GassJ5LN Book_ — In ._. \sno THREE VALitJABIiE WORKS. Well-known and Popular Hand-books of Society. Beautifully printed and elegantly bound. I. The Art of Conversation, With Directions for Self-Culture. An admirably conceived and entertaining book — sensible, instructive, and full of sug- gestions valuable to every one who desires to be either a good talker or listener, or who wishes to appear to advantage in good society. *#* Price $ 1.50. II. The Habits of Good Society. A Handbook for Ladies and Gentlemen. With thoughts, hints, and anecdotes concerning social observances ; nice points of taste and good manners ; and the art of making one's self agreeable. Sound common sense, rendered fasci- nating by a pleasant and agreeable style. *** Price #1.75. III. Arts of Writing^ Reading, and Speaking. • An attractive work for teaching not only the beginner, but for perfecting every one in these three most desirable accom- plishments. For youth, this book is both interesting and valuable ; and for the adult, whether professionally or socially, it is one they cannot dispense with. *^* Price $1.50. These three boohs are the most perfect and complete of their kind sv< published. They are made up of no dry stupid rules that everfh body knows, but are fresh, sensible, good-humored, enter- taining, and readable. ■ Every person of taste should possess them, and cannot be otherwise than delighted with them. * # * Each will be sent by mail, free, on receipt of price, by **• W. Carleton, Publisher New York* The Arts OF Writing, Reading, and Speaking. BY EDWARD W. COX. M& NEW YORK: Carleton, Publisher, Madison Square. LONDON : S. LOW, SON & CO. M DCCC LXX. \* "l Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by GEO. W. CARLETON, ill the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York. Transfer ■aelneers School Uby, JUfte 29,1931 The New York Printing Company, 81, 83, and 85 Centre Streets New York. PREFACE TO THE AMERICAN EDITION. The road to knowledge is free to all who will give the labor and study requisite to gather it ; nor are there any difficulties so great that the student of resolute purpose may not effectually surmount and overcome them. Mankind may possess the mate- rials of knowledge, but it must exercise wisdom and understand- ing in applying them. It is to point out the road to these high results, and to enlarge the faculties for independent self-culture, that this treatise is laid before the public. It aims to instruct the student ivJiat to do, how to do it, and how to learn to do it. It not only treats upon the foundation of the arts of Writing, Reading, and Speaking, but embraces lessons in Thinking, Style, Language, Pronunciation, Expression, Punctuation, Attitude, De- livery, and Action; besides countless hints upon the proper rendering of Poetry, the Heading of Narrative, the Bible, Dra- matic Reading, Wit and Humor, Public Readings, Composition, the Art of Writing a Speech ; the Oratory of the Pulpit, Bar, Senate, Platform ; Social Oratory, and that of the various other professions and occasions for rhetorical display. The work is adapted not only to the students of both sexes in schools, but also to the searcher after knowledge of maturer years. It will help the lawyer to climb the heights of his pro- fession through close and limited courts; the parliamentary leader to powers of mental endurance, and activity of extraordi- nary intellect; the political leader to bear the excitement of long and anxious debate in a crowded house ; and is generally adapted to enlarge the faculties for independent self-culture. Previous expensive editions having been adopted by many schools and institutions as an educational work, this new reprint is published at a greatly reduced price, in the hope that it may be taken into general use. Contents. Part I. — Introduction. PAOE I. — Introductory .. .. .. .. 9 II. — The Objects, Uses, and Advantages of the Art of Speaking . . 14 III. — The Foundations of the Arts of Speaking and Writing . . 22 Part II. — Art of Writing. IV. — First Lessons in the Art of Writing .. .. 29 V. — Reading and Thinking 36 VI. -Style 41 VII. — Language .. 46 VIII. — Words — Sentences— -Rythm .. .. 51 IX. — The Art of Writing " 59 Part III. — Art of Reading. X. — The Art of Reading 04 XI. — The Art of Reading — What to Avoid — Articulation . . . . 70 XII. — Pronunciation — Expression 76 XIII. — The Art of the Actor and the Reader 81 XIV. — The Management of the Voice — Tone 87 XV. — Emphasis .. .. 93 , XVI, — Pause — Punctuation — Management of the Breath— Inflection 99 XVII.— Attitude — Influence of the Mental over the Physical Powers 107 XVIII. — Illustrations .. ..* .. .-. .. .; .. ..Ill XIX. — Illustrations of Tone, Emphasis, and Pause 118 XX. — Illustrations (continued) 124 XXL— Illustrations (continued) 130 XXIL— How to Read Poetry 139 vii vin Contents. FAGS XXIII. — Beading of Narrative, Argument, and Sentiment .. ..148 XXIV. — Special Readings — The Bible 155 XXV. — Dramatic Reading 161 XXVI. — The Reading of Wit and Humor 170 XXVII. — The Uses of Reading 173 XXVIII. — Public Readings 178 Part IV. — Art of Speaking. XXIX. — The Art of Speaking 190 XXX. — Foundations of the Art of Speaking 194 XXXI. — The Art of Speaking — What to Say— Composition .. 196 XXXII. — Cautions— How to Begin 201 XXXIII. — The First Lesson — Writing a Speech 207 XXXIV. — The Art of Speaking —First Lessons 212 XXXV. — Public Speaking 218 XXXVI. — Delivery 224 XXXVII. — Action 231 XXXVIII. — The Construction of a Speech 237 XXXIX.— The Oratory of the Pulpit 244 XL. — The Oratory of the Senate "252 XLL — The Oratory of the Bar 261 XLIL — The Oratory of the Bar (continued) .. 269 XLIIL — The Oratory of the Bar (concluded) 277 XLIV. — The Oratory of the Platform 282 XLV. — The Oratory of the Platform (continued) 288 XL VI. — The Oratory of the Platform (continued) 295 XL VII. — The Oratory of the Platform (concluded) 302 XL VII I. — Social Oratory .. .. 315 THE ARTS or WRITING, READING, AND SPEAKING. o^o ILtittx !♦ INTBOD UGTOBY. You have asked me for hints to help you in your studies of the Art of Oratory. I readily comply with your request, and I will endeavor to throw together my thoughts upon it in a shape that may possibly be useful to others also. It is a subject in which I have taken much interest, and on which I hope to be enabled to convey to you some suggestions not to be found in existing treatises. But I must take the liberty to change its name. I do not like the title, — oratory ; it has a pretentious sound. We do not think or talk of a man as an orator unless he excels in the art ; we look upon an oration as something higher and grander than a speech. If a man were to call himself " an orator," we should call him conceited ; but he might call himself " a speaker " without reproach to hi? io Introductory. modesty. So, if I were to profess to give you hints fof the stud}' of oratory, I should be reasonably met by the objection that I am not myself " an orator," and therefore have no right to appear as a teacher of oratory. But by the requirements of my profession I am compelled to be " a speaker," — an indifferent one, I know, — - and there- fore I may venture, without incurring the charge of pre- sumption, to impart to others so much as I may chance to have learned about the Art of Speaking. But speaking is only one form in which the mind expresses its thoughts. There are two other accomplish- ments, so intimately allied with the Art of Speaking, that I could not treat fully and satisfactorily of the one, without treating more or less of the others. I propose, therefore, to enlarge the main subject, and, embracing the allied Arts of Writing, Beading, and Speaking, to treat of each separately, but with more particular refer- ence to the connection of the Arts of Composition and of Eeading with the Art of Speaking. And this title, indeed, exactly expresses my design. I contemplate nothing more than to convey to you the lessons taught to me by personal experience, as well as by reading and reflection, relating to the arts which enable a man publicly to give utterance to his own thoughts and the thoughts of others, so that his audience may hearken to him with pleasure and under- stand him without difficulty. Writing is a necessary part of education for all, and Reading ought to be so. Oratory is the business of the bar and of the church : it is only the accomplishment of other callings. Unless you are content to subside into the chamber counsel, or to sit forever briefless in the Introductory. 1 1 courts, you must learn to think aloud, to clothe your thoughts in appropriate language, and so to utter them that your audience may listen to you willingly. To do this is not wholly a gift of nature, though many of nature's gifts are needed for its accomplishment. It is an art, to be learned by careful study and laborious practice. I do not assert that it can be acquired by all who may desire its attainment ; on the contrary, it is certain that many are by nature disqualified from even tolerable proficiency in it. But, if you possess the qualifications, mental and physical, requisite for the work, it is certain that you may advance to much greater proficiency in the art by pursuing it as an ai% instead of leaving it, as is the too frequent practice, to be developed by accident and cultivated by chance. When I was entering, as you are now, upon the study of my profession, conscious of the necessity for acquiring the art of speaking, I sought anxiously in the libraries for a teacher. I found many books professing to eluci- date the mysteries of oratory, and each contained some hints that were useful, amid much that was useless. But none supplied the information I most wanted. One was great upon inflections of the voice ; another was learned upon logic ; a third discoursed eloquently on rhetoric ; a fourth professed to teach the composi- tion of a sentence. There was no harm in all this, it is true ; it was not wholly worthless ; but it did not sup- ply what I required. I wanted to be told what to do, Jwiv to do it, and how to learn to do it. After pondering over the pages of my many masters, I did not feel myself better qualified to stand up and make a speech ; on the contrary, I was perplexed by the multitude of 1 2 Introductory. counsellors, and the variety and often the contradictions of their advice, and I felt that, if it be necessary that I should, while speaking, keep before me one twentieth part of the propounded rules, I should have no time to think what to say. I turned the key of my door, and attempted to put those rules into practice where failure would not be ruin, and I found that neither language, nor voice, nor gesture, as prescribed in the books, was natural and easy, but pedantic, stiff, and ungainly. After patient trial, I threw aside the books, and sought to acquire the art of speaking by a different process, — by writing, to teach facility and correctness of language ; and by reading aloud, to teach the art of expressing thoughts. Success was, however, but partial. Little practical guidance in the arts of writing or of reading could be obtained from the books that professed to teach them. I had to grope my way to the object, halting and stumbling, moving on and trying back, but nevertheless making some progress. I learned at least as much from failures as from successes, for thus I was taught what not to do. Assistance was eagerly sought in every quarter whence help could come. I read books and listened to lectures; " sat under" eloquent preachers; watched famous actors ; frequented public meetings, political and religious ; and practised speechifying in a small way to worthy and independent electors who were too tipsy to be critical. From these I gathered a great deal of instruction, not to be found in scientific treatises, as to the manner in which a man must talk if he would persuade his fellow-men. Subsequent experience has much enlarged that knowledge. My profession has provided almost daily opportunities for seeing Introductory. 13 and hearing orators of all degrees of power and skill, observing audiences of all classes and capacities, and noting the treatment of subjects of infinite variety to kindle the speaker and attract the hearer. When I was a listener, the question was ever present to my raind; "How are we, the hearers, affected by this? Are you, the speaker, going to work in the right way to effect your purpose?" If the speech was a failure, I asked myself wherefore it was so? if a success, what was the secret of that success? My personal experiences have not been large, but they have been very valuable as means for making trial of hints suggested by the efforts of others, and not less so by the proof they have afforded that it is one thing to know what ought to be done, and another thing to do it, Diligent study of writers and speakers upon the art of speaking and the practice of it had taught me a great deal of what I ought to do ; but I could achieve only partial success in the doing of it. Performance fell very far indeed short of knowledge. I made the unpleasing discovery that faults which are personal are not removed by mental recognition of the right. I felt painfully, from the first, that I could not act up to my own intentions, nor put into practice that which I was able distinctly to define in theoiy. I state so much by way of introduction, that you may understand wherefore I presume to teach what I confess n^self incompetent to practise ; and why, being but an indifferent speaker, I venture to treat of the art of speaking. Plainly, then, it is in this wise. For many years I have devoted much time and thought to the subject. By observation, reading, experience, and reilec- 14 The Objects, Uses, and Advantages tion, I have obtained some practical knowledge how the art of speaking may be studied and should be practised, which, collected, arranged, and set forth as clearly as I can, may, perhaps, save yourself and others much of the labor that was lost to me for the want of an assistant and guide. In a few letters I may possibly be enabled to convey to you the fruit of years of unassisted toil ; and, although I cannot hold out to you the promise that any amount of instruction can, without long and large prac- tice, accomplish you as an orator, I am not without hope that j^ou may so far profit by my hints as to escape many of the difficulties and some of the errors that have beset myself, and into which the unguided steps of a learner are sure to wander. And the same observations apply to the allied arts of writing and reading, upon which I also propose to offer you some hints. better M. THE OBJECTS, USES, AND ADVANTAGES OF THE ABT OF SPEAKING. I must again remind you that the art of speaking is the business of the barrister and the clergyman ; it is only an accomplishment with other men, but an accom- plishment of such incalculable worth, that it might be expected to form a necessary part of every scheme of education. Strange to say, it is, on the contrary, almost wholly neglected, even by those with whom of the Art of Speaking. 15 some skill in it is a part of their profession. It is not taught in our schools. Not one man in a hundred of those who study for the church or the bar thinks it in- cumbent upon him to learn how to write* read, and speak, although he will labor sedulously, with the help of the best masters, to obtain other needful knowledge. We see multitudes industriously setting themselves to learn the art of singing : it appears not to be known that the arts of writing, reading, and speaking demand equally patient study, and equally good instruction, and are vastly more useful when they are attained. You will be astonished if you attempt to measure the extent of the neglect of these arts in England. Read- ing is the foundation of speaking. If you read badly, you will not speak well. Recall your acquaintances ; how many of them can stand up and utter two consecutive sentences on the most commonplace subject without confusion and stammering? Nay, how many can take a book and read a page of it with even an approach to propriety? Certainly not one in fifty. This dis- creditable gap in English education is universal ; this defect in training for the right use of the parts of speech is as apparent in the highest as in the lowest. Still more strongly is it seen in those whose callings might have been supposed to make the study of reading and speak- ing a necessary part of their education, — the politician, the clergyman, the barrister. Of these, the very business is to talk, and to talk so as to persuade. To persuade, they must be heard ; and to be heard, they must so talk as to please the ears, while informing the minds, of an audience. But how few of them are competent to this ! How few can read, or speak, otherwise than badly, — 1 6 The Objects, Uses, and Advantages giving pain rather than pleasure to the listener ! And why? Because they have not learned to read and speak, nor tried to learn ; they have not recognized writing, reading, and speaking as accomplishments to be ac- quired, — as arts to be studied. Take our politicians : go into the House of Commons, where you would expect to find all the members, by virtue of their calling, more or less competent to con- struct a sentence intelligibly and utter it decently. There are the picked men chosen by constituencies, as we should presume, because they could represent them creditably. Yet what miserable speakers are most of them ; what nonsense they talk, and how badly they talk it ! They want every grace, they exhibit every fault, of oratory. It is not merely that great orators are few — that mediocrity abounds ; for thus it must be everywhere, so long as Providence is pleased to make greatness rare ; but they have not attained even to mediocrity. Medio- crity is itself an exception ; positive badness is the rule. Nor is it better in the pulpit. How few of all our preachers can lay claim to the title of orator ! How rare is a good reader ! How abundant are the positively bad readers ! What public men have such advantages as they, in the greatness of their subjects, in their privilege to appeal to the loftiest as well as to the profoundest emotions of humanity, in the command they have of their audience, who must hear, or seem to hear, to the end of the discourse ? Yet how rarely do we find these advan- tages turned to account ; how few can preach a good sermon, truly eloquent in composition and eloquently uttered , ana how still more infrequent are they who can read with propriety a chapter in the Bible, so as to of the Art of Speaking. 17 convey its meaning in the most impressive form to the ear, and through the ear to the mind ! It is plain that, as a body, the clergy — and I include those of all denomi- nations — do not make the arts of writing, speaking, and reading a portion of their course of study. The bar is a little, but, I must confess, only a very little, better. As with the clerg3 r man, the business of the barrister is to talk ; but how many barristers can talk even tolerably ? Spend a day in any of our courts ; watch well the speakers ; take your pencil and set them down in your note-book under the divisions of good, tolerable, indifferent, bad ; you will be astonished to find how few fall into the first class, how many into the others. But you will make the acquaintance with those only who have obtained business, some by reason of their talking powers, others in spite of inability to make a decent speech. These are only a fraction of the whole group of wigs before you. It may be assumed that nine- tenths of the men who do not open their lips are as in- capable of opening them with effect as are their more fortunate brethren. It might reasonably be expected that men should not betake themselves to a profession, whose business it is to talk, without first assuring them- selves that they possess the necessary natural qualifica- tions, and afterwards dedicating some time to a regular study of the accomplishments upon which their fortunes depend. The fact that men go to the bar in crowds, although wanting the capacities which nature gives, or, having the natural gifts, without devoting the slightest study to their cultivation, sufficiently proves that the professional mind in England is not yet thoroughly convinced that speaking is an art, to be cultivated, like 2 1 8 The Objects, Uses, and Advantages all other arts, the foundation of which must be laid by nature, but whose entire superstructure is the work of learning and of labor. We should deem it almost an act of insanity if a man were to make music or painting his profession, without previous study of the art he purposes to practise. But the barrister and the clergyman habitu- ally commit this folly, and make it their profession to write, to read, and to speak, without having first learned how to do the one or the other. It is not so in America. The art of oratory is univer- sally studied and practised there. It is considered to be as much a necessary part of the routine of education as writing or arithmetic, and infinitely more important than music, drawing, or dancing. The consequence is that America abounds in orators. I am not setting up American oratory as a model, — far from it, — nor do I say that so much talk is desirable ; but there is a wide difference between their excessive fluency and our ex- cessive taciturnity. They sin against good taste often ; there is too much indulgence in the mere flowers of speech ; but that is better than our English incapacity to speak at all. What, then, is the meaning of the general neglect in this country, as a part of education, of those studies which might have been supposed to be the foremost pursuit of all whose special business it is to read and speak, — especially the clergy, the bar, and the solicitors ? If these professions are so negligent, it is not surprising that the public, with whom these arts are only accom- plishments, should be equally negligent. I suspect that the cause of the neglect lies, not so much in ignorance of the value of the art when acquired, of the Art of Speaking. 19 as in a strange prejudice, widely prevailing, that to read and to speak are natural gifts, not to be implanted, and scarcely to be cultivated, by art. In the church, the bad readers, being the majority, have sought to deter from good reading by calling it theatrical. Among the law- yers there is an equally fallacious notion that studied speaking must be stilted speaking. I shall have occasion to show you hereafter how unfounded are these objections ; at present, it suffices merely to notice them, as influential sources of the negligence of which I complain. Another cause of the neglect of the study of the arts of reading and speaking, as arts, will, at the first state- ment of it, somewhat surprise you ; but a little experience and observation will soon satisfy }^ou of its truth. A bad reader is scarcely conscious of his incapacity. So it is with a bad speaker, but with the difference that, whereas all can read in some fashion, so that the only distinction is between bad reading and good reading, many cannot speak at all. Consequently, while nobody thinks he reads badly, many know that they cannot speak. But of this you may be assured, that as no man who reads seeins to be conscious that he reads badly, so no man who speaks is conscious that he speaks badly. The fact is, that we cannot hear and see ourselves. In reading, we know what the words of the author are intended to express, and we suppose that we express them accord- ingly ; so in speaking, we know what we designed to say, and we think that we are saying it properly. It is very difficult to convince reader or speaker that to other ears he is a failure. No man imagines that he can sing well, or play well upon an instrument, without learning to sing or play, for 20 The Objects, Uses, and Advantages two or three trials prove to him his incapacity ; he i3 unable to bring out the notes he wants, and he breaks down altogether. But every man can read after a fashion, and utter a sentence or two, however rudely, and therefore his imperfection is not made so apparent to him- self ; it is a question only of degree ; being able to read and speak, and not being conscious how he reads and speaks, he cannot easily be satisfied that he reads and speaks badly, and that proficiency must be the work of some teaching, much study, and more practice. My purpose, in dwelling upon this almost universal neglect of the arts of speaking and reading by those whose fortunes depend upon the right use of their tongues, is to prevent you, if I can, from falling into the same fashion, and trusting your success to chance, in the fallacious belief that you are following nature. If any doubt can linger in your mind whether nature is all- sufficient for the purpose of oratory, I need but point to the wonderful lack of it, — to the bad reading in the pulpit, and the bad speaking at the bar, in Parliament, and at public meetings. It is possible that study may not remove the reproach, but it is certain that the pres- ent system does not succeed in creating or cultivating oratory. It will, at least, be w^orth while to attempt improvement ; the effort cannot wholly fail, for, if nothing more, it will certainly make better readers of those who now read so badly. The object is worth the effort. Apart from profes- sional advantages, the art of speaking is the surest path to the gratification of your very laudable ambition to take part in the political and social life of your generation. In all countries and in all agres the orator has risen to of the Art of Speaking. 21 distinction. But his art is nowhere so potent as in free countries, where liberty of speech is the birthright of the citizen. Wherever self-government is recognized, there must be gatherings for the purpose of transacting public business ; men must meet together in their parishes, their counties, or by whatever name the subdivisions of their country may be known. They could not discuss the business of the meeting without some speaking, and the most pleasant speaker will assuredly win the ears, and, therefore, carry with him the feelings and the votes, of those who cannot speak. The same result is seen in all assemblies, from the vestry, which is the Parliament of the parish, to the House of Commons, which is the Parliament of the nation. A man who cannot speak is there doomed to insignificance ; a man who can speak but badly is still somebody ; the man who speaks toler- ably is a man of mark ; the man who speaks well at once establishes himself as a chieftain, and he holds in his hand the power of the whole assembly. Seeing, then, what a valuable accomplishment is the art of speaking, — how surely it will lead to power, possibly to greatness, certainly to fame, and probably to profit, — the marvel is that it is not more cultivated in this country. In truth, it can scarcety be said to be cultivated at all. Why is this ? Is it that Englishmen are unconscious of its value, or that they think it a gift bestowed b} T nature, which art cannot produce and can do little to perfect? I cannot tell ; but there the fact is. In our homes, in our schools, no pains are taken to teach young persons to speak, or even to read ; and he who cannot read well will not speak well. Parents and guardians cheerfully expend large sums for the teaching of music or drawing, 22 The Foundations of the Arts — whether a natural taste for it does or does not exist, — accomplishments which only the gifted are likely to turn to good account in after life, and for the exercise of which there is seldom a demand ; while the arts of reading and of speaking — the former daily in request, and the latter leading to success in life through many paths — are entirely neglected, or, if recognized at all, imperfectly taught by a lesson of half an hour in a week, or got up for the occasion of a display on those dreary days when the school-masters advertise themselves under pretence of exhibiting the abilities of their pupils. Hetter IM. TBE FOUNDATIONS OF THE ABTS OF SPEAKING AND WBITJNG. The proverb Poeta nascitur, etc., has been extended to the orator. It is only partially true as applied to either. There is no such thing as a born poet or a born orator. No man can write a good poem or make a good speech by the mere force of untaught nature ; he must go through more or less of training to accomplish either. We have heard a great deal of uneducated poets ; but this does not mean that they were able to scribble poetry when first putting their pens to paper. They were not rmeducated poets, but only se(/"-educated poets. If they had been trained to no other knowledge or accomplish- ment, they had trained themselves industriously to this. of Speaking and Writing. 23 On the other hand, it is no less true that the poet and the orator must be endowed by nature with certain faculties, wanting which neither could achieve greatness. But there is this notable distinction between them, that inferiority, or even mediocrity, in a poet renders his ao> complishment uninteresting to others, and almost useless to himself, whereas very small powers of oratory are highly useful to the possessor. Of this you may be as- sured, that, whatever the degree of capacity for oratory with which you may have been endowed by nature, you will never attain to proficiency in it without much training. Doubtless you have shared the sort of hazy notion floating in the public mind, that, if you can only pro- nounce the words properly, you can read ; that if you have words you can speak ; and that words will come, when they are wanted for a speech, as readily as they come in a tete-a-tete. I suspect you have formed no conception of the number and variety of the qualifications essential to good writing, right reading, and effective speaking ; how, for reading, the mind must be cultivated to understand, the feelings to give expression, the voice to utter correctly, the taste to impart tone to the entire exercise ; and, for speaking, how the intellect must be trained to a rapid flow of ideas, the instantaneous com- position of sentences, with the right words in the right places wherewith to clothe the thoughts, the voice attuned to harmony, and the limbs trained to graceful action, so* that the audience may listen with pleasure, while their convictions are carried, their feelings touched, and their sympathies enlisted. I hope you will thoroughly understand that it is not 24 The Foundations of the Arts my purpose, in these letters, to play the part of a pro fessor, and teach you to write, read, and speak, but only to put you in the way to teach yourself. My design is to impress upon you the absolute necessity for a formal study of the kindred arts of writing, reading, and speaking, if you would attain to such a mastery of them as will be required in your profession, and to point out to you the paths by which they are to be sought. And I must repeat, in my own justification for making the attempt, that there is a very great dif- ference indeed between knowledge and action. A man may well know precisely what should be done, and how it should be done, and even be enabled to impart that knowledge to others, without being able to do it. That is precisely my position. By devoting to the subject a great deal of time and thought, I have been enabled to learn something of what a writer, a reader, and a speaker should do and should not do, what qualifications are required for each, and how their arts may be best cultivated and attained, but without ability perfectly to perform them myself; therefore it is that these letters propose nothing more than to convey to you, in a short time, the information that it has taken me a very long time to collect. A perfect speaker would be almost a perfect man, so that there never was, and never will be, a perfect orator. The best does but approach the standard of ideal excel- lence. Such great gifts of mind and body must combine to constitute an orator that, when I detail them, you will cease to wonder that great orators are so few. I will first sketch the mental qualifications ; for these, of some of them, are absolutely indispensable, and their of Speaking and Writing. 25 presence will go far to compensate for the absence of many physical advantages. The foremost care of a speaker is, to have something to say; his next is, to say it; and his third is, to sit dozen when he has said it. These may appear to you very commonplace requirements, and you will probably think that I needed not have taken the trouble to write long letters to you to tell you this. But in fact, like other golden rules, they are more easy to remember than to observe. Consult your own experience, and say how many of all the speeches you have ever heard, on any occasion whatever, gave utterance to thoughts, to ideas, to aught that painted a picture on your mind, influenced your judgment, or kindled your emotions. Were they not mere sounding brass and tinkling cymbals, sentences "full of sound and fury, signifying nothing,'' or words that scarcely fell at all into sentences, insomuch that, when the speaker had concluded, you could not very distinctly say what he had been talking about? And if this sort of speaker so abounds, how much more fre- quent still are they who never know when they have done, and how to sit down having said what they desired to say ! How many men, who are otherwise really respectable speakers, fail in this faculty for sitting down, are continually coming to a close, and then beginning again, and when you mentally exclaim, " He is certainly going to finish now," start off on a new topic, or repeat the thrice-told tale, and take a new lease of your ears, to the severe trial of your patience ! The first qualification for attainment of the arts of speaking and writing is, therefore, having something to say, — by which I mean, that you must have in your mind 26 The Foundations of the Arts definite thoughts to which you desire to give expression in words. Wanting these, it is useless to attempt* to be a speaker or writer. Thoughts will not come just when you are pleased to call for them. It is necessary that you should cultivate a habit of thinking clearly and continuously, — of thinking, too, your own thoughts, — and you must do this, not by vague fancies, but by trains of ideas logically arranged, and by accustoming yourself to think a subject through, instead of merely thinking vaguely about it. For what is a speech but thinking aloud ? You pursue a train of thought, and, by putting it into words, you seek to conduct the minds of your audience through the same train of thought to the same conclusions, and thus to make them share your emotions or convictions. To this end the aptest thoughts are nothing unless they can be expressed in words as apt. This is an art; this does not come by nature. Nature contributes something to it by certain special capacities with which she favors a few, and she sometimes sets a ban upon others by positive incapacity to think consecutively, to find words readily, or to give them utterance in a pleasing manner. But even the most favored by nature require sedulous cultivation of their faculties. Thought can only come from much observation, much reading, and much reflec- tion. Composition — by which I mean the choice of the fittest words, and the arrangement of them in the most correct and graceful sentences — can be mastered only by long study and much practice. Every man who aspires to be a speaker must laboriously learn the art of com- position, for that is the second stone of the edifice. I can give you no instructions for obtaining thoughts ; of Speaking and Writing. 27 they must arise from the natural or acquired activity of your mind, gathering ideas from all accessible stores. You must keep your eyes and ears ever open to receive all kinds of knowledge from all sorts of sources. Your information cannot be too diversified. Observation will supply the most useful materials ; reading, the most various ; reflection, the most profound. But you must be something more than a mere recipient of impressions from without ; these must be intimately revolved and recombined in your hours of reflection, and then they may be reproduced in other shapes as your own thoughts. Accustom yourself to think, and give yourself time to think. There are many portions of the day which can be devoted to reflection, without trying to make thought a business. If a man tells me that he habitually closes his book, or lays down his pen, tarns his face to the fire with his feet upon the fender, and throws himself back in his easy-chair to think, he may say that he is thinking, and perhaps flatter himself with the belief that he is thinking ; but we know that he is only dreaming. The time for real reflection is when you are taking that exercise in the open air, which I trust you never neglect, and which is as needful to the accomplishment of a speaker as any other training. At such seasons, prepare yourself by steady thought for that which is the next process in the acquisition of the art. And that is, writing. You must habitually place your thoughts upon paper, — first, that you may do so rapidly ; and, secondly, that you may do so correctly. When you come to write your reflections, 3-ou will be surprised to find how loose and inaccurate the most vivid of them have been, what terrible flaws there are in your best 28 Arts of Speaking and Writing. arguments. You are thus enabled to correct them, and to compare the matured sentence with the rude con- ception of it. You are thus trained to weigh your words and assure yourself that they precisely embody the idea you desire to convey. You can trace uncouthness in the sentences, and dislocations of thought, of which you had not been conscious before. It is far better to learn your lesson thus upon paper, which you can throw into the fire unknown to any human being, than to be taught it, in the presence of the public, by an audience who are not always very lenient critics. ART OF WRITING, o>*o %ttttx IF. FIB ST LESSONS IN THE ART OF WRITING. Diligently practise composition, — that is to say, the correct and pleasing expression of your thoughts in words. I do not mean that you should begin by writing a speech, — that comes at the end of your train- ing; but learn first to frame a neat sentence in apt language. Indeed, when you have achieved this you are almost at the end of your labor. Simple as it seems, here lies all the difficulty. Words ; sentences. Who has not words? you say. Who does not talk in sentences? I answer by another question : Who doesf Try it. You are, I believe, unpractised as yet in composition, beyond the writing of a love-letter in bad English, or verses in worse Latin. Take your pen and set down upon paper the first half-dozen reflections that come into your mind, — no matter what the subject. Now read what you have written. First, examine the words, — do they em- body precisely what you intended to say ? Are they fit words, expressive words, — in brief, the right words? You must confess that they are not. Some are altogether wrong ; some are vague, some weak, some out of keeping 29 30 First Lessons in the Art of Writing* with the subject, some slovenly, some too big, others too small ; strong adjectives are used as props to feeble nouns ; and do you not see how continually you use three words to clothe an idea which would have been far more effectively convej^ed in one ? Then look at your sentences, — how rude they are, how shapeless, how they dislocate the thoughts they are designed to embody, how they vex the tongue to speak, and grate upon the ear that listens ! There is no music, no rhythm, no natural sequence of ideas, scarcely even grammatical accuracy. And mark how the sentences are thrown together without order, severing the chain of thought, this one having little connection with its predecessor, and none at all with its successor. Are you now satisfied that composition is an art, to be learned by labor and self-training, and that it is not so easy as talking in a smoking-room, with a short pipe to fill up the vacuities in thoughts and words? Being assured of this by experiment, you will probably feel rather more inclined to make the necessary exertions to acquire an art which must be the foundation of your ptudies in the art of speaking, and after this manner may you proceed with your task. Be content, for a time, with writing down the thoughts of others, and this for a special purpose that will pres- ently be apparent. Take a writer of good English — Swift, Addison, Dryden, Macaulay, Cobbett, or even leading articles of the " Times " (usually models of pure, nervous English) — and read half a page twice or thrice ; close the book, and write, in your own words, what you have read ; borrowing, nevertheless, from the author so much as you First Lessons in the Art of Writing. 31 can remember. Compare what- you have written with the original, sentence by sentence, and word by word, and observe how far you have fallen short of the skilful author. You will thus not onty find out your own faults, but you will take the measure of them, and discovei where they lie, and how they may be mended. Repeat the lesson with the same passages twice or thrice, if youi memory is not filled with the words of the author, and observe, at each trial, the progress you have made, not merely by comparison with the original, but by com- parison with the previous exercises. Do this day after day, changing your author for the purpose of varying the style, and continue to do so long after you have passed on to the second and more advanced stages of your training. Preserve all your exercises, and oc- casionally compare the latest with the earliest, and so measure your progress periodically. In this first lesson I pray }'ou to give especial atten- tion to the icords, which, to 1113" mind, are of greater importance than the sentences. Take your nouns first, and compare them with the nouns used by your author. You will probably find your words to be very much bigger than his, more sounding, more far-fetched, more classical, or more poetical. All young writers, and speakers fanc} r that they cannot sufficient^ revel in fine words. Comparison with the great masters of English will rebuke this pomposity of inexperience, and chasten your aspirations after magniloquence. You will discover, to your surprise, that our best writers eschew big words and abhor fine words. Where there is a choice, they prefer the pure, plain, simple English noun, — the name by which the thing is known to all their countrymen, 32 First Lessons in the Art of Writing. and which, therefore, is instantly understood by every audience. These great authors call a spade " a spade ; * only small scribblers or penny-a-liners term it " an imple- ment of husbandry." If there is a choice of names, good writers prefer the homeliest, while you select the most uncommon, supposing that you have thus avoided vul- garity. The example of the masters of the English tongue should teach you that commonness (if I may be allowed to coin a word to express that for which I can find no precise equivalent) and vulgarity are not the same in substance. Vulgarity is shown in assumption and af- fectation of language quite as much as in dress and manners, and it is never vulgar to be natural. Your object is to be understood. You will be required to ad- dress all sorts and conditions of men ; to be successful, you must write and talk in a language that all classes of your countrymen can understand ; and such is the natural vigor, picturesqueness, and music of our tongue, that you could not possess yourself of a more powerful instrument for expression. It is well for you to be assured that while, by this choice of homely English for the embodying of your thoughts, j t ou secure the ears of the common people, 3 T ou will at the same time please the most highly educated and refined. The words that have won the applause of a mob at an election are equally successful in securing a hearing in the House of Commons, pro- vided that the thoughts expressed and the manner of their expression be adapted tq the changed audience. Then for the sentences. Look closely at their construc- tion, comparing it with that of your author ; I mean, note how you have put your words together. The best way to do this is to write two or three sentences, from the First Lessons in the Art of Writing. 33 book and interline your own sentences, word by word, as nearly as you can, and then you will discover what are your faults in the arrangement of } T our words. The placing of words is next in importance to the choice of them. The best writers preserve the natural order of thought. They sedulously shun obscurities and per- plexities. They avoid long and involved sentences. Their rule is, that one sentence should express one thought, and they will not venture on the introduction of two or three thoughts, if they can help it. Undoubtedly this is often extremely difficult, — sometimes impossible. If you want to qualify an assertion, you must do so on the instant ; but the rule should never be forgotten, that a long and involved sentence is to be avoided, wherever it is practicable to do so. Another lesson }'Ou will doubtless learn from the comparison of your composition with that of your model author. You will see a wonderful number of adjectives in your own writing, and very few in his. It is the besetting sin of young writers to indulge in adjec- tives, and precisely as a man gains experience do his adjectives diminish in number. It seems to be supposed by all unpractised scribblers — and it is a fixed creed with the penny-a-lining class — that the multiplication of epithets gives force. The nouns are never left to speak for themselves. It is curious to take up any newspaper and read the paragraphs of news, especially if they are clipped from a provincial journal, or supplied by a penny-a-liner ; or to open the books of nine-tenths of our authors of the third and downward ranks. You will rarely see a noun standing alone, without one or more adjectives prefixed. Be assured that this is a 3 34 First Lessons in the Art of Writing. mistake. . An adjective should never be used unless it is essential to correct description. As a general rule, adjectives add little strength to the noun they are set to prop, and a multiplication of them is always enfeebling. The vast majority of nouns convey to the mind a much more accurate picture of the thing they signify than you can possibly paint by attaching epithets to them. A river is not improved by being described as " flowing;" the sun by being called " the glorious orb of day ; " the moon by being styled u gentle ;" or a hero by being termed " gallant." Pray you avoid it. When you have repeated this lesson many times, and find that you can write with some approach to the purity of your author, you should attempt an original composi- tion. In the beginning, it would be prudent, perhaps, to borrow the ideas, but to put them into your own language. The difficulty of this consists in the tendency of the mind to mistake memory for invention, and thus, unconscious^, to copy the language as well as the thoughts of the author. The best way to avoid this is to translate poetry into prose ; to take, for instance, a page of narrative in verse and relate the same story in plain prose ; or to peruse a page of didactic poetry, and set down the argument in a plain, unpoetical fashion. This will make you familiar with the art of composition, only to be acquired by practice ; and the advantage, at this early stage of your education in the arts of writing and speaking, of putting into proper language the thoughts for others rather than your own is, that you are better able to discover your faults. Your fatherly love for your ow r n ideas is such that you are really incompetent to form a judgment of their worth, or of First Lesso7ts in the Art of Writing. 35 the correctness of the language in which they are embodied. The critics witness this hallucination every day. Books continually come to them, written by men who are not mad, who probably are sufficiently sensible in the ordinary business of life, who see clearly enough the faults of other books, who would have laughed aloud over the same pages, if placed in their hands by another writer, but who, nevertheless, are utterly unable to recognize the absurdities of their own handiwork. The reader is surprised that any man of common intelligence could indite such a maze of nonsense, where the right word is never to be found in its right place, and this with such utter unconsciousness of incapacity on the part of the author. Still more is he amazed that, even if a sensible man could so write, a sane man could read that composition in print, and not with shame throw it into the fire. But the explanation is, that the writer knew what he intended to say ; his mind is full of that, and he reads from the MS. or the type, not so much what is there set down, as what was already floating in his own mind. To criticise yourself you must, to some extent, forget yourself. This is impracticable to many persons, and, lest it may be so with you, I advise you to begin by putting the thoughts of others into your own language, before you attempt to give formal expression to your own thoughts. 36 Reading and Thinking. Letter U* BEADING AND THINKING. Having accustomed yourself to express, in plain words, and in clear, precise, and straightforward sen- tences, the ideas of others, you should proceed to express your own thoughts in the same fashion. You will now see more distinctly the advantage of having first studied composition by the process recommended in my last letter, for you are in a condition to discover the deficien- cies in the flow of your own ideas. You will be surprised to find, when you come to put them into words, how many of your thoughts were shapeless, hazy, and dreamy, slipping from your grasp when you try to seize them, resolving themselves, like the witches in Macbeth, Into the air: and what seemed corporal melted As breath into the wind. Arguments that appeared conclusive in contemplation, when translated into language, are seen to be absurdly illogical ; and brilliant flashes of poetry, that had streamed through your imagination in the delightful promise of " the all hail hereafter," positively refuse to be embodied in words, and disappear the moment you attempt to make prisoners of them. Thus, after you have learned how to write, you will need a long and laborious education before you will learn what to write. I cannot much assist you in this part of the business. Two words convey the whole lesson,— Reading and Thinking. 37 Read and think. What should you read? Everything. What think about? All subjects that present themselves. The writer and orator must be a man of very varied knowledge. Indeed, for all the purposes of practical life, } T ou cannot know too much. No learning is quite useless. But a speaker, especially if an advocate, can- not anticipate the subjects on which he may be required to talk. Law is the least part of his discourse. For once that he is called upon to argue a point of law, he is com- pelled to treat matters of fact twenty times. And the range of topics is encyclopaedic ; it embraces science and art, history and philosophy ; above all, the knowledge of human nature that teaches how the mind he addresses is to be convinced and persuaded, and how a willing ear is to be won to his discourse. No limited range of reading will suffice for so large a requirement. The elements of the sciences must be mastered ; the foundations of philosophy must be learned ; the principles of art must be acquired ; the broad facts of history must be stamped upon the memory ; poetry and fiction must not be neglected. You must cultivate frequent and intimate intercourse with the genius of all ages and of all coun- tries, not merely as standards by which to measure your own progress, or as fountains from which you may draw unlimited ideas for your own use, but because they are peculiarly suggestive. This is the characteristic of genius, that, conveying one thought to the reader's mind, it kindles in him many other thoughts. The value of this to the speaker and writer will be obvious to you. Never, therefore, permit a day to pass without reading more or less — if it be but a single page — from some one of our great writers. Besides the service I have described in 38 Reading and Thinking. the multiplication of your ideas, it will render you the scarcely lesser service of preserving purity of style and language, and preventing you from falling into the conventional affectations and slang of social dialogue. For the same reason, without reference to any higher motive, but simply to fill your mind with the purest English, read daily some portion of the Bible ; for which exercise there is another reason also, that its phraseology is more familiar to all kinds of audiences than any other, is more readily understood, and, therefore, is more efficient in securing their attention. Your reading will thus consist of three kinds : reading for knoivledge, by which I mean the storing of your memory with facts ; reading for thoughts, by which I mean the ideas and reflections that set your own mind thinking ; and reading for words, by which I mean the best language in which the best authors have clothed their thoughts. And these three classes of reading should be pursued together daity, more or less as you can, for they are needful each to the others, and neither can be neglected without injury to the rest. So also you must make it a business to think. You will probably say that } T ou are always thinking when you are not doing anything, and often when you are busiest. True, the mind is active, but wandering vaguely from topic to topic. You are not in reallity, thinking out anything ; indeed, you cannot be sure that your thoughts have a shape until you try to express them in words. Nevertheless you. must think before you can write or speak, and you should cultivate a habit of think- ing at all appropriate seasons. But do not misunderstand this suggestion. I do not design advising you to set Reading and Thinking. 39 yourself a-thinking, as you would take up a book to read at the intervals of business, or as a part of a course of self-training ; for such attempts would probably begin with wandering fancies and end in a comfortable nap. It is a fact worth noting, that few persons can think continuously while the body is at perfect rest. The time for thinking is that when you are kept awake by some slight and almost mechanical muscular exercise, and the mind is not busily attracted by external subjects of attention. Thus walking, angling, gardening, and other rural pursuits, are pre-eminently the seasons for thought, and you should cultivate a habit of thinking during those exercises, so needful for health of body and for fruitfulness of mind. Then it is that you should submit whatever subject you desire to treat about to careful review, turning it on all sides, and inside out, marshalling the facts connected with it, trying what may be said for or against every view of it, recalling what you may have read about it, and finally thinking what you could sa}' upon it that had not been said before, or how you could put old views of it into new shapes. Perhaps the best way to accomplish this will be to imagine your- self writing upon it, or making a speech upon it, and to think what in such case you would say ; I do not mean in what words you would express yourself, but what you would discourse about ; what ideas you would put forth ; to what thoughts you would give utterance. At the beginning of this exercise you will find your reflections extremely vague and disconnected ; }'ou will range from theme to theme, and mere flights of fancy will be sub- stituted for stead} 7 , continuous thought. But persevere day by day, and that which was in the beginning an 4<3 Reading and Thinking. effort will soon grow into a habit, and you will pass few moments of your working life in which, when not oc- cupied from without, your mind will not be usefully em- ployed within itself. Having attained this habit of thinking, let it be a rule with you, before you write or speak on any subject, to employ your thoughts upon it in the manner I have described. Go a-fishing. Take a walk. Weed your garden. While so occupied, think. It will be hard if your own intelligence cannot suggest to you how the subject should be treated, in what order of argument, with what illustrations, and with what new aspects of it, the original product of your own genius. At all events this is certain, that without preliminary reflection you cannot hope to deal with any subject to your own satisfaction, or to the profit or pleasure of others. If you neglect these precautions, you can never be more than a wind-bag, uttering words that, however grandly they may roll, convey no thoughts. There is hope for ig- norance ; there is none for emptiness. To sum up the exhortations of this letter. To become a writer, or an orator, you must fill your mind with knowledge by reading and observation, and educate it to the creation of thoughts by cultivating a habit of reflection. There is no limit to the knowledge that will be desirable and useful ; it should include something of natural science, much of history, and still more of human nature. The quicquid agunt homines must be your study, for it is with these that the speaker has to deal. Remember, that no amount of antiquarian, or historical, or scientific, or literary lore will make an orator, without intimate acquaintance with the ways Style. 41 of the world about him, with the tastes, sentiments, passions, emotions, and modes of thought of the men and women of the age in which he lives, and whose minds it is his business to sway. An orator must be most of all a man of the world ; but he must be accomplished also with the various acquirements which I have her© endeavored briefly to sketch. ^Letter UI* STYLE. You must think, that you have thoughts to convey; and read, that you may possess words wherewith to express your thoughts correctly and gracefully. But something more than this is required to qualify you to write or speak. You must have a style. I will endeavor to explain what I mean by that. Style is not art, like language, — it is a gift of nature, like the form and the features. It does not lie in words, or phrases, or figures of speech ; it cannot be taught by any rules ; it is not to be learned by examples. As every man has a manner of his own, differing from the manner of every other man, so has every mind its own fashion of communicating with other minds. The dress in which our thoughts clothe themselves is unconsciously moulded to the individualities of the mind whence they come. This manner of expressing thought is style, and there- fore may style be described as the features of the mind 42 Style. displayed in its communications with other minds ; as manner is the corporeal feature exhibited in personal communication- But though style is the gift of nature, it is nevertheless to be cultivated ; only in a sense different from that com- monly understood by the word cultivation. Many elaborate treatises have been written on style, and the subject usually occupies a prominent place in all books on composition and oratory. It is usual with teachers to urge emphatically the importance of cultivat- ing style, and to prescribe ingenious recipes for its production. All these proceed upon the assumption that style is something artificial, capable of being taught, and which may and should be learned by the student, like spelling or grammar. But, if the definition of stjde which I have submitted to you is right, these elaborate trainings are a needless labor ; probably a positive mis- chief. I do not design to say a style might not be taught to you ; but it will be the style of some other man, not your own ; and, not being your own, it will no more fit your mind than a second-hand suit of clothes, bought without measurement at a pawn-shop, would fit your body, and your appearance in it will be as ungainly. But you must not gather from this that you are not to concern yourself about style, that it may be left to take care of itself, and that you will require only to write or speak as untrained nature prompts. I say that you must cultivate st} T le ; but I say also that the style to be culti- vated should be your own, and not the style of another. The majority of those who have written upon the subject recommend you to study the styles of the great writers of the English language, with a view to acquiring their Style. 43 accomplishment. So I say, — study them, by all rreans ; but not for the purpose of imitation, not with a view to acquire their manner, but to learn their language, to see how they have embodied their thoughts in words, to discover the manifold graces with which they have invested the expression of their thoughts, so as to sur- round the act of communicating information, or kindling emotion, with the various attractions and charms of art. J say to you, cultivate style; but, instead of laboring to acquire the style of your model, it should be your most constant endeavor to avoid it. The greatest danger to which you are exposed is that of falling into an imitation of the manner of some favorite author, whom you have studied for the sake of learning a style which, if you did learn it, would be unbecoming to you, because it is not your own. That which in him was manner becomes in you mannerism; you but dress yourself in his clothes, and imagine that }^ou are like him, while you are no more like than is the valet to his' master whose cast-off coat he is wearing. There are some authors whose manner is so infectious that it is extremely difficult not to catch it. Johnson is one of these ; it requires an effort not to fall into his formula of speech. But your protection against this danger must be an ever-present conviction that your own style will be the best for you, be it ever so bad or good. You must strive to be yourself, to think for your- self, to speak in your own manner ; then, what you say and your style of sa} T ing it will be in perfect accord, and the pleasure of those who read or listen will not be dis- turbed by a sense of impropriety and unfitness. Nevertheless, I repeat, 3-ou should cultivate your own style, not by changing it into some other person's style, 44 Style. but by striving to preserve its individuality, while deco- rating it with all the graces of art. Nature gives the style, for your style is yourself; but the decorations are slowly and laboriously acquired by diligent study, and, above all, by long and patient practice. There are but two methods of attaining to this accomplishment, — con- templation of the best productions of art, and continuous toil in the exercise of it. I assume that, by the process I have already described, you have acquired a tolerably quick flow of ideas, a ready command of words, and ability to construct grammatical sentences ; all that now remains to you is to learn so to use this knowledge that the result may be presented in the most attractive shape to those whom you address. I am unable to give you many practical hints towards this, because it is not a thing to be acquired by formal rules, in a few lessons and by a set course of study ; it is the product of very wide and long-continued gleanings from a countless variety of sources ; but, above all, it is taught by experience. If you compare your compositions at intervals of six months, you will see the progress you have made. You began with a multitude of words, with big nouns and bigger adjectives, a perfect firework of epithets, a ten- dency to call everything by something else than its proper name, and the longer the periphrasis the more you admired your own ingenuity, and thought that it must be equally admired by your readers. If you had a good idea, you were pretty sure to dilute it by expansion, sup- posing the while that you were improving by amplifying it. You indulged in small flights of poetry (in prose), not always in appropriate places, and you were tolerably sure to go off into rhapsody, and to mistake fine words Style. 45 for eloquence. This is the juvenile style ; it is not pecu- liar to yourself, — it is the common fault of all young wri- ters. But the cure for it may be hastened by judicious self-treatment. In addition to the study of good authors, to cultivate your taste, you may mend your style by a process of pruning, after the following fashion. Having finished your composition, or a section of it, lay it aside, and do not look at it again for a week, during which interval other labors will have engaged your thoughts. You will then be in a condition to revise it with an approach to critical impartiality, and so you will begin to learn the wholesome art of blotting. Go through it slowly, pen in hand, weighing every word, and asking yourself, "What did I intend to say? How can I say it in the briefest and plainest English?" Compare with the plain answer you return to this question the form in which you had tried to express the same meaning in the writing before you, and at each word further ask yourself, " Does this word precisely convey niy thought? Is it the aptest word ? Is it a necessary word ? Would my mean- ing be fully expressed without it?" If it is not the best, change it for a better. If it is superfluous, ruthlessly strike it out. The work will be painful at first, — you will sacrifice with a sigh so many flourishes of fanc3 r , so many figures of speech, of whose birth you were proud. Nay, at the beginning, and for a long time afterwards, your courage will fail you, and many a cherished phrase will be spared by your relenting pen. But be persistent, and you will triumph at last. Be not content with one act of expurgation. Read the manuscript again, and, seeing how much it is improved, you will be inclined to blot a little more. Lay it aside for a month, and then read 46 Language. again, and blot again as before. Nay, for the third time let it rest in your desk for six months, and then repeat the process. You will be amazed to find how differently you look upon it now. The heat of composition having passed away, you are surprised that you could have so written, mistaking that magniloquence for eloquence, that rhapsody for poetry, those many words for much thought, those heaped-up epithets for powerful description. letter VM. LANGUAGE. Simplicity is the crowning achievement of judgment and good taste in their maturity. It is of very slow growth in the greatest minds ; by the multitude it is never acquired. The gradual progress towards it can be curiously traced in the works of the great masters of English composition, wheresoever the injudicious zeal of admirers has given to the world the juvenile writings which their own better taste had suffered to pass into oblivion. Lord Macaulay was an instance of this. Com- pare his latest with his earliest compositions, as collected in the posthumous volume of his " Remains," and the growth of improvement will be manifest. Yet, upon the first proposition of it, nothing appears to be more obvious to remember, and easy to act upon, than the rule, " Say what you want to say in the fewest words that will express your meaning clearly ; and let those words be Language. 47 the plainest, the most common (not vulgar), and the most intelligible to the greatest number of persons." It is certain that a beginner will adopt the very reverse of this. He will say what he has to say in the greatest number of words he can devise, and those words will be the most artificial and uncommon his memory can recall. As he advances, he will learn to drop these long phrases and big words ; he will gradually contract his language to the limit of his thoughts, and he will discover, after long experience, that he was never so feeble as when he flattered himself that he was most forcible. I have dwelt upon this subject with repetitions that may be deemed almost wearisome, because affectations and conceits are the besetting sin of modern composition, and the vice is growing and spreading. The literature of our periodicals teems with it ; the magazines are infected by it almost as much as the newspapers, which have been always famous for it. Instead of an endeavor to write plainly, the express purpose of the writers in the periodicals is to write as obscurely as possible ; they make it a rule never to call anything b} T its proper name, never to say anything directly in plain English, never to express their true meaning. They delight to say some- thing quite different in appearance from that which they purpose to say, requiring the reader to translate it, if he can, and, if he cannot, leaving him in a state of bewilder- ment, or wholly uninformed. Worse models you could not find than those presented to you by the newspapers and periodicals ; yet are you so beset by them that it is extremely difficult not to catch the infection. Reading da} r by day compositions teeming with bad taste, a^d espeeialty where the cockney style 48 Language. floods you with its conceits and affectations, you uncon- sciously fall into the same vile habit, and incessant vigi- lance is required to restore you to sound, vigorous, manly ? and wholesome English. I cannot recommend to you a better plan for counteracting the inevitable mischief than* the daily reading of portions of some of our best writers of English. A page or two of Dry den, Swift, or Cobbett, will operate as an antidote against the poison you cannot help absorbing in your necessary intercourse with the passing literature of the day. You will soon learn to appreciate the power and beauty of those simple sen- tences compared with the forcible feebleness of seme, and the spasmodic efforts and mountebank contortions of others, that meet your eye when you turn over the pages of magazine or newspaper. I do not say that you will at once become reconciled to plain English, after being accustomed to the tinsel and tin trumpets of too many modern writers ; but you will gradually come to like it more and more ; you will return to it with greater zest year by year ; and, having thoroughly learned to love it, you will strive to follow the example of the authors who have written it. And this practice of daily commune more or less with one of the great masters of the English tongue should never be abandoned. So long as you have occasion to write or speak, let it be held by you almost as a duty. And here I would suggest that you should read them aloud; for there is no doubt that the words, entering at once by the eye and the ear, are more sharply impressed upon the mind than when perused silently. Moreover, when reading aloud you read more slowly ; the full meaning of each word must be understood, that you may Language. 49 give the right expression to it, and the ear catches the general structure of the sentences more perfectly. Nor will this occupy much time. There is no need to devote to it more than a few minutes every day. Two or three pages thus read daily will suffice to preserve the purity of your taste. The books that have been written on the subject of composition usually set forth a number of rules professing to teach the student specifically how he is to write a sentence. I confess I have no faith in the virtue of such teachings. Many have tried them and found them worse than worthless, — much more a hindrance than a help. It is impossible to think at once of what to say and the rules that are set to you how to say it. In fact, when we examine closely these propositions, we discover that they are not rules that have been used as guides by their authors, or by any other persons, but only principles which philosophers assert as governing the operations of the mind in the process of composition. In practice we do not so write because, according to certain set rules, we ought to write thus, but because the mind is so con- structed as to express itself to another mind in certain forms of speech. These forms have been examined by philosophers, and their analysis of the mental operation has been turned into a series of rules, which are called " grammar." Your first care in composition will be, of course, to express yourself grammatically. This is partly habit, partly teaching. If those with whom a child is brought up talk grammatically, he will do likewise, from mere imitation ; but he will learn quite as readily anything ungrammatical to which his ears may be accustomed ; 50 Language. and, as the .most fortunate of us mingle in childhood with servants and other persons not always observant of num- ber, gender, mood, and tense, and as even they who have enjoyed the best education lapse, in familiar talk, into occasional defiance of grammar, which could not be avoided without pedantry, you will find the study of grammar necessary to you under any circumstances. Your ear will teach you a great deal, and you may usually trust to it as a guide ; but sometimes occasions arise when you are puzzled to determine which is the correct form of expression, and in such cases there is safety only in reference to the rule. I would gladly assume that you learned at school all that you have need to know of grammar ; but experience forbids. I remember how little attention was paid to the teaching of English grammar in the public and classical schools of mj' own boyhood ; and, although some improve- ment has been made since, I fear that it would not be safe to enter upon the study of composition without at least refreshing }^our memory with the rules of grammar. If you ask me what grammar you ought to study, I must admit my inability to give 3^011 a satisfactory answer. I have never seen an English grammar that quite came up to the conception of what such a book should be. All the popular ones are too dogmatical and not enough explanatory. They appear to have been written by men who had forgotten the process by which they had acquired their own knowledge, and who taught from their own advanced position, instead of taking the student's point of view and starting with Mm. Rules ought to be accom- panied with the reasons for them, and those reasons should not be stated in the language of the learned, but Woi'ds — Sentences — Rhythm. 5 1 in the words used by the unlearned world ; and the ideas they convey should not be those which assume that the listener knows a great deal, but such as would be ad- dressed to a mind presumed to know very little indeed of the subject. The best with which I am acquainted (and it approaches very nearly to the ideal of such a work) is that by "William Cobbett. I do not know even if it can now be procured ; but if you can find a copy at any book- stall, buy and read it. Xot only does it present its information in a singularly intelligible form, but it will amuse and fix your attention by the quaintness of some of its illustrations. For instance, the author, who was an avowed republican, — for he did not live to see democ- racy setting up despotism in France, and republicanism rushing into civil war in America, — takes his illustrations of grammatical errors from the royal speeches to Parlia- ment. But, if you should not like his manner of teach- ing, 3 t ou will assuredly profit by the perusal of his simple but vigorous English, and it will be in itself a valuable lesson to accustom your ears to our homely but express- ive Saxon, unpolluted hx the affectations with which it is too much the fashion of our day to deform the glorious instrument of thought that our fathers have transmitted to us. %ttttx UIHE. WOBDS — SENTENCES — BHYTHM. When I recommend the study of grammar, I do not design that you should adhere pedantically to its rules. 5 2 Words — Sentences — Rhythm. It is, indeed, necessary that you should know those rules, and the reasons for them, and how a sentence is to be grammatically constructed. But some latitude of discretion may be permitted in the application of those rules. Your good taste will, after a little experience, show you where they may be relaxed, and even, upon occasions, departed from. Certain it is that, if }^ou were to compose an essay in strict compliance with the rules propounded by the grammarians, it would be painfully stiff and ungainly. On the other hand, in fear of a pedantic style you must be careful not to fall into the opposite extreme of slovenliness and incorrectness. It is not necessary that you should alwa}^s write precisely according to rule, but never must you write what is posi- tively ungrammatical. Between these extremes there lies a wide debatable land, recognized by custom, in which you may venture to turn out of the regular path, in a manner which a pedagogue will tell you, and prove by reference to the rules, to be wrong, but for which you may assert the privilege of practice. I cannot supply you with any tests whereby you may be guided in your acceptance of these conventionalisms. It is entirely a matter of taste, and the - cultivation of the taste is the only means by which you can hope to write at once cor- rectly and freely, not sinning against grammar, but also not a slave to it. So it is with the structure of your sentences. You will find in the books many elaborate rules for composi- tion. I do not say of them that they are wrong. I have no doubt that they are strictly true, as abstract propositions ; but I venture to assert that they are practically worthless. No man ever yet learned from Words — Sentences — Rhythm. 5 3 them how to write a single sentence. No man keeps them in his mind while he is writing. No man delib- erately observes them so far as to say, " I express myself thus, because rule the fourth tells me that I am to do so and so." After you have written, it is not uninteresting nor uninstructive to compare your composition with the rules, and see how far you have adhered to them, or how widely diverged from them, tracing the reasons for the structure of the sentences you have actually adopted. This is a useful exercise for the mind ; it confirms your confidence in what you do well, and perhaps reveals to you some errors, and shows you how they are to be amended. But this is all. Your sentences will certainly shape themselves after the structure of your own mind. If your thoughts are vivid and definite, so will be your language ; if dreamy and hazy, so will your composition be obscure. Your speech, whether oral or written, can be but the expression of yourself ; and what you are, that speech will be. Remember, then, that you cannot materially change the substantial character of your writing ; but you may much improve the form of it by the observance of two or three general rules. In the first place, be sure you have something to say. This may appear to you a very unnecessary precaution ; for who, you will ask, having nothing to say, desires to write or to speak? I do not doubt that you have often felt as if your brain was teeming with thoughts too big for words ; but when you came to seize them, for the purpose of putting them into words, }'ou have found them evading your grasp and melting into the air. They 54 Words — Sentences — Rhythm. were not thoughts at all, but fancies, — shadows which you had mistaken for substances, and whose vagueness you would never have detected, had you not sought to em- body them in language. Hence it is that you will need to be assured that you have thoughts to. express, before you try to express them. And how to do this ? By asking yourself, when you take up the pen, what it is you intend to say, and answering yourself as you best can, without caring for the form of expression. If it is only a vague and mystical idea, conceived in cloudlancl, you will try in vain to put it into any form of words, however rude. If, however, it is a definite thought, proceed at once to set it down in words and fix it upon paper. The expression of a precise and definite thought is not difficult. Words will follow the thought ; indeed, they usually accompany it, because it is almost impossible to think unless the thought is clothed in words. So closely are ideas and language linked by habit, that very few minds are capable of contemplating them apart, inso- much that it may be safely asserted of all intellects, save the highest, that if they are unable to express their ideas, it is because the ideas are incapable of expression, — because they are vague and hazy. For the present purpose it will suffice that you put upon paper the sub- stance of what you desire to say, in terms as rude as you please, the object being simply to measure your thoughts. If you cannot express them, do not attribute your failure to the weakness of language, but to the dreaminess of your ideas, and therefore banish them without mercy, and direct your mind to some more definite object for its contemplations. If you succeed in putting your ideas Words — Sentences — Rhythm. 55 into words, be they ever so rude, you will have learned the first, the most difficult, and the most important lesson in the art of writing. The second is far easier. Having thoughts, and having embodied those thoughts in unpol- ished phrase, your next task will be to present them in the most attractive form. To secure the attention of those to whom you desire to communicate your thoughts, it is not enough that you utter them in any words that come uppermost; you must express them in the best words, and in the most graceful sentences, so that they may be read with pleasure, or at least without offending the taste. Your first care in the choice of words will be that they shall express precisely 3^our meaning. Words are used so loosely in society that the same word will often be found to convey half a dozen different ideas to as many auditors. Even where there is not a conflict of meanings in the same word, there is usually a choice of words having meanings sufficiently alike to be used indiscrimi- nately, without subjecting the user to a charge of positive error. But the cultivated taste is shown in the selection of such as express the most delicate shades of difference. Therefore, it is not enough to have abundance of words ; you must learn the precise meaning of each word, and in what it differs from other words supposed to be synony- mous ; and then you must select that which most exactly conveys the thought you are seeking to embody. I will not pretend to give you rules for this purpose ; I am ac- quainted with none that are of much practical value. Some of the books profess to teach the pupil how to choose his words; but, having tried these teachings, I found them worthless ; and others who have done the 5 6 Words — Sentences — Rhythm. like have experienced the same unsatisfactory result There is but one way to fill your mind with words, and that is, to read the best authors, and to acquire an accu- rate knowledge of the precise meaning of their words, — by parsing as you read. By the practice of parsing, I intend very nearly the process so called at schools, only limiting the exercise to the definitions of the principal words. As thus : take, for instance, the sentence that immediately precedes this, — ask yourself what is the meaning of u practice," of " parsing," of " process," and such like. Write the answer to each, that you may be assured that your definition is distinct. Compare it with the definitions of the same word in the dictionaries, and observe the various senses in which it has been used. You will thus learn also the words that have the same, or nearly the same, meaning, — a large vocabulary of which is necessary to composition, for frequent repetition of the same word, especially in the same sentence, is an inelegance, if not a positive error. Compare your definition with that of the lexicographer, and your use of the word with the uses of it by the authorities cited in the dictionary, and you will thus measure your own progress in the science of words. This useful exercise may be made extremely amusing as well as instructive, if friends, having a like desire for self-improvement, will join you in the practice of it ; and I can assure you that an evening will be thus spent pleasantly as well as profitably. You may make a merry game of it, — a game of speculation. Given a word : each one of the company in turn writes his defini- tion of it ; Webster's Dictionary is then referred to, and that which comes nearest the authentic definition wins Words — Sentences — Rhythm. 5 7 the honor or the prize ; it may be a sweepstakes carried off by him whose definition hits the mark the most nearl}\ But, whether in company, or alone, you should not omit the frequent practice of this exercise, for none will impart such a power of accurate expression and sup- ply such an abundance of apt words wherein to embody the delicate hues and various shadings of thought. So with sentences, or the combinations of words. Much skill is required for their construction. They must con- vey your meaning accurately, and as far as possible in the natural order of thought, and yet they must not be complex, involved, verbose, stiff, Ungainly, or tautologi- cal. They must be brief, but not curt ; explicit, but not verbose. Here, again, good taste must be your guide, rather than rules which teachers propound, but which the pupil never follows. In truth, there is no rule for writing sentences. It is easy to say what may not be done, what are the besetting faults, and perhaps to offer some hints for their avoidance. But there are no rules by observing which you can write well ; for not onl\ r does every style require its own construction of a sentence, but almost every combination of thought will demand a different shape in the sentence by which it is conveyed. A stand- ard sentence, like a standard style, is a pedantic absurd ity ; and, if you would avoid it, you must not try to write by rule, though you may refer to rules in order to find out your faults after you have written. Lastty, inasmuch as your design is, not only to influ- ence but to please, it will be necessary for you to culti- vate what may be termed the graces of composition. It is not enough that you instruct the minds of your read- ers, you must gratify their taste, and win their attention, 5 8 Words — Sentences — Rhythm. giving pleasure in the very process of imparting informa- tion. Hence you must make choice of words that convey no coarse meanings, and excite no disagreeable associa- tions. You are not to sacrifice expression to elegance ; but so, likewise, you are not to be content with a word or a sentence, if it is offensive or unpleasing, merely because it best expresses your meaning. The precise boundary between refinement and rudeness cannot be defined ; your own cultivated taste must tell you the point at which power or explicitness is to be preferred to clelicacj\ One more caution I would impress upon you, that you pause and give careful consideration to it before you permit a coarse expression, on account of its correctness, to pass your critical review when you revise your manuscript, and again when you read the proof, if ever you rush into print. And much might be said also about the music of speech. Your words and sentences must be musical. They must not come harshly from the tongue, if uttered, or grate upon the ear, if heard. There is a rhythm in words which should be observed in all composition, written or oral. The perception of it is a natural gift, but it may be much cultivated and improved by reading the works of the great masters of English, especially of the best poets, — the most excellent of all in this wonder- ful melody of words being Alfred Tennyson. Perusal of his works will show you what you should strive to attain in this respect, even though it may not enable you fully to accomplish the object of your endeavor. T*he Art of Writing. 59 letter !£♦ THE ART OF WRITING* The faculty for writing varies in various persons. Some write easily, some laboriously ; words flow from some pens without effort, others produce them slowly ; composition seems to come naturall} 7 to a few, and a few never can learn it, toil after it as they may. But what- ever the natural power, of this be certain, that good writ- ing cannot be accomplished without much study and long practice. Facility is far from being a proof of excellence. Many of the finest works, in our language were written slowly and painfully ; the words changed again and again, and the structure of the sentences carefully cast and recast. There is a fatal facility that runs " in one weak, washy, everlasting flood, " that is more hopeless than any slowness or slovenliness. If you find your pen galloping over the paper, take it as a warning of a fault to be shunned ; stay your hand, pause, reflect, read what you have written, see what are the thoughts }'ou have set clown, and resolutely try to condense them. There is no more wearisome process than to write the same thing over again ; nevertheless it is a most efficient teaching. Your endeavor should be to say the same things, but to say them in a different form ; to condense your thoughts, and express them in fewer words. Compare this second effort with the first, and you will at once measure your improvement. You cannot now do better than repeat the lesson twice ; rewrite, still bearing steadily in mind your object, which is, to say what you desire to utter in 6o The Art of Writing. words the most apt and in the briefest form consistent with intelligibility and grace. Having done this, take your last copy and strike out pitilessly every superfluous word, substitute a vigorous or expressive word for a weak one, sacrifice the adjectives without remorse, and, when this work is clone, rewrite the whole, as amended. And, if } t ou would see what you have gained by this laborious but effective process, compare the completed essay with the first draft of it, and you will recognize the superiority of careful composition over facile scribbling. You will be fortunate if you thus acquire a mastery of condensation, and can succeed in putting reins upon that fatal facility of words, before it has grown into an uncon- querable habit. Simplicity is the charm of writing, as of speech ; there- fore, cultivate it with care. It is not the natural manner of expression, or, at least, there grows with great rapid- ity in all of us a tendency to an ornamental style of talk- ing and writing. As soon as the child emerges from the imperfect phraseology of his first letters to papa, he sets himself earnestly to the task of trying to disguise what he has to say in some other words than such as plainly ex- press his meaning and nothing more. To him it seems an object of ambition — a feat to be proud of — to go by the most indirect paths, instead of the straight way, and it is a triumph to give the person he addresses the task of interpreting his language, to find the true meaning lying under the apparent meaning. Circumlocution is not the invention of refinement and civilization, but the vice of the uncultivated ; it prevails the most with the young in years and in minds that never attain maturity. It is a characteristic of the savage. You cannot too much school The Art of Writing. 61 3 T ourself to avoid this tendency, if it has not already seized you, as is most probable, or to banish it, if infected by it. If you have any doubt of your condition in this respect, your better course will be to consult some judi- cious friend, conscious of the evil and competent to criti- cism. Submit to him some of your compositions, asking him to tell you candidly what are their faults, and espe- cially what are the circumlocutions in them, and how the same thought might have been better, because more simply and plainly, expressed. Having studied his corrections, rewrite the article, striving to avoid those faults. Sub- mit this again to your friendly censor, and, if many faults are found still to linger, apply yourself to the labor of repetition once more. Repeat this process with new writings, until you produce them in a shape that requires fewblottings, and, having thus learned what to shun, you may venture on self-reliance. But, even when parted from your friendly critic, you should continue to be your own critic, revising every sen- tence, with resolute purpose to strike out all superfluous words and to substitute an expressive word for every fine word. You will hesitate to blot many a pet phrase, of whose invention you felt proud at the moment of its birth ; but, if it is circumlocution, pass the pen through it ruthlessly, and hy degrees } T ou will train yourself to the crowning victory of art, — simplicity. If you cannot find such a friendly critic, and the fit are few, you may achieve the object by your own effort, though less speedily and perfectly. Take one of our writers of the purest English ; read a page ; write his thoughts in your own words ; compare your composition with his, mark line by line the differences, correct your 62 The Art of Writing. writing from his text, then repeat the task, bearing in memory the faults you had committed before and striving to avoid them ; this exercise often repeated will tutor you to write well ; but it is more laborious than learning from a teacher, and will demand a large measure of patience and perseverance. When you are writing on any subject, address yourself to it directly. Come to the point as speedily as possible, and do not walk round and about it, as if you were re- luctant to grapple with it. There is so much to be read nowadays that it is the duty of all who write to con- dense their thoughts and words. This cannot always be done in speaking, where slow minds must follow your faster lips ; but it is alwaj^s practicable in writing, where the reader may move slowly, or repeat what he has not understood on the first passing of the eye over the words. In constructing your sentences, marshal the words in the order of thought, — that is the natural, and therefore the most intelligible shape for language to assume. In conversation we do this instinctively, but in writing the rule is almost always set at defiance. The man who would tell you a story in a plain, straightforward way could not write it without falling into utter confusion and placing almost every word' precisely where it ought not to be. In learning to write, then, let this be your next care. Probably it will demand much toil at first in re- writing for the sake of redistributing your words ; ac- quired habit of long standing will unconsciously mould your sentences to the accustomed shape ; but persevere, and you will certainly succeed at last, and your words will express your thoughts precisely as you think them, and as you desire that they should be impressed upon the The Art of Writing. 63 minds of those to whom they are addressed. So with the sentences. Let each be complete in itself, embodying one proposition. Shun that tangled skein in which some writers involve themselves, to the perplexity of their readers and their own manifest bewilderment. When you find a sentence falling into such a maze, halt and retrace your steps. Cancel what you have done, and reflect what you design to say. Set clearly before your mind the ideas that you had begun to mingle ; disentangle them, range them in orderly array, and so express them in dis- tinct sentences, where each will stand separate, but in its right relationship to all the rest. This exercise will im- prove > not onty your skill in the art of writing, but also in the art of thinking, for those involved sentences are almost always the result of confused thoughts ; the resolve to write clearly will compel you to think clearly, and you will be surprised to discover how often thoughts, which had appeared to you definite in contemplation, are found when you come to set them upon paper, to be most in- complete and shadowy. These hints will, perhaps, suffice to give you aid in the art of writing, so far as it is a necessary introduction to the art of speaking, and that is all that I purpose to at- tempt in these letters. ART OF READING, ILetUr X. BEADING. Turn now to the art of reading; for that also is a necessary introduction to the art of speaking. To be a successful speaker you must have something to say ; you must be able to clothe what you desire to say in the best language ; and you must give utterance to that lan- guage in such fashion as to win and hold the ears of your audience. Books and reflection will supply thoughts ; composition will enable } r ou to put those thoughts into words ; reading will teach you to express those words rightly. If you do these things well, you will be a great orator ; but it is not essential to success in speaking that you should attain proficiency in each of these acquire- ments. Many public speakers of high reputation fail in one or more of the accomplishments required by a great orator ; but this is a defect in them, to be avoided so far as you can, — not a manner specially to be imitated. Be- cause one distinguished man hesitates in his speech, another is ungainly in action, a third does not frame a complete sentence, and a fourth is at a loss for words, 64 The Art of Reading. 65 you are not to deem yourself exempt from endeavors to avoid the faults into which they have fallen. They are not the less faults, — not the less to be shunned. If you desire success, you must consent to learn what to do and what to shun, and strive earnestly to put in practice what you have so learned. It is true that many persons speak well who read badly, and good reading is not necessarily allied with good speaking ; but I confidently assert that the two arts are so nearly connected that the surest way to learn to speak is to learn to read. But it is not alone as a path- way to speaking that I earnestly exhort you to the study of reading. It is an accomplishment to be sought for its own sake. It has incalculable uses and advantages, apart from its introduction to oratory. Tolerable readers are few ; good readers are extremely rare. Not one educated man in ten can read a paragraph in a newspaper with so much propriety that to listen to him is a pleasure and not a pain. Nine persons out of ten are unable so to express the words as to convey their meaning ; they pervert the sense of the sentence by emphasizing in the wrong place, or deprive it of all sense by a monotonous gabble, giving no emphasis to any word they utter ; they neglect the w stops," as they are called ; they make harsh music with their voices ; they hiss, or croak, or splutter, or mutter, — everything but speak the words set down for them as they would have talked them to you out of book. Why should this be? Why should correct reading be rare, pleasant reading rarer still, and good reading found only in one man in ten thousand ? The enthusiastic ad- vocates for popular music assert that every man who can speak can sing, if he would only learn the art of singing, 5 66 The Art of Reading. If this be true of singing, much more is it true of read- ing. It is quite certain that every man, woman, and child, who can talk, may read, if resolute to learn to read, and, not content to read anyhow, look upon read- ing as an accomplishment. I do not say that every per- son who* labors to acquire the art will be enabled to read well; to this certain natural qualifications are requisite, which are not given to all in the same proportions, and to some are denied altogether ; and others may be impeded by the presence of defects that may be relieved, though not quite cured. But it is in the power of every person, not having some natural deformity, such as a stammer, to learn to read correctly, so that his hearers may under- stand what he reads, and pleasantly enough not to vex their ears or otfend their tastes. If you can but attain to this, it is an acquirement that will be of great service in life ; it will spare you many unpleasant sensations of conscious awkwardness when you are compelled to read aloud to others. Few private persons can altogether escape this demand upon them ; but a professional man cannot hope to do so. His business will certainly make continual calls upon his lips. A barrister, above all men, next to a clergyman, needs to read well, because he is daily required to read. A solicitor may hope to escape by shunning the practice that requires his appearance in the courts ; but in vain. In his office he must sometimes read to his clients. If they excuse him, the public will not. A solicitor, especially in a provincial town, is looked upon as public property. He is expected, by virtue of his profession as a lawyer, to be the mouth-piece of the public of his locality ; he is pressed into the service in all public affairs, thrust into the chair at public meet- The Art of Reading. * 67 mgs, or enlisted as honorary secretary for societies, and required to read " the annual report" at the annual meet* ing : or resolutions are forced into his hands to be moved or seconded, or at elections he must speechify to the " worthy and independent " electors ; or he is made the mayor, and called upon to read addresses to great per- sonages, or to submit no end of reports and corre- spondence to the town council on matters of local impor- tance. Every lawyer ought undoubtedly to learn to read, which branch of the profession soever he may choose to practise, and whether he does or does not aspire to be a speaker. My purpose now is to submit to you some hints for acquiring the art of reading. The requirements of a reader are twofold : first, to express rigidly what he reads ; and, secondly, to do this pleasantly. First, of reading rightly. By this I mean correct reading. That is to say, expressing fully and truly the author's meaning, — saying for him what he designed to say, and so transmitting to the mind of the listener the ideas which the author desired to impart. To compre- hend fully what } T ou ought to do when you undertake to read a book aloud, you should suppose that the thoughts you are going to utter are your own, coming from your own mind, and ask yourself how, if they had been your thoughts, and you had spoken them instead of writing them, you would have expressed them. This is the grand rule for. reading. The foundation of good reading is the perfect understanding of what you read. Without this you will never be a reader, whatever other qualifications you ma} T possess. Strive, then, above 68 The Art of Reading. all, and first of all, after this, and the rest will probably follow. It is one of the many benefits of learning to read, that you must also learn what you read. Until you have tried it, you cannot conceive the mighty differ- ence there is in the knowledge you acquire of an author when you read him aloud and when you only peruse him silently. In the former case you must grasp every thought, ever}^ word, in all its significance ; in the latter, you are apt to pass over much of information or of beauty, through inattention or impatience for the stoiy. Of our greatest writers — the men of genius — it may be asserted that you cannot know them fully or appreciate them rightly until you have read them aloud. If you doubt this, make trial with a play of Shakespeare ; and, however often you may have perused it silently, however perfectly you may imagine yourself to be acquainted with it, when you read it aloud you will find infinite subtilties of the poet's genius which you had never discovered before. I can proffer to you no rules for learning to understand what you read. The faculty is a natural gift, var}ing in degree with the other intellectual powers. But every person of sound mind is .capable of comprehending the meaning of a writer who expresses himself clearly in plain language. Learned works can be understood only by learned men ; but there are none who cannot appreciate a pictorial narrative ; few who cannot enjoy a sensible re- flection, a truthful sentiment, a poetical thought, a grace- ful style. To become a reader, however, you must advance a little beyond this. You must be enabled instantly to perceive these features, for you will be re- quired to give expression to them on the instant. As The Art of Reading. 69 fast as your eye falls upon the words should the intelli- gence they are designed to convey flash through your mind. You cannot pause to reflect on the author's mean- ing, — your hesitation would be seen and felt, ^ow this rapidity of perception is mainly a matter of habit. It can come only from so much practice that the words suggest the thought at the moment they -are pre- sented. In this the studies previously recommended for the acquirement of the art of writing will very much assist you. At the beginning of your exercises, if you do not already possess that rapidity of perception of an author's meaning, } T ou should practise yourself by reading silently and slowly two or three pages of some book by some writer of genius, pausing at the end of each sentence to ask yourself what the author designed to sa}\ Be not content with some general answer, but assure yourself that £OU really comprehend him clearly, by putting the thought into other words. This is a troublesome process ; but it is very successful, and the labor at the beginning is saved at the end ; for 3-011 will learn your lesson in a shorter time. I would even recommend that you perform this exercise in writing ; for then }T>u cannot escape in vagueness of idea, as when you trust to thought only. But whether } r ou do or do not submit to that laborious task, you must read often and in silence before you begin to read the same pages aloud. Having, as you suppose, thus tolerably mastered the meaning of the written pages, you may proceed to read them aloud. This process is of itself a monitor ; for, if you have not found the meaning, you will be conscious of awkwardness in your manner of reading. Failing in 70 The Art of Reading. the first attempt, try again, and again, and again, until you are enabled to express the thoughts as fast as the words are presented to your eye. By such exercises as these, you will be assisted in the attainment of the first and most important qualification for a reader, — the clear comprehension of the writer's meaning, seized at the very moment that his words are presented to your mind through the eye. better X3L THE ABT OF BEADING—WHAT TO AVOID — ' ARTICULATION. If you rightly understand what you read, you will express it rightly. But it is also necessary to under- stand it readily, so as to read readily as well as rightly* Herein is the difference between reading aloud and read- ing silently. When you read silently, you can pause to ponder upon the meaning intended to be conveyed by the writer, and you should search for it till you have found it, and for that purpose you may try back and reperuse the sentence or the page as often as may be necessary. When reading aloud, you have no such liberty for pause, reflection, and repetition. You must proceed, right or wrong, understanding or misunderstanding. The mean- ing of what you are to read must be caught at the instant your eye falls upon the words, or there will be hesitation What to Avoid — Articulation. 71 in j-our speech, very perceptible to }~our audience, and very disagreeable. Practice alone will enable you to attain this rapid apprehension of the thoughts conveyed in the words. It cannot be taught ; there are no rules for it, — practice is the only path to its acquirement. Having learned to express rightly and readily th6 thoughts which the writer whose language you are read- ing designed to convey, you have laid broadly and strongly the foundations for success in the art of reading. But it is the foundation only of the art ; all the ornament is to come. It is not enough to read rightly ; you must read pleasantly as well as correctly, so that your hearers may not only be enabled to understand, but induced to listen. A dull, monotonous reader will not win the ear, however faultless his rendering of the sense of what he reads. Your reading will not be profitable to others, Tinless it is also pleasant to them. I proceed to give you some hints how to make it so. First, I must tell you what you ought not to do. Shun equally mannerism and monotony. Do not, at the moment you open the book to read aloud, change your tone and style of speaking, as is the evil habit of so many persons. The term " many," indeed, scarcely expresses the universality of this fault. The exceptions are extremely rare. Nineteen persons out of twenty read in a tone and with a manner altogether different from those in which they would have uttered the same sentences out of book. It is a bad habit, probably acquired from bad teaching in childhood, which they do not shake off in after years, because they have not practised reading or sought to attain something of it as an art. It is curious to note how a sentence, spoken at 72 The Art of Reading. one moment in the most natural, and therefore truthful and expressive, manner, is followed instantly by a sen- tence read from a book with tone and manner entirely different, either stilted and affected or inexpressive and stupid, but thoroughly unnatural and artificial; and* then, if the book be closed, without the pause of a moment, the talk will be resumed in the same easy strain as before. This is the first defect to be re- moved. Before you can hope to read well, you must thoroughly emancipate yourself from this bad habit of treating reading as an operation altogether different from talking. But you will ask me how you may learn to do this. You must first distinctly recognize the fault, for, as with most faults, knowledge is half way towards cure. You must remember, also, that in this instance your business is more to unlearn than to learn. You have acquired a bad habit, and you must rid yourself of that; you have laboriously taught yourself to be affected and unnatural, and you have to lay affectation aside before you can read naturally. But that, joxjl will say, is the great difficulty. You are right ; it is far more easy to learn than to unlearn. A. bad habit, of slow growth, and long cherished, is not thrown off without the exercise of much firmness and persistency. It can be conquered, if you will that it shall be conquered. Time and practice are the remedies. A few days, a few months even, may not suffice to effect a perfect cure ; but week by week there will be a perceptible improvement ; and, though the fault may be never wholly removed, you will soon find such a lessening of it that you need not be ashamed to read anything aloud anywhere. What to Avoid — Articulation. 73 Clearly understanding your fault, betake yourself to a room where, being alone, you will not be shy of failure, and give yourself your first lesson in the art of reading, and thenceforth let this besetting sin be ever before you when you are practising ; for if you forget it for a moment, during your earlier studies, at least, you will certainly relapse into the old strain. Do not begin with poetry, or speeches, or any kind of rythmical composition that has a tendency to provoke old habits. You would sing poetry, and mouth an oration ; everybody does who has not studied reading as an art. But select some veiy simple narrative, especially if it contains a conversa- tional dialogue, such as people talk in real life. Before you pronounce a word, ask yourself this question : " If I were going to tell this story out of my own head, instead of reading it from this book, to a friend sitting in that chair, rnyself sitting quite as composedly in this one, how should I utter it?" In such manner try now to read it aloud, addressing the said chair as if your friend was there in person. At first make no attempt to read well; practise nothing but how to read naturally. Repeat the same reading several times in succession, noting with a pencil such passages as you feel not to have been prop- erly spoken, and when you come to them again take special pains to avoid the fault of which 3 r ou were con- scious before. Suppose that you choose for your first lesson, Anderssen's clever story of the " Emperor's New Clothes " (and you could not find a better for your pur- pose). Think how you would tell it to your family cir- cle, after dark, before a Christmas fire, and in that man- ner try to read it. The perfection of such a reading would be, so to read that the eyes only of your audience, 74 The Art of Reading. and not their ears, could tell them that you are reading. This must be your aim, and to this skill you will grad- ually approach, — insensibly, perhaps, if day be measured by day, but perceptibly enough to a listener at intervals of a month. I dwell thus upon this first step in your self-teaching, because it lies at the foundation of good reading ; and if the faults of early habit are not thrown off, and a natural manner restored, whatsoever your other accom- plishments, you cannot become a good reader. The art of reading can be mastered only by practice, conducted as I have described (for I am treating now of ^/-instruc- tion), and that practice persistently pursued for a long time. I would recommend to you that, at the beginning, you give your exclusive attention to this subject. It should engross your thoughts during your reading practice. Have no other care than how to read naturally. When you have made some manifest progress in this, and you are conscious that you are beginning to read as unaf- fectedly as you talk, you may begin to have regard to the other qualifications of a reader. And of these the first is to sound your words. Here, too, you will probably have much to ?mlearn. It is almost certain that you have fallen into habits of slov- enly utterance, acquired in early childhood, and never afterwards corrected ; for at school it is seldom deemed necessary to teach the pupil to speak and read ; it seems to be taken for granted that he can do thus much, or that it is a matter for his own correction only, and not within the province of a regular educational course. Moreover, in our daily talk we do not speak distinctly. We drop What to Avoid — Articulation. 75 letters, we join words, we slur sounds, we mutter much that should be spoken. This is peculiarly an English fault, and you must guard against it sedulously, for it is a bar to good reading. The cure for it is the same as for the habit already noticed, — practice, — until you have so conquered it that the full sound of the word comes to your lips as readily as the imperfect sound to which they had been trained before. You must begin by an exag- geration of expression slowly repeated ; for it is sup- posed that you pursue this study alone, or with only a friendly adviser. Taking your book, pronounce each word deliberately, with a short pause between each one, and giving positive expression to every sound in the word. Make no attempt during this practice to do more than pronounce. Do not try to read; your present pur- pose is to master articulation. Remember this, that there are very few words with letters in them actually mute. Such letters are not sounded separately, it is true, but for the most part they modify the sound of other letters. Give to each sound that goes to make up the word its full value; do not omit to roll the " r's," and hiss the " s's," while learning j T our lesson ; there is no danger of your running into the extreme of expression. Having in this manner read a sentence very slowty, read it again some- what less slowly, and so three or four times, increasing the speed of utterance, until you find that you read it with ease and readiness. An articulation so acquired is of in- finite advantage, for it is thus that you make yourself distinctly heard afar off as well as near, and thus it is that you are enabled to express the most delicate shades of emotion by the most delicate inflections of sound. 76 Pronunciation — Expression. ^Letter %M. pb ojsruJsrciA tion — expression. Having, by slow reading and giving full expression to every sound, tutored yourself in articulation, and subdued the habitual tendency of the tongue to drop letters, Slur syllables, and dovetail words, you may gradually resume the proper speed in reading ; pausing, however, and re- peating the lesson, whenever you find yourself returning to your old habits of speech. The time thus spent will be a gain to you in the end ; for you cannot read well until this mechanical portion of the art is accomplished mechanically, without requiring the aid of the mind, which must be engaged upon other parts of your work. If you are considering how you shall pronounce your words, you cannot be thinking also what is the meaning of the author, and how it should be conveyed to your audience, — the only matters upon which the mind should be occupied while practising the art of reading. There- fore will it be necessary for you to exercise yourself in articulation for a very long time, and not to cease from practice, until you have so mastered it that you articulate well unconsciously, without thinking how you are to articulate. When you can articulate your words well, turn your attention to the pronunciation of sentences. In learning to articulate, you have practised with single words, giv- ing to each its full sound, without reference to its asso- ciation with other words. You will now study how to Pronunciation — Expression. 7 7 pronounce many words placed together. In this process you have not, as before, to sound each word in full ; but you must mould the pronunciation of each according to the meaning it is designed to convey, and also in accordance with certain conventional laws of speech, by which, in a collocation of sounds, some are subordi- nated to others, and some modified so as to harmonize with those which precede or follow. Here, again, teach- ers of elocution profess to prescribe rules for the guidance of the pupil, which may be correct in themselves ; but the observance of which would certainly make the reader who tries to observe them an ungainly pedant, and his reading a positive pain to his audience. Pronunciation is, in truth, a matter of taste and ear, and if you cannot learn it by help of these monitors within, you will never master it by rules prescribed from without. I am treating now of pronunciation merely. The right expression to be given to sentences will be the subject for much more extended consideration presently. Practice and patience are the only hints I can offer you for the acquirement of a correct and pleasing pronuncia- tion. But it is almost certain that you will not be en- tirely free from defects acquired in early life, and espe- cially from provincialisms, of which it is so very hard to rid yourself, because you are not conscious of their presence. The sounds of the first words written on your memory are hard to be obliterated, and never can be cor- rected by your own unaided efforts. The simple remedy is to invite the assistance of a friend, who will be quite as efficient for the purpose as a master ; ask him to listen while you read, and to detect any provincialisms, or faulty or slovenly pronunciations, of which you may be Jr8 Pronunciation — Expression. guilty. Direct him to stop you as the word is spoken, and show you your error by uttering to you the word, first, as you spoke it, and then as it ought to have been spoken ; and you should repeat it again and again, until he ceases to find any fault with it. When you have thus completed a sentence and corrected every word that was imperfectly pronounced, read it again twice or thrice, rapidly but clearly, to be sure that you have caught the true sounds ; then, after an interval of diversion of the ear by reading other things, return to the passages that were the most incorrectly read, and try them again, until you can read them rightly without reflection or pause. Scoring the imperfectly pronounced words with a pencil, as your listening friend, or your own ear, tells you of their faultiness, will assist you in the performance of this useful exercise. Having thus acquired distinct articulation and correct pronunciation, you will address yourself to the third stage in the art of reading, — expression. Not merely must single words be fully sounded, and collected words rightly sounded, but that which you read requires to be uttered in the proper tone and with correct emphasis. I shall best explain to you what I mean by this, and con- vince you of its importance, by looking at the sources of it. Speech is one, and the most frequent, of the media by which mind communicates with mind. When you ad- dress another person, it is your purpose either to convey to him some fact, or to excite in him some emotion, or to convince him by some argument. Strict philosophy would assign this third object to the former ones ; but, as I am not writing a philosophical treatise, but merely telling you my experiences as to the best manner of Pronunciation — Expression. 79 learning an art, I prefer this threefold description as most intelligible. Whatever the mind desires to convey it expresses, natural^ and unconsciously, in a manner of its own. You will instantly recognize this natural language in the expression of the more powerful emo- tions, — joy, grief, fear. Each has its proper tone, the meaning of which is recognized by all human beings, whether the emotion be or be not shaped into speech. But the finer emotions have their own appropriate ex- pression also, which you may discover if 3XH1 observe closely, diminishing by delicate shades until they can be caught only by the refined ear, and from which we may conclude that whatever the mind desires to express in speech is naturally and unconsciously uttered in a tone appropriate to itself, and which tone is adapted to excite the corresponding emotion in the mind to which it is addressed. You feel alarm. Your voice, without effort on your part, sounds the note of alarm ; it falls upon the ear and passes into the mind of another man, and instantly excites the same emotion in him. You are oppressed with grief. You give utterance to } r our grief in tones of sadness ; the mind that hears them feels sad too ; the same emotion is awakened in that mind by the faculty which is called sympathy, Words that come from the mind are but the mind made audible, and therefore must vary with every wave of thought or feeling. This is what I mean by expression in reading. We have not always expression when we speak, be- cause sometimes we talk almost mechanically, without the mind being engaged ; or, rather, with no purpose to convey any state of our own mind to the minds of others. That kind of talk you will readily recognize. There is 80 Pronunciation — Expression. another sort of speech that may be without expression, which we call speaking by rote, where words come from the memory only, and not from the mind. This excep- tion, indeed, admirably illustrates the rule. It is a proverbial saying that a man talks like a parrot, — by rote, — to imply that he is merely reproducing sounds that have been impressed upon his memory, and not giving utterance to thoughts and feelings existing in his mind. You know the unmistakable monotony of speech by rote, and may thus, perhaps, more clearly apprehend my meaning when, in these letters, I treat only of the speech that expresses by infinite tones the infinite condi- tions of the mind from which it proceeds. You will readily gather from this brief sketch of the source of expression that it is a mental process, and that the surest, if not the only, way to accomplish it is to speak from the mind. If, in reading, you were uttering your own thoughts, there would be no difficult}^ in this, for nature would supply the right tones without an effort, and even without consciousness, on your part. You will say, perhaps, that in reading you do not express your own mind, but the mind of another. That is true ; but the same principle applies. In order to read well, you must make the thoughts of the author your ovm. This is a special faculty, possessed by various minds in various degrees. I can best explain it to you by reference to the case of the actor, who is a reader from meinoiy instead of from book, and in whom the faculty is so highly culti- vated that its operation can be most clearly seen. But the subject will, require a longer exposition than could properly be given to it at the close of a letter ; so at this point I pause. The AH of the A ctor and the Reader. 8 1 ILetter XIII. THE ABT OF THE ACT OB AND THE BEADEB. The actor reads from his memory instead of reading from a book ; and he adds action ta expression. The reader reads from the book, and not from his memory ; but he should recite what he reads in precisely the same manner as does the actor. You have often heard it said of a man that he reads in a theatrical manner, as if that is a fault in him ; but, before it is admitted to be a fault, we must understand precisely in what sense the phrase is used. The term might be employed to indicate reading like a bad actor or like a good one. Some per- sons, educated in evil habits of reading, unaccustomed to hear good reading, and who have never contemplated reading as an art and an accomplishment, might igno- rantly denounce as " theatrical " any reading that rises above gabbling, and all attempts to give natural expres- sion to the words and thoughts. Such reading is " theatrical," indeed, but only in a commendable sense. There is, however, a theatrical manner, that is called so reproachfully, and with justice ; for it means reading like a bad actor, — ranting, mouthy, and declamatory, or lugubrious and droning ; tearing a passion to tatters, swelling into sing-song, or lapsing into a monotonous drawl. Exaggerated expression in reading is like a part overacted on the stage ; but it is preferable to the ab- sence of expression ; and therefore see that you do not fall into the fault of monotony through fear of being called " theatrical." 6 82 The Art of the Actor and the Reader. The faculty by which an actor is enabled to accomplish his task is that which gives to him the power of forgetting himself and becoming somebody else. Reflect for a moment what a man must do in order to play some part in a drama, — Hamlet, for instance. He must become Hamlet for the time, and for that time he must cease to be himself; he must think and feel as Hamlet, or he cannot look and move like Hamlet. He does not this by a process of argument ; he does not read a scene in the play, and then say to himself, " Here Hamlet is awe- stricken at the appearance of the ghost, and to look as if I was awe-stricken I must stand in this posture, and open my eyes thus wide, and make my voice quiver, — so, — and speak in such a tone." All this would be impossible of acquirement as a matter of teaching, for the memory could never carry such a multitude of direc- tions and recall them at the right moment. The actual process is more simple. The true actor reads the play ; he ascertains what was the character of Hamlet ; he learns the language put into Hamlet's mouth. When he reproduces it, he becomes Hamlet, feels and thinks as Hamlet ; the words have entered into his mind and excited there the precise emotions Hamlet was imagined to feel by the genius that created him. He feels them, not by rule, or by an effort of his own, but instinctively. The mind being moved, the voice, the aspect, the action, express the mind's emotions. It was thus that the dramatist wrote. He, too, did not artfully construct the thoughts and emotions conveyed by the words spoken by his personages. Placing his own mind in their posi- tions, he felt the feelings and thought the thoughts which such persons in such cases would have felt and thought, The A rt of the A ctor and the Reader. 83 and these he clothed in appropriate language. The actor seizes upon the same personages, performs the same process of placing himself in imagination in the same positions, feels and thinks thus, and therefore rightly expresses the emotions and thoughts of the author. The difference between the genius of the actor and the genius of the author is this, — that the actor does not create, he merely expresses the creations of the author. Although the creative genius is the greatest, great is the genius that can embody those creations, and make them live before our eyes. When the process is contemplated, we cannot but marvel much at the power that can so identify itself with the emotions of another mind as to become that mind for a season, feel all that it felt, think all that it thought, and then express those thoughts and feelings, as the creator of the character would have expressed them, had he possessed the power to do so. To be a good reader, }T>u must possess a portion of this faculty of the actor. The great actor has two men- tal powers that are perfectly distinct, each of which might exist without the other. He must be able to read truly and to act rightly. It is not enough for Mm that he can read the part as it ought to be read ; he must also be able to act it as it ought to be acted. Herein is the difference between the actor and the reader. The reader requires to be only half an actor ; he needs but to be accomplished in the first portion of the actor's art. Hence it is more easy to be a good reader than a good actor ; hence it is that, although a good actor must be a good reader, you may be a very good reader without being also a good actor. But bear this in mind, that you should endeavor to accomplish yourself even to the 84 The Art of the A ctor and the Reader. actor's skill in reading, and that the test of your excel- lence will be precisely that which would be applied to the reading of his part by the actor upon the stage. As the critic would sit in judgment on the manner in which an actor reads Hamlet when he acts it, — that is to say, how he expresses the words, apart from the acting, — so would a judicious critic judge your reading of it when seated in the drawing-room. The rules to be observed by both are the same ; the same effects are to be studied, the same intonations to be used. You should so read that, if the listener's eyes were bandaged, he could not tell that jow. were not acting, save by perceiving that your voice is stationary. I have dwelt on this connection and distinction between acting and reading, because they are seldom rightly understood even by those who have studied the art of reading. Some, fearing to be thought " theatrical," make a positive endeavor to avoid reading as an actor should read ; and, on the other hand, some think that acting and reading are identical, and rush into a manner- ism that imperfectly unites the two and spoils both, and these are the readers to whom the reproach of being "theatrical" properly applies. By clearly understand- ing what is the precise boundary between reading and acting, — how nearly they approach, but never touch, — you will, I hope, educate yourself to advance boldly to the boundary of your art, without trespassing beyond it into the territory that belongs exclusively to the actor. I cannot too often repeat to } r ou that the foundations of the art of reading are understanding and feeling. If you do not clearly see the writer's meaning, you cannot interpret truly his thoughts ; and, unless you can feel the The Art of the Actor and the Reader. 85 emotions he is painting, you cannot give the right expies- sion to the words that breathe them. If you are deficient in either of these faculties, no study will make you a good reader. Having these natural gifts, all the rest may be acquired by diligence and training. I do not assert that, without these qualifications, it is useless to learn the art of reading. I desire only to warn you that, wanting them, or either of them, you may not hope to become an accomplished reader. But you may acquire sufficient of the art for all the ordinary purposes of business or recreation ; you may read easily to yourself and pleasantly to others, — more pleasantly, indeed, than many who possess the natural qualifications you want, but want the training you have received. Do not, there- fore, be disheartened should you discover that you cannot throw your mind instantly into the conceptions of the author, so as to think and feel them as if they had been your own ; but manfully resolve to learn to do that which not one educated man in ten can do, namely, to read a page of prose or poetry with common propriety, to say nothing of reading it with effect. And do not too hastily conclude that you have not the faculties in question. Rarely are they quite absent from an}' mind. Often they lie dormant for want of cultiva- tion and stimulus, unknown even to the possessor, until some accident reveals to himself and others the capacities of which he was not before conscious. They may be awakened from sleep ; they may be stimulated into action ; they may be cultivated into excellence. Be assured that they are quite wanting in you before }'ou despair. Do not resign on the first trial. Persevere until conviction is forced upon you. 86 The Art of the A ctor and the Reader. How may you ascertain this important fact? Take some dramatic composition, some play of Shakespeare which you have not seen upon the stage, or a chapter of dialogue in a novel, and read it aloud. Are you con- scious that you understand the author's meaning? Do you feel the emotions he expresses, or do they go into your ear and out at your lips without passing through your mind and there becoming instinct with soul, so that you speak living words, and not mere inanimate sounds? Your own feelings will soon tell you if you have any sj'mpathies with the author. But if you are unwilling to trust yourself, ask the same judicious friend, before recommended as }'our assistant, to lend you his ears for half an hour's reading. He can surely tell, if you cannot, whether } T ou read with emotion or by rote. Improve } T ourself by hearing good reading and seeing good acting whensoever the opportunity offers ; and, comparing your own reading with that of the reader or actor, you will the more readily discover your own deficiencies and set to mending them. Thus we arrive at the conclusion that reading is an art which all may acquire sufficiently for the daily uses of life at home or abroad. As an accomplishment, where the pleasure of the audience is the object, reading must be something more than tolerable, — it must be good. Management of the Voice — Tone. 87 letter £EF* THE MANAGEMENT OF THE VOICE— TONE. £ save endeavored to explain to you, that to become a good reader you must learn to pronounce the words properly and express the sense rightly. These are the indispensable foundations of reading ; but divers accom- plishments of various values must be superadded. Of these presently. You now understand, I hope, what it is you have need to acquire. I will now proceed to give you some hints (for it will be impossible to do more by writing than suggest) how to pursue this acquirement ; how you may best learn to read correctly and expressioely. As I have already observed, the first step is the most difficult, — it is the banishment of positive faults. Few are free from them altogether ; they are painfully prom- inent in the majority of persons, however highty educated. There is but one training that will cure these defects. You may modify, but you cannot remove, them by your own unaided efforts, because, so much has habit familiarized them, you are not conscious of their presence. A judicious friend would indicate them to you ; so would a master ; but a friend is preferable, for masters v are almost always infected with mannerism, and there is the utmost danger of their infecting you. A friend who would serve you by listening and indicating your faults on the instant, compelling you to repetition of the word or the sentence until it is mended, is the best possible teacher. Perhaps in your own family circle you may find 88 Management of the Voice — Tone, some to do this good office. The fault thus indicated^ and at once amended, is not readily forgotten afterwards. When the same word recurs, you remember the fault and avoid it, until after a while you will find the right pro- nunciation or reading as familiar to you as was the wrong one. To this, however, perseverance is needful. Errors entertained from childhood are not banished in a day. The lesson must be repeated daily, until no pause for reflection Jioiu to speak is manifest. "When you have attained to this the fault is conquered. Positive faults removed, the next step will be to ac- quire the accomplishments. You have learned what not to do, you will next learn what to do. The most frequent faults are imperfect articulation, provincialisms, bad management of the voice, monotony, absence of emphasis, and emphasizing in the wrong place. A few words on each of these. Imperfect articulation, its causes and its cure, have been already treated of. Provincial pronunciation has the same origin ; early associations become so much a habit that you are uncon- scious of their presence. A listener, not from the same part of the country, can alone detect the presence of these provincialisms and set you to mending them. Both this and imperfect articulation are of all faults the most difficult to remove, and they can be conquered only by patience and perseverance. It is not the work of a day, or a week ; months, or even years, may be required thoroughly to subdue them. The management of the voice is a point of very great importance in reading. There is, first, the regulation of Management of the Voice — Tone. 89 the breath. You cannot breathe, while reading, without a perceptible pause, and more or less of alteration in the tone of the voice, produced by the change from the empty to the full lung affecting the pressure upon the delicate organs of speech. Hence the necessity for so regulating the breath that it may be drawn at the right moment. Where sentences are not very long, there is no great difficulty in breathing at the close of a sentence ; but sometimes sentences are extended through many lines, and the sense requires that the voice should be evenly sustained from the beginning to the end. In such a case you must breathe before its conclusion. The effort will be least perceptible if you seize a convenient mo- ment for a pause, which, by a little art, might be made to appear as a pause required by the subject, and thus an operation really wanted for your own relief may, \>y in- genuity, add efficiency to the reading, relieving the monotony of sound, and giving time to the listener to follow the sense, which, in such cases, is usually involved in a wilderness of words. But there is one rule for the management of breathing which is equally applicable to all occasions. Invariably breathe through the nostrils, and not through the mouth. This is the golden rule for read- ing and for speaking. If you do not observe this rule, your utterance will be a series of spasmodic gasps. Breathing through the nostrils, the air is slowly admit- ted, the lungs expand, and the chest rises with an equa- ble motion that prevents the voice from quivering, and its tones from changing abruptly. At all times the voice requires to be kept under con- trol. Some readers do not speak out, but as many are unable to keep rein upon their voices. Both are faults 9° Management of the Voice — Tone. of almost equal degree. Both may be natural defects, incapable of cure ; but far more frequently they are the results of bad training, or no training, in early youth. In such cases the cure is not difficult. Simply to speak oat should be the first lesson. Go into a room alone, or, still better, into a field, and read aloud at the top of your voice ; thus you will learn what power of voice is in you, and ascertain w r hat you can do, if need be. If you find your voice weak, repeat the process day by clay, for weeks or months, and its strength will certainly be increased, sufficiently, at least, for all the purposes of ordinary reading. If your breathing is short, that, too, will be strengthened by the same exercise ; and I have found no little benefit from a practice which seems rather formidable at first, namely, reading aloud as you walk up hill. Not merely does this strengthen the lungs, but it teaches you the scarcely less important acquirement of regulating the supply of the breath to the voice, upon which you must depend mainly for ease in reading. To husband the breath is in itself an art, for, if you pour out too much, you exhaust the lungs and must replenish them before a proper pause in the sentence permits of it, to the equal annoyance of your audience and of yourself. You may measure your capacity in this respect by taking a full inspiration, and then at regular intervals counting one, two, three, etc., and the number you can thus ex- press at one breath, without refilling the chest, will show you, not only the power of j r our lungs, but also the con- trol Which yow have over them in regulating the exit of the breath. Make a note of the number to which you attain at the beginning of your training, and compare it Management of the Voice — Tone. 91 from time to time with present capacities, and you will see what has been your progress. But not only must you acquire power of voice, you must learn also to regulate the voice. This is an accom- plishment far more difficult than mere strength of voice, as may be seen by the comparative infrequency of the at- tainment. How many persons, in all other respects good readers, are wanting in the power of intonation ! They read right on, perhaps with a fine, full, sonorous, and even musical voice, that is in itself very pleasing, but which we find to be a monotone. Let this be ever so rich or sweet in itself, it palls by its monotony. The ear soon longs even for a discord to disturb that smooth stream of sound which, delightful at first, after a while becomes wearisome, and, in the end, positively painful. Only one degree worse than this is a weak or dissonant voice. Whatever yours may be, }t>u must strive indus- triously to avoid monotony and cultivate flexibilit} 7 of the organs of speech and variety of tone. Almost every sentence requires a change of the voice, according to the thought it utters. The tones of the voice are the natural expression of the mind — the natural language of the emotions — understood by all, felt by all, exciting the sympathies of all, appealing equally to all people of all countries, and of all classes. Unless you can express, by the tones of your voice, the emotions which the printed page before you is designed to convey, you cannot per- form your function of interpreter between the author and the audience, and you will fail to achieve the very pur- pose of your art. Closely scanned, you will discover that this is very nearly the measure of accomplishment in the art of read- 92 Management of the Voice — Tone. ing. Excellence consists in the command of tone. The presence of this power will compensate for the absence of many other good qualities ; its absence will not be compensated by the presence of all other excellences. Clear articulation, correct pronunciation, accurate ac- centuation, and the graces of a rich voice well managed, are not substitutes for those tones that express the emo- tions and ally sound with sense. Tone of the voice re- sembles expression of the countenance. How often have you admired a face that had not a single faultless feature, because it possessed the undefinable charm of expression ! So it is with readers. Where the mind flashes and sparkles in the voice, the listener first forgives, and then forgets, the gravest deficiencies in other requirements of the art. Therefore, cultivate tone. It is not a faculty you can acquire, because it is the result of certain characteristics of the mind ; but it may be educated. Indeed, education is necessary, not only to expand it, but to train it in the right direction. If you enjoy the mental capacity, you may want the physical power to express the feelings per- fectly. The largest emotion in your own breast would be dwarfed when expressed by a thin, small voice. Nev- ertheless, when the faculty is not altogether wanting, — and such a case is extremely rare, — it is capable of in- definite, though not unlimited, improvement. The phys- ical organs may be strengthened by judicious use, and the mind itself may be trained to a more rapid, as well as a more energetic, expression of its emotions. Submit yourself to a series of lessons set to yourself, and re- peated to yourself, if you have not a friend who will hear and correct them. Begin with the reading of a few pages Emphasis. 93 of some composition calculated to kindle strong emo- tions, and when, by frequent repetition, you have brought out the full meaning, turn to others in which the emo- tions to be expressed are more subtle. Having mastered these, advance to the still more delicate shades of mean- ing that require to be expressed by the slightest varia* tions of tone. Thus much being achieved, your work will be more than half accomplished ; the foundations will be laid upon which you will, with small comparative difficulty, advance to the next stage of self-instruction in the art of reading. ILttitx ITS. EMPHASIS. Emphasis is next to be studied, and it is entirely with- in the reach of self-attainment. Tone must, to some ex- tent, depend upon physical and mental qualifications ; but emphasis may be acquired by all. It is simply a stress laid upon words to which it is desired to attract the spe- cial attention of the listener, and the art of reading is not acquired until, — First, emphasis is placed upon the right words. Secondly, the right amount of emphasis is given to each word ; and, Thirdly, emphasis is not given to wrong words. It is very difficult to describe emphasis by language. It is not precisely a loud sound, nor a lengthened sound, nor a pause, nor a peculiar tone, although it partakes 94 Emphasis. something of all of these. If you do not clearly under* stand what it is, you may recognize it by reading half a dozen lines of the first book you open, uttering each word in the same manner, without the slightest change of ex- pression, and giving to particles and nouns the self-same value ; you will thus discover what language would be, if pronounced without emphasis. Read them now in your usual manner, and you will find that, instinctively, with- out so designing, you pass some words glibly over the tongue, almost stringing them together, and to others you give a marked prominence, by an effort, partly mental, partly physical, sometimes called a stress. That is em- phasis, and, next to tone, the right use of it is necessary to good reading. In mastering emphasis, then, you must first learn to place it upon the right words. How may you do this? Writers and lecturers on elocution profess to prescribe many rules for the purpose, which they expect you to commit to memory, and apply when you are reading. I will not dispute the correctness of these rules; perhaps it is in unconscious accordance with them that we read rightly ; but I am sure that no person ever reads by rule, even if he reads according to rule. A reader who should beat about in his memory for rules for reading, and pause to apply them, however rapidly he might per- form the process, would be a halting reader ; certainly he would never read from his mind, but only from his book, and there would be a pedantic stiffness and slowness, more unpleasing to an audience than wrong reading. I shall not trouble you with the reproduction of rules for that which, after all, is more the work of good taste, but content myself with a few hints how you may best Emphasis. 95 cultivate this important ingredient in the art of read- ing. Need I repeat that you must understand thoroughly what 3'Ou are reading? Without this, it is impossible that you can lay the emphasis rightly ; and, if } r ou rightly understand, you will emphasize well, by a natural im- pulse and unconsciously. But the faculty of rightly and quickly apprehending a writer's meaning is so rare that you cannot rely upon the possession of it. You must not be disheartened if you discover that it is but feeble in you. The degrees of its power are infinite, as various as there are men ; few can boast of its perfect enjoyment ; as it is a faculty capable of education, let a sense of its weakness in yourself serve only to stimulate you to put it in train- ing, by the simple process of reading a sentence from some great author and setting what you suppose to be its meaning in your own words. Be not content with think- ing what that meaning is, or you will be sure to skip the difficulties, but express it audibly, or, which is better, be- cause surer, write it. This, often repeated, will work speedy improvement in the accuracy and rapidity with which you will catch, from a glance at his words, what the author designed to convey. But it is not enough to know what words should be emphasized. You should study, also, what amount of emphasis to give to each. The soul of reading is variety. Scarcely any two words in a sentence require precisely the same quantity of emphasis. You may readily satisfy yourself of the necessity for varied stress on various words by reading a sentence aloud, but uttering the words to be emphasized with the same measure of emphasis. The effect will be ludicrous. The purpose g6 Emphasis. of emphasis is to impress upon the listener's mind the ideas to which it is desired to arrest his attention in proportion to their relative importance. In printing, this object is partially accomplished by the use of italic; but these italics do not convey different degrees of expres- sion, and in this respect an author perused in print is vastly less effective and interesting than when well read aloud. In writing, the same feeble attempt to supply the place of emphasis is made by lines under the words on which a stress is designed to be laid, the number of dashes indicating the writer's notions of the degree of emphasis he would have used had he been speaking. This is one step in advance of the italic of the printers, which admits of no variations, and both fall far short of the infinite flexibility of the voice. But the " dashes " of the writer and the italics of the printer remind me of a danger to which all who use emphasis are extremely liable. If you are given to "dashing" your words, doubtless you will have found it to be a growing habit. Having emphasized so many, you are compelled to emphasize so many more, in order to preserve their proportionate importance in relation to the rest, until your letters are ruled over like a music-book ; thus, trying to be very forcible, you have become very feeble. So it is with authors who indulge in italics; the appetite grows with gratification, until the number of them destroys their effect. The same fault is not uncommon with readers who emphasize over much. Here, too, the power of the stress is lost if it is overlaid, for much emphasis is even more disagreeable than none. You will be required to keep constant watch and ward over your- self, or ask indulgent friends to notify your fault to you, Emphasis. 97 if you would avoid a habit whose growth is imperceptible, and which, once acquired, is extremely difficult to be thrown aside. The best practice for the mastery of emphasis is to read a sentence, ponder upon its meaning, see that you understand it, or think you do ; then w T ith a pencil score the words on which the greatest stress should be laid. Read it aloud, emphasizing the words so marked, and those only. Then score in like manner, but with a shorter " dash," such words as require a lesser degree of emphasis. Read again, observing the two degrees of emphasis. Repeat the process a third, and even a fourth time, until you have exhausted all the words that appear to you to require any stress to be laid upon them. This is the first lesson. After a while you may spare yourself the tediousness of repeated readings of the same sentence, by thus scoring with lines of different lengths the words to be emphasized in whole paragraphs, pages, . and sections. But score them thus while reading silently, and afterwards read the whole aloud, pencil in hand ; the necessity for expression and the judgment of your ear will combine to test to a considerable extent the accuracy of your previous mental exercise ; and as you read, you should improve the score by additions and corrections, according to the discoveries you make of errors and omissions, and this do until you are satisfied with the reading, and the whole is marked as you would utter it. But not for a final closing. As you advance in the study and practice of the art of reading, you should, from time to time, revert to the pages that preserve your earlier impressions of the emphasis to be bestowed upon them, and repeat the reading, for the purpose of 7 98 Emphasis. learning, not only what progress you have made, but how your better knowledge has changed your first views. At each of such readings, alter the scoring according to your new conceptions ; you will thus measure your advance- ment, which mere memory will not enable you to do. All this will appear very easy, and perhaps of very little interest or utility. But, in truth, it is by no means an eas}^ task. Before you make trial of it, you will think that any school-boy might mark the words to which emphasis should be given in reading. At the first trial such will probably be your own reflection, and you will use your pencil with a rapidity extremely flattering to your self-complacency. But, on the second or third repetition, you will begin to discover that you had been moving too fast ; you will doubt the correctness of some of your readings ; other meanings will present them- selves ; you will be obliged to question closely the author's intent, that } t ou may solve your doubts ; this more minute inspection will reveal new difficulties, not merely of meaning, but as to the proper manner of expressing the meaning, and you will find yourself engaged, perhaps, in a task of elaborate criticism. Not until you have reached tliis stage in the study of the art of reading, will you fully comprehend its extent and value. "You may have been accustomed to look upon it as merely a graceful mechanical accomplishment ; you will now discover that it is a high mental attainment, demanding the cultivation and exercise of the loftiest intellectual powers. Pause — Punctuation, etc. 99 letter £FI* PAUSE — PUNCTUATION — MANAGEMENT OF THE BBEA TH— INFLECTION Thorough understanding of what you read is essential to the right use of emphasis in reading. You must know perfectly what you are going to express, or it will be impossible to give to it the true expression. But not only is it necessary for you to understand, you must seize the meaning with such rapidity that the conception of the author may be apprehended in the momentary interval between the entrance of the words at the eye and their exit through the lips. Remember that this is the utmost limit of time permitted to } t ou when you read aloud something you had not previously studied. Yet, immeasurably brief as is this interval, it suffices for ordi- nary purposes, and for compositions not pregnant with thought. But, to accomplish it, you must learn to keep your eye always in advance of your lips ; you must actually read one line while uttering another. If you did not so, how, possibty, could } t ou give the right expression to the beginning of the sentence, knowing not the purport of the entirety of it? In practice the art is not so diffi- cult as it appears in description. The worst readers exercise it to some extent, and experienced readers do it so unconsciously that they are probably not aware what a wonderful process it is. I can suggest to you no rules for its study or acquisition. I can recommend only per- severing practice. At first you will doubtless find yourself grievously in fault in your reading. You will ioo Pause — Punctuation — commence sentences, especially if long ones, with ex- pression utterly unsuited to the meaning as developed at their close. When you find this, try back, and read the same sentence rightly, with the aid of your better knowledge of its purport. By degrees j r ou will discover that eye and mind may be trained to travel onward in advance of the lips so far and fast that, when one sen- tence is concluded, the next will be given to your tongue fully prepared for utterance. It will not do to pause while your eye thus travels for- ward, unless the matter } T ou read admits of it. A long pause is extremely unpleasing to hearers, for it conveys an impression of incapacity to pronounce a word, or indicates a suppressed stammer. But, with cautious exercise of judgment, you might avail yourself of the proper pauses to lengthen the period allowed for the fore- casting of the eye, where a sentence is of unusual length or complication. The judicious use of this contrivance I must leave to your own good taste and correct ear ; there is no fixed measure of it, — nothing that can be reduced to rule. I come now to those pauses, or rests in the flow of speech, which in printing and writing are clumsily repre- sented by stops. The signs are eight, namely, the comma, the semicolon, the colon, the full stop, the note of interrogation, the note of admiration, the hyphen, and the dash. School-books and other treatises on elocution give you explicit directions for the measurement of these various signals, telling you that you should count one for a comma, two for a semicolon, and so forth. Such rules are worthless ; they fail utterly in practice. So various are the rests required in reading, that no variety of nota- Management of the Breath, etc. 101 tion would serve to indicate them. The comma may be repeated half a dozen times in a sentence, and on each occasion a different length of pause may be required. So it is with the other " stops ; " they tell you, in fact, nothing more than that the author, or rather the printer, is of opinion that at the points of insertion the sentence is divisible into parts more or less perfectly. They are introduced with little or no reference to their use in read- ing aloud, — how little, indeed, you might discover by taking up the first book that lies before you, and reading the first page at which you chance to open it. You will find that the stops do not help you much, and often are a hindrance. Authors exhibit the strangest vagaries in punctuation. You would be amused and amazed at many of the manuscripts and proofs that vex the eyes of editors. Often the stops are scattered with such profu- sion that half a dozen words are nowhere permitted to live in harmony without this forcible separation from their fellows. Sometimes the right " stop " is inserted in the wrong place, as if of malice aforethought ; by others, the wrong stop is continuously employed in the right place, — as a colon where there should be a comma, — to the infinite vexation of sensitive readers, who pull up suddenly or make preparation for a halt, just where they ought not to do so. You must know that the follies of the author in this respect are usually corrected by the compositor, or the press-reader ; but the author is not always content to abide by that better judgment, and insists on his own punctuation being preserved ; and even if so corrected, the work is necessarily done imperfectly, and, as I have previously stated, with a view to the 102 Pause — Punctuation — division of the sentences rather than to the reading of them aloud. For these reasons you must make your own punctua- tion, both in place and in length of pause, being guided by the meaning of the words, by your sense of fitness, by your ear, and by the requirements of your chest and throat. These last should be permitted to prevail as rarely as possible, because, if not also called for by the meaning of what you are reading, they fall disagreeably upon the ears of the listener ; and it is important that you should early learn to regulate your breathing, so that you may inspire at the moment when otherwise you would make a pause of equal length. Now this is an art to be acquired by practice, and which I may as well describe to you in this place, as being intimately con- nected with the pauses intended to be indicated by punc- tuation. The management of the breath is almost as needful to good reading as the management of the voice. The primary requisite is to draw breath as ^frequently as possible ; and this you can accomplish only by making your breath hold out as long as possible. How to do this? First, when you draw breath, fill your chest; then, expire slowly, and do not breathe again until exhausted. There is an art in breathing properly, and it consists in breathing through the nose, and not through the mouth. The uses of breathing through the nose are many. The air is filtered in its passage by the bristles that line the nostrils ; and the particles of dust floating about are thus prevented from touching the sensitive organs of the throat, and you are saved many an incon- venient cough. The air traverses a small, long, and very Management of the Breath, etc. 103 warm tube, before it reaches the windpipe, by which its temperature is raised to that of the delicate membranes on which it there impinges, and thus their irritation, or even inflammation, is prevented. If you breathe through the mouth, the air rushes in, carrying with it impurities that make you cough by their contact with the mucous membrane, while the cold irritates the sensitive organ, and produces temporary inconvenience, possibly pro- tracted illness. There is another result of breathing through the mouth, peculiarly unpleasant to readers and speakers, the drying of the lips, tongue and throat. — an effect produced also b} 7 nervousness, and which is the consequence of the contraction and closing of the ducts from the salivary glands. Accustom yourself, therefore, to breathe through the nostrils. Although a more lengthened process and requiring a longer pause, it is far less disagreeable to a listener than the gasps, followed often by tickling and a cough, that are exhibited by the speaker who breathes through his mouth. Having taken your breath rightly, there is some art in the right use of it. You must husband it with care, and give no more of it to each distinct sound you utter than is necessary for its perfect expression. You can regulate the sound only by regulating the breath. Practice will strengthen you in this performance, and you may try your progress in it from time to time by counting one, two, three, etc., at measured intervals, and noting how many numbers you can thus count with one inspiration. The use of this will soon be apparent in practice ; for you will come to the end of your voice before you have reached the end of the sentence ; and then you will be compelled to mar its meaning, and annoy your audience 1 04 Pause — Punctuation — by pausing when the sense of what you are reacting requires that you should link the words closely together. But, having acquired facility for extending one breath over a long sentence, if need be, you are not required always to speak till no breath remains. On the contrary, you should seize every convenient opportunity for per- forming the operation in a right place, lest you should be compelled to do so in a wrong one. Choose such pauses as should be indicated by what is called the " full stop " in writing. Thus you will learn to enjoy the entire com- mand of your voice ; and the best practice for that purpose is to read daily a few pages, with the sole design of mastering the process I have endeavored to describe. Nearly allied to emphasis and pause is inflection. I mean by this term the rise* and fall of the voice, — a variation essential to the avoidance of monoton}^, and the securing of an attentive ear from your audience. Some skill is required for the right regulation of this. The limit within which the voice may range is not wide ; the movement must be determined, partly by what you read, partly by ear. There are no rules to which you can safely trust for guidance. . I can do little more to help you than tell you what to avoid. There is a frequent fault of which you should beware. Many persons, try- ing to escape from a level voice, fall into the still more unpleasant practice of speaking in waves; that is to say, the voice is made to rise and fall by a regular swelling and sinking at precisely even periods, — an utterance difficult to describe in words, but which you will doubt- less recognize readily from this rude comparison of it. The right use of inflection is one of the most subtle Management of the Breath, etc. 105 ingredients m the art of reading. If it be judiciously employed, however slightly, it gives a spirit and meaning to the words that win even unwilling ears. The voice, raised at some fitting moment, sends the thought straight into the mind that is opened expectantly. Judiciously lowered, it touches the emotions. There is no fixed rule either for raising or dropping the voice. A vague notion prevails that the punctuation has something to do with it ; that you ought to lower the voice at the end of a sentence ; that a full stop should be notice to you, not only to halt, but to drop gradually down into silence. This is a grievous error, and so common as to be almost a national fault. It is remarkably shown in our mannei of speaking ; and this will serve as an excellent illustra- tion of my meaning. The English usually drop their voices at the end of a sentence ; other nations, and the French especially, usually raise it. In other words, we talk with the downward inflection, and they with the upward inflection. The consequence is that their conver- sation appears much more lively, and their talk is more readily intelligible to a foreigner than is ours. The last words of an Englishman's sentences are often unintelli- gible, because his voice falls until it dies away in a sort of guttural murmuring. And, as we talk, so, too often, do we read. We drop the voice at the end of every sen- tence, beginning the next sentence some half a dozen notes higher and several degrees louder. Now, the art of reading requires just the reverse of this. Instead of lowering the voice at the end of a sentence, the general rule should be to keep it up, and even slightly to raise it. Thus it is that the attention of an audience is sustained, and a liveliness is imparted to your discourse far beyond 106 Pause — Punctuation, etc. the apparent simplicity of the means adopted. Try it. Read a page, using the English downward inflection, and then read the same page, using the upward inflection at the end of each sentence, and mark the contrast upon your own energies. Ask a friend to do the like, and listen ; you will instantly recognize the superior life and vigor infused into the composition. Repeat the experi- ment in a large room, before a numerous audience, and you will find that, while it is ver}^ difficult for the ear to seize the words uttered in the downward inflection, the entire sentence is clearly and readily caught by the most distant listener when the upward inflection is used, — that is to say, when the voice is made to rise, instead of being permitted to fall, at the end of a sentence. I remember once being at a rehearsal at Drury-lane, with one of our great actors. I expressed surprise that he did not speak louder ; as it seemed to me that his voice was not raised much beyond that of ordinary con- versation ; yet it filled the house and came back to us. He explained to me that it was really so. " If I were to speak twice as loud," he said, " I should not be heard half so well. To be heard by a large audience, you have only to speak slowly and to raise your voice at the end of every sentence." It was a lesson not to be forgotten, and, having tried and proved it, I recommend it to you. Mental and Physical Powers. 107 letter XFEL ATTITUDE— INFLUENCE OF THE MENTAL OYEB THE PHYSICAL POWEBS. The hints that have been offered so far relate to reading generally ; they are designed to assist you in the development of those physical powers, without which intellectual capacity fails to express itself. The right management of the voice is as necessary as the right un- derstanding of that which the voice is to utter. Both are indispensable ; both require persistent study ; neither will compensate for defects in the other, and, in influence over a miscellaneous audience, it is doubtful whether a reading mechanically good would not surpass a reading intellectually good. However this may be, do not place too much reliance upon the virtues you mentally infuse into your reading, to the neglect of the graces with which voice and manner will invest them. To read well, you must do both well. For the purpose of controlling your breath, and thus governing your voice, some attention must be given to attitude; and fortunately the position that is best adapted for utterance is that which is most easy to yourself, and most agreeable to your audience. You should sit as up- rightly as possible, or, if that be inconvenient, inclining very gently in the chair, the arms well thrown back, so as to give to the chest the fullest and freest expansion, and the head erect, so as to remove all pressure from the throat, where the delicate organs of the voice are play- io8 Attitude. ing. Not only do you thus exercise them with the great- est ease to themselves, but the sounds they produce are sent most audibly and distinctly to the farthest range of listeners. If you stoop forward, bending over your book, you cannot take a full breath, you cannot regulate your tones, you are unable to make your breathing coincident with the necessary pauses of the discourse, and your voice is sent down, to be muffled by your book, or stifled upon the floor, instead of being flung forth, in a flowing stream of sound, to reach the ears of the most distant of the assembled circle. If you want to measure the amount of voice required to touch those farthest from you, the process is easy enough. No intricate calculation, not even a mental estimate of space, is necessary. Nothing more is needed than that you should look at the most distant of the persons you desire to address, and in- stinctively, without effort or calculation of your own, your voice will take the pitch of loudness requisite to make Mm hear. But you will probably say that, however useful these rules for attitude may be to speakers, they are inappli- cable to readers ; for how, you will ask, is it possible, sitting upright, or reclining gently back in a chair, with head erect, to read a book without holding it straight before the eye and consequently eclipsing your face entirely? I confess there is some difficulty at first in accomplishing this feat, but it is to be acquired by a little practice. Two processes are requisite to the perform- ance. First, you must master the art of keeping the eye and mind in advance of the tongue ; secondly, you must learn, while the head is erect, to read by turning the eyes down to a book placed below you, but yet at the Mental and Physical Powers. 109 angle most convenient to sight, and which you must ascertain at the moment, for it varies with the nature of the composition, the size of the type, and even the qual- ity of the paper. If your audience did not look at you when reading, this position of the eye would, if unre- lieved, be inconvenient only to yourself. But an audi- ence must look at you, as well as be looked at by you, or you will not secure their attention. A reader, you must remember, is not a mere conduit pipe, to convey the words of the book to the minds of the listeners ; a good reader communicates directly with his audience ; he makes the ideas of the author so much his own, when transmitted through his mind, that they come from him animated and inspired by something of his own living spirit, so that the minds of the listeners feel themselves in communion with his mind, and there is a conscious- ness that the intercourse is intellectual and not mechani- cal merely. Strive, then, that your reading shall sound and seem as little like reading, and as much like speak- ing, as possible ; give to what you say, and to the man- ner of saying it, the air of being the utterance of your own mind rather than the mere repetition of the produc- tion of another mind, and this you can accomplish only by repeatedly raising your eyes from the book and look- ing at the audience while you complete the sentence which the eye and the mind, travelling before ike tongue, have committed to the memory. I have now said all that occurs to me as likely to be useful to you respecting that portion of the art of read- ing which depends upon the physical processes. But in the cultivation of these powers you must not forget that they are intimately allied with the intellectual processes. no Attitude. No single movement of the smallest muscle employed in the art of reading is purely mechanical ; it is governed more or less by mental emotions, with which it vibrates in a mysterious sympathy you can neither prompt nor control. The voice will express in tones and in tremors the feelings that are flashing through the brain, and the main object of all your studies and strivings will be, not so much to acquire something new, as to remove the bad habits by which the natural expression is impeded. You will have a great deal more to unlearn than to learn. Your endeavor from the beginning should be to go back to nature, — to have faith in her, — to find out what in your practice is artificial, and what is true, and by perse- vering effort to emancipate yourself from the slavery of habit. In these suggestions I have sought to consult nature alone, and I have given very little attention to the " rules" which professional writers and teachers have promulgated. It is not that it can be asserted of any of them, examined individually, that they are erroneous; they err only in that they attempt to reduce to rule an art which cannot, like science, be reduced to rule. I chal- lenge the proof to be thus tried. Let a page of any book be read strictly according to the rules of any trea- tise on, or teacher of, elocution ; it will be found intol- erably starched, ungainly, and stupid. Continually the infinite variations of the thought to be expressed will enforce a departure from the letter of the rule. Either the rule must bend to the meaning, or the meaning will' be murdered by the rule. Are not rules, that exist only by elasticity such as this, more likely to hinder than to help? Reflection and experience have combined to con- vince me that so it is ; and therefore I have ventured, in Illustrations. I n defiance of the authorities, to throw aside the conven- tional code, and have endeavored to trace out for you a new path to the art of reading. letter SFIUE, ILLUSTBATIONS. I proceed now to illustrate by examples the hints I have been suggesting. But I must preface my remarks by the assurance that very little indeed can be done for you upon paper. It is extremely difficult, more so even than I had anticipated when I commenced the task, to exhibit by any form of words, by any conventional signs, by any ingenuity of type, the manner in which ideas should be expressed, or the voice governed. Only by an intelligent listener freely pointing out your faults, or a practised reader setting you an example, can you hope to learn much more than that in which alone it was my purpose to assist you, namely, in knowledge of what you ought to do, leaving the learning of how to do it to your own sagacity, the judicious aid of a friend, or the lessons of a tutor. The few illustrations which I am enabled so imperfectly to produce, are, therefore, not designed so much to instruct you how to read, as to make more ap- parent to you and impress on your memory the sugges- tions I have thrown out for your guidance in self-educa- tion in the art of reading. Had I desired more than this, I could not have accomplished it. Words will not ii2 Illustrations. express tones. No description will convey the right measure of emphasis, or the delicate inflections of the voice. Clearly comprehending the narrow limits within which the following lessons can aid you, I will ask you to accompany me, not in thought merely, but with voice, reading aloud the passages cited, in the manner indi- cated. Observe that italic is used where slight emphasis is required ; small capitals where great stress is to be laid upon the word; the ordinary "points" or " stops" will indicate the pauses ; the [ - ] a passage in the nature of an interjection, breaking the chain of the sentence, and to be read in a different tone so as distinctly to mark the interval ; and the dash [ ] will mark the pauses that are not to be measured by the regular "stops." You will remember that the rules that have been sug- gested for observance in good reading were arranged under the titles of Tone, Emphasis, Pause, Inflection. The following illustrations are designed to exhibit all of these. I purposely select familiar passages. Take, then, a part of the first chapter of the Book of Genesis, which Thelwall (the elder) considered to be one of the most difficult of readings, and an excellent test of the capacity or progress of his pupils. First, read three or four verses right on, without any pause or expression whatever, merely pronouncing the words rightly. As thus : — "In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth and the earth was without form and void and dark- ness was upon the face of the deep and the Spirit of God Illustrations. 113 moved upon the face of the waters and God said Let there be light and there was light and God saw the light that it was good and God divided the light from the darkness and God called the light Day and the darkness he called Xight and the evening and the morning were the first day." This is a starting-point from which you can measure the effects produced by the various kinds of expression. Then read the same passage with pauses, but still without emphasis or tone. As thus : — " In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. " And the earth was without form, and void ; and darkness was upon the face of the deep ; and the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters. u And God said, Let there be light: and there was light. " And God saw the light, that it was good : and God • divided the light from the darkness. " And God called the light Da}', and the darkness he called Night. And the evening and the morning were the first day." You will hence learn the precise value of those pauses which are so imperfectly indicated in writing and print- ing by punctuation. You will also discover the im- perfections of our limited scale of " stops," and how impossible it is to observe them strictly. Above they are presented precisely as they appear in the authorized edition of the Bible. Mark the rule laid down by the 8 114 Illustrations. grammars, that you should count one for a comma, two for a semicolon, and so forth, and see how miserably it fails to express the meaning. Read the same passage now with the natural pauses, as required by the sense, and you will at once recognize the justice of the com- plaint preferred against the artificial system of punctua- tion. In the absence of any established series of signs for pauses, I will indicate them — though imperfectly, I fear — by lines between the words, the various lengths of which will rudely measure the various lengths of pause. "In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth And the earth was without form and void and darkness was upon the face of the deep - and the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters And God said Let there be light and there was light And God saw the light that it was good And God divided the light from the - darkness And God called the light Day — and the darkness he called Night And the evening and the morning were the first day." Observe that, so far, your reading must be carefully limited to pronunciation and pause, purposely avoiding emphasis and variations of the voice. You should now read the same passage again, as before, but introducing emphasis. The words to be emphasized, are printed in italic, small capitals, and CAPITALS, according to the less or more of stress to be put upon them. "In the beginning GOD created the heaven and Illustrations. 115 the earth And the earth was without form and void and darkness was upon the face of the deep and the Spirit of GOD moved upon the face of the waters And God said Let there be LIGHT ! and there was light And God saw the light that it was good And God divided the light from the darkness And God called the light day — and the darkness he called night And the evening and the morning were the first day." You will now have learned the effect of emphasis. Repeat the experiment, adding to pause and emphasis the observance of tone, according to the hints given in a former letter. But it is impracticable to represent or even to suggest tone by any signs. I can only, there- fore, so far prompt you as to say that the natural tone in which to express a grand and solemn theme is as deep, full, and rich as 3-ou can make it. Indeed, if 3-011 feel what you utter, the tone will, without an effort, express the emotion. Once again read the passage, observing all the former graces of pause, emphasis, and tone, adding to them inflection of the voice, which may be compared to the swell of an organ. The rise and fall of the sounds you utter, their swelling or sinking according to the require- ments of the sense, are the crowning charm of good reading, for by them monotony is put to flight, and the ears of the audience are caught and held. I have en- deavored to exhibit inflection by some intelligible signs ; but I have been unable to devise to my own satisfaction any that would be within the compass of a printing-office 1 1 6 Illustrations. to produce. I must be content, therefore, with a running commentary upon the successive sentences. " In the beginning GOD created the heaven and the EARTH." The voice should descend two or three notes at the word GOD, because it should be pronounced reveren- tially, and veneration expresses itself naturally in low, rich notes. Then it should rise and be sustained evenly to the end, followed by a long pause. a And the earth was without form and void and darkness was upon the face of the deep And the Spirit of GOD moved upon the face of the waters." Here the voice is to be sustained throughout with no inflection, not even falling at the close. Only observe the pauses and the emphasis. « And GOD said Let there be LIGHT ! And there was light." Here the inflection changes thrice. Beginning with the tone and key of the previous sentence, these should be sustained to mark still more strongly the change to the tone of command, which should be uttered in a low, and slow voice, very firmly, and with a marked stress on the word " Light." It is important to observe that this word should be uttered with the upward inflection; that is to say, with the voice elevated above the pitch used in Illustrations. 117 the former part of the sentence. Then follows a long pause, and then, in a tone considerably lower, the con- cluding sentence, strongly emphasizing "was," and gently dropping the voice (the downward inflection) to the end. Then raise the voice to its former note for the next sentence. " And God saw^e light that it was good And God divided the light from the darkness And God called the light day — and the darkness he called night And the evening and the morning were the first day." Here you should mark the distinction between the first part, "And God saw," etc., and the second part, " And God divided," etc., by a slight change in tone, the latter part being spoken half a note lower than the first ; and in both, the voice should gently fall at the close, the object being to break the monotony of a continued narrative, and also to give more prominence by contrast to the sentence that follows, which also must be read in the same note 'throughout, relying for variety upon the em- phasis and the pauses, which are very marked. Then comes a change. The narrative is completed ; the story is told ; you indicate this by a long pause, and then, in a different voice, descending one note at least, you con- clude the passage. I am conscious of the inefficiency of this verbal and typical illustration of the suggestions I had previously thrown out, and I fear that it will not be very intelligible to you. The difficulty of doing what I had designed is n8 Illustrations of far greater than I had anticipated ; and if you should find the lesson an obscure one, pass it over. I cannot, how- ever, suffer it to rest here ; I must adduce some further illustrations, although I shall be enabled to be more brief in explanation of them, and shall not need the repetitions unavoidable for the first explanation, in writing, of that which speech alone can properly convey. better SIS* ILLUSTBATIONS OF TONE, EMPHASIS, AND PAUSE. Some further illustrations will be necessary to enable you to comprehend clearly the hints I have thrown out to you. I felt considerable misgivings whether the device I had adopted for exhibiting the variations of utterance, by help of the printer's art, would not more puzzle than assist the reader. It is satisfactory to learn, however, that the plan has been sufficient for its purpose, and that readers have found no difficulty in following the instructions so conveyed. The same notation will be preserved through- out the following illustrations. But it will not be neces- sary to repeat the practice of successive readings of the same passage, each introducing an additional ornament, as in the lesson contained in the last letter. If that be read eight or ten times, strictly observing the method proposed, you cannot fail to arrive at the most perfect comprehension of the nature as well as the value of each Tone ' y Emphasis y and Pause. 119 of those requisites to the art of reading. I shall now, therefore, merely present the illustrations as scored for practice, and then endeavor to state the reasons for such readings ; and those reasons will often serve as examples of former remarks ; for, let it be a firm faith with you, that unless }^ou can assign a reason for reading a passage in one way rather than in another way, you cannot be a good reader, — you will read only by imitation and not by the impulse of your own mind. And here I may tell you an anecdote that has been conveyed, to me, which is interesting as confirmatory of an observation made in a former letter, to the effect that, if a person reads badly, it is because he does not under- stand what he reads. That so it is appears from the fact, that almost everybody talks rightty. Rarely do we hear the wrong emphasis in conversation ; yet the very man who gives to every word he utters the right expression, when he is talking, will give the wrong expression to three-fourths of his words when he is reading. The reason of this strange defect is, that when he talks he under- stands what he is saying, and the voice echoes the mind ; when he reads, either his mind is not at work upon the words, or it does not catch at the moment the sense of what he reads, and reading becomes a mere mechanical operation, — an utterance by rote, — the words going in at the eye, and coming out at the tongue, without passing through the intelligent mind. My informant is a sensible man, who has imbibed the modern heresy that reading is an accomplishment at least as desirable, and likely to be as useful in life, as singing ; and accordingly he has spared no pains to preserve his children from learning to read badly. His notion is — 120 Illustrations of and he is right — that the bad habits acquired in child- hood, in the performance of the merely mechanical art of sounding printed words, without understanding the ideas they are designed to convey, are the foundation of bad reading in after life. Assuming this, he has taken read-* ing as the test and measure of intelligence in children. Esteeming so highly the art of reading, it is natural that any experiences of others on the subject should interest him, and that any hints of which he approved should be conveyed to his family. Thinking well of some which he has found in these letters, he has endeavored to make a practical use of them, and they have been conveyed to his pupils as they appear here. The last letter, contain- ing some illustrations of the previous suggestions, was accordingly produced to the family circle, when my in- formant bethought him that he would test the capacities of the little group around him by calling upon each to' read the same passage from the Book of Genesis, markihg in another volume, after the same fashion, the manner in which it was read by the child according to his own nat- ural impulse, and then comparing them, so as to ascertain how far the natural reading of the child coincided with the reading proposed in this essay. The test, he says, was perfect ; precisely in proportion to the little reader's natural intelligence was the reading more or less in unison with that here suggested. He found by further trial that, where they read wrongly, invariably they did not understand the meaning of what they were reading ; and one little boy, whose intelligence is remarkable, read the entire passage aloud for the first time, and his natural and untaught expression of it was found in almost precise accordance with the studied and reasoned mode of utter- Tone, Emphasis, and Pause. 121 aiice which I had suggested. This experiment is interest- ing and valuable, because it was tried with children who had acquired no bad habits, and therefore it proves how much more nature does than art can do towards making a good reader, and confirms the assertion that the art of reading consists mainly in understanding what you read. The experiment could not have been tried by adults, because none are to be found who have not acquired some evil habits of reading in their school-days, which cleave to them still, or which they have been enabled to conquer only by calling in the aid -of art. I would earnestly recommend other parents to follow the example of my friend, — to keep vigilant guard over the first lessons in reading ; to prohibit the reading aloud of anything not understood, and to take misreading as a certain test of misunderstanding. Be sure that your pupil understands, and 3'ou may be assured that he will read. I make no apology for this interposition. I was treat- ing an old subject after a new fashion, and, as I pro- ceeded, not only did new thoughts upon it arise in my own mind, but suggestions were sent to me by readers who took an interest in the theme. This, as I told you before, is not a formal treatise, but a friendly communi- cation of the result of some experience and reflection on a subject whose real worth is only beginning to be acknowledged by the public. There is not a better illustration of the suggestions that have been submitted to you than Hamlet's famous soliloquy. Its very familiarity will, perhaps, recommend it for practice, because it is almost certain to be associated in your mind with readings at school, and you will more 122 Illustrations of readily see the propriety of one by contrast with the other. I preserve the same notation. Eemember that Hamlet has just seen the spirit of his father, who has told him that his father-in4aw was a murderer. He is not quite assured whether or no it was " an honest ghost ; " if it was not " an instrument of darkness" tempting him to a horrible crime. He is sorely perplexed, seeking eagerly for some assurance that the story supernaturally imparted to him was true. Now, to read the soliloquy correctly, you must feel it, and to feel it you must throw your mind into much the same condition as that in which the mind of Hamlet is supposed to be at the moment he is communing with himself, — for it is a soliloquy, and not a speech addressed to others ; and a soliloquy is only thinking aloud, and should be so read or acted. It is manifest, moreover, that he had been contemplating suicide as a refuge from doubts and perplexities. The voice should be low in tone, with sadness of expression; the utterances slow — the pauses long at first, for he is assumed to be reflecting. " To be — or not to be that is the question Whether 'tis nobler in the mind .to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune Or to take arms against a sea of troubles And — by opposing — end them ? To DIE ? — To sleep No more — and by a sleep to say we end The heartache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to ' Tis a consummation Devoutly to be iqished To die to sleep — To SLEEP ! Perchance to DREAM ! '— Ay, there's the rn& — For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil Must give us pause There's the respect That makes calamity of so long a life." Tone, Emphasis, and Pause. 123 Read slowly so far. The next passage should be read rapidly, for is not Hamlet pouring out quick coming fancies, as if to strengthen his own failing resolution? — u For who would bear the whips and scorns of time — The oppressor's wrong the proud man's contumely — — The pangs of despised love the law's delay — The insolence of office — and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin ? Who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life " Now more slowly — in an altered, lower, fuller tone, expressive of deeper feeling, and even of awe : — " But that the dread of something after death That undiscovered country — from whose bourn No traveller returns puzzles the will - And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of." Now change your tone again, for there is another strain of thought. He is half ashamed of his own fears and the conjurings of his own imagination ; and he thus chides himself: — "Thus conscience does make cowards of us all And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought — And enterprises of great pith and moment With this regard their currents turn away And lose the name of action." There is so much good practice in this exercise, that you should read it again and again until you are perfect in it. 1 24 Illustrations Continued. Hetter XX* ILLTJSTBATIONS CONTINUED. From the same storehouse of illustration I present yon with another, in prose. Observe that, unlike the last, which was a soliloquy, this is addressed to others, and demands, therefore, quite a different tone, — more rapid utterance, more firmness and decision in the entire expression of it. The last was a meditation merely, requiring long pauses between different trains of thought, and tones accommodated to the changing moods of the mind. The following address to the players is purely didactic, or, I should rather say, exhortative. The dan- ger to be avoided here is dogmatism or sermonizing. Hamlet is not la} r ing down the law, like a judge, but advising as a friend. He is not a pedagogue, but a gentleman, and you must assume the most gentlemanly, polite, and polished manner of expression that you can command. If not satisfied with your reading of it at first, repeat it many times, until you feel that you read with ease and grace. Better still if you can find an intelligent friend to hear j^ou read it, and tell you what you read well, and where you are defective. I adopt the same notation as before. Observe, that this passage is not at all oratorical. It is not a " speech." You are not to " spout " it, but to talk it with spirit and emphasis : — " Speak the speech — I pray you — as I pronounced it to y 0U trippingly on the tongue But if you mouth it — as many of our players do — I had as lief the town- Illustrations Continued. 125 crier spoke my lines Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand thus but use all gently for in the very torrent tempest — and — as I may say whirlwind of your passion you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smooth- ness Oh! it offends me to the soul to hear a robustious — periivig-pated fellow tear a passion to tat- ters — to very rags - to split the ears of the ground- lings— —who — for the most part — are capable of noth- ing but inexplicable dumb shows and noise 1 would have such a fellow whipped for overdoing Terma- gant it out-Herods Herod Pray you avoid it Be not too tame — neither but let your own discretion be your tutor suit the action to the word the word to the action with this special observance that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature for anything so overdone is from the purpose of playing whose end both at the first — and now ivas and is to hold — as 'twere — the mirror up to nature to show virtue — her own feature scorn — her own imager and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure Now this overdone or come tardy off though it make the unskilful laugh cannot but make the judicious — grieve the censure of which one must in your allowance o'erweigh a whole the- atre of others Oh ! there be players — that I have seen play and heard others praise and that highly not to speak it profanely that neither having the accent of Christians nor the gait of Christian — pagan — nor MAN have so strutted and bellowed that I have thought some of Nature's 126 Illustrations Continued. journeymen had made men and not made them well they imitated humanity so ABOMINABLY And let those that play your clowns speak no more than is set dovm for them for there be of them that will themselves laugh to set on some quantity of barren spectators to laugh too though — in the mean time some necessary question of the play be then to be considered that's VILLANOUS and shows a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it." The next is also familiar to you, although, it may be, you never attempted to depart from the fashion of read- ing it acquired in your school-boy days. Macbeth, con- templating an atrocious murder, is haunted by a whisper of conscience, and by some " compunctious visi tings of nature." His state is that of dreamy horror ; his speech accords with it. There must be long pauses and deep tones, with an expression almost of pain in them. Ob- serve, also, that it is a soliloquy, and therefore to be uttered in a manner more distrait than was required in the last illustration. " Is this a dagger which I see before me The handle toward my hand ? Come let me clutch thee ! — I have thee, not and yet I see thee still — — • Art thou not — fatal vision — sensible To feeling as to sight ? or art thou but A dagger of the mind a false creation Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain ? — — — I see thee yet — inform as palpable As this which now I draw Thou marshaVst me the way that I was going And such an instrument i" was to use Mine eyes are made the fools o' the other senses — Or else worth all the rest 1 see thee still n Illustrations Continued. 127 Here, with increasing terror in his tone, and with the growing rapidity of utterance that always accompanies terror. " And on thy blade — and dudgeon gouts of blood Which was not so before " Here a long pause, and an entire change of tone. To this point Macbeth has believed in the vision, and is pro- foundly awed by it ; and the tones should express the horror and dread of the situation. But now he recovers his self-command ; his reason triumphs over his fancy ; he speaks in a lighter tone, and resuming his natural man- ner, he proceeds : — " There's no such thing — It is the bloody business which informs Thus to mine eyes " Then another change ; his fancy flies to the tragedy he is about to enact ; the mention of the bloody business sends him out of himself; he plays, as it were, with the thought, and conjures up all the images suggested by the occasion, for still he lingers and cannot quite make up his mind. " I dare not," even at this moment, is waiting upon " I would," and, in the pause that attends his en- deavor to u screw his courage to the sticking-point," he says again, in a reflective, dreamy tone : — " Now o'er the one-half world Nature seems dead and wicked dreams abuse The curtained sleeper ! witchcraft celebrates Pale Hecate's offerings and withered murder Alarum'd by his sentinel — the wolf — Whose howVs his watch thus — with his stealthy pace — 128 Illustrations Continued. With Tarquin's ravishing strides towards his design Moves like a ghost." Again a change. His resolve is somewhat strengthened now ; he has made up his mind to do it ; but not without still betraying his infirmity of purpose. In his agony of conflicting emotions, he addresses the earth. The voice must be deep and sepulchral, but slightly tremulous : — " Thou sure and firm-set earth, Hear not my steps — which way they walk — for fear The very stones prate of my whereabout And take the present horror from the time Which now suits with it " Once more a change. It is settled ; each corporal agent is at length bent up to the terrible feat. " Whiles I threat — he lives — Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives — I go and it is done the bell invites me Hear it not Duncan for it is a knell # That summons thee to heaven- or to hell*" Remember that the purpose of these illustrations is to show you the right use of emphasis , pause, and tone, and these can only be exhibited by a variety of passages on various subjects and in various styles. I ask you now to read another well-known composition, " The Burial of Sir John Moore." The notation is continued. The reading of poetry, as such, will be the subject of a separate commentary hereafter. The following poem is submitted to you as a lesson in those graces of reading that are common to compositions of all kinds. The subject of this poem demands a serious and somewhat Illustrations Continued. 129 solemn mood of the reader's mind, and as the mind is, so will be the tones of the voice, without an effort of your own. There is much use of emphasis and pause through- out, but little or no variation of manner. Great feeling should be thrown into it, and when well read, there are few passages in English literature more effective. It never fails to touch, and therefore to please, an audience, however miscellaneous. " Not a drum was heard not a funeral note As his corse to the ramparts we hurried Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried - " We buried him darkly at dead — of night The sods with our bayonets turning By the struggling moonbeams 1 misty light And the lantern — dimly burning u No useless coffin enclosed his breast Nor in sheet — nor in shroud — we wound him But he lay like a warrior taking his rest With his martial cloak around him. u Few and short were the prayers we said And we spoke not a word of sorrow But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the DEAD — And bitterly thought of the morrow " We thought ■ as we hollowed his narrow bed And smoothed down his lonely pillow How the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head And we far away on the billow ! 4t Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him But little he'll reck if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton hath laid him. 9 130 Illustrations Continued. ft But half of our heavy task was done When the clock told the hour for retiring — And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing. " Slowly and sadly we laid him down From the field of his fame fresh and gory / We carved not a line — we raised not a stone ■ But we left him ALONE in his GLORY." The last two lines must be read with increased empha- sis, — very slowly, — the voice slightly elevated, and in a tone changing from sadness to triumph. Repeat them many times, until you are enabled to give to this fine verse its full expression. I can but faintly convey it to you by types and dashes. SLetter ££■!♦ ILLTJSTBATIONS CONTINUED. I ask you now to study one of the most difficult read- ings in our language ; therefore, excellent practice. It was, indeed, never read to perfect satisfaction save by one actor and reader, — Charles Kemble. To estimate its difficulties, you should first read it right on, as if it were an ordinary narrative, not regarding effect. Then read it with care, designing to give to every word its right expression ; you will be surprised to find how dissatisfied you are with your own performance. Observe, that it is an exquisite piece of pleasantry, by Illustrations Continued. 131 a professed wit. It is not humorous, nor farcical, but admirably fanciful and witty. Therefore it is not to be blurted out, like a bit of fun, nor cracked, like a joke ; it should be spoken in a light, laughing, musical tone, with the manner of a polished gentleman. A smile should just- hover upon the lips, but never breaking into a laugh. Nor is it a soliloquy, but a story told to companions as cheerful and light-hearted as the teller. This manner of reading it I cannot illustrate ; I can only suggest it to you ; the pauses and the emphasis I exhibit as before. " Oh — .— then I see — Queen mab hath been with you She is the fairies' midwife and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate stone On the/orefmger of an alderman Drawn with a team of little atomies Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep Her wagon-spokes made of long spinners 1 legs — — The cover of the wings of grasshoppers The traces of the smallest spider's web The collars of the moonshine's watery beams -: — Her whip of cricket's bone the lash of film — Her WAGONER a small gray-coated GNAT - Not half so big as a round little worm Piick'd from the lazy finger of a maid Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub Time out of mind the fairies' coach-makers And in this state she gallops night by night Through lovers' brains and then they dream of love — On courtiers' knees that dream on court' sies straight O'er lawyers' fingers who straight dream on fees — — O'er ladies' lips who straight on kisses dream — Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are Sometimes she gallops o'er a courtier's nose And then dreams he of smelling out a suit =- And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tail 132 Illustrations Continued. Tickling a person's nose as a' lies asleep Then dreams he of another benefice Sometimes she dri^eth o'er a soldier's neck And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats •- Of breaches ambuscadoes Spanish blades — Of healths — five fathoms deep and then anon Drums in his ear at which he starts — and wakes — And — being thus frighted swears a prayer or two And sleeps again This is that very Mab That plats the manes of horses in the night And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs Which once untangled much misfortune bodes ■ This exquisite passage of wit is to be pronounced " trippingly on the tongue," and not to be mouthed. It should be spoken as lightly as such a light-hearted fellow as Mercutio would utter a piece of pleasantry. He is addressing three or four of his gay companions, and he turns from one to the other, as he points the illustration to each of them individually ; therefore, it is not spoken right on, like a speech, but with frequent and long pauses, and with such slight hesitations as serve to show that it is an invention of the moment and not a composition com- mitted to the memory. The difficulty of the passage is very great, and grows with acquaintance. After twenty readings you will be less satisfied with your rendering of it than at the first. But persevere. It is because of its difficulty that I have selected it for an exercise. When you are able to read this well, you will have made great progress in the art. Do not leave it until you have mas- tered it. I do not desire that j^ou should read this, or any other of these illustrations, twenty times in one day ; you would not improve by such rapid repetitions ; but read them three or four times at a sitting, and repeat them day by day for weeks, until you, or your friendly Illustrations Continued. 133 counsellor, shall be completely satisfied with the per- formance. I will now take you to another passage — short, but demanding extraordinary expression to give full effect to it. This, also, was deemed by Mr. Thelwall to be a test-passage, and he read it with wonderful power. Rightly to measure it, begin by reading it without any emphasis, simply uttering the words with the proper pauses. Then read it with emphasis, observing, as nearly as you can, the noting here given : — "And the Lord sent Nathan unto David and he came unto him and said unto him There were two men in one city the one rich — and the other — poor The rich man had exceeding many flocks and herds — but the poor man had nothing save one — little — ewe lamb which he had bought and nourished up and it grew up together with him and with his children it did eat of his own meat and drank of his own cup and lay in his bosom and was unto him as a daughter And there came a traveller unto the rich man and he spared to take of his own flock and of his own herd — to dress for the wayfaring man that was come unto him but took — the poor man's LAMB and dressed it for the man that was come to him. " And David's anger was greatly kindled against the man and he said to Nathan — ' As THE LORD liveth — the man that hath done this thing shall surely DIE and he shall restore the lamb fourfold because he did this thing and because he had no pity'— 134 Illustrations Continued. "And Nathan said to David -'THOU art the man ! ' " Few passages could be found in which so much em- phasis is required in the same number of words ; indeed, it is difficult to distinguish the degrees, where most of them require some expression. Although typography limits me to three degrees of emphasis in the notation, the actual varieties required for a perfectly correct reading are much more numerous ; but I must leave them to your own good taste and true ear. If you feel fully the mean- ing, you wili probably give it the right degree of force in the utterance. But not varied emphasis alone is de- manded ; you must observe the varieties of tone, which the notation does not attempt to indicate. The prophet begins with a narrative, in the nature of a complaint. It is not a mere story told to amuse or inform ; but he has a mission, — he is about to judge the guilty king out of his own mouth, and the grandeur of his mission would influence the tone of the voice and the manner of the utter- ance. Slowly, gravely, almost solemnly, should you speak what Nathan spoke. Beginning thus, the contrast becomes more marked as you proceed. Sorrow should just tinge the tone at the opening ; but this should change to positive tenderness in the description of the lamb ; not abruptly, but melting by imperceptible shades. This is excellent study, and you should persevere until the very marked tone of pity is perfectly acquired. You change again to sternness, colored with indignation, when describing the conduct of the rich man. The tone should be that of anger not quite repressed, speaking louder and somewhat more rapidly towards the close. Then Illustrations Continued. 135 comes David's exclamation — his rage flashing out sud- denly, rapidly, and unrestrained, in a voice louder than that of the prophet, in a tone almost of fury, and rising towards the climax, when he pronounces the doom of death, with an emphasis far beyond any yet employed. Then a long pause, while the prophet might be supposed to be looking full into the face of the angry king, watch- ing the flash of indignation in his eyes, and then, the grand catastrophe — slowly, majestically, with a full, not a loud, utterance — resting and concentrating all the force of 3'our expression upon the word Thou, leave the other words to drop from your lips without an effort, only again slightly increasing the emphasis with the final word. I might multiply these examples indefinite^ ; but space is limited, and I must restrict myself to so many as are necessary to exhibit the most marked varieties of reading. A lesson in pathos will complete the series of illustrations of tone, emphasis, and pause. I take the description of the death of little Paul Dombey from Dickens. Read it slowly, in low, soft tones, throwing into them that indescribable expression to which has been given the name of pathetic. To express those tones you must feel those emotions ; then they will speak in their own natural language, and kindle sympathetic feelings in every listener. Observe, also, that it must be read easily, quietly, without an effort, with no seeking after effect ; but pre- cisely as you would have told such a story. If at times the voice should quiver, and the eye swell with a tear, so much the better. It will be the more truthful. 136 Illustrations Continued. " Paul closed his eyes with those words and fell asleep • Then he awoke — the sun was high and the broad day was clear and warm He lay a little — looking at the windows — which were open — and the cur- tains rustling in the air and waving to and fro Then he said 'Floy — is it to-morrow? — is she come ? ' " Some one seemed to go in quest of her The next thing that happened was a noise of footsteps on the stairs and then — Paul woke — woke mind and body and sat upright in his bed He saw them now about him There was no gray mist before them as there had been sometimes in the night He knew them every one and called them by their names 'And loho is this? — Is this my old nurse? 9 — asked the child regarding with a radiant smile a figure coming in Yes — Yes No other stranger would have shed those tears at sight of him called him her dear boy — her pretty boy her own — poor — blighted child No other woman would have stooped down by his bed and taken up his ivasted hand — and put it to her lips and breast as one who had some right to fondle it No other woman would have so for- gotten everjHbody there — but him and Floy — and been so full of tenderness and pity. " ' Floy ! this is a kind — good face 1 am glad to see it again Don't go away — old nurse Stay here — Good-by ! ' " ' Good-by — my child \ — cried Mrs. Pipchin — hurry- ing to the bed's head c Not good-by ! ' " ' Ah, yes good by ! "Where's papa ? ' . " He felt his father's breath upon his cheek before the Illustrations Continued. 137 words had parted from his lips- The feeble hand ■ waved — in the air as if it cried — 6 good-by ' again. ' ' ; Now lay me down and — Floy come close to me and let me — see 3^011 ! ' " Sister and Brother wound their arms around each other and the golden light came streaming in • and fell upon them locked together. "'How/as^ the river runs — between its green bank and the rushes — Floy! -But it's very near the sea 1 hear the waves ! They always said so!' " Presently he told her that the motion of the hoot upon the stream was lulling him to rest How green the banks were now how bright the flozvers growing on them how tall the rushes! Now The boat was out at sea but gliding smoothly on ■ And now -there was a shore before him vjho stood on the bank ? " He put his hands together -as he had been used to do, at his prayers He did not remove his arms to do it but they saiv him fold them so behind his sister's neck. " ' Mamma is like you Floy 1 know her by the face But — tell them that the picture — on the stairs — at school is not Divine enough The light about the head is shining on me as I go ! ' " Here a long pause with hushed breath. Then, in a deeper and more solemn tone, and very slowly : — "The golden ripple on the wall came back again and nothing else stirred in the room The old — 138 Illustrations Continued. OLD fashion the fashion that came in with our first garments and will last unchanged until our race has run its course and the wide firmament is rolled up like a scroll The old — OLD — fashion DEATH!" Then change the tone and expression to those of glowing exultation, raising the voice and swelling the chest, and closing with the imploring accents of praj^er. 44 Oh! thank GOD all w T ho see it for that older fashion yet of IMMORTALITY «And look upon us Angels of young children with regards not quite estranged when the swift river bears us also to the Ocean ! " Remark, that the words spoken by little Dombey are to be uttered in a low voice, scarcely rising above a whisper, and in broken tones, with frequent pauses — for he is dying. I next proceed to give some suggestions for the reading of certain classes of composition, — as poetry, dialogue, oratory, etc. How to Read Poetry. 139 ILtiitx X£0* HOW TO BEAD POETBY. Some murder poetry by singing it, and some by setting aside the rhythm, the metre, and the rhyme, and reading it as they would read an advertisement in a newspaper. Of these two besetting faults, prefer the former, however nasal the twang. There is at least the consciousness of the presence of poetry, — evidence of an ear, if not of a taste, for it. But the prosaic reader revolts you by the unequivocal proof he gives, with every word he utters, that he has neither taste nor ear, and that poetry to him is nothing more than dislocated prose. The singing of poetry is the reader's most frequent fault. Usually it is a habit acquired in very early child- hood, the consequence of bad training by the teacher of the nursery rhymes that commonly constitute the child's first exercise of the memory, too often afterwards culti- vated by the successive tutors who undertake the task of teaching to read. Metre and rlryine are sore tempations to an uncultivated voice. Probably the natural impulse is to convert them into music. And it must be admitted that music and poetry are very nearly allied. Poetry (I am speaking now of the mechanical part of it) is modified music ; perhaps it might be termed imperfect music. Analyze them. Music is an array of inarticulate lengthened sounds, divided into even periods of time. Poetry is an array of articulate sounds or words, divided into even accentuations instead of even periods of time. 140 How to Read Poetry. These characteristics of song and music run so nearly together, that there is in most of us a decided tendency to pass from one to the other, or to substitute the one for the other ; and thus accentuations come to be exchanged for time, and the articulate word lapses into the musical note. This explains the process by which the reading of poetry is so often converted into the singing of it ; and indeed the mischief can be prevented only by the exercise of most vigilant care by the first instructors of childhood. The lisping boy chants the nursery rhyme without correction, and thus lays the foundation of a habit which subsequent teachers will but too probably strengthen, and which it will be the arduous work of his maturity to imlearn. Therefore, before you begin to learn to read poetry, ascertain if you are infected by the evil habit of singing it, for until that is entirely subdued, progress is hopeless. Your own ear will not help you in this investigation, for it has been perverted also, and has ceased to inform the mind of the fact. You cannot so hear yourself as to sit in judgment on yourself, — at least until another has listened and pointed out your defects to you, and you learn from his instructions .where you err. Call in, then, the aid of a judicious friend ; ask him to hearken while you read a few short passages from poetry in various metres, and instruct him that, with most resolute disre- gard of the danger of wounding your self-love, he must stop you on the way, and tell you of every lapse into song, sing-song, or chant. He must be inflexible in his criticism, or you will not mend. Score with a pencil in the book the lines or words of which he complains. If he is apt at imitation, ask him to show you, by his own How to Read Poetry. 141 voice, the manner of your reading. Afterwards, when alone, read the same passages again from the scored page, carefully avoiding the faults he had told you of as attaching to the words marked by the pencil, and repeat them several times. A few lessons, thus learned, sub- mitting the same passages to the judgment of your lis- tener, will enable you to avoid the most offensive features of the evil habit. But be not impatient. As the mis- chief was early implanted, has been long cherished and grown with your growth, it will not be cured without much care and perseverance ; and, however tedious the delay, do not abandon the task until it is thoroughly achieved. It will not be time wholly lost. Having once unlearned, the task of learning will be comparatively easy. Thus, having learned how poetry ought not to be read, you will proceed to learn how it ought to be read. You must not sing it ; you must not chant it ; you must not drawl it ; you must not ignore the metre and the rhyme ; you must not make prose of it. What, then, are you to do with it? Read it so that metre, rhythm, and rhyme may be made sensible to the listener's ear, but without giving promi- nence to either. The difference between the readiing of poetry and prose lies in this, — that you mark by your voice the peculiar characteristics of poetry. You must observe the metre, not altogether by intoning it, but by the very gentlest inflection of the voice ; you must indi- cate the rhythm by a more melodious utterance, and the rhyme by a slight — very slight — emphasis placed upon it. The rule is plain enough ; the difficulty lies in pre- serving the right degree of expression. I cannot convey 142 How to Read Poetry. this to you by words ; it can be taught only by examples. Your ear should guide you, and would do so, if it were not perverted by bad habits. But, as those habits are probably formed, I can but advise you to do for this as for so many other ingredients of the art: if you have not a judicious friend, who will hear patiently and tell you of your faults frankly, apply to a professional teacher. But there are some frequent errors, of which I may usefully warn you. Avoid set pauses. Some readers, otherwise skilful, will make a pause at precisely the same point in the metre of each line, whether the sense does or does not require it. This is not merely monotonous, — it is wrong. In the reading of poetry, as of prose, the sound must be subordinate to the sense. Although there is a measuring of words in poetry, there is no measure for the pauses : you must pause wheresoever the sense demands a pause, without regard to the apparent exigencies of metre or rhyme. If that pause so falls that it disturbs the melody of the verse, or the harmony of the rhyme, you should preserve them b} r so managing your voice that, after the pause, it shall resume in the self-same tone with which it rested, just reminding the hearer of the music of the verse, as an added charm to the beauty of the thought. Then, again, shun carefully the still more frequent prac- tice of pausing at the end of each line, regardless of the requirement of the thought. It is not merely a school- boy's jest that ridicules this sort of reading by the ex- cellent illustration of u My name is Norval on the Grampian Hills My father kept his flock a frugal swain Whose constant care was to increase his store How to Read Poetry. 143 And keep his only son myself at home — — For I had heard of battles and I longed To follow to the field some warlike lord And Heaven soon granted what my sire denied." Not a few who think they read well, and who do read prose well, completely fail when they attempt to read poetry, because of this propensity to measure every line. And there is another fault frequently associated with it, which has the same origin, and is equally difficult to con- quer, — that is, reading in a " wavy " manner, — I can find no better phrase for it. I mean that regular swell and fall of the voice in accordance with the metre, into which the unpractised appear to lapse unconsciously. Until you have succeeded in banishing this dreary fault,, you will not read pleasantly, and the probable effect of your measured tones will be to send your audience to sleep. But as to this also take warning that it is very difficult of cure. The best course of treatment, in addi- tion to that already recommended, is to fill your mind with the meaning of the poet, and to resolve to give full expression to that meaning, forgetting, as far as you can, the metrical arrangement of the words in which the thoughts are conveyed. If your mind dwells too much upon the words, you will sing them ; but if it is filled with the ideas, you will read them. There is one rule worth noting. The gravest clanger in the reading of poetry is monotony. You must strive by all means to avoid this, and resort to every aid to give spirit and variety to your voice. Change its tone with every change in the thought to be expressed. Throw gayety into it when the theme is cheerful, and pathos when it is sad. Abandon yourself to the spirit of the 144 Haw to Read Poetry. poet, and let your utterance be the faithful echo of his, even when he rises to rapture. Do not fear to overact ; there is little chance of this becoming a fault in the read- ing of poetry. Mould your style to his. This you can- not do, of course, without thoroughly understanding him, and for that purpose it will not suffice to trust to the apprehension of the moment, or even to a hasty previous reading ; you must study him, line by line, and word by word, until you have mastered his full meaning, and then you will be able to give effect to it when you convey it to an audience. Observe, likewise, that, as a rule, you should raise your voice at a pause, instead of dropping it, as is the frequent habit, and especially if that pause falls at the end of a line. I have already remarked upon the importance of this practice, as giving life and spirit to reading of all kinds ; but it is particularly requisite with poetry, because of the natural tendency of metre to monotony. In unlearning your probable bad habits in the reading ' of poetry, as in learning how to read it rightly, you should adopt a scheme of lessons, so as to accustom your- self to the change by steps. Begin with poetry which has no rhyme, and in which the metre is not very decidedly marked. " Paradise Lost" will be an excellent lesson to start with. I do not mean that you should read the whole, but select portions of it. On careful reading you will observe that the pauses are not measured ; they do not fall at the end of the lines, but are scattered all over them ; and if you strictly keep to these, you must avoid both sing-song and chant. For instance, take the " Invocation to Light," noted as before described : — Hovj to Read Poetry. 145 f * Hail, — holy Light ! — offspring cf heav'n first born — Or of th' Eternal, co-eternal beam - May I express thee unblam'd since GOB is light — And never but in unapproached light Dwelt from eternity dwelt then in thee Bright effluence of bright essence inereate ! Or hear'st thou rather pure — ethereal stream Whose fountain who shall tell Before the sun — Before the heavens thou wert and at the voice Of GOD as with a mantle didst invest The rising world of waters — ■ dark and deep — Won from the void and formless infinite Thee I revisit now with bolder wing Escaped the Stygian pool — though long detained In that obscure sojourn while in my flight Through utter and through middle darkness borne — With other notes than to the Orphean lyre I sung of Chaps and eternal night Taught by the heavenly Muse to venture down The dark descent and up to rcascend Though hard and rare Thee I revisit safe And feel thy sovereign — vital — lamp but thou Revisit'st. not these eyes that roll in vain To find thy piercing ray and find no dawn So thick a drop serene hath quexch'd their orbs Or dim suffusion veiled Yet not the more Cease I to wander where the Muses haunt Clear spring or shady grove or sunny hill >• Smit with the love of sacred song but chief Thee Si ox and the flowing brooks beneath That wash thy hallowed feet and warbling flow Nightly I visit nor sometimes forget Those other two equall'd with me in fate So were / equall'd with them in renown Blind Thamyris and blind Mseonides And Tiresias and Phineas prophets old ■ Then feed on thoughts that voluntary move Harmonious numbers as the wakeful bird Sings darkling and in shadiest covert ?iid Tunes her nocturnal throat^ 10 146 How to Read Poetry. Here, you will observe, the pauses fall at every part of the verse. This practice will make the first breach in your bad habit of measuring every line. Then betake yourself to some poetry having rhymes, but irregular verse ; then to poems whose metres are still more unusual, until, at length, you may venture upon the metres that most tempt to sing-song, such as that of " The Exile of Erin." And I would especially commend to you, as one of the best exercises for the purpose of unlearning this fault, the frequent rendering of "Julia's Letter" in Byron's " Don Juan." When you feel your- self relapsing into the old habit, read this passage half a dozen times, with careful observance of the singularly .varied pauses. It will be a renewed lesson in the art of reading. I append it. Observe, that it is made up of a series of short sentences, and must be read with very delicate management of the voice, that you may touch with the rhyme the finest chord in the listener's ear ; but you must be careful, in attempting this, not to destroy the exquisite structure of the several sentences — which may be described as sobs of ivords, and should be almost uttered as such : — " They tell ine 'tis decided you depart ; Tis wise 'tis well but not the less a pain ■ I have no further claim on your young heart Mine is the victim and would be again To love too much has been the only art I used 1 write in haste and if a stain Be on this sheet 'tis not what it appears My eyeballs burn and throb but have no tears " I loved 1 lo VE you for this love have lost State station HEAVEN — — mankind's MY OWN es-teem - How to Read Poetry. 147 And yet cannot regret what it hath cost Sq dear is still the memory of that dream Yet if I name my guilt 'tis not to boast None can deem harsher of me than / deem ■ I trace this scrawl because 1 cannot rest — — — I've nothing to reproach or to request " Man's love is of man's life a thing apart — 'Tis woman's whole existence Man may range The court camp church the vessel and the mart Sword gown gain glory offer in exchange Pride fame ambition to fill up his heart And few there are whom these cannot estrange Men have all these resources we but one To love again and be again undone H You will proceed in pleasure and in pride Beloved and loving many all is o'er For me — on earth ~-i — ; — except some years to hide My shame and sorrow deep in my heart's core These I could bear but cannot cast aside The passion which still rages as before And so farewell forgive me — love me — no — — — That word is idle now but let it go. " My breast has been all weakness is so — yet — But still — I think I can collect my mind My blood still rushes where my spirit's set — As roll the waves before the settled wind My heart is feminine nor can forget To all — except one image — madly blind So shakes the needle and so stands the pole — As vibrates my fond heart to my fixed soul. " I have no more to say but linger still — — And dare not set my seal upon this sheet And yet — I may as well the task fulfil ■ My misery can scarce be more complete - I had not lived till now — could sorrow kill Death shuns the wretch who fain the blow would meet - And I must e'en survive this last adieu And bear with life to love and pray for you." 148 Reading of Narrative , SLetter XXffl. BEADING OF NABBATIVE, ABGUMENT, AND SENTI- MENT. Few special instructions are needed for the reading of narrative. Your chiefest care will be to avoid monotony. For the most part, there is an even flow of ideas, and a smooth stream of words, tending unconsciously to pro- duce in you an uniformity of expression and tone that is apt to lull the listener to sleep. A continual effort will consequently be required on your part to counteract that tendency, by throwing into your reading as much liveli- ness of manner and variety of expression as the matter will permit ; and it is better to hazard the charge of over- acting, than to find your hearers nodding, starting, and staring, with that extravagant endeavor not to look sleepy, by which drowsiness always betrays itself. Think what a narrative is. You are telling a story from a book instead of from memory, — that is all. But when you tell a stoiy, you do not drawl it, nor gabble it, nor sing it, nor run right through it without a pause, nor in the same tone, nor without a change of expression. On the contrary, you vary your voice with every varia- tion in the theme ; sometimes you speak quickly, some- times slowly ; your voice is now loud, now soft ; you express cheerfulness at- some parts and seriousness or sadness at others ; sometimes your voice swells with the rising inflection, sometimes it sinks with the falling one ; and thus, prompted by nature alone, without teaching and instinctively, your mind not only rightly embodies the Argument) and Sentiment. 149 ideas, but you give to them the right expression, so stim- ulating the minds of your audience to attention, and writing upon them that which it was } T our desire to convey. But when you take a book and read the same narrative, you will probably assume an artificial voice, tone, and manner, — tedious, monotonous, and sleep-provoking, — and fail to keep attention awake for ten minutes. How may you avoid this ? By going back to nature. Think how you would tell that tale out of book, and try so to read it from the book. When reading narrative, let it be ever present to your thoughts that you are but telling a story in choicer language, and utter it accordingly. I do not mean by this, that all narratives should be read in the same manner, for each must be expressed according to its special character ; a tone of gayety should be infused into a light and lively story ; a tone of gravity or of sadness into a grave or pathetic tale. But this applies only to the general characteristics of your manner of reading. If any grave passages occur in the lively narra- tive, or any lively passages in the grave narrative, they must be rendered according to their own characteristics, without reference to the general strain of the composition, which they are designed to relieve by variety. So, when dialogue is introduced, do not fail to seize the opportunity for entire change and relief by giving to it that full dramatic expression which will be described in a subse- quent letter. Another means for breaking the monotony of narrative is to raise your voice slightly at the end of each sentence, instead of dropping it, as is the too fre- quent habit of English speakers and readers. You will find great differences in the facility for read- 150 Reading of Narrative, ing offered by different prose narratives. The composi tion of some authors is so musical, — ■ their language has so much rhythm in it, — that it is extremely difficult to avoid a lapse into monotony. These smooth sentences are very pleasant to the tongue of the reader, and, at first, very agreeable to the audience ; but they soon weary those who have nothing to do but to open their ears. It is necessary that you should conquer this diffi- culty in the reading of such authors, and therefore you must practise yourself with them assiduously. But not at the beginning of your studies. Commence with the most abrupt and rugged of prose writers, whose aim is power rather than sweetness, and who will not permit you to be monotonous. Advance from them to the writers whose periods are rounded and whose words are musically arranged. Portions of " Tristram Shandy " and " Car- lyle's History of the French Revolution" afford good practice for a beginning, if you carefully observe all the eccentricities of the composition. Macaulay's short sen- tences will assist your next step ; De Foe, and Dryden, and Swift will serve for further progress ; while the rounded periods, alliterations, and artfully balanced words of such writers as Gibbon and Johnson should be reserved for your latest efforts, when j^ou have altogether, or almost, subdued your impulses to metre and monotony. But if the reading of narrative is difficult, that of didactic writing is still more difficult. The liveliest read- ing of this class of composition is laborious for the listener to follow, for an argument is not so rapidly received b} 7, the mind as a picture. Mark the difference. When you narrate a story, by your words you simply suggest a picture to the minds of your audience. This does not Argument, and Sentiment. 151 require the exercise of thought on their parts. They have but to give attention to your words, and instantly, by association, without an effort on their parts, there is called up in their minds the images of the things which those words signify. So it is with sentimental writing. The minds of the audience are moved by sympathy, without any exertion of thought. The suggestive words fall on the ear, and the emotion follows. But otherwise it is with whatever is in the nature of argument. The mind of the listener is not now a mere recipient; it must not only perceive the ideas conveyed, but exercise itself in com- paring them, in discovering their differences and resem- blances ; indeed, it must labor through the whole process of reasoning by which the conclusion is attained. It is necessary to remember this in the reading of didactic writing, so that you may adapt your manner to the mental procedure through which your audience must pass. You must read very much more slowly than is requisite for narrative, because the listener's mind has to go through a process of positive exertion before it can fully receive what you design to convey, and, if you read rapidly, it cannot possibly keep pace with you. Therefore, too, you should make long pauses, especially at the close of each proposition or step in the argument ; you should empha- size the commencement of each proposition, in order to direct attention to it, and the conclusion should be read with still greater emphasis, and still more slowly, the more firmly to impress it upon the listener's mind and memory, — that being the end and object of the previous argument. If the importance of the proposition be great, it is desirable sometimes to repeat it, — a device that seldom fails of its effect, and which is not so often prac- 152 Reading of Narrative, tised by readers, preachers, and speakers as it might be. The foremost difficulty in the reading of all compo- sitions of this class is to keep the attention of your audience, especially if the subject is more instructive than interesting. You must rely much upon yourself for this effect. The temptation is sorely upon you to be cold and dull. This is the fault against which you will have to guard, and every device must be employed to counter- act the tendency. Try to be cheerful, even lively. Seize every opportunity afforded by the text to vary the strain, to change your tone, to alter your expression. The argument must be dry indeed, — too dry for any place but the study, — that is not varied by illustrations, or relieved by narrative, or by sentiment, or by a flash or two of wit or humor. Avail yourself of all such helps to keep your audience awake ; and, for the purpose of stim- ulating attention, you may even venture to make them more emphatic than would be altogether permissible else- where. Try to render these interludes in the most amus- ing manner you can assume ; discard the didactic tone altogether while the episode is on your lips, and when, in due course, you resume the argument, the effect will be the more impressive, — the change will be in itself an attraction, and help you through another passage of laborious reasoning. Even the argument itself is capable of being much enlivened or dulled by your manner of rendering it. Avoid alike the dreary and the dogmatic tone ; put it in the lightest and liveliest tones you can assume, but yet with that earnestness which gives sq much weight to conviction. Sentimental compositions require the observance of one Argument \ and Sentiment. 153 grand rule : you must feel what you read ; if you do not, it will fail of its effect. Sentiment sways by sj^rapathy, and tones are even more sympathetic than words. A sentence that conveys the idea of grief will not touch the heart so speedily or so surely as a sorrowful sound of the voice. Therefore, in reading sentiment ^ give to it the right expression, and vary that expression with every change in the sentiment, and your tone with every degree of emotion. This may be acted, if you are a consum- mate actor, and the voice may assume the fit expression for the words, without even the shadow of an emotion passing over your own mind ; but such art is so rare that you are not likely to have learned it. Short of the high- est skill, it will certainly betray itself; the listener will discover the absence of the true ring ; the sound will have a hollowness in it sensible to the practised ear, and which the unpractised will find in its failing to move them. But feel what you read, and your hearers also will •feel ; their feeling will react on you, excite you yet more profoundly, and make your reading still more effective. But emotion will not bear too long a strain, and } r ou should seize every opportunity for its relaxation. The effect is vastly enchanced by variety, and, if the composi- tion is by a skilful writer, that necessary variety will have been introduced. Make the best of it ; mark the variety by your manner. Pass rapidly and easily from grave to gay, from the joyous to the sad, giving the full effect to each in its turn, that the effect of the other may be heightened by the contrast. Sentiment is more frequently found mingled with narra- tive than occupying an entire composition. In such case it is the more easy, for the story has already prepared 154 Reading of Narrative \ etc. the way for a ready rise of the emotion in your own mind, and a more perfect sympathy with it in the minds of your audience. But be more than ever careful in such case to mark, by your manner, the boundary between the narrative and the sentiment. Read each, according to its own requirement, in the fashion that has been sug- gested. Declamation is properly a part of oratory, and will come to be fully treated of in the remarks on the art of speaking ; but, as it is sometimes found in books, and often in newspapers, I could not complete a commentary on the art of reading without some notice of it. I use it here as a general term, to include all the class of compo- sitions that are of the nature of oratory, whether deliv- ered in the senate, at the bar, from the pulpit, or on the platform. I cannot give you many definite rules for the reading of speeches, and it is extremely difficult to de- scribe by words how they should be read. A judicious teacher would impart it to you in a few minutes, and I can assist you only by negatives. You must not read a speech as it was, or ought to have been, spoken, for that would not be reading, but spouting. Neither, on the other hand, must you read it as you would read a narra- tive. You must assume something of the oratorical manner and tone, and use a great deal of the expression which a good speaker would give to the discourse ; the same pauses should be observed, and almost the same emphasis ; the " points," as they are called, of the speech should be well brought out. A little excess of this is preferable to too much tameness, and the lesser error here is overacting. The reading aloud of this class of compositions will be Special Readings — The Bible. 155 found of great utility in educating yourself in the art of speaking, and therefore you should lose no oppoitunity for practising it. better XSItf* SPECIAL BEADINGS— THE BIBLE. In or out of the pulpit good reading of the Bible is very rarely heard. Even persons who read well any other book often read this greatest of all books most vilely. Not one clergyman in a hundred can read a chapter correctly, — meaning by that term the right ex- pression of the sense, as distinguished from the graces of expression. Not one in a thousand can read a chapter effectively as well as correctly. It is worse with the laity. So with the prayer-book. How seldom are the services delivered as they should be ! How few can give to family prayer its proper reading ! There must be some cause, widely and powerfully operating, to produce so universal an effect ; and that cause must be under- stood before a cure can be recommended. Let us seek for it. It is the business of the clergy to read ; and they have not learned their business if they have not studied the art of reading. It might be presumed that most of them do this more or less ; yet such is the difficulty, either of conquering bad habits already acquired, or avoiding a lapse into mannerism where the same thing is often 156 Special Readings — The Bible. repeated, that we find clergymen remaining or becoming bad readers, in spite of study of the art of reading. Even if they learn to read other things well, they fail for the most part to read rightly that which it is their daily duty to read. Why is this ? I believe the foundation of the fault to be a very prevalent, but a very mistaken, notion that the Bible requires to be read in a different manner from other books, and this independently of and in addition to the expression proper to the subject treated of. A tone is assumed that was originally designed to be reverential, as if the reader supposed that there was something holy in the words themselves, apart from the ideas they ex- press. This tone, consciously employed at first, and then kept somewhat under control, soon comes to be used un- consciously and habitually, and rapidly usurps the place of expression, showing itself in many varieties of sound, from drawl and sing-song to the nasal twang that for- merly distinguished the conventicle. Few readers escape the infection, or shake off the habit when once it is acquired, because it ceases to be audible to themselves. The voice will swell and fall at regular intervals, the reader all the while supposing that he is speaking quite naturally, while he is really on the verge of a chant ; yet if, immediately afterwards, he were asked to read a narrative in a newspaper, he would do so in his own proper voice and every-day manner. This evil habit, so powerful, because so imperceptible to the victim of it, is the mischief mainly to be grappled with, for it is the foundation of that bad reading of the Bible which prevails as much in the pulpit as out of it. The first step to conquest is to know the fault and its Special Readings — The Bible. 157 origin. The supposed religious tone must be banished , so far as it is applied to the book itself, or to the words printed in it ; but there is a reverential tone, properly applicable to the meaning conveyed b}^ the words, which shculd be cultivated. A mere narrative in the Bible demands no utterance differing from a narrative in a newspaper, unless the subject of it be solemn ; but pious exhortations and religious sentiments have a manner of expression properly belonging to them, but very different indeed from the nasal twang and the intoned groans that are so much in vogue. Cast off every relic of these, and then, having first patiently learned how not to read the Bible and prayer-book, study zealously how to read them. The drawl, the drone, the whine, the chant, the groan, — these are the besetting sins to be sedulously shunned. Frequent repetition of the self-same passages is apt to generate some of them. The services, recited so often, come so readily to the lips of the clergyman who reads them three or four times a week, that there is a natural tendency to utterance of them mechanically, without their having first passed through the mind, and hence the mannerisms of which he is unconscious. As once read, so are they always ; and if the habit be not early wrestled with, it becomes incurable. The only remedy is the presence of an inexorable critic, who will stop you when you are faulty, and make you repeat the sentence until you read it rightly ; or a professional teacher, who will not merely detect your errors, but show you how you ought to read, and thus substitute his style for yours. A special difficulty in the reading of the Bible arises from its division into verses, and its very incorrect and 158 Special Readings — The Bible. imperfect punctuation. Indeed, you will find it neces- 1 sary to overlook the printed signs, and introduce your own pauses according to the requirements of the com- position. Bat they do very much trouble the eye, how- ever resolved you may be not to heed them ; and they certainly offer a serious impediment to good Bible read- ing. A still more difficult task is to pay no heed to the verses. You should so read that the listener may be unable to discover from your voice where a verse begins or ends. Often it is the correct measure of a sentence, or a paragraph, and then the voice and the verse will run together, only marked as if it were a sentence occurring in an undivided page, and with no indication of any artificial arrangement. The sense does not re- quire this breaking up into verses ; it is purely arbitrary. It does not exist in the original ; it was adopted in the translation for the convenience of reference, and for chanting ; and there is no more call for heed to be given to it in reading than if it were the History of England. Try to forget it ; you will find the task extremely diffi- cult, but, until you have learned to do so, you cannot read well. Then apply to it all the rules that have been suggested in these letters for reading other compositions. The Bible embodies all of them, — narrative, dialogue, poetry, declamation, argument. It is a magnificent study for the reader, and an admirable exercise, if only he can first banish the bad habits he is almost certain to have ac- quired from early training and evil example everywhere. At the beginning, rather incline to the opposite fault, and even gabble it, as the best means of throwing off the Special Readings — The Bible. 159 groan or the chant. Read a chapter, as glibly, lightly, and rapidly, as if it were a novel. Read it again more slowly ; then again more seriously ; then with its proper tone and emphasis, only taking care, if you find any of the faults reviving, to banish them by again returning to « the opposite manner. Select for your exercises chapters or passages that contain examples of the several kinds of composition, and confine your attention to each one singly until you have mastered it. Suppose you begin with a narrative, read it as a narrative, with the same ease, and fluency, and variety- of expression, as are recommended in the previous instructions for reading compositions of that u would adopt if you were reading the self-same sentences in some other book. Give to them precisely the tone, and style, and expression, that you would give to the same ideas conveyed by the same words whenso- ever or wheresoever you were required to utter them. And give the full expression, and nothing but the expres- sion, that belongs to them. Persons accustomed to the drone, which they imagine to be reverential, will at first complain that you read the Bible like another book ; but they will soon get over this, when the}' find how much more effectively it is heard and remembered. Another set of hearers, who eschew the beautiful and the pleasing until they banish with them the good and the true, will raise a louder outcry against the right reading of the narrative and the dialogue, — that it is theatrical; a vague term of reproach, formerly more formidable than it now is, and which you must learn to despise, if you aspire to 160 Special Readings — The Bible. be a good reader ; because, a good actor being a good reader, and something more, you cannot read well until you read as correctly as the good actor reads. You cannot hope to conciliate this class of critics, for they will be satisfied with nothing but a monotonous drawl, and will giye the sneering epithet to anything that escapes from their bathos ; so you may as well set them at defiance from the beginning, and follow the dictates of your own good taste to its utmost limits, regardless of the protests of the tasteless. If you would satisfy yourself of the effect of a full and proper reading of the Bible, as compared with the commonplace reading of it, read, first, in the ordinary way, and afterwards artisti- cally, the Raising of Lazarus, the Parable of Nathan, the Agony in the Garden, the Crucifixion, and the exquisite chapter on Charit} 7 , and your audience, equally with yourself, will acknowledge that they had never before rightly comprehended the simple grandeur of those passages. And so with the reading of prayers. Mannerism is more frequent in this than even in the reading of the Bible. The groaning style is the favorite one. Why should it be deemed necessary to address the Divinity as if you had a stomach-ache ? Yet thus do ninety-nine out of every hundred in the pulpit or in family prayer. There is a tone of profound reverence most proper to be assumed in prayer, and which, indeed, if the prayer be felt at the moment of utterance, it is almost impossible not to assume ; but that is very different indeed from the sepulchral and stomachic sounds usually emitted. It will be observed, too, that readers commonly employ the dowmvard inflection of the voice, — that is to say, the Dramatic Reading. 161 voice descends at the close of the sentence, — whereas, in prayer, the opposite or upward inflection should be employed. The voice should always rise at the end of a sentence, that being the natural expression of the language of a petition or request. Take the familiar instance of the Lord's Prayer. How many times have you heard it read correctly anywhere or by anybody ? I will give it you, as it should be read artistically, according to the rules already suggested. Compare it with your own habitual reading. I mark it as before. "Our FATHER which art in heaven JiaUow'd be Thy name Thy kingdom come Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven Give us day by day — our daily bread and forgive us our tres- passes — as ice forgive them that trespass against us And lead us not into temptation — but deliver us from evil Amen," letter IIF. DB ASIATIC BEADING. I have reserved this for the last, because it includes all the rest. By the term i; Dramatic Reading" I do not intend merely the reading of drama, but reading dramati- cally whatever is dramatic, whether it be or be not a drama in name or form. There is scarcely any kind of 11 1 62 Dramatic Reading. composition that does not contain something dramatic ; for there are few writings so dull as to be unenlivened by an anecdote, an episode or apologue, a simile or an illus- tration, and these are for the most part more or less dramatic. Wherever there is a dialogue there is drama. No matter what the subject of the discourse, — whether it be grave or gay, or its object be to teach, or only to amuse, — if it assume to speak through any agency, other than the writer in his own proper person, there is drama. As, in music, we have heard Mendelssohn's ex- quisite Songs without Words, wherein the airs, by their expressiveness suggest the thoughts and feelings the poet would have embodied in choicest language, and desired to marry to such music, so, in literature, there is to be found drama without the ostensible shape of drama ; as in a narrative whose incidents are so graphically described that we see in the mind's eye the actions of all the characters, and from those actions learn the ivords they must have spoken when so acting and feeling. Moreover, drama belongs exclusively to humanity. It attaches to the " quicquid agunt homines" It is difficult to conceive, and almost impossible to describe, any doings of men that are not dramatic. All the external world might be accurately painted in words, without a particle of drama, though with plenty of poetry ; but, certainly, two human beings cannot be brought into communication without a drama being enacted. Theii intercourse could only be described dramatically, and that which is so described requires to be read dra- matically. Of this art, the foundation is an accurate conception of the various characters, and the perfection Dramatic Reading. 163 of the art is to express their characteristics truly, each one as such a person would have spoken, had he realty existed at such a time and in such circumstances. The dramatist and the novelist conceive certain ideal person- ages ; they place them in certain imaginary conditions ; then they are enabled, by a mental process which is not an act of reasoning, but a special faculty, to throw their own minds into the state that would be the condition of such persons so situated, and forthwith there arises within them the train of feelings and thoughts natural to that situation. It is difficult to describe this mental pro- cess clearly in unscientific language ; but it will at once be admitted that something very like it must take place before genius, sitting in a lonely room, could give prob- able speech and emotion to creatures of the imagination. That is the dramatic art of the author, and, because it is so difficult and rare, it is the most highly esteemed of all the accomplishments of authorship. For the right reading of dialogue very nearly the same process is required. You must, in the first place, com- prehend distinctly the characters supposed to be speak- ing in the drama. You must have in your mind's e} 7 e a vivid picture of them, as suggested by the author's sketch in outline. Next, you must thoroughly understand the meaning of the words the author has put into their mouths, — that is to say, what thoughts those words were designed to express. This fancy portrait will suggest the manner of speaking ; and then, clearly comprehending the meaning of the words, you will naturally utter them with the right tones and emphasis. As the great author having conceived a character and invented situations for it, by force of his genius, and 164 Dramatic Reading. without an effort of reason, makes him act and talk precisely as such a person would have acted and talked in real life ; so the great actor, mastering the author's design, rightly and clearly comprehending the character he assumes, and learning the words that character is supposed to speak, is enabled to give to those words the correct expression, not as the result of a process of reasoning, but instinctively, by throwing his mind into the position of the character he is personating. So does the good reader become for the time the personages of whom he is reading and utters their thoughts as them- selves would have uttered them. A reader must be an actor without the action. Until you have attained to the ready use of this faculty of personation, you cannot be a good reader of dialogue ; but it is a faculty capable of cultivation, and certain to improve by practice. Bashfulness is a very frequent cause of failures that are supposed to result from apparent lack of the faculty itself. Almost every reader shrinks at first from reading in character. He fears failure ; he wants the courage to break down and try again ; he is scared by his own voice, and has no confidence in his own capacities. But I desire to impress upon you that dialogue must be read dramatically, or it had better not be read at all ; and, that there may be no tendency to read it otherwise, make it a rule from the beginning of your practice of the art to read dramatically, whatever the book in your hand, and however unsatisfactory the manner in which you may do so at first. Persevere, and you will be able to meas- ure your improvement almost from day to day, — certainly from week to week ; as you advance, your courage will Dramatic Reading. 165 grow too, find you will not only speedily learn how dialogue ought to be read, but you will acquire the confi- dence necessary to read it rightly. Dialogue is the very best practice for students of the art of reading. Nothing so rapidly and effectually destroys personal mannerisms. In other readings, it is yourself that speaks, and you speak according to your habits, which are more likely to be bad than good. But in dialogue you speak, not as yourself, but as some other person, and often as half a dozen different persons, so that you are unconsciously stripped of your own manner- isms. You must infuse into your style so much life and spirit, you must pass so rapidly from one mode of utter- ance to another, that the most inveterate habits are rudely shaken* Dialogue is not only excellent practice for yourself, but, well read, it is the most pleasant of all forms of composition to listen to. It never wearies the ear by monotony, for the tones of the voice change with every sentence ; nor the mind by overtaxing thought, for each speaker suggests a new train of ideas. Being such, how should dialogue be read, and how may you best learn to read it ? Dialogue must everywhere and at all times be read in character. Whensoever what you read assumes the form of a conversation between two or more persons, all that is represented as spoken should be read precisely as such descriptions, sentiments, or arguments would have been uttered by such persons as the supposed speakers. I repeat, that you must read these in character, changing the character with each part in the dialogue and preserv- ing throughout the same manner of reading each of the parts, so that it shall not be necessary for you to name 1 66 Dramatic Reading. the speaker, but the audience shall know, from yout utterance of the first half-dozen words, which of the characters is supposed to be speaking. And the change must be instantaneous. There must be no pause to think who the next speaker is, and what he is, and how you should represent him, or how you have already repre- sented him, but you must pass from one to the other without hesitation and apparently without an effort. There is no emotion of the mind which you may not thus be required to express without any preparation, and the changes to opposite emotions are often most abrupt. In short, as I have before observed, a good reader will read ' as a good actor speaks, only in more subdued fashion, as speech is naturally, when not accompanied by action. This is what you should do ; but how may you acquire the art of doing it ? Its difficult}?- cannot be denied. It demands some physical qualifications, wanting which, success is impos- sible. You must possess a certain degree of flexibility of voice, or you will be unable to modify it for the differ- ent personages in the dialogue. All who have emotions can express them, but something more than that is neces- sary for the reading of dialogue. It would not do to express the emotions of a clown in the tones of a gentle- man, and vice versa. But apart from the true expression of the emotion, there is a manner of expression that is quite as requisite to be observed. If, for instance, j^ou read the Trial Scene in " Pickwick," the speech of Ser- geant Buzfuz should not only rightly express the ideas put into an advocate's mouth, but also the- characteristic manner of his utterance of them. So with the examina- tion of Sam Weller and the other witnesses. Some per- Dramatic Reading. 167 sous are physically incompetent to this ; they cannot mould their voices, nor put off their own characters, nor assume other characters than their own. But although there is no hope where the faculty is wholly wanting, if it exists, however feebly, it is capable of great improvement ; not without limit, indeed, but the terminus cannot be assigned. So, unless you are conscious of entire incapacity, address yourself to the task hopefully and resolutely, undeterred by failure, because through failure you will best learn how to succeed. And the first qualification is courage. Be not alarmed at the sound of your own voice, nor shrink from giving full expression to your conceptions. Resolved to express whatever you may feel, you will begin by reading to yourself the dialogue }^ou have selected for your lesson. Let it be, for instance, the glorious scene in " Ivanhoe " between Richard and the Clerk of Copmanhurst. Having thus learned the characters of the two personages, as designed by the novelist, think how such characters would speak, — by which I mean the manner of their speaking, the tones of their voices, the peculiarities of their utter- ances, considered apart from the meaning of their words. Read one of the sentences in the dialogue in the manner you have thus conceived of the speaker ; repeat the sen- tence until you are satisfied with your performance of it. Then do the like with the other characters, until you have mastered them also. In this exercise be careful to study the reading of each character separately, and do not attempt a second, until you have so perfectly learned the first that you can read any sentence set down to him in the dialogue in the characteristic manner belonging to him. Do not attempt to read the whole as dialogue until 1 68 Dramatic Reading. you have thus mastered all the parts in it, and you will find the labor well bestowed, for, this task accomplished, the rest is comparatively easy. The next process is to read the dialogue silently, slowly, and thoughtfully, for the purpose of clearly comprehending what it is that the * author designed the characters to say, — that is, the mean- ing of the speakers, as distinguished from their manner of speaking ; for, unless you rightly understand this, it is impossible for you to give correct expression to the words. Moreover, this is a fine exercise of the intellect, and it is not the least of the many uses of the art of reading, that it compels you to cultivate the full under- standing of what you read. Where you have doubts as to the meaning, you will often find them solved by read- ing the doubtful passage aloud, and, your ear catching the words of the author as they presented themselves to him, you will be conducted to the conception of his ideas. You will now be prepared to begin the reading of the whole dialogue with some success- You have acquired the mannerisms of the various speakers ; you have mas- tered the meaning of the words put into their mouths ; nothing now remains but the art of instantaneously changing your manner and voice, as j^ou pass from speaker to speaker, according to the exigencies of the dialogue. This is an accomplishment of undoubted difficult}^ but it is essential to good reading ; it can be acquired by practice alone, and, fortunately, perseverance will command success, however impracticable it may seem to you at the beginning. Thus the art of dramatic reading is comprised in three distinct requirements : first, representation of the manner of the speakers ; secondly, the right expression of the Dramatic Reading. 169 thoughts to which they give utterance ; and, thirdly, an instant change from one character to another, without hesitation or halt for reflection, always so painful to listeners. And the test of your success in this will be, whether, without its being named by you on the change of speak- ers, or indicated otherwise than by the change in your manner, your audience know to whose part in the dialogue the sentence you are then reading belongs. In printed plays, the name of the character is set at the commence- ment of each part of the dialogue spoken hy him. On the stage, the eyes inform the audience who he is who speaks, however badly he may pla} r the part. In listen- ing to reading, no such help comes to the eye as from the page or from the stage ; and if the reader were to intro- duce every sentence with the speaker's name, it would be most unpleasing. If you read the dialogue rightly, the audience will know from your manner of reading who is speaking, as certainly as if you had prefaced the speech with the speaker's name. Until you can do this, you will not have learned the art of reading dialogue ; in which, as I asserted at the beginning of this letter, is comprised the whole art of reading. 1 70 The Reading of Wit and Humor. 3Letter SlUff* THE BEADING OF WIT AND HUMOB. The reading of humorous and witty compositions is so pleasing and popular when well performed that it de- serves special attention. Alike in your family circle, or at public readings, you will find a delighted audience when }'ou introduce any of the witty or humorous writ- ings in which English literature is so fertile ; and they have this recommendation, that they please equally all classes, and all conditions of mind. They are relished by the most highly educated and the most uninstructed with equal zest ; the same peal of wholesome laughter from the lips of high and low attests the touching of a common chord within. So much of the flavor of wit and humor, or, rather, the catching of it by an audience, depends upon the manner in which it is conveyed to them, that the cultiva- tion of the art of pleasantly expressing it is well worth your care. The first great rule is to give full play to the fun. But as wit and humor require to be read in very different fashions, it will be necessary that I should briefly remind you of the distinction between them ; for they are so often used as almost synoirymous terms, and, indeed, are so generally taken by the unthinking to be almost identical in fact, that, unless you clearly compre- hend the difference, and discover at a glance whether a composition is witty or humorous, you will be subject to errors that will wholly mar the effect of your reading. The Reading of Wit and Humor. 171 I repeat that wit and humor are not identical. A man may be very witty without a spice of humor, and humor- ous without a grain of wit. It may be questioned if ever they are combined in any large degree. A remarkable instance of the difference between them is found in our- selves and our French neighbors. We are rich in humor, but poor in wit ; the French excel in wit, but scarcely know what humor is. They can neither produce it them- selves nor understand it in others. Compare their Charivari with our Punch, and the distinction will be instantly apparent. The foundation of the feeling of humor is the sense of incongruity. We have a natural love of symmetry, and any disturbance of it gives to most minds more or less of pain, as where a picture is hung awry, a curve is not perfect, or windows do not match. True, these incongruities do not make us laugh. The probable purpose of Providence in giving us this sense was to conduce to the preservation of order and proportion, that we might not be out of harmony with the world about us, which is all constructed on definite proportions and with designed symmetry. The end accomplished in the physical world by this sense of symmetry is effected in the mental and moral world by the sense of " the ludicrous ; " which is a sort of moral police for the detection of mental incongruit3 r . Its expression is laughter, and ridicule is the weapon by which mental and moral incongruity is repressed ; and what is more powerful for this purpose than ridicule ? To put it in a short proposition that may be committed to memory : — Humor is a clear sense of the ridiculous ; and the ridiculous is incongruity discovered in things that apper- 172 The Reading of Wit and Humor. tain to humanity, or in things which, by association of ideas, we connect with huinanit}^ Humor differs from wit in this : that the sense of humor is provoked by unexpected incongruity suddenly discovered in things apparently like ; wit is the sudden discovery of unex- pected resemblances in things apparently unlike ; biit both requiring, for their proper development, to be ex- pressed in appropriate language. Wit does not provoke laughter; a smile is the only outward expression of the pleasure which the mind feels in its contemplation. To appreciate wit, a certain amount of mental cultivation and refinement is required. Some minds are incapable of even catching the point of a wit- ticism ; other minds find no pleasure in it. But humor is enjoyed by all persons, though in varying degrees. Laughter is its natural expression ; and it is a question whether laughter is ever caused by the contemplation of anything which has not a touch of the humorous in or about it. The reading of witty compositions is more difficult than the reading of humorous writing, because so much of its effect depends upon the reader. A listener would rarely catch a flash of the finest wit unless his attention be directed to it by the reader. Hence it is necessary, in reading wit, not merely to emphasize the witty points, but to change the tone and manner as you utter them, speaking in a short, sharp, incisive tone, — the voice raised slightly above its previous pitch. Imagine your- self to be speaking the witticism as the sudden play and inspiration of j r our own fancy, and not as something taken from a book ; you will then probably give to it the natural expression. Your general manner in reading wit The Uses of Reading. 173 should be in accordance with your theme ; lightly, lively, trippingly, on the tongue. It is difficult to describe this manner of utterance ; but you will, perhaps, better un- derstand my nleaning if you recall the brilliant notes that were wont to gush from the lips of Grisi, — sparkling and flashing like the stars flung from a superb firework. After such a fashion should your speech be when you desire to read wit effectively. But humor must be read after another fashion. You should preserve the utmost gravity of countenance ; the effect being greatly heightened by the contrast between the ludicrous idea and the grave voice that utters it. You should not appear conscious of the fun, much less share the laughter it provokes. When all around you are convulsed with it, let not a muscle of your face be moved, save, perhaps, for an expression of wonder. better SSFHE* THE USES OF BEADING. At great cost and with much labor you cultivate the art of singing. You employ masters. You practise continually. You pride yourself upon the accomplish- ment, when it is attained. But, after all, it is merely an accomplishment, pleasant to yourself and to others, although, if its temptations be weighed against its advan- tages, it may be doubtful which would kick the beam, 174 The Uses of Reading. But the art of reading is more useful, is equally pleasant, and its advantages have no drawback. All that can be advanced in favor of learning to sing can be urged in favor of learning to read, with the addition of many- reasons for reading not to be found for singing, and the absence of objections that certainly prevail against the more popular accomplishment. The uses of reading are manifold. You must well understand what you read before you can express it rightly. Not only do you thus learn the thoughts as well as the words of an author, but, giving utterance to them, you assure yourself that it is not a mere speaking by rote ; that the ideas have entered into your mind and become a part of its stores. When read- ing to yourself you are apt to skim the words, without interpreting them clearly to the mind, and to skip pas- sages that may be necessary to a right understanding of the theme. Often the eye runs over the type while the mind is passive. When you read aloud, even if you address only the chairs and tables, you cannot thus impose upon yourself. The mind must be actively engaged in the work ; not only must it apprehend, but it must comprehend. Before the words on the printed page can come with correct expression from your lips, they must be received into your mind ; they must call up there the ideas they were designed to convey, or set in motion the processes by which the desired conclusion is wrought. This compulsion to understand what you read is the first and greatest of the uses of the art of reading. But it is as pleasant to others as profitable to yourself. Reading aloud is not as popular as singing, only because the taste for it has not been cultivated, and this lack of The Uses of Reading. 175 cultivation is the result of a lack of good readers, or more property, perhaps, of the prevalence of bad reading. Seeing that nineteen persons out of twenty read so vilely that it is a positive pain to hear them, it is not surprising that the suggestion of listening to a reader whose fitness is not guaranteed should be received with alarm by those who have never heard good reading. Bat, when you have overcome this prejudice by proof of the pleasure and profit to be derived from a good book well read, you will not want a willing audience. In your family circle this art will be a perennial source of amusement. A bound- less treasury is at your command for the enjoyment of your household. Nor is it a selfish, solitary pleasure. The same exertion serves for the enjo}mient of as many as can hear your voice, and the pleasure is enhanced in each when partaken by many. Nor does the practice of this art demand cessation from other pursuits. While listening to the wisdom, the wit, the poetiy, or the emo- tions of the greatest and purest intellects God has created, the hands may be busily employed in useful work ; indeed, most persons never listen so attentively as when their fingers are busy. But you must not be disappointed if you fail at first to win the ears of an audience, accustomed to read to them- selves, but not practised in listening to reading by another. The mental processes are different ; they are not acquired in a moment ; they need more or less of education. If you have read much to yourself, the asso- ciation of the printed word with the idea it represents is so easy and speedy you are not conscious that it is an operation learned slowly and tediously. So it is with the listening to reading. The association of the spoken 176 The Uses of Reading. word with the idea it expresses is not so rapid and easy as to be unconscious. On the contrary, you are aware of a mental effort in the act, and you compare the sensible labor of the process of receiving through the ear from the lips of a reader with the facility of passage to the mind through the eye, and you prefer the latter to the former. This, however, is only for a short season. Each time you listen to good reading you will do so with more pleasure, because you will understand what is read with less labor, until you come to receive the ideas thus conveyed to you by the lip as readily as when carried through the eye ; with the added facility of having the true sense of the author presented to you by one who has already learned it, without the labor of studying and searching it out for yourself. As the object of the art of reading is to be understood, and as to be understood you must understand, if it had no other use, it would be an accomplishment of incalcu- lable value. But there are other advantages, personal and professional. The practice of reading aloud trains you to the habit of hearing your own voice without alarm. You cease to start " at the sound yourself had made." It gives flexibility to y our voice, tenderness to youi tones, expression to your tongue. Your conversation will be vastly more agreeable when you talk in a strain where the sound echoes the sense, instead of a monoto- nous muttering, where half the sense is lost for lack of the right expression of it. And, if you are willing to take part in the great work of education, ycu may render most effective aid by read- ing to those who cannot read, or who read so imperfectly that reading is a laborious task. Custom has made the The Uses of Reading. 177 process of associating the printed and the spoken word so easy to you, that you can scarcely understand how difficult it is to those who have had only a little practice. For the assistance of these, and for the instruction of others who, though they can read readily, prefer the exercise of the ear to that of the eye, especially when the contents of a book are thus conveyed to them by an intelligent reader, a society, formed under the auspices of Lord Brougham, undertook the establishment of public readings, open at the smallest charge, at which the office of reader is gratuitously performed. If such a society does not exist in your neighborhood, you can easily establish one, — at the same time doing an act of kindness to others, and perfecting yourself in the art by practising there the precepts you have learned else- where. l The professional advantages of the art of reading are greater even than are the personal benefits. A lawyer is usually the spokesman at public meetings, because it is his business to talk. Often he is required to read reports and other documents. His fame is won or lost by the manner of his reading. When undertaking a cause in any court, the right or wrong reading of some written evidence may affect the verdict. An emphasis on the wrong word, or a pause in the wrong place, may change the meaning of a whole sentence. Witness the well- known passage, "And Balaam said, 'Saddle me — an ass : ' and they saddled him" 1 The Public . Readings Association was originally suggested and after- wards established by the author. The Penny Readings now so popular, and established throughout the country, were first promoted by the exertions of the Association. 12 178 Public Readings. And, lastly, the art of reading is the foundation of the art of speaking. If you would speak well, you should first learn to read well. The same play of emotion, the same command of voice, the same use of intonation, the same manner of expressing thought, that are required when you speak your own thoughts in your own lan- guage, are needed when you utter the thoughts of another in his language. It is for this reason that I have prefaced my purposed hints for oratory with some in- structions in the arts of writing and reading, because the flow of thoughts, the right marshalling of them, and the putting of them into the most expressive language, are best learned in the art of writing ; how to utter them so that they may be most readily understood is best acquired by the art of reading ; and these together form the foun- dation of the art of speaking. gutter sxura- PUBLIC HEADINGS. Public readings have achieved such universal popular- ity, and are so extensively useful, that it is a public duty to contribute to the common fund of entertainment, which those who have cultivated taste and sufficient leisure are thus enabled to provide for their neighbors. By taking part in these readings, not only will you do good service to others, but you will reap pleasure and advantage for yourself. Public reading is the best possi- Public Readings. 179 bit ntroduction to public speaking ; it accustoms you to hea your own voice, to face an audience, to speak out, to a ticulate, and to use expression. You roust study the book to master the author's meaning ; you must practise reading to convey that meaning rightly to your audience. B3- this self-teaching you learn more of the art of reading in one evening than you would acquire by twenty trials with none to hear. There is a mental excitement in kindling the emotions of an audience which acts and reacts by mutual sympathies. You feel the more what you read, because others share the same feeling ; because you feel more, the more vividly do you express your feel- ings, and the more you stir the emotions of the listener. As 3'ou will certainly be called upon to play 3-our part in the now popular public readings, perhaps some hints, the product of experience, will not be unacceptable. The first consideration is the choice of subjects for such readings. Even a good reader cannot read everything equally well. Every reader has his specialty, and }^ou will soon discover what is yours. If you doubt, ask your friends who may have heard your readings. Your tastes are not always a test ; many persons read worst the com- positions they like best. Many grave men excel in the rendering of wit and humor ; many cheerful men give admirable expression to tragedy. Indeed, it may be stated as a general rule, that men read best that which is most opposite to their own dispositions. But, although it is necessary to study your own capaci- ties, it is not the less needful to stud}* the tastes of your audience. Heavy, dull, and difficult writing cannot be made pleasant to them by any graces introduced into the reading of it. Public readings are not adapted for argu- 180 Public Readings. mentative discourses, nor for anything that demands much reflection. The reason is manifest. Reflection is a slow process, and cannot be performed while the ear is busy catching the coming sentence. Before the mind can pass through the process of reasoning, the reader or speaker has advanced to the ne^t passage ; the mind of the listener follows and leaves the last sentence half com- prehended ; or it hears the coming one imperfectly, and then all is confusion. Subjects fitted for public readings are such only as appeal to the feelings or to the senti- ments ; that suggest a picture, or kindle an emotion. Compositions that admit of variations in tone and manner are always to be preferred, and, if interspersed with dia- logue, so much the more will they secure the attention of an audience. Dramatic readings are always attractive ; still more so is narrative interspersed with dialogue, such as a scene from a novel, judiciously selected as having a completeness and unity in itself, telling a story intelli- gibly, without reference to the plot from which it is taken. It is their fitness in this important particular, no less than from the vein of humor and tendency to caricature pervading them, that the works of Charles Dickens are so pre-eminently adapted for public readings, and invariably secure such unbounded popularity. If you read them with a tolerable sense of their humor, and even a mod- erate capacity to express the varieties of character and the changes of the dialogue, you may secure a certain degree of success with any audience of any class that may be collected anywhere. But to give them, as they should be rendered, with the full flavor of the fun, and that infectious relish of it which no listener can resist, you must read and re-read the passages you propose in Public Readings. 181 your programme, until you thoroughly understand them. Indeed, you should prepare for a public reading, of what- ever kind, by frequent rehearsals. One of the most famous of our public readers makes it an invariable prac- tice to rehearse, during the day, his readings for the night, — even those most familiar to him, and most often prac- tised, — and in this rehearsal he studies how to utter every syllable and to express every thought with the greatest effect. What he deems it necessary to do for the accomplishment of his art, you may be assured you ought to do for the learning of it. Before you begin to read, if the room is strange to you, you should make trial of your voice, to be assured that the whole company can hear you distinctly ; for, if they fail to do so, not only are the distant deprived of whatever pleasure you can give them, but there is sure to be rest- lessness among those who cannot hear, which will disturb those of the audience within earshot, and annoy you not a little. To ascertain this, station a friend at the ex- tremity of the room, and another about the middle of it. Tell the audience that, as it is your desire that all should hear, if they find they cannot do so perfectly, you will be obliged by their so intimating to }^ou at once, that you may endeavor to accommodate your voice to the space to be filled. Your friends should be instructed to answer this appeal, accordingly as they find ; and, as they inform you, so regulate your speaking. I recommend the stationing of a friend in the middle of the room, as well as at the far end of it, because I have frequently found that the voice is very distinctly heard at the far end, — probably by reflection from the walls or roof, — while it is entirely inaudible in the middle of the room ; and the 1 82 Public Readings. more you raise the voice, the more the middle space is untouched by it. But to be heard distinctly it is not enough merely to speak louder. Indeed, if the voice be strained beyond its natural pitch, it becomes less audible, while you lose all control over its expression ; you are unable to vary its tones, and its power as an in- strument for kindling emotion is wholly lost. You will best secure a hearing by speaking in a key slightly raised above the talking key, by slow utterance, by studiously distinct articulation, by raising the voice (the upward inflection) at the end of every sentence, and by employing more of emphasis than w T ould be permissible in a smaller circle. Clearness is far more effective than loudness. In reading, much depends upon the management of your book. You must learn to read without poking your nose into it, or your voice will be sent down upon the floor, and not into the room. Your eyes must not be ever on the page ; they should turn continually from the page to the audience. This is an art that requires some practice to learn. You read at a glance, with vastly more speed than you can speak, an entire sentence, or some' complete part of a sentence ; this the mind seizes and retains sufficiently to enable you to remove the eye from the book and speak the words, from a momentary memory of them, while your eyes are upon your hearers. I cannot too earnestly impress upon you the importance of this process. The efficiency of your reading depends upon the more or less of ease with which you accomplish it, and, therefore, you cannot devote too much pains to its acquisition. The position of the book is another impor- tant consideration. If held before you, it will hide your Public Readings. 183 face and stifle your voice. The most convenient arrange rnent is a book-stand, placed at a slight angle, permitting your face to be seen, but with especial care to avoid the opposite danger of your voice being diverted from its proper direction towards the centre of the room. If you have not attained to sufficient mastery of the art of read- ing in advance of utterance, you should read from behind a table or desk, having the book upon it, above which your head, at least, should be seen. In this position you have the advantage of facing your audience with no screen between you; the only difficulty to be overcome will be that of avoiding the tendency to look down too much upon the page lying below you, and so causing your voice to be directed to the book instead of being sent into the room. You will stand, of course. Only thus can you give the full compass to your voice. Your reading should be slow, — much more deliberate than in private. You must strive to articulate with almost pedantic precision ; distinct articulation is the primary condition of being distinctly heard. Next to that is the necessity for such management of the voice as shall prevent monotonj^. Indeed, the primary quality of effective reading is variety of intonation, according to the exigencies of your subject. So important is this, that it should be ever present to your thoughts while reading. Xo composition of any kind should be read without the introduction of some changes in tone ; and if these do not readily suggest themselves, you should study where you may best resort to them ; assured of this, — that to err by too much variety is better than to weary by monotony. Public reading must partake much of the character of 184 Public Readings. acting. You must endeavor to do all that the actor does with his voice ; you should strive to be thoroughly dra- matic, even though your reading should be called theatri- cal. Throw yourself heartily into the theme, and give the rein to your emotions ; express what you feel, and try to feel what you read. For your own relief, as for that of your audience, select a variety of subjects, alternating the grave and the gay, prose and poetry, dialogue and discourse. Each is im- proved by contrast with the other. A list of the " Read- ings," which I have found from experience to be most attractive to the usual mixed audiences, may be useful to you, and all are excellent for private practice in the art of reading. Poetry, Pathetic and Narrative. The Bridge of Sighs Hood. The May Queen Tennyson. Good News from Ghent Browning. The Execution of Montrose Aytoun. Thanatopsis Bryant. The Village Blacksmith • . Longfellow, The Burial March of Dundee Aytoun. Bothwell " Death of Richard Coeur de Lion Reade. The Grandmother Tennyson. Poor Jack Dibdin. The Armada Macaulay. Inkermann Lushington. Charge of the Light Brigade Tennyson. Evening Prayer in a Girls' School .... Mrs. Hemans. Waterloo Byron. Death of Marmion - . . Scott. The Old Arm-Chair Thackeray. The Three Sons Moultrie. The Last of the Flock Wordsworth Public Readings. 185 Mariana in the Moated Grange . • ♦ . . Tennyson. The Old Woman of Berkeley Southey. The Dream of Eugene Aram Hood. Dora Tennyson. Haunted Houses Longfellow. The Old Cumberland Beggar ...... Wordsworth Morning Hymn in Paradise Milton. The Death of Haidee Byron. Genevieve Coleridge. To the East Wind Kingsley. The Cry of the Children .' Mrs. Browning* The Prisoner of Chillon Byron. Lays of Ancient Rome Macaulay. The Deserted Village Goldsmith. S(?Tig of the Shirt Hood. Battle of the Baltic Campbell. Exile of Erin " Lord Ullin's Daughter " The Parting of the King Tennyson 1 s Idyls. Morte d' Arthur Tennyson. The Two Angels Longfellow. The Old Clock on the Stairs " The Spectre Host « The Isles of Greece Byron. Ode to a Nightingale Keats. Ode to Immortality Wordsworth. Humorous Poetry. Pilgrims and the Pease Peter Pindar. The Jackdaw of Rheims Barham. My Lord Tomnoddy " John Gilpin Cowper. The Piper Browning* Ben Battle Hood. The Frenchman and the Rats Colman* The Drapers' Petition Hood. The Vulgar Little Boy Barhanu Dramatic axd Narrative Readings. Trial Scene in " Pickwick " " Pickwich** The Lady in the Yellow Curl Papers ... " 1 86 Public Readings. The Death of Paul Dombey Dickens. Bob Sawyer's Party " Pickwick" Mrs. Gamp and Betsy Prig Dickens. The Election " Pickwick." Pickwick before the Justice ...... " The Skating Scene . . . " The First of September " Mr. Winkle's Bide " The Boarding School " Sam Weller's Valentine " Mrs. Nickleby's Lover " Nicholas Nicklcby." Clarence's Dream Shakespeare. The Critic (First Act) Sheridan. Falstaff at Gadshill V ' jg* #£? j$ The Clerk of Copmanhurst and the Knight . " Ivanhoe." Quarrel of Brutus and Cassius " Julius Ccesar." The Library Scene in " The School for Scandal" Sheridan. The Duel Scene in " The Rivals " . . . . " The Emperor's New Clothes Andersscn. The Boots at the Holly Tree Inn Dickens. The Cricket on the Hearth " " It is Never too Late to Mend." 11 Much Ado about Nothing" The Death of Caesar " Julius Cazsar." The Murder of Banquo " Macbeth." The Story of Le Fevre Sterne. The Lark in the Gold Fields j Benedick and Beatrice < Carefully prepare the books from which you read. Choose a bold type, for three reasons : first, to avoid mistakes from confused sight ; second, that you may keep your face as far as possible from the page ; and, third, that when your e} T es are turned from the page to the audience, as suggested above, they may readily revert to the words last seen ; and for this purpose you should lay Public Readings. 187 your left hand upon the leaf, the finger marking the line at which you are reading ; hence the importance of the book lying on a rest instead of being held in your hand. Prepare the book by perusing slowly, pencil in hand, the compositions you purpose to read, and strike out superfluous words in narrative, passages that are dull, uninteresting, and not essential to the right understand- ing of the theme. A story told will often admit of ex- tensive curtailment, without loss of effect ; and thus narratives and dramatic pieces, much too long for a reading, if given entire, may be introduced with ad- vantage, largely extending your range of choice. In dialogue, strike out thus all the interspersed " said he," " she answered," " exclaimed Mr. Smith, looking at his watch," and such like, without which a written dialogue would not be intelligible, but which you should so read, that, by your changes of voice and manner, the audience may instantly recognize the character that speaks. So, likewise, score with a line, or with two lines, as the case may be, the words or passages which you pur- pose to emphasize especially ; for, in the intense absorp- tion of the mind in reading, you are liable, unless very familiar with your subject, to begin a sentence in a tone not precisely adapted for the ending of it, and an excess of emphasis at the beginning will seriously mar the effect of it at the close. While you are yet a learner, it would be well to make extensive use of this plan of marking your pages for guidance upon the platform in the manner of reading resolved upon in the study. The most able of our public readers has adopted the convenient practice of cutting his favorite "readings" out of the volumes in which they are found and pasting 1 88 Public Readings. them into a volume made of blank leaves. In this man- ner he is enabled to carry with him under one cover all that he requires for several evenings, avoiding the incon- venience that attends the conveyance of a small library, with the added advantage of an ample choice, should a change in the programme be desired, ready finding of the successive readings, and having them always at hand prepared for use by excision and scoring in the manner recommended. You will spoil a few volumes in the process, but, by taking opportunities to procure second-hand and injured books, the cost would be but trifling as compared with the convenience, should you assist the Public Readings as often as you ought to do, if capable. Variety in the entertainment will be secured, and the pleasure of the company much enhanced, by reading dialogue in parts, as it would be acted, each character being read by a different reader. Short farces thus well read are extremely effective. An entire play, even one of Shakespeare's, may be produced thus, provided a sufficient number of tolerable readers can be obtained ; but that is a grave difficulty, of course. Where music belongs to the drama, the effect is further heightened by the introduction of the appropriate music. Thus, u Mac- beth," judiciously curtailed, the heavier scenes being omitted, with all of Locke's music interspersed, forms a pleasing and most attractive entertainment. So also does " As You Like It." It is scarcely necessary to say that care must be exercised in the selection of readers on such occasions ; and there should be repeated rehearsals before a competent critic, who should freely point out faults and prompt amendment. Public Readings. 189 Music, indeed, mingles well with readings, relieving the ear, and giving rest to the mind. The change imparts new zest to each in its turn. The hints I have here sup- plied are the result of personal experience, and, there- fore, practical. ART OF SPEAKING. — *oX«o« — %ZtXtX ££]££♦ SPEAKING. The art of speaking is based upon the arts of writing and reading, which are the proper introductions to it. The orator should have perfect command of thoughts, words, and utterance. You must have ideas or emotions which you desire to express ; you must have the right words in which to clothe them ; and you must speak those words in the manner that will convey them the most thoroughly into the minds of those who hear them. To adopt a popular phrase, the art of oratory presents itself in two great divisions, — What to speak, and liovo to speak it. But oratory is something more than the arts of writing and reading combined. You may be able to write an excellent essay, and yet unable to compose a tolerable speech ; so you may read well, but speak badly. The arts, are, therefore, not identical, but they are very near of kin. C ceteris paribus, a good writer and reader will be a better speaker than he who writes imperfectly and reads badly. Almost all the hints that have been given to you in former letters for learning how to write and how to 190 Speaking. 191 read are equally applicable to learning how to speak. I do not propose to repeat them, but, assuming that you have read them and given them such consideration as they may appear to you to deserve, I will begin by point- ing out to you where they diverge, and what further you must do to accomplish yourself in the art that is the highest and ultimate object of your ambition. As before, I must guard myself from the imputation of vanity in attempting to teach you how to speak. I can- not pretend to be able to do what I think ought to be done for the acquirement or the practice of oratory. I profess nothing more than to have given some thought to the subject, and solved some of its difficulties, and I hope, therefore, that I may be enabled to convey a few useful precepts, although I could exhibit no satisfactory example. As I have already stated, the first subject for consid- eration will be what to say, the second how to say it ; in other words, first, the matter, second, the manner. The composition of a speech, whether prepared or extempore, will be considered with some care, and this will be followed by hints for the art of uttering it in the manner most effective for its purpose. This will com- prise the cultivation of the voice and gesture, with the minor graces that constitute the finished orator. Hints for the study of these will be submitted to you. The various kinds of oratory, with the requirements of each, will be separately treated of. but with more especial reference to the oratory of the bar and of the platform, as those to which your practice will be most frequently directed. Such is the outline of the design contemplated for the 192 Speaking. completion of the subject which I have sought to "bring under your consideration in these letters. It involves many incidental topics, which I purpose to treat as they arise, in association with the main thread of the argu- ment. As before, my aim is to offer you some practical^ hints for self-teaching, gathered from observation or sug- gested by reflection. Although I have no pretension to be an orator, I do not write wholly from theory. The requirements of my profession have compelled me to give some attention to the art, and that which I learned with difficulty and labor, because I had no guide, I am desirous of conveying to you in a form which I hope may give you the sum of much tentative toil, and the benefit of combined thought and experience. I do not place it before you as a system. I have constructed no elaborate scheme ; I have no formulas to prescribe, and scarcely anything to propound in the nature of positive rule. A true orator, like a poet, must be born such ; he cannot be made. I can pretend to nothing more than to tell you what you should try to do, and what you should endeavor to avoid, throwing out suggestions of apt means for cul- tivating the mental and physical faculties requisite to success. Butj although you may be wanting in the capacities needful to a great orator, you may certainly train your- self to be a good speaker, — that is to say, you may learn to express your thoughts aloud, in language that makes them clearly intelligible to your audience, and in a man- ner that is not painful to them. The foundation of the art of speaking is, of course, the possession of ideas to be spoken. A speech cannot be constructed without thoughts of some kind to be expressed in words. You must fill Sfteahing. 193 your mind with ideas somehow. Wanting these, it is useless to attempt the art ; but, having them, the utter- ance of them, both in language and delivery, is to some extent a matter of training. The power of words is, indeed, denied to some men, though they are few ; more frequently the voice is defective ; in other cases nature has made gracefulness of manner impossible ; but these, though essential to oratory, are not necessary to speaking, and you may become a very tolerable speaker, though wanting in some, or deficient in all, of the qualities I am about to describe. Therefore, I exhort you not to be dismayed by seeming obstacles at the beginning. Be resolute in self-training.; proceed persistently, in spite of repeated failure ; fear not to break down ; measure your faults, and put them to mending ; be earnest and un- wearied in the pursuit of your object, and you will assuredly attain it. The uses of the art, its advantages to all men, but especially to a lawyer, need no description. They must be patent to you, for everywhere you see men who have risen to the highest places solely by virtue of this accom- plishment. In a free country it must ever be so. The man who can express powerfully what others feel, but are unable to express, wields the united power of all the minds of whom he is the exponent. There is no such personal influence as that enjoyed by the orator, for he not only implants his thoughts in other men, but directs them to action. The man who can stand up and speak aloud to an assembly a single sentence intelligibly has a faculty that sets him in power and efficiency far above his fellows. Such an accomplishment is worth a great deal of patient industry to attain, and if I cannot pretend 13 194 Foundations of the to teach it, I may, perhaps, be enabled to put you in the way of learning it, even although I am unable to practise my own preaching. Hetter £££♦ FOUNDATIONS OF THE'ABT OF SPEAKING. Instinctively you will change the structure of the sentences, and even the words, to express the self-same thought in talking, in writing, or in speaking. But it does not therefore follow that you will instinctively frame your speech of the best words in the best places, and utter them in the most effective manner. These are matters for education, the product of artistic training and much practice. I have shown you before that reading is not a matter of course ; so neither does excellent oratory come from nature. You will often hear it asserted other- wise, and there seems to be a prevalent impression, among those who have never given thought to the subject, that an}^ man who can read words can pronounce them properly ; that words will come when they are wanted ; and that, if you find the words, }^ou may be an orator without further labor. Few have formed the slightest conception of the number and variety of the qualifications essential to effective speaking, — how the memory must be filled with facts and words ; how the intellect must be cultivated to rapid understanding and still more rapid reasoning ; how the feelings must be at once powerful and under perfect control ; how the voice must be trained Art of Speaking. 195 to give the full expression, and the taste to impart the true tones, infinite]}' varied, to the entire of the discourse. Then the mind must be exercised to a rapid flow of ideas and to the instant composition of sentences wherein to clothe them ; add to these, a voice attuned to sweetness as well as power, and the limbs tutored to graceful action, and you have a short summary of the requirements neces- sary for an orator. You will see from this that there is a task before you that will demand all your energies and perseverance, for it will be a work of long labor. You will say, perhaps, that there are books and teachers enough to help you to your object, — books that profess to impart the whole art of oratory, and teachers of elocution who promise to make you an accomplished speaker in a certain number of lessons. As I have stated in the preceding letters on the art of reading, I have looked with care into many of these books, and listened to some of these teachers, and I must confess that I have found in them very little that was calculated to train a student to oratory. The rules propounded are usually pedantic and often impracticable. Inasmuch as every student requires a different training, according to the specialties of his natural gifts, — his peculiar intellect, temperament, and physique, — very few general rules can be prescribed ; so few, indeed, that it would be better to abolish the term, and substitute merely hints and suggestions for strict formulas. Teachers of elocution too often impart to their pupils a mannerism that is more disagreeable than even positive incapacity. It is less painful to listen to an awkward or stumbling speaker than to a stiff, constrained, and artificial orator, who is manifestlv talking by rule. 196 The Art of Speaking — But the foundations of the art of oratory may be described in a few words. The first qualifications of an orator is to have something to say. The second is to sit doiun ivhen he has said it. These have been already described at some length in my third letter ; to that I refer you, asking you at this place to render repetition unnecessary by turning back to those pages, and reperusing them, for they cannot be too firmly imprinted upon your memory. letter IXZK. THE ART OF SPEARING— WHAT TO SAY— COMPOSITION. It seems like a truism to tell you that before you speak you should have something to say. But it is a necessary caution ; nothing is more common than to hear a man speak for a long time and utter nothing but words — words — words — without a grain of thought at the heart of them. The popular ear so readily mistakes fluency for eloquence, and copious language for abundant wisdom, that ignorance and emptiness may be well excused for venturing where real ability fears to tread. Now, as there is nothing easier than " bald, disjointed chat," or speech "full of sound and fury, signifying — nothing," there is some danger of your falling into it, unless you resolve, from the beginning of your career, never to speak unless What to Say — Composition. 197 you have something to say, then to say what you have to say, and to sit down again when you have said it. All this appears very easy on paper, but it is very difficult in practice. A true orator must possess the full mind as well as the ready mind. He must know much, and think much ; he must open his eyes and ears to receive knowledge of all kinds from all quarters, and his mind must be ever busily at work reflecting upon the knowledge thus acquired. Indeed, there is no sort of intelligence that will not come into use at some time. I can, therefore, propose to you no scheme of studies wherewith to lay the foundation of oratory, for it is to be pursued everywhere, and comprises everything. The only rule I can give you is, to learn all you can, from all sources and of all kinds. Practise the art of writing, as already suggested to you, diligently, as being the best preparation for oratory. The instructions there given are to be pursued, but with another purpose. The art of writing will assist you to the art of speaking ; but it is not all that you require, and you must rightly understand and carefully keep in view the differences between them, which I will now endeavor to explain to you. There are three ways of expressing your thoughts, talking, writing, and speaking. I use the familiar terms, because they convey my meaning more accurately than finer phrases. If you were required to express the same thought, or tell the same story, first, to a fireside circle, afterwards, in an article for a newspaper, and, finally, in a speech to an assembly, you would certainly do so in three very different forms of composition, and in two, if not three, sets of words. If you had made no preparation for either performance, you would fall unconsciously into the 198 The Art of Speaking — natural style appropriate to each situation. Only when you may have educated yourself into a bad habit of con- founding the styles, would you spout an essay or talk a speech. Talk differs from writing or a speech in this, that it is a broken, and not a continuous stream of thought. Talk- ing implies the participation of others in the discourse. If you have all the talk to yourself, it is not talking, but declamation or preaching ; that is to say, it is not an interchange of thoughts, but merely the utterance dog- matically of your own ideas. The manner is as different as the matter ; you assume unconsciously the colloquial tone, which does not assert or affirm, but suggests, sub- mits to consideration, puts an argument interrogatively, as if to say, " Do you not think so?" "Is not that right?" " Are you of the same opinion?" " What say you to it?" Thus stimulating conversation by inviting the free expression of differences. You do not say of any proposition that it is so," but that " such is your view of it," " so it seems to you," and you ask if your com- panions " agree with you." Necessarily, your sentences are short, your words are expressive rather than select, and the perfection of talk is brilliant dialogue. Now set yourself to write on the same subject ; how different will be the framework ! You desire to express the same thoughts. At once your mind falls into another mood. Now, you discourse without let or hindrance ; you have it all your own way ; you do not look for inter- ruption, nor invite dissent; you make assertions, you pursue a course of argument, you say, "it is," or "it is not ; " the stream of thought flows on continuously until it is exhausted. In accordance with these features of What to Say — Composition. 199 your thoughts is the composition of the language in which the}' are expressed. Your thoughts are distinctly conceived, your words are well weighed, your style is formal ; you arrange your words in a different order, and are studious of the strict rules of composition, for that which is to be read permits of transpositions forbidden to that which is to be spoken. But if you speak upon the same subject, although you desire to express the same thoughts, you will naturally do so in a different fashion. If you were to speak as you had written, you would probably be unintelligible to half your audience and uninteresting to all ; your discourse would appear intolerably starched, dogmatical, and dry. The reason of this is, that the mind of the hearer must follow the words of the speaker as fast as he utters them, and unless those words convey the thought at once, with- out sending the mind backwards or forwards in search of it, it falls by the way, or, what is worse, it is misunder- stood. The reader can pause to reflect, he can reperuse any passage not instantly intelligible ; but if the listener does not seize it on the instant of its expression by the speaker, it is lost to him altogether, without hope of recovery. You will now see, I trust, wherein lies the difference between composition for speaking and for writing. Ora- tory requires, not only its own language, but its own composition ; the framework in which a speaker's thoughts are set differs widely from that employed by the talker or the writer. The style is more formal than that of the former, ami less formal than that of the latter. A speech that resembled talking would be an impertinence ; a speech like an essa}' would be a bore. You must learn 200 The Art of Speaking— the mean between them. Writing is, nevertheless, the foundation of speaking, and will be found the best prac- tice to qualify you to be a speaker. You should write much upon the topics on which you expect to be required to speak much, and this for two purposes : first, to culti- vate ideas upon them ; and, second, to learn how to express those ideas with precision. The habit of putting your thoughts into writing affords the only guaranty that those thoughts have substance in them, and are not merely vague and formless fancies. When first you come to set down upon paper your ideas upon any subject, however you may imagine yourself to be well acquainted with it, you will be surprised to find how dreamy and shapeless are the thoughts you had supposed to be so distinct and sj^mmetrical. The pen is a provoking fetter upon the flights of fancy; but it is a wholesome cure, and makes you a sensible man instead of a dreamy f x>l. Write, therefore, often and much, preferring the subjects on which you may anticipate that you will be required to speak. But there is danger to be avoided. You write for the sake of acquiring clear and rapid thoughts and expressive words, — nothing more. This is all writing can teach you that will serve you in speaking. What more you may ]#arn from the practice of writing will be injurious, and will require strenuous exertions to avoid. I have told you already that the framework of spoken thought differs widely from that of written thought. In so far as the style of written composition differs from that of speech, you must keep strict watch over yourself to prevent the practice becoming a habit. This is the difficulty and danger, for which I can suggest no way of escape save Cautions — Hovj to Begin. 201 your own vigilance. It is something to know where danger lies, and you should keep the memory of it ever before you. Perhaps the best counteraction would be to revise what you have written, thinking how you would have said the same thing had you spoken instead of written it* and sometimes even to rewrite it as if it had been designed for a speech ; the comparison will show you the difference in the manner, and disturb the habit of throwing your thoughts into the peculiar form of written composition, which otherwise might become unmanageable. Hetter HHL CAUTIONS — HOW TO BEGIN. The practice of writing a speech must be pursued with this caution, that you guard yourself against acquiring the mannerism that belongs to it,' and which very little experience will teach you to detect in any speaker who has written his speech and recites it from memory. Both thoughts and words, in written discourse, unconsciously, and in spite of your efforts at prevention, marshal them- selves in an order different from that which they fall into when spoken. By recommending to you the practice of composition with the pen, I do not therefore design to encourage the writing of speeches. There is, indeed, no error against which I would more emphatically warn you ; but unless you can compose rapidly using the pen, you will not do so using the lips ; you may, indeed, talk 202 Cautions — How to Begin. sound sense, but you will talk it so badly that it will be painful to listen to you. The object of oratory is to influence your audience by convincing or persuading them ; by satisfying their judg- ments or kindling and attracting their sympathies. Your purpose is not, or ought not to be, to astonish them by ingenuity, or to gratify their tastes by your art. You appeal to their reason, or to their feelings, or to both, with intent to induce them to share your convictions or your emotions. Hence the presence of earnestness on your part is necessar}^ to success. The mere appearance of conviction — an obvious sincerity of belief in the cause you are advocating — will often make more converts than the most unanswerable arguments ; and such is the sympathy of human feelings, that the presence of real emotion in you is sure to command the emotions of your hearers ; while the absence of it, or the show of it only, however well acted, will as certainly fail to carry an audience along with you. Mind is moved by mind ; feel- ings are stirred by feelings. The orator must nevei forget the poet's truth, " That we have all of us one human heart." There are vast variances of intellect descending from Shakespeare to an idiot. The intelligence of an audience varies immensely, the best certainly not being the most numerous. Taste, fancy, perception, apprehension, and comprehension are as unlike in different persons as their features, and the full possession of these powers is as rare as beauty. But the emotions are nearly the same in all of us, of what class or training soever. Education cannot create, nor neglect destroy them. Your most Cautions — How to Begin. 203 convincing appeals to the reason will be understood by few ; the brightest pictures of your fancy will call up the like pictures only in the select of your listeners ; your wit will be appreciated but by the most refined ; and your most exquisite language will be understood by those only whose tastes have been cultivated like your own. But your emotions will find an echo in every breast, even the rudest ; 3-ou will touch all minds simply by the force of sympatlry. The just and the right will bring down applause, even from those who rarely do right or practise justice. Generous sentiments will be welcomed with hearty cheers ; righteous indignation will make the most sluggish bosom heave and the dullest eye flash. If you doubt this, go to any public assembly, and mark what most wins the ear and stirs the heart. Enter a theatre, and note what the galleries are the first to perceive and the heartiest to applaud. Not the wit, nor the wisdom, nor the loftiest flights of poetry ; but the generous sentiment, the noble deed, the true word, the honest indignation. Think of this when you find your audience cold and uns3 T mpathizing. Be then assured that the fault is in yourself; that you have not measured them aright ; that they are not of intelligence sufficiently large and loft}' for the height of your great argument. But bethink you also that they are men, and, if they have not minds, they assuredly have hearts. Cease to talk to the intellect and appeal to the feelings, and you will certainly succeed, — ^ if to succeed be 3'our ambition. And that is the purpose of speaking. The object of oratory is to move your audience. If } T ou desire to per- suade the distant or the future, you appeal to them through 204 Cautions — How to Begin. the pen and the printing press. If you strive after both effects, you will probably fail in both, for the manner of address is different. You will never carry an audience with you by a spoken essay ; 3-011 will never captivate a reader by a printed oration. The utmost that can be said of a recited discourse is, " How very clever ! " The ut- most you can say of an oration you read is, " How that would have moved me if I had heard it ! " Have, then, these maxims ever before you : — 1. That the one purpose of oratory is to persuade your audience. 2. That an appeal to the sentiments and feelings of a mixed audience is always more effective than an appeal to their reason. 3. That to kindle emotions in your hearers you must yourself be moved. Bat you must not begin your practice of written com- position by writing speeches. Begin with a plain narra- tive in the plainest words. Eschew fine writing. Do not think it necessary to adopt a new language because you have a pen in your hand and paper before you. The fit words will come when you have clear thoughts and they have learned to flow freely. Take courage — and it does require some courage at first — to call a spade by its proper name, " a spade ;" that name will give a more correct idea of the thing you wished to say than any possible periphrasis. By way of beginning, relate some incident } T ou may have witnessed ; resolve to describe it precisely as you saw it, and as you would have told it to a friend in the street, with no more effort as to the manner of telling it. You will be surprised to find how difficult this is. Nevertheless, go on ; say something. Do it as Cautions — Haw to Begin. 205 well as you can. Having done it, read aloud what you have written. You will doubtless be ashamed of the senseless jumble. But spare your blushes ; you have failed in common with many of unquestioned capacity. In truth, the thing you have been striving to do is the most difficult achievement in composition, — the last to which experience attains. To say what you have to say in few but simple words is the highest accomplishment of art. Be not, therefore, disheartened ; correct the work you have done ; or, better still, if you have a practised friend, ask him to go through it with you, point out your faults, and make you correct it in his presence, correction upon correction, until the work assumes a decent shape. ,And in the performance of this process write each improved edition below the former one, so that you may compare the last with the first, and any one with any other, and trace the march of improvement and learn the faults to be avoided. From plain narrative proceed to essay, to argument, to declamation, to poetry, — very necessary to accustom you to give the glow. of color to your thoughts and music to your words. It matters not that your prose and your poetry are equally unfit for publication ; that is not your object. Think not of it as such, but solely as a lesson, which you may thrust into the fire as soon as it is finished. Indeed, better that } r ou do so, and then it will never cause you to be put to shame through the vanity of appearing in print. Write as many lines to Celia and Delia as you please ; the more of them the better for your education in oratory ; but have the courage to burn them before the ink is dry. At last, when you are well practised, when you can write with tolerable fluency and correctness, and 206 Cautions — How to Begin. throw some thought into what you write, — not stifled hi a cloud of fine words, nor disguised in roundabout phrases, nor the nouns buried beneath the adjectives, — begin to write imaginary speeches in a modest way. To do this rightly you must surround yourself with an ideal audience, and you may further become, in fancy, any orator of fame ; or, what is better, imagine yourself an orator, winning the ears and moving the hearts of an excited and admiring multitude. Choose for your theme some topic of the day that may have interested you, and upon which you have feelings, and perhaps believe that you have decided opinions, large and liberal. Before you begin to write, close your eyes, — not to go to sleep, but the better to bring the picture before the eye of the mind !l — and then think what you would say to charm such an •audience as your fancy has conjured up. You will experience a rush of fine thoughts and eloquent words. Seize } r our pen instantly, and set them down. Why do you pause before half a dozen words are inscribed, — bite your pen, — write another word or two, — pause again, — draw your pen through the writing, — write another word, — erase that, — and then close your eyes and address yourself again to thought? Wherefore are not the thoughts that came so quickly before you began to write as quickly caught and fixed upon the paper ; and where are the words that then flowed so richly ? Ah ! when you come to put them into shape, you learn how merely fanciful they were ; how unsubstantial the ideas, how chaotic the language ! It was to teach you this truth that you were recommended to write. It is the surest means of learning the lesson of your incapacity, and it is at the same time its best remedy. The first step is taken, The First Lesson , etc. 207 and a most important one it is. You have learned that an ordinary array of thought, clothed in appropriate language, is not attained without diligent study, long labor, and much practice. The path is now cleared of the obstruction of self-confidence ; you know your weak- ness and what and how much you have to acquire, and therefore you are in a condition to begin the work of self- teaching. You will commence with an attempt to write a speech. letter SXS03L THE FIBST LESSOX— WBITING A SPEECH, Do not be discouraged by the difficulties. All that is worth having is difficult at first. In despite of pauses, pen-bitings, and obliterations, still, I sa} T , persevere. Every successive sentence will be easier to compose than was its predecessor. But remember that you must have something to say. Be assured that } T ou have really a dis- tinct and definite conception in your mind of an idea which you desire to convey to other minds. So long as you are merely thinking, you cannot be sure that your thought is clear. Is it an argument? Often you jump at the conclusion without regarding the intermediate steps ; your sentiments are still more frequently but indistinct emotions, which you mistake for thoughts ; and the imperfections in your narrative do not force themselves upon your attention until you are compelled to put it into shape. Hence, at the beginning, it is 208 The First Lesson — necessary that you should test yourself by trial in pri* vate, before you risk the chance of learning your defects by a public failure. The best gauge of your power to think is to write down your thoughts ; for thus you learn what your thoughts are worth, as well as in what words to express them. Therefore, before you attempt to speak a speech, write one. Choose your theme, and ask yourself this plain question. " What do I want to say about this subject? " In speech you may say much that would be inad- missible in writing. Written declamation is disagree- able, but declamation may be employed with great effect in speech. The structure of the sentence differs in the two forms of discourse, and the very language is unlike. A spoken essay would be as intolerable as a written oration. In the essay, we look for thoughts ; in the speech, mainly for sentiments and emotions. The former is supposed to be the utterance of profound reflection in skilfully constructed sentences ; the latter is the outpour- ing of the mind in the words that rush to the tongue, regardless of the orderly array prescribed to deliberate composition. Nevertheless, you should try to write a speech before you attempt to speak one. But write it as you would speak it. To do this you must exercise your imagination, and suppose yourself to be in the presence of an audience, upon your feet, about to address them on some theme familiar to you ; acting, as it were, as your own reporter. Doubtless you believe your mind to be full of fine ideas, and your brain overflowing with apt words wherein to clothe them. Before you have written three lines, you will be amazed to discover that those crowding thoughts Writing' a Speech. 209 i are very shadow}^ and indefinite, those thick - coming fancies little better than dreams, and the glowing words extremely reluctant to fall into orderly array. In fact, you will find that you have yet to learn your lesson, and to do so you must begin with the rudiments of the art. And great, indeed, will be the value of this first lesson, if only it should teach you thus much, — that you have everything to learn. The first step to all knowledge is the knowledge of our ignorance. You will find your pen halting for thoughts and words ; if you try to dash along careless of what you write, you will be displeased with yourself when you read what you have written. But be of good courage ; already, by you* failure, jou have taken a long step towards success. Xow you have measured your incapacity and the difficulties to be conquered even at the threshold of your study. You will thenceforward make rapid progress, with the help of patience and perseverance. Xo matter how slowly the work is done — do it. Com- plete your exercise in some shape, however clumsy, The express purpose of this first lesson is not so much to teach you what to do, as to convince you by experiment what you cannot do. Having made two or three trials in this way, until you are able to express some definite thoughts in definite language, you may advance to the next process and attempt the construction of a formal speech — this also in writing, but written precisely as you would have spoken it — in the style and language of oratory. Begin by sketching an outline of your proposed treatment of the theme. Asking yourself " What have I to sa} T about it?" note in two or three suggestive words the ideas a.9 H 210 The First Lesson — i they occur to you in meditation. Afterwards arrange these in orderly fashion, so that the discourse may assume something like a logical shape, the parts of it appearing to grow naturally out of one another, with a definite beginning and a definite end. This done, expand the "headings" into a speech, still bearing in mind that you are supposed to be talking, not writing. When it is completed, stand up, paper in hand, and spout your performance to the tables and chairs. Thus you will learn if it comes trippingly on the tongue, and likewise something of its sound. As yet you need not be over-critical upon its merits as a composition. Doubtless it is full of faults ; somewhat stilted, flowery in language, abounding in what the Americans call u bunkum," and on the whole unsatis- factoiy. Every young orator falls into these faults. Fine talking and fine writing are the universal sins of inexperience, certain to be corrected by time. There is only one defect that is never cured, one fault for which there is no hope, — the penny-a-lining style, significantly called " the high polite." The mind, once taken posses- sion of by that modern jargon, never throws it off; per- haps because the infection can be caught onty by a mind essentially vulgar and conceited, and the presence of it proves incapacity even for the appreciation of something better. Your language cannot be too simple, by which I mean, plain, pure Saxon English. It is at once intelligible to the common people, and pleasing to the educated taste. It is one of the secrets of the success of all the great popular orators. English — the English of the Bible, of Shakespeare, of Defoe, of Bunyan, of Dryden, of Swift — Writing a Speech. 211 is singularly expressive and pictorial ; and being for the most part the language of daily life, it is instinctively understood by an audience who cannot pause upon a word to reflect what the speaker means by it, for this would be to fall behind him in the discourse. After you have written your imaginary speech, read it over twice or thrice, for the sole purpose of detecting and changing words for which a more homely expression can be found, and do not rest content with your performance until every foreign word for which there is a Saxon equivalent has been banished ; and, whenever you alight upon a 46 high polite " word or phrase, away with it, even if } t ou are obliged to substitute the longest word in the dic- tionary. Magniloquence is simply silly ; the penny-a- lining style is horribly vulgar. Carefully eschew metaphors, similes, and the flowers of speech. The tendency of all young orators, as of young writers, is to lavish them profusely, and inexperience is wont to measure its own merits, and perhaps the merits of others, by the extent of that kind of ornament. Good taste does not banish them altogether, but it prescribes the use of them so rarely, and only on such appropriate themes and special occasions, that your safest course will be to exclude them wholly from your first endeavors, and only to permit their introduction when you have made some progress, and where their aptitude is very apparent. A flowery speaker may attract at first, but he soon wearies ; and wheresoever oratory is to be applied to the practical uses of life, as in the senate or at the bar, the orator who indulges largely in ornament of this kind will soon weary and disgust an audience intent upon business. These hints for the general structure of a speech may 212 The Art of Sfeahing — perhaps assist you in that which I again recommend to you for the first lesson, — the writing of a speech, as nearly as you can, in the very words in which you would desire to speak it. better SSSJEU*. THE ABT OF SPEAKING — FIB ST LESSONS. The speech being thus written, stand and speak it, giving full play to the voice, but using no action. Imag- ine the furniture to be an audience, and " get up " all the fervor you can to address them. The object of this is twofold ; partly to practise you in the mechanics of oratory, but mainly to enable you to detect faults in your composition that may not be discovered by the eye or the mind. When you utter it aloud, your tongue and your ear together will speedily inform you if you are wanting in some of the graces of oratory, or have indulged too much in its conceits. A sentence, smooth to the mental ear when read " to yourself," will tune harsh discords and unpleasing notes when spoken by the tongue ; a phrase that seemed most potent when you conceived it is found to be most pitiful when you bring it forth ore rotundo; a sentiment that occupied a quarter of an hour in its development stumbles upon the lips and falls flat upon the ear. As you discover these defects, mark them upon the manuscript and correct them. Then read again, and observe the improvements and the defects thai- First Lessons. 213 remain. Treat these in the same manner, until they have disappeared and you can read right through the papei without offence to your ear or your good taste. This is all you should attempt in the form of reading. You must not use action, for it is impossible to use fit action while the eye is fixed upon a book or paper, and ungainly movements are more easily acquired than shaken off again. The primary purpose of this lesson in self-teach- ing is the composition, and not the utterance, of a speech. That will be treated of presently. When you have thus written and recited half a dozen speeches, you will probably compose them with increased rapidity and manifest improvement in form and language. So soon as you/eeZ the thoughts flowing with ease, and shaping themselves into words without an effort, throw the pen aside and try to make a speech impromptu. Let your first trial of impromptu speaking be with one of the subjects which you have written upon and recited as a speech. Throw the paper aside, and try to shape a speech, not by repetition from the memory, but by inven- tion as you speak. Some memories are too powerful to permit of this ; they recall the very words that are written, and not the mere thoughts in their orderly array ; in such case it is only reading by the mental instead of the bodily eye, and the object of the practice would be lost. But when the memory is not so retentive, and recalls only the scheme of the composition, try to make an extempore speech on the same theme, treated in the same manner. Now, as ever, when }^ou utter your thoughts directly from the lips, mind addressing mind through no other medium than the voice, you nw use action, not studied, not even considered at the moment, 214 The Art of Speaking — but such as you adopt unconsciously. How to utter a speech, and what action to use with it, will be subjects for special consideration hereafter. You will doubtless feel some mortification at the issue of this your first trial : it will be a failure ; your thoughts will be confused; the words will not. come, or come out of place ; you will hesitate, stumble, and possibly break down. Be not discouraged at this ; it is the fate of all beginners of good promise. Better so than glibly to pour out a stream of weak words not freighted with ideas. There is no more fatal sj^mptom than this sort of facility in a beginner. The limits of his success are soon found ; practice increases the rapidity and not the depth of the stream that flows from his lips. You have halted, and stumbled, and broken down, because you carried weight. You wanted to say something definite in language as definite. This is an art that does not come by nature, save perhaps to wonderful genius once in a century. Common minds must learn by experience to think clearly, to sustain continuous thought, to clothe those thoughts in words as speedily as the tongue can utter them, and then to express them in tones pleasing to those who hear. That is the accomplishment after which you are striving, and it can be attained only by perseverance and patience ; failure must precede success, and let it be your consolation that failure is the pathway to success. Fortunately, by the method of self-teaching that I have suggested, } T our discomfiture will be known only to yourself. Better to break down in a private room than in a public meeting. At least, the chairs will not jeer you ; shame will not be added to disappointment. Try First Lessons. 215 again ; } r ou can afford ever so many failures in this arena. Briefly review the argument or plan of the speech, and then renew the effort. Mark wherein you fail ; if it is that you forget the order of the subjects, or if you cannot marshal your thoughts in orderly fashion, or if j^our words do not come readily, or in right array. If it be that the plan of the discourse fades away from your mind, you should assist the memory by making a very brief sketch of the successive subjects upon a slip of paper, — suggestions merely of two or three words, — and keep this before you, to assist you in a moment of distress, using it without scruple. Even the most prac- tised orators may resort to this help, and most of them do so. If the fault is in the flow of the words, there is no such remedy ; indeed, I can suggest none to you but practice. And so with the orderly array of words ; this, too, is partly a gift of nature, but to be vastly im- proved by cultivation ; and even where nature is defec- tive, labor and -long practice will cure the defect, as may be seen at the bar, where it is of continual occurrence that men, who at the beginning appeared to be almost wanting in words, and who were unable to put the sim- plest thought into the plainest language, by much prac- tice become correct and easy, if not positively fluent, speakers. I assume that you have something to say when I throw out these hints to you for learning to say it. If your mind is vacant of thought, it is in vain that you attempt to become an orator ; better abandon that ambition, and devote yourself to some mechanical pursuit for which nature has more fitted you. But be not in too great a hurry to arrive at the conclusion that your case is hope- 2i6 The Art of Speaking — ■ less. The thoughts may be there, but lying in confusion, or not sufficiently definite ; or they may be slow to move, or difficult to marshal. All these are defects to be cured ; if only the thoughts are there in some shape, you can learn, with more or less of labor, to bring them into use. If, for instance, you find that with your pen you can express something sensible upon any theme, you may be assured that you can do the like with your tongue, and that the obstacle, wherever it is, may be removed by skill and diligence. Your case is only hopeless when, after many trials, you can find nothing to say, and, worse still, when words come freighted with nothing but sound and fury. If it be that the thoughts are there, but you cannot evoke them, the remedy is to write — write — write — until the mind falls into the habit of thinking definitely and orderly, and of yielding up its thoughts readily. The process is slow, but it is certain. You may not measure your progress week by week, but compare month by month, and you will discover the improvement. Try it b} r time. Note how many minutes are occupied in filling a page of your paper ; a month afterwards note them again, and so forth, and you will see what progress you have made. Compare the composition of this month with that of last month, and you will learn the steady advance in precision and power of expression. When you can write with tolerable fluency, begin again the attempt to speak. At first you may be baffled ; for such is the strange force of habit, that ideas which flow fast through the pen often refuse to come to the lips. But this is only a habit, and may be disturbed by the same repetition that formed it. Persist in the attempt to First Lessons. 217 speak readily what you have written without difficulty. Begin by asking } r ourself this question: "What is it I want to say on this subject? What should I say were I to write it?" Answer the question aloud; not, in the first instance, standing up, but sitting down, in the very attitude in which you would have written, lacking only the pen and paper. Utter aloud, in any words that offer, the idea you have to express. Repeat it two or three times. Then stand up and repeat it again ; still not oratoricall} r , but as if you were telling a friend in ordi- nary conversation w T hat are your notions on the particu- lar topic. Then repeat it in more formal phraseology, and with some of the tones of a speech ; and, finally, try to make a speech of it. This is a tedious process, it is true ; but the defect to be conquered is formidable, and can only be cured by patient perseverance. All these first lessons in oratory are to be practised in private. They are designed as preliminary training to the public exercise, which is certainly more efficient, because there is about it the stimulus of reality ; but it produces also the nervousness that so often leads to failure, and you face the unpleasant consequences of failure itself where more persons will certainly be found to laugh at you than to pity you. These suggestions are not designed as a substitute for the ordeal of actual practice, but only to induce such preparation for practice as will make success more certain. If nothing more, it will save you from that ignominious failure, the fear of which has deterred hundreds who really possessed the capacities of an orator, and the experience of which has sent many a promising man back into obscurity, whence he has not found courage again to emerge, although there 2i8 Public Speaking. was in him the material out of which success might have been achieved, had he taken proper pains to prepare for the trial. better XXXF. PUBLIC SPEAKING. You may now make your first attempt to speak in public. If possible, select the occasion. Do not trust your- self to say something about anything, — which usually amounts to saying nothing, — but avail yourself of the discussion of a subject to which you have given some thought, and on which you can say something. Turn the subject over in your mind ; think how you shall treat it ; from what point of view you may best approach it ; how you should arrange your ideas upon it, so that they may be presented in orderly array, linked into a chain of argument. Having planned it roughly in thought, put your plan upon paper. But only in outline. Do not provide the words ; note down nothing but the subjects to be treated, with the order of treatment. Trust entirely to the impulse of the moment to provide words wherein to express your thoughts ; but let those thoughts be firmly fixed in your memory. Some famous orators are accustomed, in addition to Public Sfeaking. 219 this outline of the argument, to compose the peroration and recite it from memory. It is, however, a course of doubtful expediency at all times, and I would especially counsel you, as a beginner, not to resort to it. There are many objections to a written speech. In the first place you are dependent upon your memory, and if that should fail, your discomfiture is complete, — you break down altogether ! Few memories are so perfect as to preserve their power when the mind is otherwise dis- turbed. The fear of failure is very likely to be the cause of failure. A single word forgotten produces alarm and hesitation, and while you are trying to recall that word, others fade away, and in the accumulated confusion a whole sentence disappears. You hesitate, you stammer, you try back, — in the hopeless chaos you are lost. From this danger the speaker of a written speech is never safe ; it may occur at any moment, and the result is always humiliating. But there is another objection to written speeches,' — they can never be effective ; for this reason, that they are projected by a process altogether different from that of an extempore speech. TVliat 3-011 have first written, then committed to memory, and now proceed to deliver by the lips, you utter by a process that is little better than me- chanical. The memory is the only mental faculty engaged in the operation, and your whole attention is concentrated upon the work of recalling the words you have learned. This process within you is distinctly manifested to your audience ; it is betrayed in face, in tone, in gesture ; and your speech, wanting soul, fails to move soul. But when you speak from the prompting of your intel- lect, the whole mind is engaged in the operation ; you 220 Public Speaking. say what you think, or feel, at the moment of utterance, and therefore you say it in the tones and with the expres- sion that nature prompts, without an effort on your part. It is a law of our being that mind is moved by mind. There is a secret s}^mpathy by which emotion answers to emotion, and your feelings stir the like feelings in your fellow-man. Bat no feigned emotions, however skilfully enacted, can accomplish this. You may greatly admire the skill of the performer and look upon him with admi- ration as an artist, but you do not feel with him. Again ; the language of a written speech is altogether different from extempore expression. The mind, when it discourses through the pen, throws itself, as it were, into a different attitude from that which it assumes when speaking through the lips. The structure of the sen- tences is different ; the words ar.e different ; there is a difference in the array of the thoughts. Written compo- sition is obedient to rules. There are certain conventional forms of expression, so unlike the language of speaking that they betray themselves instantly to a practised ear. Although an unskilled audience might not know the cause, the effect is shown in a sense of uneasiness, and we complain of stiffness - and dulness in the orator. Therefore, never write a speech, but only give it careful thought and set down the heads of it in the order in which you propose to treat them. Thus armed, and screwing up your courage for an ordeal whose severity I have no wish to underrate, go to the meeting at which you are to make the first real trial of your capabilities. To be forewarned is to be fore- armed, and therefore I will tell you what you will feel. If the audience be a large one, so much the better ; it Public Speaking. 221 is easier to address a crowd than a small company. You are not scared by the multitude of eyes, but by the fixed gaze of a limited circle. The aspect of an assembly from a platform is very remarkable. Being raised so much above them, and all faces being turned up and eyes fixed on you, the consciousness of personality is lost; }'ou recognize nobody in particular, and the whole seems like one personage having as many eyes as a fly. No beginner ever looked on this sea of e}'es without more or less of fear, or when he looked at it saw anything but eyes. Try to make the scene familiar by an attentive survey of it while you are waiting your turn to speak, if that be possible when you are intently thinking what you will sa} T , and how you will say it. Anxious you will be, if there is anything in you ; some fear is inseparable from the modesty that accompanies genuine capacity ; but, in spite of anxiety and fear, let it be your resolve to go on, come what come may. At length your turn comes. As the time of trial ap- proaches, your heart will begin to flutter, then to thump audibly against your ribs, and there will be a curious creeping of the flesh, growing almost to a shiver, while your cheeks are burning and your head is throbbing. You stand up. Your knees tremble ; your hand shakes ; the sea of eyes swims before you and vanishes into a mist ; you are conscious of nothing but the lights. Sud- denly your tongue becomes dry, and, worse than all, your memory fails you, and you feel it to be failing. Be thankful now that you have not trusted 3^our speech to it. These symptoms have been experienced, more or less, by every man who has achieved the art of oratory ; and some I have known who never escaped from them entirely — 222 Public Speaking. the trembling knees and parched tongue attending the first sentences uttered in all their speeches, however fre- quent. Few there are who succeed in avoiding them altogether. But go on. Say something, however dislocated or unmeaning ; anything is better than silence. A little hesitation at the beginning of a speech is never unbe- coming, and often is highly effective. One of the best and most practised speakers I ever listened to opened with stammering voice and imperfect sentences, and seemed continually on the point of breaking down ; but as he warmed in the work, words began to flow and self- possession to return, until he rose to eloquence that held his audience in delighted thraldom for three hours. In this, as in all the business of life, he who has not courage to fail may not hope to achieve success. Do not venture at all. unless you are resolved to go through with it. Even if you cannot collect yourself sufficiently to say the sensible things you intended to say, do not give it up, but talk on ; for 3 t ou may be assured of this, that half your audience will give you credit for having some meaning in your words, though they cannot exactly find it out, and if words come freely will think you a fine speaker, re- gardless of their sense or nonsense. There is but one hopeless failure, — coming to a full stop. But it is prob- able that, after you have conquered the first terror at the consciousness of lost memory and scattered thoughts, when you find your audience^ still patient and listening, your self-command will return, and you will make a trium- phant ending. Whatever the issue of that first trial, try again. Be not daunted even by failure. Practice will overcome all Public Speaking. 223 difficulties. If you have planned a formal speech, the structure of it will be present to your mind ; if you throw yourself upon the inspiration of the moment, thoughts will arise as they are summoned, and where thoughts are, words will not be wanting. Do not, as many do, make preparation for your speeches on all occasions, great or little. There is a time for talk- ing, and a time for speaking, and a time for making a set oration. Choose your time and adapt yourself to the subject. Nothing is more indecorous than a flight of oratory out of place. The occasions that properly demand an oration rarely offer even to the most practised speaker. The larger portion of your speeches will be upon com- monplace themes or matters of business, when your address should be but lengthened talk. To do this well is as difficult and almost as rare as to make a great speech on a great topic. I purpose to describe this par- ticularly when I come to treat of the various forms of oratory. The subject at present under consideration is your general practice as a beginner, and how best you may perfect yourself in the art of speaking, without ref- erence to the special applications of it, which will be considered when we have reviewed the accomplishments you should labor to acquire. 224 Delivery. Letter XXXVI. DELIVEBY. Acquire the art of saying something so as to be under- stood by your audience without much effort and without hesitation for words or thoughts, before you study how to. say it. In the due order of learning, manner should fol- low matter. If you attempt to learn both at the same time, you will probably fail in both. You will find it quite as much as you can do, at the beginning of your practice, to concentrate your mind upon the production of thoughts and words. If to this you add the labor of thinking how you should utter this sentence, and what action you should assume with that, you will be in danger of losing the thread of your discourse. Not until prac- tice has given you self-command and an orderly flow of ideas and ready words, should you make a study of manner. I say, " make a study " of it, because a great deal comes by nature. When you feel, and speak what you feel, there is a natural language of emotion that expresses itself unconsciously ; and, often most perfectly where there has been the least teaching. But, although this will help you to a certain extent, it will not do to rely upon it entirely, and for the reason that a very considerable por- tion of your oratory will be expended on subjects that do not excite the feelings, in which case } (For Brutus is an honorable man So are they all all honorable men) — — Come I to speak in Ccesar's funeral He was my friend faithful zxi&just to me — But Brutus says he was ambitious And Brutus is an honorable man He hath brought many captives home to Rome Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill ■ Did this in Caesar seem ambitious ? W r hen that the poor have cried Caesar hath wept — — Ambition should be made of sterner stuff Yet Brutus says he was ambitious And Brutus is an honorable man. You all did see that on the Lupercal I thrice presented him a kingly crown Which he did thrice refuse Was THIS AMBITION ? - Yet Brutus says he was ambitious And sure he is an honorable man I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke But here I am to speak what I do KNOW You all did love him once not without cause ■ What cause withholds you then to mourn for him ? — judgment — thou art fled to brutish beasts And men have lost their reason ! Bear with me — My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar And I must pause till it come back to me n 312 The Oratory of the Platform. At this point of pause, artfully introduced, the mob exhibits signs of being swayed by the speaker, — they are beginning to veer round again. " 1st Cit, Methinks, there is much reason in his sayings, 2d Cit, If thou consider rightly of the matter, Caesar had great wrong 3d Cit, Has he, masters ? — I fear there will a worse come in his place. ith Cit. Marked ye his words? he would not take the crown—* — Therefore 'tis certain he was not ambitious 1st Cit. If it be found so, some will dear abide it. 2d Cit. Poor soul his eyes are red aspire with weeping. 3d Cit. There's not a nobler man in Home than Antony. ith Cit. Now mark him, he begins again to speak." The orator perceives the impression he has made, and now addresses himself to their great love for his friend, and the memory of Caesar's former greatness. His tones express profound emotion. " But yesterday the word of Caesar might Have stood against the world NOW lies he there — And none so poor to do him reverence masters ! if I were disposed to stir Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage 1 should do Brutus wrong and Cassius wrong Who — you all know — are honorable men I will not do them wrong I rather choose To wrong the dead to wrong myself' and you Than I will wrong such honorable men But here's a parchment with the seal of Caesar — 1 found it in his closet 'tis his WILL Let but the commons hear this testament Which pardon me 1 do not mean to read And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds — And dip their napkins in his sacred blood Yea beg a hair of him for memory And — dying — mention it within their wills The Oratory of the Platform. 313 Bequeathing it as a rich legacy Unto their issue. ith Cit. We'll hear the will. Read it, Mark Antony. Cit. The will — the will we will hear Caesar's will. Ant . Have patience — gentle friends 1 must not read it — — It is not meet you know how Caesar lov J d you You are not wood you are not stones but men — — And being MEN hearing the will of Cesar It will inflame you — — it will make you mad 'Tis good you know not that you are his heirs For — if you should — oh, what would come of it ! Uh Cit. Read the will — we will hear it, Antony You shall read us the will Caesar's will. Ant. Will you be patient ? Will you stay awhile ? I have o'er shot myself to tell you of it I fear 1 wrong the honorable men Whose daggers have stabbed Caesar 1 do fear it. «■ . ith Cit. They were traitors honorable men Cit. The will the testament. • 2d Cit. They were villains murderers The will read the will ! Ant. You will compel me then to read the will ? Then make a ring about the corpse of Caesar And let me show you him that made the will — — Shall I descend ? and will you give me leave ? Cit. Come down ! 2d Cit. Descend ! 3d Cit. You shall have leave. ith Cit. A ring stand round. 1st Cit. Stand from the hearse stand from the body. 2d Cit. Room for Antony most noble Antony. Ant. Nay, press not so upon me stand far off. Cit. Stand back ! room ! bear back ! Antony. If you have tears prepare to shed them now You — all — do know this mantle 1 remember The first time ever Caesar put it on 'Twas on a summer's evening in his tent That day he overcame the Nervii ■ Look ! in this place ran Cassius' dagger through — See what a rent the envious Casca made 314 The Oratory of the Platform. Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabbed And — as he plucked his CURSED steel away Mark ■— — how the blood of Csesar followed it As rushing out of doors to be resolved If Brutus so unkindly knocked or no For Brutus as you know was Caesar's angel — Judge ! you gods — how dearly Caesar loved him This was the most unkindest cut of all For when the noble Caesar saw HIM stab Ingratitude more strong than traitors' arms Quite vanquished him then burst his mighty heart ; And in his mantle muffling up his/ace Even at the base of Pompey's statue Which all the while run blood great Caesar FELL — Oh what a fall was there my countrymen Then / and you and all of us fell down "Whilst bloody treason flourished over us Oh — now you weep and I perceive you feel The dint of pity these are gracious drops Kind souls what weep you when you but behold Our Caesar's vesture wounded ? Look you here Here is HIMSELF marred as you see by TRAIT- ORS 1st Cit. piteous spectacle ! 2c? Cit. noble Caesar ! 3d Cit. wofuldsiyl ith Cit. traitors — VILLAINS ! 1st Cit. most bloody sight ! 2d Cit. We will be revenged — — revenge about — seek — burn — fire — kill — slay let not a traitor live. Ant. Stay countrymen. 1st Cit. Peace there hear the noble Antony 2d Cit. We'll hear him — we'll follow him we'll die with him. — Ant. Good friends sweet friends let me not stir you up To such a sudden flood of Mutiny They that have done this deed are honorable What private griefs they have alas ! — /know not — That made them do it they are wise and honorable And will — no doubt «— with reasons answer you I come not friends to steal away your hearts Social Oratory. 315 l am no orator as Brutus is But as you know me all — a — plain blunt man — That love my friend and that tney know full well That gave me public leave to speak of him For i" have neither wit nor words nor worth Action nor utterance nor the power of speech To stir men's blood / only speak right on I tell you that which you yourselves do know Show you sweet Caesar 1 s wounds poor poor dumb MOUTHS - And bid them speak for me But were 2" Brutus And Brutus Antony there were an Antony Would ruffle up your spirits — and put a tongue In every wound of CLesar that should make The STONES of Home to rise and mutiny." Hetter S3LFOI. SOCIAL OB A TOBY. I come now to that which, until you have tried it, appears the easiest of all forms of oratory, but which is in truth the most difficult of all, and to which I propose to give the significant name of social oratory, meaning by that the speech-makings that are addressed to small parties assembled, not for business, but for festive or other social purposes, the large proportion of which is demanded at one kind of gathering, said to be so pecu- liarly English that the title of " dinner-table oratory" might have been given to it with almost equal propriety. Doubtless you will exclaim, " A speech after dinner, — a toast proposed, — thanks returned, — surely anybody 316 Social Oratory. who can say anything can do that ! " You need not try it to be satisfied that it is very much more difficult than you have thought it to be. Sit at any table where toasts are given and responded to, and seeing what a mess four out of five of the speakers make of it, you will begin to suspect that it is not quite so easy an accomplishment as you had supposed. Vacuity of thought and confusion of words are the prevalent characteristics ; some break down altogether ; some stammer through a maze of disconnected words ; some are fluent, but it is fluent nonsense ; some cannot extricate themselves for a moment from the con- ventional commonplaces. But among them, perhaps, are two or three, ran nantes in gurgite vasto, who say good things, perhaps even new things, in apt language and with a pleasant manner. Yet you will find often that the per- sons who have so pleased you are by no means distin- guished for genius or even for general ability, having intellects rather below the average, and intelligence by no means capacious. Should you be called upon " to propose a toast," or to return thanks for having been yourself proposed, you will probably make a discovery. You were tolerably fluent and talked sensibly enough at the Union in Oxford, at the Forensic Society in London, and at occasional public meetings ; but you feel very foolish now, and look as foolish as you feel. You could talk pretty w r ell when you had a subject to talk about. You have not learned the art of talking about nothing, and the accomplishment of sa} T ing something when you have nothing to say. This is the secret of social oratory, and explains its difficulties, its failures, and its successes. It can scarcely be called an art, for it seems to be a special faculty with Social Oratory^ 317 which a few are gifted, but which is denied to the many Of course, like all powers of mind or bod}', it is capable of cultivation, but, like the gift of poetry or music, it must be bestowed by nature, and if the germ is not there, it cannot be implanted by art. Another peculiarity of this form of oratory is, that the larger the intellect, the more refined the taste, the loftier the intelligence, the more its difficulty in after- dinner speaking. The reason is its consciousness and sensitiveness. Its powers are paralyzed by perception of the ridiculous contrast between the bigness of the lan- guage and the littleness of the subject, by its sense of the hollowness of the praises and professions ; it can find nothing to say that is at once new and true, and its pride revolts from indulgence in the conventionalities which the parrot voices around him repeat again and again, with apparent unconsciousness of their threadbare wearisome- ness. Social oratory, then, is the art of saying a great deal about nothing, and saying it in a pleasant manner. It is not designed for any other purpose than to please for the moment. It partakes of the character of all social inter course, which is to make ourselves as agreeable to one another as possible, and to keep all that is disagreeable out of sight and hearing. The standing-up talk of the dinner-table should be only the sitting-down talk of the drawing-room, somewhat amplified, judiciously strung to- gether, and flavored with a few flatteries not permitted to be addressed to a man in a tete-a-tete, but which you are allowed, and indeed expected, to pour forth without limit of quantity or quality when you are speaking of him to others in his presence. 3 18 Social Oratory. Can it be, you ask, that such exaggerated epithets ag are lavished upon a man, whose health is proposed at a dinner-table, can be gratifying to him? Do not his common sense and good taste revolt, as much as do yours, from laudations so undeserved that they have the appearance of ironical insults ? You have not yet learned the measure of human vanity. All men are open to flat- tery, more or less, but of most men the capacity for it is boundless. The most modest of us is not insensible to its influence, if judiciously employed. "We think that we hate flattery ," says the French cynic, " when all that we hate is the awkwardness of the flatterer." This is the key-note to successful social oratory. Flattery is its foun- dation and substance, and success is proportioned to the skill with which it is applied. Coarse flattery is better than none ; but refined flattery, gracefully draped, so that the object of it may enjoy it without the affectation of a disclaimer, is the climax of after-dinner speech-making. But laudatory language is limited. If there are many to be thus honored at the same table, or if the occasions are frequent, repetition is unavoidable. It matters not. The reiteration that seems so awkward to you is not so appar- ent nor so disagreeable to" your audience. They will laugh again and again at the same joke, applaud with equal fervor the same flourish of compliments to the same persons, as if so good a thing could not be heard too often. It is not necessary, therefore, to social oratory that you should be continually saying new things, or dressing up stale thoughts in new sentences. Having mastered a set of phrases, you may repeat them year by year through your life and gain rather than lose reputation by it. Social 0?'atory. 319 Being thus supplied with stock speeches, }^ou should adapt them somewhat to the special purpose of the gath- ering. A single allusion to some topic suggested by the moment will cany off many minutes of stale platitudes, and secure for you the reputation of being an accom- plished orator. For this purpose you should be ever on the watch, if you know or suspect that you are likely to be "called upon." Cultivate gayety rather than gravity of tone and manner. Shun sermonizing. Let 3'our speech smack more of the champagne than the port. Let it be light, sparkling, playful, anything but dull. Suit the manner to the word. Do not attempt the oratorical in tone or action. Do not think of it as a speech, but only as talking on your feet without dialogue. Your business is not to instruct or inform, but to perform a ceremonial gracefully, and, if at the same time you can amuse, it will be a great triumph, and the companj 7 will be grateful to j'ou for helping them through the ordeal, which all are content to submit to, though all think it a dreadful bore. And this is another instance of the power of convention- ality. There is not an individual in any party assembled for social purposes who does not look upon this conven- tional speech-making as an infliction he would gladly avoid, but which he must endure in exchange for the good things of the table and in obedience to custom. So each says privately to his neighbor, who echoes the opinion ; the faces of the listeners unmistakably express their feel- ings, and their vehement applause, when the speaker " re- sumes his seat," indicates rather their sense of joy that the speech is over than of pleasure in the performance. But when his own turn comes each plays the same part, 320 Social Oratory. and the custom survives the anathemas, and will probably linger for yet a long time to come. I cannot offer you hints for education in this branch of oratory other than those already given for some others, — 'practice. Little more can be done by way of teaching than to present some of the most prominent features of the art, and, more usefully still, by suggesting what to avoid ; but how to learn to do or avoid is a lesson which those who have attempted have always failed to teach, because it cannot be reduced to positive rules, but must depend upon the mental and physical capacities of the speaker. If your own intelligence will not prompt and your own good taste correct you, no instructions from others will drill you into becoming an adept in social oratory. THE END. INDEX ACTION— pagb on speaking, hints for • • • • • • .231 ACTOR, THE— art of . • • • • 81 ADJECTIVES — nse of, to be avoided •••••#••33 ARTICULATION— study of . . • • • • • • • 76, 228 ATTITUDE — in reading •••••••••107 BAR, ORATORY OF— neglect of study of • • • • • • • .17 causes of • • • • • • • . .18 cultivation of • • • • • • • • .261 bad habits • • • • • • • • .262 first studies for • • • • • • . .265 character of juries • • • • .266 how to deal with a jury • • • • • . .267 style of address to • • • • . . .267 good temper • • • • • • • . . 268 common juries • • • • • • • . .270 how influenced • • • • • • • • .271 special juries • • • • • • • . .275 how to address the court • • • • • • .277 how to address magistrates • • • • • . .280 appeal to the feelings . • • • • • • • 281 BIBLE, THE — how to read • • • • • • 155 BUSINESS SPEECH — hints for • • • • • . 255 21 321 322 Index. c. COMPOSITION— FAGB on talking, writing, and speaking .197 COURT, THE how to address • • • • • • • *277 D. DECLAMATION— how to read ♦ •••••••154 DELIVERY— instructions for • • • • • • « • 224 DIALOGUE— how to read •••••••••163 DIDACTIC WORKS — how to read • • • • • • • • • 150 DRAMA, THE how to read ••••••••• 161 DRAMATIC READINGS — selections of, for public readings • • • • • • 185 E. ELECTION — meetings at, how to address • • • • • • 295 EMPHASIS — definition of • • • • • • • .93 uses of • •••••• •••95 how to learn •••••••••97 illustrations of. • • • • • • • , 121 EPITHETS — sparing use of* • • • • • • • .S3 EXERCISES — in reading •••••••••184 EXPRESSION — cultivation of* • • • • • • • .78 what it is • • • • • • • • .79 F. FACTS — uses and abuses of* •• • • • • • 255 FIGURES — uses and abuses of •••••••• 255 marshalling of, in a speech ••••••• 256 G. GRAMMAR— study of • • • .49 Index. 323 H. PAGi BUMOR — definition of .170 how to read • • • . • • • • ,170 I. ILLUSTRATIONS — The Creation ......... 113 Hamlet's Soliloquy . . . . ... .122 Hamlet's Address to the Players •••••• 124 Macbeth's Soliloquy • • • • • ... 126 Burial of Sir John Moore . • • . • • .129 Queen Mab ......... 131 Nathan's Parable 133 Death of Paul Dombey 136 Invocation to Light . • • • • • • .145 Julia's Letter 1*6 Brutus's Speech ........ 308 Mark Antony's Speech - • • • • • • .311 INFLECTION— uses of . • • • • • • • • .104 INTRODUCTION 9 J. JURIES — how to address • • • .263 L. LANGUAGE— choice of. • • • • • • • • .46 avoid affectation and conceit ••••••• 47 study of . • • • • • • • • .47 how to write a sentence ••••••• 48 grammar . •••••••••49 H. MAGISTRATES — how to address •••••••••280 MOB ORATORY — instruction for ••••••••• 296 MEETINGS, PUBLIC — how to address ••••••••• 288 parish meetings .•••••••• 289 religious meetings •••••••• 290 political meetings • • • • • • • • 295 mixed meetings .•••••••. 291 election meetings •••••••• 295 3*4 Index. N. NARRATIVE— PAGB how to read • • . 148 selections of, for public readings • • • • 184 0. ORATION, THE — in the Senate • • P* • • 25? PARISH MEETING — how to address . • • . .289 PAUSE — use of . • • illustrations of • • • • • • • . .122 PERORATION, THE — instructions for • • . 241 POETRY — translate into prose • • • • <• . 34 how to read . • . 139 how not to read it • • 140 illustrations . • • 145 POLITICAL MEETINGS — instructions for • • • • • • . 290, 295 PLATFORM, ORATORY OF- characteristics of • • '•'•• . 282 public meetings . • • 283 audiences of . • • 284 manner . • good humor and good temper • • • . 286 courage . • • • 287 language . . . . 287 the parish meeting • the religious meeting • • • • • • . .290 mixed meetings . • • • • • • 291 political meetings , • • .295 election speeches • • • • • . 295 mob oratory . • • • • • • • .296 Brutus's Speech . . • • • • Antony's Speech • PT?OTVTTTSrf!T A TTON" • • • • • 311 of words . .. • . 76 of sentences • • • • • • . 76 expression . , • • • • .78 PUBLIC MEETINGS — how to address . • • • .288 Index. 325 PUBLIC READINGS — PAGB instructions for . . , . • , # , .178 list of compositions for . . . 184 PULPIT, ORATORY OF neglect of . . , . , • 16 causes of neglect • • • . 18 instructions for . • • -. 244 rarity of . . . . , . 245 delivery ...... . 248 action and attitude . . . . 248 construction of a sermon • • , • 249 PUNCTUATION — observance of , . . . • . . . .102 B. BEADING — what to read ......... 36 three kinds of . . . . , . 38 good readers rare . . . . 65 uses of • • • • 66, 173 how it differs from acting . . . 82 requirements for . . . . 108 at public readings • . . . 178 exercises in ... • . 184 READING, ART OF - neglect of . . . . . 14 few persons have mastered • . . 15 causes of neglect of . • • . 18 what to read . • . . . 36 uses of . . . • • , . 66 good reading conducts to good speaking , . 66 requirements of . • . • , . 67 of reading rightly . . . < . 67 necessary to understand . • . 67 rapidity of perception ... 1 . 68 practice for . . . • • . 69 reading aloud , • • • , . 69 what to avoid . , m • • . 71 - mannerism • • . . , . 71 monotony . • • • . . 71 first lesson . • • • •• 72 articulation . . . • , . 74 pronunciation of sentences • . « ' . 76 expression . . . • . 77 sympathy .... . 79 difference between acting and reading . 81 326 Index. BEADING, ART OF — (continued) understanding and feeling management of the voice tone • • • emphasis • • pause and punctuation management of the breath inflection • • attitude • • • mental cultivation • illustration . • lessons in reading . reading by children • Hamlet's Soliloquy . Hamlet's Speech to the Players Macbeth's Soliloquy . Burial of Sir John Moore Queen Mab . • Nathan's Parable • Death of Paul Dombey how to read poetry • Invocation to Light • Julia's Letter . • narrative • • didactic works • • sentimental works • declamation • » reading the Bible • dramatic reading • reading of wit and humor uses of reading . • public readings . • list of popular readings READINGS, PUBLIC — instructions for . • selections for • • REPLY, THE — hints for • • • RHYTHM — observance of • • SENATE— oratory of • the business speech the oration • 252 254 257 Index. 327 SENATE — (continued) the reply . • SENTENCES — how to frame . • structure of • • pronunciation of • SENTIMENTAL WORKS — how to read . • SERMONS — delivery of • • construction of . • language of • • SIMPLICITY — should be studied , SOCIAL ORATORY— instructions for . • after-dinner speeches . characteristics of . SPEAKING, ART OF — neglect of . . mastery of, by few . causes of neglect of • uses of . • • foundations of • • oratory must be cultivated first care of a speaker • what is a speech • composition . • preparations for • foundations of . • what to say • • composition of a speech cautions — how to begin writing a speech • difficulties outlines of language of first lessons recitation of defects to be overcome remedies for . • public speaking , preparations for do not write your speech your first speech • delivery . . , PAGE . 260 . 33 . 52 . 76 .152 . 248 . 249 . 251 • 60 . 315 . 315 . 317 . 14 . 15 . 18 • 20 . 22 . 23 . 24 . 26 • 26 . 38 190, 194 . 196 . 197 . 201 . 207 . 207 . 209 . 210 . 212 . 213 . 215 . 216 . 218 . 218 . 219 . 220 . 224 328 Index. SPEAKING, ART OF (continued) how to be heard • management of the voice tone . • • articulation • • variety • • • action . . • learn to staad still • construction of a speech how to begin . • the peroration . • when to sit down • oratory of the pulpit . oratory of the senate the business speech • use and abuse of facts and figures the oration . • the reply . . , oratory of the bar . how to address a jury . character of juries • how to address the court how to address magistrates oratory of the platform public meetings • parish meetings . mixed meetings • political meetings . religious meetings • mob oratory • • social oratory • • SPECIAL JURIES — how to address • • SPEECH — construction of • • STYLE — definition of • • cultivation of • • THINKING — how to think when to think < TONE — use of . illustrations of PAOfl . 225 . 225 . 226 . 228 . 230 . 232 . 232 . 237 234, 238 . 241 . 243 . 244 . 252 . 254 . 255 . 257 . 260 . 261 . 265 . 270 . 277 . 280 . 282 . 288 . 289 . 291 • 295 . 290 • 296 . 315 . 274 . 237 • 41 . 43 . 39 32, 230 . 118 Index. 329 v. VOICE — management of tones of • l'AGZ 87, 225 • 91 w* WIT— definition of • • how to read • « WORDS — study for • • choice of • • precision in • • parsing . . . music of . • WRITING, ART OF— first lessons in • aid from authors • words, study of • sentences, framing of avoid adjectives . translate poetry into prose reading and thinking . what to write . • what to read . • preparations for • style . . • cultivation of . • language . . . avoid affectation and conoeit grammar . . • choice of words • structure of sentences . must have something to say expression of thoughts precision in words • parsing . sentences music of words , rhythm . various faculties required for write slowly simplicity directness order of ideas difference between and speaking . 31 32, 47 . 54 . 56 . 58 M» NEW BOOKS And New Editions Recently Issued CARLETON, Publisher, New York, [Madison Square, corner Fifth Ay. and Broadway.] by N. 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