men no longer feel the words or their relations, but the thought and experience which lie beneath them. It is not the grammatical relations of words, but the logical sequence of ideas, which should furnish the governing principle. To govern reading merely by the mechanical and grammatical structure of the sentence, is to make it not a natural art, but the most mechanical and artificial of arts. Phrasing can never be made a mechanical process, without perverting and artificializing the whole manner of delivery. Whenever thinking is natural and vigorous, rhythmic, progressive and intense, each idea will act toward the words which belong to it as the magnet does toward iron filings. It will gather them into clusters; and every modulation of the voice, every subtle change of pitch and pause, will serve to reveal the process of thought; the principles unfolded in regard to pause must govern phrasing. Phrasing illustrates clearly the difference between the mechanical and the natural methods of developing delivery. The mechanical method looks at the outside, at the grammatical structure, and the external relationship. At one time, the art of reading was so mechanical that even such ridiculous rules as this were made: the child was told to count one for a comma, two for a semi-colon, three for a colon, and four for a period. Such mechanical suggestions were made within the memory of some who are now living. Think how ridiculous such a rule as this would be if applied to conversation; but why not to conversation as well as to reading? The reader is using the words of another; but this is no reason why he should be kept from thinking the thought of the author, and making each idea his own. Why should he be placed mentally in mechanical attitude of mere pronounciation, by thinking of such artificial and mechanical rules as these? The rules given for phrasing and pausing are equally bad. Phrasing must not be trammelled by any artificial rules. It can only be natural when it is the direct revelation of the vividness, the intensity, and the rhythmic pulsation of the thinking. To illustrate the subject of pausing and phrasing take two little poems of Browning: 75. MEETING AT NIGHT. THE gray sea and the long black land; 76. PARTING AT MORNING. ROUND the cape of a sudden came the sea, And the need of a world of men for me. Browning. Browning. If these poems are read as a mere stream of words, there is no sign or evidence of any thinking on the part of the reader. Such a process completely eliminates thinking; it is proofreading, and all attention is devoted to the words as words. When, however, the reader begins to think over the real meaning, and lingers over each idea as he would over a beautiful painting, what a difference is manifest in the stream of words! What magnetic power begins to be acquired by the successive ideas! "The gray sea" becomes a picture in itself;" and the long black land" is painted in contrast to it; "and the yellow half-moon, large and low,”—this can be given as one, two or three pictures. A versatile mind will take more steps, a slow, progressive, broad, comprehensive mind will take a less number of steps;—so that no rule can be laid down. The mind proceeds naturally: "the startled little waves" and then what they do, "that leap in fiery ringlets," and their previous repose contrasted with effect, "from their sleep." And so on, each image being vigorously conceived in its turn, the mind moves on progressively, and the words spontaneously respond. When once the mind is started, its action is too simple to need explanation. Even in the last lines, if the mind has rhythmically and dramatically progressed with each idea, the truth is so felt that prosy explanation will only superficialize and spoil its beauty. In reading the second poem, it must be remembered that Browning, when he once begins a poem, never changes his situation; so that in this poem, which is a part of the other, or a contrast to it, the same person is speaking in the same situaation. 77 HAST thou named all the birds without a gun? In man or maid, that thou from speech refrained, Oh, be my friend, and teach me to be thine! Emerson. This extract from Emerson illustrates how the mind spontaneously brings together familiar words," Hast thou named all the birds?" is all one thing, familiar and easily understood,so they tend to one group; but the real point is in the next, "without a gun." The mind has come upon something unusual; this is shown by a spontaneous pausing, and change of movement. The next is naturally to be expected, "Loved the woodrose," but the next is remarkable, "and left it on its stalk;" so the mind tends to divide it into two phrases. The student, by a little self-observation in reading, can easily find the true principles of nature, and get at the heart of the simplicity and power of such a method. The process of making the thought one's own is not only the most effective, but is also the only possible method of grouping words about the successive ideas. No mechanical and artificial rules and expedients have ever accomplished anything but injury in artistic training.* Problem XV. Think each successive idea in any passage so genuinely and intensely as to cause the voice to be modulated, and the words to be gathered into groups, according to their relation to the thought. 78 THE Soul of music slumbers in its shell Till waked and kindled by the master's spell; Samuel Rogers. 79 LARGE was his soul; as large a soul as e'er High as the place 'twas shortly in Heaven to have, So high that all the virtues there did come As to the chiefest seat, Conspicuous and great, So low that for me, too, it made a room. Cowley. 80 ROAMING in thought over the Universe, I saw the little that is Good steadily hastening towards immortality. And the vast all that is called evil I saw hastening to merge itself, and become lost and dead. 81 COME from the hills where your hirsels are grazing, * See Classics, pp. 17, 198, 296. Whitman. Scott. 82. A FAREWELL. FLOW down, cold rivulet to the sea, thy tribute wave deliver; But here will sigh thine alder-tree, and here thine aspen quiver; A thousand suns will stream on thee, a thousand moons will quiver, Tennyson. 83 THE faery beam upon you- the stars to glisten on you—a moon of light in the noon of night, till the fire-drake hath o'ergone you! The wheel of fortune guide you. The boy with the bow beside you; run aye in the way till the bird of day, and the luckier lot, betide you. "Gipsy Benediction." Ben Jonson. XI. SIMPLICITY. ONE NE of the first and most important lessons for the student to learn in any art work, is that all true power is simple. Nothing can be great or strong which is not founded upon simple truthfulness, and fidelity to nature. Delivery is apt to be considered as something belonging entirely to manner and externals. In many cases it is considered synonymous with affectation; yet true work in expression is the best means of making us feel the real essence of simplicity. While on the one hand, elocution may be made the means of developing affectation; on the other, it may be studied in such a way as to remove affectation, and develop genuineness and sincerity. If a student is led to study the elements of his thinking, and the spontaneous tendencies of his nature to utterance, — to observe what pleases him in the conversation of others, he will become conscious of what is truly natural, and be able to distinguish naturalness from affectation. The greatest writers and artists have one invariable characteristic: they are simple and sincere. Homer and Phidias, |