deepest convictions of other minds, will tend to develop the right use of vocal modulations and inflection.

Problem LIV. For the development of inflectional agility, practice a great variety of emotions, with many degrees of earnestness, intensity, and emphasis.

231 BUT who the melodies of morn can tell? The wild brook babbling down the mountain side; the lowing herd; the sheepfold's simple bell; the pipe of early shepherd dim descried in the lone valley; echoing far and wide the clamorous horn along the cliffs above; the hollow murmur of the ocean tide; the hum of bees, the linnet's lay of love, and the full choir that wakes the universal grove. The cottage curs at early pilgrim bark; crowned with her pail the tripping milkmaid sings; the whistling ploughman stalks afield; and, hark! down the rough slope the ponderous wagon rings, through rustling corn the hare astonished springs; slow tolls the village clock the drowsy hour; the partridge bursts away on whirring wings; deep mourns the turtle in sequestered bower, and shrill lark carols clear from her aërial tower.

232 CAME the relief, "What, sentry, ho!

James Beattie.

How passed the night through thy long waking?"

"Cold, cheerless, dark, as may befit

The hour before the dawn is breaking."

"No sight? no sound?" "No; nothing save
The plover from the marshes calling.

And in yon western sky, about

An hour ago, a star was falling,"

"A star? There's nothing strange in that."
"No, nothing; but, above the thicket,
Somehow it seemed to me that God

Somewhere had just relieved a picket."

233. VIRTUE.

Bret Harte.

SWEET day, so cool, so calm, so bright, the bridal of the earth and sky, the (lew shall weep thy fall to-night; for thou must die. Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave, bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, thy root is ever in its grave, and thou must die. Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, a box where sweets compacted lie, my music shows ye have your closes, and all must die. Only a sweet and virtuous soul, like seasoned timber, never gives; but though the whole world turn to coal, then chiefly lives.

George Herbert.

Problem LV.

Practise selections with simple conversational flexibility, also practise the same extract in a variety of ways, with changes in point of view, situation, and purpose.

234 TWIST ye, twine ye! even so, mingle shades of joy and woe, Hope and fear and peace and strife, in the thread of human life. From "Guy Mannering.”

235. A MODEST WIT.

A SUPERCILIOUs nabob of the east, haughty, being great, purse-proud, being rich, a governor, or general, at the least, I have forgotten which, had in his family a humble youth, who went from England in his patron's suite, an unassuming boy, and in truth a lad of decent parts and good repute. This youth had sense and spirit; but yet, with all his sense, excessive diffidence obscured his merit.

One day at table, flushed with pride and wine, his honor, proudly free, severely merry, conceived it would be vastly fine to crack a joke upon his secretary. "Young man," he said, “by what art, craft, or trade did your father gain a livelihood?" "He was a saddler, sir," Modestus said, "and in his time was reckoned good." "A saddler, eh! and taught you Greek instead of teaching you to sew! Pray why did your father not make a saddler of you?"

Each parasite then, as in duty bound, the joke applauded, and the laugh went round. At length Modestus, bowing low, said (craving pardon if too free he made), "Sir, by your leave, I fain would know your father's trade." "My father's trade! By heaven, that's too bad! My father's trade? Why, blockhead, are you mad? My father, sir, did never stoop so low, he was a gentleman, I'd have you know." Excuse the liberty I take," Modestus said, with archness on his brow, "Pray, why did not your father make a gentleman of you?"

236

66

Hamlet. O THAT this too too solid flesh would melt,
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew!

Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd

His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God!

How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
Seem to me all the uses of this world!

Fie on't! O fie! 'tis an unweeded garden

That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature
Possess it merely. That it should come to this!
But two months dead! nay, not so much, not two;
So excellent a king; that was, to this,

Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother,
That he might not beteem the winds of heaven
Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth!
Must I remember? why, she would hang on him,
As if increase of appetite had grown

By what it fed on; and yet, within a month,
Let me not think on 't, -Frailty, thy name is woman!-
A little month! or ere those shoes were old
With which she follow'd my poor father's body,
Like Niobe, all tears; - why she, even she, —

O God! a beast, that wants discourse of reason,
Would have mourned longer, -married with my uncle,
My father's brother, but no more like my father
Than I to Hercules; within a month,

Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears
Had left the flushing in her galled eyes,
She married. O most wicked speed, to post
With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!
It is not, nor it cannot come to good!—

But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue!
Enter HORATIO, MARCELLUS, and BERNARDO.
Horatio. Hail to your lordship!
Hamlet.

Horatio, or I do forget myself.

I am glad to see you well;

Horatio. The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever. Hamlet. Sir, my good friend; I'll change that name with you;

And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio?

Marcellus?

Marcellus. My good lord,

Hamlet. I am very glad to see you. (To Bernardo.) Good even, sir.

But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg?

Horatio. A truant disposition, good my lord.
Hamlet. I would not hear your enemy say so,

Nor shall you do mine ear that violence,
To make it truster of your own report
Against yourself; I know you are no truant.

But what is your affair in Elsinore?

We'll teach you to drink deep ere you depart.

Horatio. My lord, I came to see your father's funeral.

Hamlet. I pray thee, do not mock me, fellow-student;

I think it was to see my mother's wedding.

Horatio. Indeed, my lord, it followed hard upon.

Hamlet. Thrift, thrift, Horatio! the funeral baked-meats Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables. Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven

Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio:

My father, methinks I see my father.

Horatio.

Where, my lord?

Hamlet. In my mind's eye, Horatio.

Horatio. I saw ním - once, he was a goodly king.
Hamlet. He was a man, take him for all in all,

I shall not look upon his like again.

Horatio. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight.
Hamlet. Saw! who?

Horatio. My lord, the king, your father.

Hamlet.

The king my father!

Horatio. Season your admiration for a while

With an attent ear, till I may deliver,

Upon the witness of these gentlemen,

This marvel to you.

Horatio. Two nights together had these gentlemen, Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch,

In the dead vast and middle of the night,

Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your father,

Armed at point exactly, càp-a-pé,

Appears before them, and with solemn march
Goes slow and stately by them; thrice he walk'd
By their oppress'd and fear-surprised eyes,

Within his truncheon's length; whilst they, distill'd
Almost to jelly with the act of fear,

Stand dumb, and speak not to him.

In dreadful secrecy impart they did;

This to me

And I with them the third night kept the watch;
Where, as they had deliver'd, both i time,

Form of the thing, each word made true and good,

The apparition comes: I knew your father;

These hands are not more like.

Hamlet.

But where was this?

Marcellus. My lord, upon the platform where we watch'd. Hamlet. Did you not speak to it?

Horatio.

My lord, I did;

But answer made it none; yet once methought
It lifted up its head, and did address

Itself to motion, like as it would speak:

But even then the morning cock crew loud,
And at the sound it shrunk in haste away,

And vanish'd from our sight.

Hamlet.

'Tis very strange.

Horatio. As I do live, my honour'd lord, 'tis true; And we did think it writ down in our duty

To let you know of it.

Hamlet. Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles me.

Hold you the watch to-night?

Marcellus and Bernardo. We do, my lord.

Hamlet. Arm'd, say you?

Marcellus and Bernardo. Arm'd, my lord.

Hamlet.

From top to toe?

Marcellus and Bernardo. My lord, from head to foot.

Hamlet. Then saw you not his face?

Horatio. O, yes, my lord; he wore his beaver up.

Hamlet. What, look'd he frowningly?

Horatio. It would have much amazed you.

Hamlet. Very like, very like. Stay'd it long?

Horatio. While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred.

Marcellus and Bernardo. Longer, longer.

Horatio. Not when I saw't.

Hamlet.

His beard was grizzled! no?

Horatio. It was as I have seen it in his life, A sable silver'd.