outward from 45 to 90 degrees apart. This is the "military position." With hands lightly pressed on the chest, fill the lungs gently and emit the air in a lustrous prolongation of the syllable sil.

Exercise VIII.

Take preceding position, inspire energetically, run the speaking gamut upward, employing the word “up,” increasing gradatim the tone's intensity.

Exercise IX.

Vary the preceding exercise by running the speaking gamut downward, using the word "down," gradually decreasing the force.

Exercise X.

Repeat No. VIII., accompanying the raise for each tone with a corresponding movement of each arm and wrist, so that, when the rounding note of the octave is reached, the arms be extended upward to their utmost.

Exercise XI.

Leaving the arms extended as No. X. required, repeat No. IX., and, with each descension in tone, lower the arms with a gentle wave of the wrist, so that, on the concluding "down," the arms reach the sides.

Exercise XII.

Take position as indicated in No. VII., inspire deeply, tap the chest gently with the finger-tips in order to

drive, the air into all the lung-cells, then, let the air escape in a sound showing weariness, as ä-uh.

Exercise XIII.

Observe the preliminaries of No. V.; when the lungs are well inflated, expend the air with explosive force on the sentence,

"Arise, ye more than dead!"-Dryden.

or, "Rise, O Sun of Justice, rise!"-Rev. James Kent Stone.

Exercise XIV.

Comply with the injunctions of No. VII.; when the lungs are well expanded, summon your brightest smile and laugh out the vowels I, ě, ĕ, ă, å, ŏ, ŏ, ů, ŭ, ů, u, in a low tone; occasionally introduce an open Vowel.

e

to

This exercise is characteristically adapted strengthen the throat, invigorate and make more elastic the vocal ligaments, deepen and mellow the voice.

Exercise XV.

Inflate the lungs fully, utter ō, ä, ou, in a soft, pure tone; continue until the air supply is nearly consumed, then prolong the sound of ō, gradually merging it into oo, and diminishing the force as the air-supply lessens, until, with the last thin current, sound weds itself to silence.

(A breathing exercise should introduce every elocution hour.)

Examples where copious Breathing is required.

"Oh, perverse children of men, who refuse truth when offered you, because it is not truer! Oh, restless hearts and fastidious intellects, who seek a gospel more salutary than the Redeemer's, and a creation more perfect than the Creator's! God, forsooth, is not great enough for you; you have those high aspirations and those philosophical notions, inspired by the original Tempter, which are content with nothing that is, which determine that the Most High is too little for your worship, and His attributes too narrow for your love. Satan fell by pride: and what was said of old as if of him, may surely now, by way of warning, be applied to all . who copy him: 'Because thy heart is lifted up, and thou hast said, I am God, and I sit in the chair of God,.. .....whereas thou art a man and not God, and hast set thy heart as if it were the heart of God, therefore....... .I will bring thee to nothing, and thou shalt not be, and if thou be sought for, thou shalt not be found any more forever.'"-Newman.

"Ah! why then wake my sorrow, and bid me now count o'er The vanished friends so dearly prized-the days to come no

more

The happy days of infancy, when no guile our bosoms knew, Nor reck'd we of the pleasures that with each moment flew? "Tis all in vain to weep for them-the past a dream appears: And where are they-the loved, the young, the friends of boyhood's years?"

Rev. Charles Meehan.

"St. Paul was a vessel of election to bear the good odor of Christ into the palaces of kings! A torrent of eloquence flowing into the barren fields of a vain philosophy, to fertilize and adorn! A rich exhibition of virtue, winning by its beauty, attracting by its symmetry, and exciting to activity by emulation! A glowing meteor of benediction, dissipating the clouds, and warming the hearts of the beholders to charity on earth, that they might be fitted for glory in heaven!"

Bishop England.

From The Storm.

"Land! land!" they cry, "behold it stretches clear:
Unwrapp'd at once the sea, and shore, and sky;

O'er the red waves of sunset it seems near.

A harbor's mouth itself we can descry;

The liquid mountains urge us toward the shore.
Their sweep, you'd think, must needs us overwhelm;
Let us but steer her, danger is no more:

Let all hands help to bind and keep the helm.

There! now she plunges to ride higher stil?;
Another mountain lifts us to the pier.
Will she bear up to pass it? Yes, she will!
Lift up your hearts, my lads, no more of fear."
Kenelm H. Digby.

From The Collegians.

In the meantime Hardress, full of horror at the supposed catastrophe, had hurried to his sleeping room, where he flung himself upon the bed, and sought, but found not relief in exclamations of terror, and of agony. “What!" he muttered through his clenched teeth, "shall my hands be always bloody? Can I not move but death must dog my steps? Must I only breathe to suffer and destroy?"

A low and broken moan, uttered near his bed-side, made him start with a superstitious apprehension. He looked round and beheld his mother kneeling at a chair, her face pale, excepting the eyes, which were inflamed with tears. Her hands were wreathed together, as if with a straining exertion, and sobs came thick and fast upon her breath, in spite of all efforts her to restrain them. In a few minutes, while he remained gazing on her in some perplexity, she arose, and, standing by his bed-side, laid her hand quietly upon his head.

"I have been trying to pray," she said.

t I fear in vain.

It was a selfish prayer-it was offered up in you. If you fear death and shame, you will soon have cause to tremble. For a mother who loves her son, guilty as he is, and for a son who would not see his parents brought to infamy, there have been fearful tidings here since morning.-Gerald Griffin.

From An End.

Love, strong as Death, is dead.
Come, let us make his bed
Among the dying flowers:
A green turf at his head;
And a stone at his feet,
Whereon we may sit

In the quiet evening hours.

He was born in the Spring,
And died before the harvesting:
On the last warm summer day
He left us; he would not stay
For autumn twilight, cold and gray.
Sit we by his grave, and sing
He is gone away.

To few chords and sad and low
Sing we so.

Be our eyes fixed on the grass
Shadow-veiled as the years pass,
While we think of all that was

In the long ago.

C. G. Rossetti.