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while the second is the outpouring of the pent-up bitter-
With all her dewy jewels on, is not so fair a thing!
breast; Our bare feet in the meadows and our fancies up among The airy clouds of morning — while the heart beats
young. — JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY
SHYLOCK. Signior Antonio, many a time and oft
my usances :
Shylock, we would have moneys ”: you say so;
"Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last;
SHAKESPEARE, " Merchant of Venice, I, iii
Compare with these two passages the words of Enoch Arden when, on his return from his long exile, he finds his wife married to Philip Ray. Try to interpret the emotion that he feels when he says:
"Too hard to bear! why did they take me thence ?
All down the long and narrow street he went
EXERCISE III. The following speech by Robert G. Ingersoll is an exquisite piece of word painting that will be found to be a most valuable exercise for the cultivation of tone color. It should be read with a keen appreciation of the author's remarkable sense for sound and color.
MUSIC THE NOBLEST OF THE ARTS It is probable that I was selected to speak about music because, not knowing one note from another, I have no prejudices on the subject. Knowing nothing of the science of music, I am not always looking for defects, or listening for discords. As the young robin cheerfully swallows whatever comes, I hear with gladness all that is played.
Language is not subtle enough, tender enough, to express all that we feel; and when language fails the highest and noblest longings are translated into music. Music is the sunshine — the climate of the soul, and it floods the heart with a perfect June.
When I read Shakespeare I am astonished that he has expressed so much with common words; so when I hear Wagner I exclaim, Is it possible that all this is done with common air ! In Wagner's music there is a touch of chaos that suggests the infinite. The melodies seem strange and changing forms like summer clouds, and weird harmonies come like sounds from the sea brought by fitful winds, and others moan like waves on desolate shores, and mingled with these are shouts of joy, with sighs and sobs, and ripples of laughter, and the wondrous voice of eternal love. When I listen to the music of Wagner I see pictures, forms, glimpses of the perfect, the swell of the hip, the wave of the breast, the glance of the eye. I am in the midst of great galleries. Before me are passing endless panoramas. I see vast landscapes with valleys of verdure and vine, with soaring crags, snow-crowned. I am on the wide seas where countless billows burst into white caps of joy. I am in the midst of caverns roofed with mighty crags, while through some rent I see the eternal stars. In a moment the music becomes a river of melody, flowing through some wondrous land; suddenly it falls in strange chasms and the mighty cataract is changed to seven-hued foam.
Great music is always sad because it tells one of the perfect, and such is the difference between what we are and that which the music suggests, that even in the voice of joy we find some tears.
The music of Wagner has color, and when I hear the violins the morning seems to slowly come. A horn puts a star above the horizon, the night in the purple hum of the bass wanders away like some enormous bee across wide fields of dead clover. The light grows whiter as the violins increase, colors come from other instruments and then the full orchestra floods the world with day.
Wagner seems not only to have given us new tones, new combinations, but the moment the orchestra begins to play his music, all the instruments are transfigured. They seem to utter the sounds that they have been longing to utter. The horns run riot; the drums and cymbals join in the general joy; the old bass viols are alive with passion; the cellos throb with love; the violins are seized with divine fury and the notes rush out as eager for the air as pardoned prisoners for the roads and fields.
The music of Wagner is filled with landscapes. There are some strains like midnight thick with constellations. There are harmonies like islands in the far sea, and others like palms on the desert's edge. His music satisfies the heart and brain. Wagner was a sculptor, a painter in sound. When he died the greatest fountain of melody that ever enchanted the world ceased. His music will refine and instruct forever.
Force is the power exerted by the voice in rendering speech dynamic and persuasive. In considering the first three vocal elements, pitch, time, and quality, we found that by means of different changes in pitch and by variations in the time elements of speech clearness of thought is secured and the relative importance of different ideas emphasized, and that by means of quality various kinds and degrees of emotion are expressed. Usually by means of these three elements, which serve to make clear the thought, express the emotion, and give weight where it is needed, the expression is rendered sufficiently effective, so that little or no attention needs to be given to the principle of force. Sometimes, however, it is found necessary to energize one's speech in a way that is not usually accomplished by any of these three means.
Speakers who have had a great deal of experience in speaking before small groups of people sometimes find themselves utterly helpless if called of a sudden to address an audience in a large auditorium. The conditions are so entirely different in a building with a seating capacity of three or four thousand from those in buildings that will accommodate two or three hundred, that the speaker is usually quite at a loss to know how to adapt himself to the new conditions. A knowledge of the problems