The Project Gutenberg eBook of How to Teach Reading in the Public Schools, by S. H. Clark, Ph.B.

“It is especially important to study the relation of momentary completeness in connection with dependent clauses. As a rule, a definitive clause does not stand in the relation of momentary completeness, but in that of subordination or anticipation. A supplemental clause, on the other hand, is distinctively complete. This relation is not always shown, either by the punctuation, or by exact use of relative pronouns. In strictness, ‘who’ and ‘which’, as already said, should always mark supplemental relations; ‘that,’ definitive. Considerations of euphony, however, often overrule grammatical and rhetorical principles. The problem in regard to dependent clauses is; to decide whether the subordinate clause contains additional thought, or only modifying thought. The best practical test will be found in paraphrasing. If a dependent clause is truly definitive, it may be reduced to a brief element,—often to a single word, which may be incorporated in the first clause.

“In this example, it is obvious that the clause introduced by ‘which’ and the one beginning with ‘that’ stand in precisely the same relation, the change being made for euphony. It is obvious also that both dependent clauses are supplemental rather than definitive. In both of these clauses, therefore, there is an added thought, and this gives the relation of momentary completeness at the words ‘complicated’ and ‘perilous.’

“The ear, under the guidance of the logical and rhetorical insight, gives a much more sensitive and more accurate punctuation than can be indicated by printer’s marks or grammarian’s rules. Not the words, nor the grammatical elements, nor the customary and traditional rendering, determine grouping or inflection, but rather the speaker’s immediate purpose at the moment of the utterance.

“The principle of momentary completeness is strikingly exemplified in the case of a ‘division of the question’ in parliamentary proceedings. Division is called for because each item is considered as separately important enough to demand the entire attention. The same is often true in the announcement of a proposition containing several different elements, or of a text of Scripture suggesting many separate thoughts.”

It need hardly be said that the rule so often given, that “the voice should rise at a comma,” is ridiculous. It often does, it is true,—not because of the comma, but because of the motive.

The purpose of the following drills is not to train the student in the manner of making inflections, but rather to impress upon his mind the fact that rhetorically a sentence may be complete even though the point of completion be not marked by a full stop. In other words, the drill is one in mental, rather than vocal, technique.

The student must determine the purpose in every case, and then trust his voice to manifest that purpose.

It is often a matter of judgment whether we shall interpret a phrase as momentarily complete or as pointing forward, incomplete. Sometimes either interpretation would be acceptable, but, as a rule, one conveys the author’s intention better than the other. For instance, in the following extract from The American Indian, the author says:

It seems clear that in the second sentence the author is not enumerating minor details which form one larger whole, but that each statement is a sentence complete in itself, and so important that spontaneously we separate it from the others not merely by a pause but by a downward inflection.

If we were saying to another, “I bought my children firecrackers, torpedoes, skyrockets, and pinwheels,” we should use rising inflections until we closed our sentence on “pinwheels.” But it would be quite natural for the child, greatly excited by his presents, to use the downward inflection on those words, and these inflections would mark the importance, to him, of each separate gift. He would say, “I have firecrackers,—torpedoes,—skyrockets,—and pinwheels.”

Circumflex inflections are the expression of complex mental states. Note this in the following examples:

Difficult as is the subject of circumflex inflections, the difficulty is very much reduced when we bear in mind that the elements which compose them are the same as those with which we have been dealing. In Longfellow’s King Robert of Sicily, the Angel asks the king, “Who art thou?” To which Robert answers, sneeringly, “I am the King.” Now, on the word “I” we may expect to hear the rising circumflex (composed of a falling followed by a rising inflection) which the following paraphrase will justify: He dares ask me who I am! What audacity! Do you dare ask such a question of me? Would you know who I am? Perhaps a diagram will make this clearer:

Ĭ.
He dares ask me who I am. Do you not know? I am. etc.

Professor Chamberlain has made this question so clear that we quote from him again:

“Paraphrase for Complex Relations: These, as already seen, are cases of combined ideas, expressed by composite motions of the voice, called circumflexes. In order to justify such double motion of the voice, the mind of the reader needs to recognize the combination implied in the words. He will make himself surer of this by analyzing, or separating into its component parts, each composite idea.

“Here is a plain implication of one member of the antithesis; and it might be expanded thus, As you are not to be too extrávagant in your expression, so you are not to be too quìet.

“This combination of separable elements might be illustrated by diagram, thus:

As you are not to be extravagant, so you are not to be too quiet.
Be not too tâme neither.

“Here the negative, or anticipatory, clause is, in the condensed form, suggested by the negative, or rising, part of the circumflex; the positive clause, by the falling part of the tone.

“In a similar way two separate elements, both of which are verbally expressed, may be combined in one elliptical or complex clause; e. g.:

I come not to praise Caesar. but I come to bury him.
I come to bûry Caesar.

There is one feature of circumflex inflection somewhat common but seldom treated, the understanding of which is very helpful to the teacher. This feature is observed when there are assertion and incompleteness in the same word. For instance, “John Brown,” being the important idea in the following sentence, would be uttered with a falling inflection; but since the mind is glancing forward from “Brown” the rising inflection would mark that fact. Hence, the two states of mind would be manifested in a combined inflection the psychology of which should now be clear.

We have the same phenomenon on the word “Sicily” in the following extract, except that the falling inflection is on the first two syllables and the rising on the third:

The extent, or width, of the inflection depends upon the amount of collateral thinking. Thus a simple question as, “Is your name Brown?” will take an inflection of about a third of the musical scale, while the inflection of Cassius on “Chastisement,” in the example previously given, will be probably a full octave. The length of the inflection is explained by the philosophy of “Time”: it is a matter of the importance or non-importance of the idea. The direction of the inflection is explained by the philosophy of “Pitch”: it is determined by the purpose, or motive.

Varied melody is found in the speech of every-day life. Note how the voice continually runs up and down in a conversation on commonplace topics. The moment the subject grows serious and dignified, the discriminative elements largely disappear and with them the varied melody; until in solemn prayer, invocation, and certain forms of meditation in the absence of desire to insist on the importance of any one word, or the absence of the purpose to discriminate between one phase and another, we approach very close to the monotone. Let us remember, however, that it is not the emotion as such that affects the melody, but the mental content of the emotion.

In order that the reader may see the application of the foregoing principles, an analysis of a complete poem is appended. There may be a difference of opinion concerning details, but it must be remembered that the value of this analysis for the student lies in the fact that it should teach him that some interpretation is to be definitely decided on. The average reading is haphazard; so that one must gain a great deal through the mental drill necessary to decide the various questions that come up in the course of such an analysis as that here undertaken. It is a common experience to hear a pupil read a passage one way at one time and a different way at another. It would therefore seem to be better to read a passage incorrectly with some reason behind the error, than to read it correctly as a matter of accident, with the chance that the next time it is read the expression will be quite different. The greatest value of such analyses is found in the improvement in the student’s power of discrimination. The melody, which manifests the purpose, the motive, is the very life of good reading.

l. 5, 6.—Each line a complete affirmative statement, although separated from the rest of the poem only by commas.

l. 8.—Rising inflection on “horde,” since the sense is incomplete until we come to “wall.” A good example, since lines 9 and 10 would make very good sense without the succeeding two.

l. 13-14.—The motive being the same in both lines, note that the melody is the same.

l. 16.—“Noon” is contrasted with “morning”; hence the rising circumflex on the former word.

l. 19.—This line is anticipative. Supply “being” before “bravest,” and note how the temptation to use the falling inflection on “town” disappears.

l. 24.—What difference in motive would be conveyed by rising and falling inflections on “Jackson”?

l. 25-28.—Transitions on “under,” “halt,” “the,” “fire,” “out.” Explain.

l. 31.—Observe that “as it fell” is subordinate. Many read this couplet incorrectly. The idea is not “as it fell from the broken staff,” but that she snatched it “from the broken staff.”

l. 37.—(1) Observe how the key lowers. Why? (2) What shades of meaning are conveyed by the following readings: a, momentary completeness on “sadness,” and “shame”; b, anticipation on “sadness,” momentary completeness on “shame.” Which do you prefer? Why?

l. 49-50.—Many opportunities for choice of inflection on “hill-gaps,” “light,” “over.”

No attempt has been made in this analysis to do more than direct attention to the portions of the poem in which inflection and melody are affected by the interpretation.

PEDAGOGICAL ASPECTS.

Much of what has been said concerning the pedagogical aspects of the discussion of “Time” may be repeated here. Drills in inflections as such are of very little value and potentially very harmful. Occasionally we hear the argument that a pupil has no ear for inflections, and that the drill is to train his ear. Most pupils have no difficulty in making proper inflections, so that for them class drills are time wasted; for those whose reading is monotonous, because of lack of melodic variety, the best drills are those which teach them to make a careful analysis of the sentences, and those which awaken them to the necessity of impressing the thought upon others. We deceive ourselves when we proceed to correct the error of monotony in any mechanical, artificial way.

We have learned that, when a pupil has the proper motive in mind and is desirous of conveying his intention to another, a certain melody will always manifest that intention. The melody, then, is the criterion of the pupil’s purpose. We expect a certain melody with certain phrases. When that melody is heard, we are scarcely conscious of its presence; when another is heard, we are struck as by a discord of music when we expect concord. The moment a pupil loses sight of the exact meaning of a phrase and its relation to the other phrases, that moment his melody betrays him. Now the teacher must be able to translate the false melody. He must determine the pupil’s purpose (or absence of any purpose) behind the incorrect melody, remove the wrong purpose, put in its stead the true purpose, and rely upon natural instincts to do the rest. Herein lies the great value to the teacher of a knowledge of the psychology of the criterion of pitch.

Suppose a pupil reads, “Up from the meadows green with corn,” using a rising circumflex on “meadows.” This would show at once that “meadows” was contrasted in his mind with something else. Remove the contrast, direct his mind forward from that word to the next phrase, and the proper melody will come. Some teachers, especially those engaged in the teaching of young children, have a somewhat patronizing melody in all they say and read. This melody is overflowing with circumflexes, which are soon copied by the class. Let the teacher free himself from this patronizing mental condition and talk to the children as if they were men and women, and the peculiar melody will disappear from the voices of both teacher and pupil. It is rather difficult to present this melody in graphic form, but the following diagram may prove suggestive:

Now children let us all take our books.

It is hardly to be believed that there is so much ignorance as to the meaning of inflection. During the past two years, in schools of our largest cities, the author has heard teachers reprimand their pupils for allowing their voices “to fall at a comma.” As if commas were intended to indicate vocal expression! Once when a bright lad used a falling inflection on “want,” in such a sentence as “What do you want?” a class nearly shook their hands off in their endeavors to attract the teacher’s attention, in order that, when he said, “What’s wrong?” they might shout at the top of their voices, “He let his voice down at a question mark.”

One of the commonest of misunderstandings that prevail among us, is that the rising inflection is always to be given upon words preceding commas, and also that it must never be given at the end of a sentence. It is hoped that these fallacies have been entirely exploded, and that the teacher has learned that motive, and motive only, governs the inflection. We used to be told to count one at a comma, two at a semi-colon, and four at a period. Such admonitions are exactly on a par with those just referred to.

Teachers should bear in mind that pupils do not need to have a musical ear in order to read with correct melody. As we have stated again and again, melody is the result of varying tension, and that has nothing to do with the ability to recognize tones. With singing this is different. There we must strike certain notes, and ear training is necessary; but speech melody is instinctive, and all that is necessary for its development is mental training and practice in reading—not voice drills as such.

The melody of long sentences presents a case of peculiar difficulty. Where the sentence is long, especially where it is long and involved, the pupil’s melody is often faulty because he cannot hold the thought in mind from beginning to end. Pupils should be trained on sentences specially chosen to develop their powers of continuous thinking. These sentences should be carefully analyzed and thoroughly discussed before reading. The following examples, while too difficult for younger pupils, will afford good practice for the teacher:

While the Union lasts, we have high, exciting, gratifying prospects spread out before us, for us and our children. Beyond that I seek not to penetrate the veil. God grant that in my day, at least, that curtain may not rise. God grant that on my vision never may be opened what lies behind. When my eyes shall be turned to behold for the last time the sun in heaven, may I not see him shining on the broken and dishonored fragments of a once glorious Union; on States dissevered, discordant, belligerent; on a land rent with civil feuds, or drenched, it may be, in fraternal blood! Let their last feeble and lingering glance, rather, behold the gorgeous ensign of the republic, now known and honored throughout the earth, still full high advanced, its arms and trophies streaming in their original luster, not a stripe erased or polluted, not a single star obscured—bearing for its motto no such miserable interrogatory as, “What is all this worth?” nor those other words of delusion and folly, “Liberty first, and Union afterward;” but everywhere, spread all over in characters of living light, blazing on all its ample folds as they float over the sea and over the land, and in every wind under the whole heavens, that other sentiment, dear to every true American heart—“Liberty and Union, now and forever, one and inseparable.”—Reply to Hayne. Webster.

Note that the force of “may I not see him” continues to “fraternal blood,” and consequently that there should be rising inflections on “Union,” “dissevered,” “discordant,” “belligerent,” “feuds,” and “blood.” And note further that “What is all this worth?” and “Liberty first, and Union afterward,” are anticipative and hence will take a rising inflection on “worth” and “afterward.”

At Atri in Abruzzo, a small town

Of ancient Roman date but scant renown,

One of those little places that have run

Half up the hill, beneath a blazing sun,

And then sat down to rest, as if to say,

“I climb no further upward, come what may,”

The Re Giovanni, now unknown to fame,

So many monarchs since have borne the name,

Had a great bell hung in the market place.

—The Bell of Atri. Longfellow.

The town would have used a falling inflection on “may” because for it the sense would have been completed with that word; but with us this phrase is subordinate, and hence the inflection on “may” will be rising.

And as a hungry lion who has made

A prey of some large beast—a hornèd stag

Or mountain goat—rejoices, and with speed

Devours it, though swift hounds and sturdy youths

Press on his flank, so Menelaus felt

Great joy when Paris, of the godlike form,

Appeared in sight, for now he thought to wreak

His vengeance on the guilty one, and straight

Sprang from his car to earth with all his arms.

—The Iliad, Book II. Homer (Bryant).

But when public taste seems plunging deeper and deeper into degradation day by day, and when the press universally exerts such power as it possesses to direct the feeling of the nation more completely to all that is theatrical, affected, and false in art; while it vents its ribald buffooneries on the most exalted truth, and the highest ideal of landscape, that this or any other age has ever witnessed, it becomes the imperative duty of all who have any perception or knowledge of what is really great in art, and any desire for its advancement in England, to come fearlessly forward, regardless of such individual interests as are likely to be injured by the knowledge of what is good and right, to declare and demonstrate, wherever they exist, the essence and the authority of the beautiful and the true.—Modern Painters. Ruskin.

CHAPTER III
THE CRITERION OF QUALITY

Thus far we have been considering the criteria of states essentially intellectual. “Time” has to do with the extent of the thought; “Pitch” with the purpose. Quality manifests emotional states. By Quality we mean that subtle element in the voice by which is expressed at one time tenderness, at another harshness, at another awe, and so on through the whole gamut of feeling.

In order to prove that the quality (timbre, the French call it) of the voice is the result of emotional conditions, we must first understand what we may term the physics of quality. The number of air waves striking the ear in a given time determines the pitch; the width of the waves determines the volume of sound; the shape of the waves determines the quality. But how is the shape of air waves affected? It would take us too far from our subject to discuss this question in detail.[5] Let it suffice that the shape of the air wave, and hence the quality, is dependent upon the texture of the vibrating body. We recognize at once the different qualities respectively of the flute, piano, violin, harp or cornet; it is the difference in the texture of the vibrating substances that enables us to do this. Why will the artist pay thousands of dollars for a Stradivarius or Cremona violin? Not because of its age, but because of the quality of the tone he can bring out on that instrument, which is impossible on other makes of violins. The fashioners of these old instruments possessed a secret of treating or seasoning the wood that gave to their products a tone quality the violin-makers of to-day endeavor in vain to reproduce. This treatment affected the texture of the wood, and hence the quality.

To him who plays upon the human instrument of the voice, is given a great advantage over other artists. He can change the quality of his tone almost at will, while they can only approximate these changes. The tone as it comes from the vocal bands is comparatively colorless, but the size and shape of the reinforcing cavities (the larynx, pharynx, mouth, and nares), and the texture of their membranes, determine the quality of the tone that reaches the ear. Now, the size and shape of some of these can be changed at will, and are often modified unconsciously by emotion. The same may be said of the texture of the surface against which the tone impinges as it comes from the larynx. The shape of the nares and the texture of its membrane are virtually fixed, as is the texture of the roof of the mouth and the pharynx. Herein is the explanation of the individuality of voices. But the shape of the mouth and of the pharynx may be considerably modified by the action of the tongue, the raising, lowering, or contracting of the larynx, and the movements of the soft palate. It is, therefore, clear that the quality of the voice is partly fixed and partly changeable.

Before we proceed to discuss the effect of emotion upon the quality, we must first recognize that voice defects are of three kinds: (1) Those arising from disease or accident, such as catarrh, obstructions in the nose, enlarged tonsils, broken nose, and many others. These require medical or surgical treatment. (2) Those arising from congenital defects, which can be only partially removed, such as cleft palate, abnormally narrow nares, and the like. (3) Those arising out of the temperament of the man and the improper use of his voice.

It should now be plain that when we say that emotion affects the quality of the tone, we mean the peculiar quality of a particular man. If a speaker’s voice is nasal, we do not claim that that quality is expressive of any emotion. On the contrary, nasal quality is the distinguishing characteristic of his voice, but that quality can be modified by emotion. In other words, there can be a nasal-tender quality, or a nasal-harsh quality, the tender or harsh feeling accounting for the difference.

Paul Heyse has said, “The voice is the man.” What did he mean by that? He did not mean that a throaty voice indicated one temperament, and a nasal voice another, but that the emotional man, the spiritual man, has a certain texture of muscle. This texture affects the quality of his natural voice, whatever that voice may be, and consequently the quality of the voice manifests the man. If we will interpret this dictum broadly, no fault will be found with it. Who does not recognize the blustering man by his bellowing tone? the fawning hypocrite by his oily quality? the aggressive, assertive individual by his harsh guttural? In all probability, Heyse meant more than quality, in the sense in which we use it here; but granting this, his saying is of very wide application even in this restricted realm.

How does emotion affect the quality of the voice? Emotion is essentially a muscular condition. This condition is determined by the amount of nervous energy sent to the muscles, and this energy determines the muscular texture. Tender emotions mean tender texture, a relaxed condition of the muscles; while harsh quality is the result not only of throat contraction (change in the shape of the reinforcing cavity) but of constricted muscle, harsh texture. This is all there is to the philosophy of “Quality.”

Dr. Rush, in his Philosophy of the Human Voice, has named many of these qualities. He calls them Normal, Orotund, Guttural, Pectoral, Falsetto, and so on; and mentions the emotional conditions that manifest themselves through these various forms. On the whole, his classification is sound; but there is one gross error, due either to himself or his followers, that must be considered here. The Orotund (the enlarged natural) quality is more than a loud voice. It is a full voice with a quality that cannot better be described than by the term richness. Many students have endeavored to obtain this quality by shouting, or by holding the mouth as if gaping, and have developed only loudness without a trace of soulfulness, or merely a round, hollow hot-potato-in-the-throat kind of voice. There is no objection to the use of the term Orotund to characterize that rich, full tone suggestive of deep, full, enlarged feeling; but we must bear in mind that loudness is not only not necessary for the Orotund, but is often no part of it at all. The Orotund, as we have said, is that quality of which the main characteristics are roundness and richness. One who is restricted is not likely to use this quality. It can come only when there is the utmost freedom of the entire vocal region. When we have removed the tension which may be “the man,” or the result of bad vocal training, we shall get that enlarged quality, which should not, as is so often the case, manifest merely the larger emotional states, but should be the natural voice of the speaker. The Orotund manifests dignity above all else; it manifests the large, grand spirit. Of course, we do not mean an affected Orotund, but an easy, large, unrestricted quality showing the largeness of the soul behind it. To develop this quality, let the student use his imagination. Let him dwell for a long time upon the sublimity and grandeur of such passages as follow. Then let him abandon himself to the emotion aroused through his contemplation, and in time the genuine Orotund will come. And so only can it come. So important is this phase of the subject that we repeat: The tone expressive of elevated feeling “cannot be mechanically produced, or manufactured independently of the general mental and physical conditions.” The imagination must lead, otherwise we shall have big voices without big quality. That peculiar quality expressive of enlarged feeling is not necessarily loud. In fact, the voice may not be strong, but, at the same time, it may suggest grandeur and sublimity far better than a voice that has sheer loudness. But, if the student will practice faithfully, he may be assured that his voice will receive more genuine training through these exercises than through a whole volume of merely technical drills. Develop the imagination, the soul, and the voice will grow through the effort of the soul to go out in expression. But let him avoid mere shouting and vociferating, even if he never gets a voice.

If the student has not the imagination, he must develop it. There are many loud voices, but few with soulful quality. But what avails this loudness? Certainly it enables one to be heard above the din of voices and the roar of the waves, but it never stirs the nobler emotions of an audience; and unless one can do that he is anything but an orator. Mere loudness is rant—nothing less.

Many students, for one reason or another, either have no ability to express elevated feeling in public, or repress it through diffidence or shyness. Let such remember that we are constantly experiencing and expressing this feeling in our everyday life; that it is simply an enlargement of a more or less commonplace feeling; and let him begin with the simple examples that are set down first. Any one can say, What a lovely day this is! Well, that is a mild form of elevated feeling. Let him imagine it is graduation day, and that rain had been threatening to fall all the previous night. It is daylight now; and as he opens his eyes and looks up at the cloudless sky, will he not exclaim with elevated feeling, What a glorious day we’re going to have!

By “elevated feelings” one must not understand those only that are serious and solemn. Whenever the imagination is enkindled by the contemplation of what is large, dignified, grand, sublime, the emotions are stirred, and find expression in enlarged, soulful quality.

Ay, every inch a king.

Think of it! a building that could hold a hundred thousand people!

Here will be their greatest triumph.

Who shall put asunder the best affections of the heart?

We loved the land of our adoption!

A good name is better than precious ointment.

Gird up thy loins now, like a man.

Comfort ye my people.

O Zion, that bringest good tidings, get thee up into the high mountain!

He is as honest a man as ever breathed.

Search creation round, where will you find a country that presents so sublime a spectacle, so interesting an anticipation?

Most of all, fellow-citizens, if your sons ask whose example they shall imitate, what will you say? For you know well it is not music, nor the gymnasiums, nor the schools, that mold young men; it is much more the public proclamations, the public example. If you take one whose life has no high purpose, one who mocks at morals, and crown him in the theater, every boy who sees it is corrupted. When a bad man suffers his deserts, the people learn; on the contrary, when a man VOTES AGAINST WHAT IS NOBLE AND JUST, and then comes home to teach his son, the boy will very promptly say, “Your lesson is impertinent and a bore.” Beware, therefore, Athenians, remembering posterity will rejudge your judgment, and that the character of a city is determined by the character of the men it crowns.

Right forever on the scaffold, Wrong forever on the throne; But that scaffold sways the future, and behind the dim unknown Standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch above his own.

Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State!

Sail on, O Union, strong and great!

Humanity, with all its fears,

With all the hopes of future years

Is hanging breathless on thy fate!

We know what Master laid thy keel,

What workmen wrought thy ribs of steel,

Who made each mast, and sail, and rope,

What anvils rang, what hammers beat,

In what a forge, and what a heat,

Were shaped the anchors of thy hope!

Fear not each sudden sound and shock;

’Tis of the wave, and not the rock;

’Tis but the flapping of the sail,

And not a rent made by the gale!

In spite of rock and tempest’s roar,

In spite of false lights on the shore,

Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea!

Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee:

Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears,

Our faith triumphant o’er our fears,

Are all with thee,—are all with thee!

—The Ship of State. Longfellow.

See what a grace was seated on this brow;

Hyperion’s curls; the front of Jove himself;

An eye like Mars, to threaten and command;

A station like the herald Mercury

New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill;

A combination and a form indeed,

Where every god did seem to set his seal,

To give the world assurance of a man.

—Hamlet, Act iii., Sc. 4.

Awake, my soul! Not only passive praise

Thou owest; not alone these swelling tears,

Mute thanks, and secret ecstasy. Awake,

Voice of sweet song! Awake my heart, Awake!

Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my hymn!

—Coleridge.

And the evening star was shining

On Schehallion’s distant head,

When we wiped our bloody broadswords,

And returned to count the dead.

There we found him, gashed and gory,

Stretched upon the cumbered plain,

As he told us where to seek him,

In the thickest of the slain.

And a smile was on his visage,

For within his dying ear

Pealed the joyful note of triumph,

And the clansman’s clamorous cheer:

So, amidst the battle’s thunder,

Shot, and steel, and scorching flame,

In the glory of his manhood

Passed the spirit of the Græme!

Open wide the vaults of Atholl,

Where the bones of heroes rest,—

Open wide the hallowed portals

To receive another guest!

Last of Scots and last of freemen,—

Last of all that dauntless race,

Who would rather die unsullied

Than outlive the land’s disgrace!

—Aytoun.

Bury the great Duke

With an empire’s lamentation,

Let us bury the Great Duke

To the noise of the mourning of a mighty nation,

Mourning when their leaders fall,

Warriors carry the warrior’s pall,

And sorrow darkens hamlet and hall.

Where shall we lay the man whom we deplore?

Here, in streaming London’s central roar,

Let the sound of those he wrought for,

And the feet of those he fought for,

Echo round his bones forevermore.

Lead out the pageant: sad and slow,

As fits a universal woe,

Let the long, long procession go,

And let the sorrowing crowd about it grow,

And let the mournful martial music blow;

The last great Englishman is low.

All is over and done:

Render thanks to the Giver,

England, for thy son.

Let the bell be toll’d.

Render thanks to the Giver,

And render him to the mold.

Under the cross of gold

That shines over city and river,

There he shall rest forever

Among the wise and the bold.

Let the bell be toll’d:

And a reverent people behold

The towering car, the sable steeds:

Bright let it be with his blazon’d deeds

Dark in its funeral fold,

Let the bell be toll’d:

And a deeper knell in the heart be knoll’d;

And the sound of the sorrowing anthem roll’d

Thro’ the dome of the golden cross;

And the volleying cannon thunder his loss;

He knew their voices of old.

For many a time in many a clime

His captain’s ear has heard them boom,

Bellowing victory, bellowing doom:

When he with those deep voices wrought,

Guarding realms and kings from shame;

With those deep voices our dead captain taught

The tyrant, and asserts his claim

In that dread sound to the great name

Which he has worn so pure of blame,

In praise and in dispraise the same,

A man of well-attemper’d frame.

O civic Muse, to such a name,

To such a name for ages long,

To such a name,

Preserve a broad approach of fame,

And ever-echoing avenues of song.

—Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington. Tennyson.

Venerable men! you have come down to us from a former generation. Heaven has bounteously lengthened out your lives, that you might behold this joyous day. You are now where you stood fifty years ago, this very hour, with your brothers and your neighbors, shoulder to shoulder, in the strife for your country. Behold, how altered! The same heavens are indeed above your heads; the same ocean rolls at your feet; but all else how changed!

You hear now no roar of hostile cannon, you see no mixed volume of smoke and flame rising from burning Charlestown. The ground strewed with the dead and dying; the impetuous charge; the steady and successful repulse; the loud call to repeated assault; the summoning of all that is manly to repeated resistance; a thousand bosoms freely and fearlessly bared in an instant to whatever of terror there may be in war and death; all these you have witnessed, but you witness them no more.

All is peace. The heights of yonder metropolis, its towers and roofs, which you then saw filled with wives and children and countrymen in distress and terror, and looking with unutterable emotions for the issue of the combat, have presented you to-day with the sight of its whole happy population come out to welcome and greet you with a universal jubilee. Yonder proud ships, by a felicity of position appropriately lying at the foot of this mount, and seeming fondly to cling around it, are not means of annoyance to you, but your country’s own means of destruction and defense.—Webster.

What lesson shall those lips teach us? Before that still, calm brow let us take a new baptism. How can we stand here without a fresh and utter consecration? These tears! how shall we dare even to offer consolation? Only lips fresh from such a vow have the right to mingle their words with your tears. We envy you your nearer place to these martyred children of God. I do not believe slavery will go down in blood. Ours is an age of thought. Hearts are stronger than swords. That last fortnight! How sublime its lesson! the Christian one of conscience,—of truth. Virginia is weak, because each man’s heart said amen to John Brown. His words,—they are stronger even than his rifles. These crushed a State. Those have changed the thoughts of millions, and will yet crush slavery. Men said, “Would he had died in arms!” God ordered better, and granted to him and the slave those noble prison hours,—that single hour of death; granted him a higher than the soldier’s place,—that of teacher; the echoes of his rifles have died away in the hills,—a million hearts guard his words. God bless this roof,—make it bless us. We dare not say bless you, children of this home! you stand nearer to one whose lips God touched, and we rather bend for your blessings. God make us all worthier of him whose dust we lay among these hills he loved. Here he girded himself and went forth to battle. Fuller success than his heart ever dreamed God granted him. He sleeps in the blessings of the crushed and the poor, and men believe more firmly in virtue, now that such a man has lived. Standing here, let us thank God for a firmer faith and fuller hope.—Wendell Phillips.

A great deal of space has been given to the preceding illustrations because the quality necessary to express the emotions in those selections is very rare. Rare for two reasons: first, because we dwell so much of the time in the realm of the so-called practical that we lose interest in the sublimer aspects presented in poetry; and, secondly, we do not express these larger emotions freely and often. Expression, like all other powers, comes through practice.

The second distinct quality is what has been called the Normal. This is the voice of everyday life, the voice in which we carry on the conversation of the home, the schoolroom, and the business of life generally. We need no special practice in this quality, but it is well to recognize it in order that we may compare with it the other qualities. The following extract would be expressed in Normal quality.

Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue; but if you mouth it, as many of your players do, I had as lief the town crier spoke my lines. And do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus; but use all gently: for in the very torrent, tempest, and (as I may say) whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness. Oh, 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-shows and noise. I would have such a fellow whipped for o’erdoing Termagant; it out-herods Herod: pray you avoid it.

Be not too tame either, but let your own discretion be your tutor: suit the action to the word, the word to the action, with this special observance, that you o’erstep not the modesty of Nature; for anything so overdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first, and now, was, and is, to hold, as ’twere, the mirror up to Nature, to show Virtue her own feature, Scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure. Now, this overdone, or come tardy off, though it make the unskillful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve; the censure of the which one must, in your allowance, o’erweigh a whole theater of others. Oh, there be players that I have seen play—and heard others praise, and that highly—not to speak it profanely, that, neither having the accent of Christians, nor the gait of Christian, pagan, or man, have so strutted and bellowed that I have thought some of Nature’s journeymen had made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably.—Hamlet, Act iii., Sc. 2.

In a work which makes no pretension to cover the whole realm of elocution, it would be out of place to discuss the more extravagant forms of emotion, such as terror, rage, hate, and the like. In order, however, to give this phase of the subject a certain approximation to complete treatment, it may be well to touch upon these abnormal emotional states and the respective qualities in which they find expression.

There is a wide range of feeling that so affects the action of the vocal apparatus as to produce a breathy tone. It would be idle and misleading to enumerate all the occasions upon which we might expect to hear this aspirated voice. Suffice it that a sense of oppression resulting from any one of many causes: the desire not to be overheard; the weakness of old age and disease—any of these conditions may produce the aspirated tone. Aspiration does not manifest any one emotion, but may accompany many. There may be considerable aspiration mixed with the expression of joy, as well as with the expression of hate or despair. It is well to bear this in mind, for many text books give the “Aspirated Quality” as a specific kind of voice manifesting specific emotions and those only. When we observe that this quality is found in awe, terror, hate, and like emotions; in debility; and when we wish to whisper; the unscientific nature of such a classification becomes sufficiently clear. A few examples are appended:

St! Don’t make any noise: he’s asleep.

Walk softly: I think they’re listening.

Go away! I hate you.

Oh! I’m so tired; help me along.

How can I tell him the truth!

There is no hope.

“Charge, Chester, charge! On, Stanley, on!”

Were the last words of Marmion.

O horror! horror! horror!

Tongue, nor heart, cannot conceive, nor name thee!

Measureless liar!

Spare me, great God! Lift up my drooping brow;

I am content to die; but, oh, not now.

I pray you, give me leave to go hence;

I am not well.

Dear master, I can go no further: O, I die for food! Here lie I down, and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master.

How ill this taper burns! Ha! who comes here?

I think it is the weakness of my 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 stare?—

Speak to me what thou art.

—Julius Caesar, Act iv., Sc. 3.

Lady Macbeth. Alack! I am afraid they have awak’d,

And ’tis not done. The attempt, and not the deed,

Confounds us. Hark!—I laid their daggers ready,

He could not miss them.—Had he not resembled

My father as he slept, I had done ’t. My husband!

Macbeth. I have done the deed. Didst thou not hear a noise?

Lady Macbeth. I heard the owl scream, and the crickets cry.

Did you not speak?

Macbeth. When?

Lady Macbeth. Now.

Macbeth. As I descended?

Lady Macbeth. Ay.

Macbeth. Hark!

Who lies i’ th’ second chamber?

Lady Macbeth. Donalbain.

Macbeth. This is a sorry sight. [Looking at his hands.

Lady Macbeth. A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight.

Macbeth. There’s one did laugh in ’s sleep,

And one cried, “Murder!” that they did wake each other;

I stood and heard them: but they did say their prayers,

And address’d them again to sleep.

—Macbeth, Act ii., Sc. 2.

Stern, severe, harsh feelings have a tendency to contract the throat; hence, we get a quality that is called the Guttural. It is heard only where the passion grips the throat.

Mend, and change home,

Or by the fires of heaven, I’ll leave the foe,

And make me wars on you: look to ’t: Come on!

“Curse on him!” quoth false Sextus:

“Will not the villain drown?

But for this stay, ere close of day

We should have sacked the town!”

Never, Iago. Like to the Pontic Sea,

Whose icy current and compulsive course

Ne’er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on

To the Propontic and the Hellespont,

Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace,

Shall ne’er look back, ne’er ebb to humble love,

Till that a capable and wide revenge

Swallow them up. Now, by yond’ marble heaven,

In the due reverence of a sacred vow

I here engage my words.

—Othello, Act iii., Sc. 3.

PEDAGOGICAL ASPECTS.

CHAPTER III THE CRITERION OF QUALITY

CHAPTER III
THE CRITERION OF QUALITY