion may be correct, and have even what has been termed a musical cadence; but without this variety of key, he must tire his audience. The effect of a transition from the major to the minor key in music is not more striking than the variety which the voice will occasionally assume.

A change of key is generally necessary at the commencement of a new sentence. When in the preceding sentence the voice has sunk down towards the close, in the new sentence it sometimes recovers its elasticity, and sometimes it continues in the depressed note on which the preceding sentence terminates. This is generally the case when the second sentence is illustrative or expository of the first.

No blessing of life is comparable to the enjoyment of a discreet and virtuous friend. It eases and unloads the mind, clears and improves the understanding, engenders thoughts and knowledge, animates virtue and good resolu

tions, soothes and allays the passions, and finds employment for most of the vacant hours of life.

Here the second sentence beginning, It eases, assumes the low note, which terminates the preceding sentence. In the remaining clauses the voice is varied, in order to rivet the attention on each particular.

Speciality, in the same sentence, has a similar effect.

The flying Mede-his shaftless broken bow.
The fiery Greek-his red pursuing spear.

Opposition, variety, modification of the sense, interruption of the thought, whether in one sentence or in separate sentences, produce a change of key.

Oh, blindness to the future! kindly given,
That each may fill the circle marked by Heaven;
Who sees, with equal eye, as God of all,
A hero perish, or a sparrow fall;
Atoms or systems into ruin hurl'd;

And now a bubble burst, and now a world.
Mountains above, earth's, ocean's plain below,
Death in the front, destruction in the rear.

Age, in a virtuous person, carries in it an authority which makes it preferable to all the pleasures of youth.

To die to sleep-to sleep! perchance to dream;
Ay, there's the rub.

If thou be'st he

But oh! how fallen.

In these examples, the shifts of the voice take place within the sentence; and it may perhaps be thought that they do not come within the rule which was laid down for commencing a new sentence or paragraph. But they are founded on the same principle-the mood of the speaker's mind. In passionate composition, the changes of key are more frequent than in argument, as the mind is more restless; in the latter case, it is principally at the beginning of sentences or paragraphs that a change is necessary. In order to keep the minds of an audience awake to an argument, it is necessary that the speaker should at times use the artifice of sincerity, wonder, &c.; indeed, they are not artifices, but the feelings which must occupy the breast of every one who speaks with intensity. Even the reading of a narrative partakes of the mood of the speaker's mind, and will be relieved at times by those modifications of voice, which are in accordance with his natural temper. If, then, a mere narrative assumes these modulations, a public address, such as is given

from the pulpit, should be greatly varied in its tones; for then, pity, hope, and other passions, must animate the mind of the speaker; nay, even in the closest reasoning, there must be an earnestness, in which must be exhibited, by varying tones, the natural impatience of a mind which, convinced itself, wonders at the tardiness of conviction on others, the relapse into the calmness of appeal natural after such impatience, and the assumption of confidence in the statement of arguments that appear manifest to all. It is on several of the most remarkable of these moods of the mind that the figures of rhetoric are founded; their pronunciation, then, must be intimately connected with the modulation of the voice, and with the shift which forms so prominent a part of modulation. The six following examples of the pronunciation of figures, as given and explained in Mr Walker's Rhetorical Grammar, will illustrate this :

1. PROLEPSIS, OR ANTICIPATION,

Is a figure by which the speaker suggests an objection to what he is advancing, and returns an answer to it. This figure affords an orator a favourable opportunity of altering his voice and manner, and, by this means, of throwing a greater variety into his pronunciation. The nature of the figure dictates the manner of delivering it. When we propose an objection against ourselves, candour requires a certain fairness and openness of manner, which may show we do justice to the opinion of our adversary, and want to conceal nothing from our judges. This frankness of manner is best expressed by a clear, open tone of voice, somewhat higher and louder than the general tone of the discourse, nearly as if we were calling out to a person at a distance; after which, the answer must be given in a slow, firm tone, that the objection and answer may be the more clearly distinguished, and that what we may oppose to the objection, may have more the appearance of cool reason and argument. An excellent example of this figure is in Cicero's Oration for Archias

1

How many examples of the bravest men have the Greek and Latin writers left us, not only to contemplate, but to imitate! These illustrious models I have always set before me in the government of the state, and have formed my conduct by contemplating their virtues.

But it will be asked, were those great men who are celebrated in history distinguished for that kind of learning which you so highly extol? It would be difficult, I grant, to prove this of them all; but what I shall answer is nevertheless certain. I own, then, that there have been many men of excellent dispositions and distinguished virtue, who, without learning, and by the almost divine force of nature herself, have attained to great wisdom and worth; nay,