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Problem XXVI.

Read a simple passage and a forcible one, enlarging and accentuating, but preserving in the second all the elements found in the conversational utterance of the first; or speak the same sentence to one person and then to a thousand, and simply enlarge the conversational form.

140 A COUNTRY must always be either gaining or losing its liberty.

141 Go home, if you dare, to your constituents, and tell them that you voted it down! Meet those who sent you here, and tell them that you shrank from the declaration of your own sentiments-that, you cannot tell how, but that some unknown dread, some indefinable danger affrighted you that the spectres of cimeters, and crowns, and crescents, gleamed before you, and alarmed you; and that you suppressed all the noble feelings prompted by religion, by liberty, by national independence, and by humanity!

142. EXPOSTULATION AND REPLY.

'WHY, William, on that old gray stone, thus for the length of half a day, why, William, sit you thus alone, and dream your time away? Where are your books?—that light bequeathed to beings else forlorn and blind! Up! up! and drink the spirit breathed from dead men to their kind. You look round on your Mother Earth, as if she for no purpose bore you; as if you were her first-born birth, and none had ever lived before you!'

One morning thus, by Esthwaite lake, when life was sweet, I knew not why, to me my good friend Matthew spake, and thus I made reply: 'The eye-it cannot choose but see; we cannot bid the ear be still; our bodies feel, where'er they be, against or with our will. Nor less I deem that there are powers which of themselves our minds impress; that we can feed this mind of ours in a wise passiveness. Think you, 'mid all this mighty sum of things forever speaking, that nothing of itself wil! come, but we must still be seeking! Then ask not wherefore, here, alone, conversing as I may, I sit upon this old gray stone, and dream my time away.' Wordsworth.

143. THE TABLES TURNED.

UP! up! my friend, and quit your books; or surely you'll grow double. Up! up! my friend, and clear your looks; why all this toil and trouble? The sun, above the mountain's head, a freshening lustre mellow through all the long, green fields has spread, his first sweet evening yellow.

Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife: come, hear the woodland linnet, how sweet his music! on my life, there's more of wisdom in it. And hark! how blithe the throstle sings! He, too, is no mean preacher: come forth into the light of things, let Nature be your teacher. She has a world of ready wealth, our minds and hearts to bless― spontaneous wisdom breathed by health, truth breathed by cheerfulness.

One impulse from a vernal wood may teach you more of man, of moral evil and of good, than all the sages can. Sweet is the lore which Nature brings; our meddling intellect misshapes the beauteous form of things: we murder to dissect. Enough of Science and of Art; close up those barren leaves; come forth, and bring with you a heart that watches and receives. Wordsworth.

144

If

XVII. METHOD OF THOUGHT AND WORDS.

Bassanio.

SWEET Portia,

you
did know to whom I gave the ring,
If you did know for whom I gave the ring,
And would conceive for what I gave the ring,
And how unwillingly I left the ring,

When naught would be accepted but the ring,
You would abate the strength of your displeasure.
Portia. If you had known the virtue of the ring,
Or half her worthiness that gave the ring,

Or your own honor to contain the ring,

You would not then have parted with the ring.

Shakespeare.

IN this extract from the "Merchant of Venice," the repetition of the same phrases will serve as an illustration of the relation of words to the thought which lies beneath them. The fact that Bassanio has given away his ring is implied, as he steps forward to make a plea to Portia. The first point he presents to her is the person to whom the ring was given, his aim being to concentrate her mind upon this idea. In the next line he refers to Antonio, and this change of person is indicated by the little word 'for.' But for this, the two lines would be exactly the same. In the following line, although there is a great change of words, yet the ideas, with one exception, are the

same.

He might have said, "If you did know for what I gave the ring," making only one change, the word 'what.' Accentuation of this word shows the change in the centre of attention. So in the next line, the sense would be conveyed if he had said, "If you did know how unwillingly I gave the ring." The word 'unwillingly' of course shows the change of thought.

All this illustrates the fact that many words in every clause are logically pro-nominal; that is, they stand for ideas which have already been introduced to the mind, while some one word is used to present a new idea to the mind. This word shows the centre of attention, while the rest simply show the connection of this idea with previous centres of thought; they bring up in the background ideas which make clear, but are entirely subordinate to this central one. The central idea is essential, the others are adjunctive; this is substantial, the others are accidental; this is a logical substantive, the others are logically pronominal; this is presented to the mind, the others are assumed; this is introduced, the others are implied; this is a step in the progression of thought, this is new, additional, and deferential to the thought, the others are retrospective and familiar.

A word standing for a central idea is substantive; words standing for the other class of ideas are logical pronouns, or mere qualifiers. Thus only an occasional word stands for an idea which is essential to the logical sequence of the thought; the other words simply bring forward ideas which have already been conceived. The similarity of the conceptions of the mind in this selection are shown by the use of the same words; but this is rarely the case. Usually there is a use of synonymous, or pro-nominal, or adjective phrases; but the voice must subordinate them according to their relation to the centre of the mind's attention, to the method and logical progression of the thought. We can have but one central idea before the mind at one time; all others at that instant are necessarily secondary and subordinate. It is this action of the mind expressed in

words, and revealing itself through the voice, that causes the form or variation of conversation. The words standing for the central ideas are made salient, and all other words are made subordinate by inflection and change of pitch.

The question arises whether grammar or logic has more to do with Vocal Expression. Grammar shows the relation of words, while logic shows the relation of ideas. It is the relation of ideas which has to do with Vocal Expression. The relation of words is an important element of verbal language, but the inflections and modulations of the voice form a natural language, and reveal relations, connections, and feelings deeper than words. They do not merely show the relation of words, but interpret the deeper relation of thoughts and purposes..

As the true culture and discipline of the mind is shown by the method of thought, so the highest quality of delivery, and the charm of a well-modulated voice, consist in the revelation of the sequence of ideas in thinking. Method is often studied as a mere mechanical arrangement. In this view, it has no application to Vocal Expression; but if it is a living process of the mind, then it furnishes the most vital principle to Vocal Expression. Coleridge has well said, —

Method implies a progressive transition, and it is the meaning of the word in the original language. The Greek Mélodos, is literally a way, or path of transit. Thus we extol the Elements of Euclid, or Socrates' discourse with the slave in the Menon, as methodical, a term which no one who holds himself bound to think or speak correctly would apply to the alphabetical order or arrangement of a common dictionary. But as, without continuous transition, there can be no method, so without a pre-conception there can be no transition with continuity. The term method cannot, therefore, otherwise than by abuse, be applied to a mere dead arrangement, containing in itself no principle of progression.

There have been many schemes and rules to find the emphatic word. Some of them are good; but they are good in propor

tion as they conform to the principles of a right logical method. Why not use Vocal Expression as a means of practically studying Method? It furnishes a means of studying and comparing the method of the greatest minds in a simple, practical way. So important and so rarely studied is this subject that the famous essay of Coleridge, in the "Friend," is here abridged. The student, in the light of the last few lessons, can easily apply the principles to Vocal Expression.

66

WHAT is that which strikes us at once, in a man of education, and which among educated men so instantly distinguishes the man of superior mind, that, as was observed of Edmund Burke, we cannot stand under the same archway during a shower of rain, without finding him out?" Not the weight or novelty of his remarks; not any unusual interest of facts communicated by him. The difference will be felt, though the conversation should be confined to the state of the weather or the pavement. Still less will it arise from any peculiarity in his words and phrases.

Unless where new things necessitate new terms, he will avoid an unusual word as a rock. There remains but one other point of distinction possible, and this must be the true cause of the impression made on us. It is the unpremeditated and evidently habitual arrangement of his words, grounded on the habit of foreseeing in each integral part, or in every sentence, the whole that he intends to communicate. However irregular and desultory his talk, there is method in the fragments.

Listen, on the other hand, to an ignorant man, though perhaps shrewd and able in his particular calling, whether he be describing or relating. We immediately perceive that his memory alone is called into action; and that the objects and events recur in the narration in the same order, and with the same accompaniments, however accidental or impertinent, as they had first occurred to the narrator. The necessity of taking breath, the efforts of recollection, and the abrupt rectification of its failures, produce all his pauses; and with exception of the "and then," the " and there," and the still less significant "and so," they constitute likewise all his connections.

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