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lik'e-familiarity of to'ne, and mend the language, as they go on', cr'ying, instead of par doneth and abs olveth, par'dons and absolves. The’se/ are often pretty class'ical-scholars, and would think it an unpa’rdonable offe'nce/ to read Virgil or Mar'tial/ with so little taʼste, as they d'o div'ine-service.
If those who e'rr/ in these particulars/ would please to recollect the many plea'santries/ they have read upon thoʻse/ who recite good-things/ with an ill’-grace, they would go on to thi'nk tha't/ what in th'at case is only ridi'culous, in themseloves/ is im pious.
But/ leaving this to their own refleʼctions, I shall conclude with what Cæsar said, upon the irregula'rity-of-tone/ in on'e who read before hi'm, « Do you read or sing? if you si'ng, you sing very i'll.”
ON PUBLIC SPEAKING.
ADDISON. Most foreign writers who have given any character of the English n'ation, (whatever vic-es they ascrib'e-to-it,) allo'w, in ge'neral, that the pe'ople are naturally modest. It proceeds, perhaps, from th'is our na'tional-virtue/, that ou^r orators/ are observed to make use of less gesture or ac'tion, than thoʻse of other-countries. Ou'r preachers stand stock-s'till/ in the pu'lpit, and will not so much as move a fin'ger/ to set off the be'st-sermons/ in the woʻrld. We meet with the same speaking sta'tues at our bar's, and in all public pla'ces of deba'te. O‘ur words flow from us/ in a sm'ooth/ conti'nued-stream, without those strai'nings of the voice, mo'tions of the bo‘dy, and ma'jesty of the ha'nd, which are so much celebrated in the orators of Gr'eece and Ro'me. We can talk of life and death in cold-blood, and keep our temper in a discourse) which turns upon e'very-thing/ that is de'ar-to-us. Though our zeal bre’aks-out/ in the finest tropes and figʻures, it is not able to stir a limb ab'out us.
It is certain/ that proper ges'tures and exer'tions of the voi'ce/ cannot be too much studied by a public-orator. They are a kind of com'ment to what he u'tters, and enforce e'verything he say's, better than the stron'gest-argument/ he can
make us'e of. They keep the audience awa^ke, and fix their atten'tion to what is deli'vered to them ; at the same time) that they shew the spe'aker/ is in earn'est, affected himself with what he so passionately re'commends to others.
We are told that the great L'atin-orator (Ci'cero) very much impaired his he'alth/ by the ve'hemence of a'ction with which he u'sed to deliv'er-himself. The Gre°ek-orator (Demo'sthenes) was likewise so very fa'mous/ for this particular in rh'etoric, that one of his anta'gonists (Æ'schines), whom he had banished from Athens, reading over the ora'tion/ which had proc'ured his ban'ishment, and seeing his frie'nds adm'ireit, could not forbe'ar exclaiming, “ If you are so charmed with the bare rehe'arsal of this or'ation, how woʻuld
have been affected, had you heard him deliver it himself, with all his fir'e and forc'e!
How cold and de'ad a figure, in comparison with these two great m'en,) does an o'rator often make at a Br'itish-bar, holding up his he'ad/ with the most insipid sere'nity, and stroking the sid'es of a long w'ig/ that reaches down to his middle ! Nothing can be more rid'iculous/ than the ges'tures of most of our English-speakers. You see some-of-them/ running their hands into their po'ckets, as far as ever they can thru'stthem, and oothers/ looking with great attention on a pie'ce of pa’per/ that has nothing writ'ten-on-it: you may see many a smart rhetor'ician/ turning his ha't/ in his hands, mould'ing-it/ into se'veral/ di'fferent-cocks, exam'ining/ som'etimes the lin'ingof-it, and som^etimes the button, during the whole cou'rse of his harangue. A deaf man/ would think he was chea'pening a be’aver, wh'en/ perh'aps, he is talking of the fa'te of the Br'itish-nation. I reme’mber, when I was a young ma'n, and used to frequent Westminster-H'all, there was a cou'nsellor/ who never pleaded without a piece of paʼck-thread/ in his ha'nd, which he used to twist about a thu'mb or fin'ger all the wh'ile he was speaking ; the woags of tho'se-days/ used to call it the thre'ad of his discosurse, for/ he was not able to u'tter a w'ord) with'out it. One of his cli'ents, (who was more me'rry than wisse,) sto'le it from him one d'ay/ in the mi dst of his ple'ading; but/ he had be'tter have let it alo'ne, f'or/ he los't his cau'se/ by the j'est.
THE PASSIONS.-AN ODE.
COLLINS. When Mu'sic, (he'avenly-maid,*) was you'ng, While yet in early Gree'ce she su'ng, The passions of t) to hear her shell', Thronged arosund/ her magic c'ell, Exul'ting, trem'bling, ra’ging, fain'ting, (Possessed beyond the Mu'se's-painting.) By tur'ns, they felt the glowing mi'nd Distu'rbed, delighted, rai'sed, refin'ed: Till on'ce, ('tis said,) when all were fir'ed, Fil'ed with fu'ry, rap't, inspi'red, From the supporting myrtles rou'nd/ They snatched her in'struments of sou’nd; And, as they oft had he’ard/ apa'rt/ Sweet lessons of her forceful ar't, Ea'ch (for ma'dness ruled the hoʻur) Would pro've his ow'n/ expre'ssive-power. First, Fear, his hand, its ski'll/ to try,
Amid the cho'rds/ bewildered la'id ; And back recoil'ed, he knew not wh'y,
Even at the sound hims'elf had made. Next An'ger, rushed, his e'yes on fire:
In light'nings/ owned his secret sting's. In o'ne/ rud'e-clash/ he stru'ck the ly're
And sw'ept, (with hurried ha'nds, the strings. With wof'ul-measures, wan Desp'air
* Words, as well as phrases, in apposition, whatever may be their grammatical character, will be much improved if read parenthetically. Examples :
ist. “When Music (heavenly maid) was young.”
3rd." The present life (which is the first stage of the immortal mind) abounds in materials of poetry.”
4th. “As we perceive the shadow to have moved along the dial, but did not perceive its moving; so the advances we make in knowledge (consisting of insensible steps) are only perceived by the distance gone over.'
They would have thought (who heard the strain)
Lo'w/ sul'len-sounds/ his grief begui'led ;
'Twas sa'd, by fi'ts-by starts, 'twas wi'ld.
Wh'at was thoy-delighted-measure !
Still it whisp'ered, promised ple’asure,
And bad'e the lovely sceʼnes/ at dis’tance ha'il. Still would her touch the strain prolo'ng,
And from the ro'cks, the woods, the va'le, She called on Echo st'ill/ through all her son'g :
A'nd/ where her swe'etest-theme/ she cho'se,
A soft, respon`sive-voice was heard/ at every close ;
An'd, with a withering lo'ok,
The war-denouncing trumpet to'ok,
Pronounced quickly. The doubling dru'm, with furious h'eat; And though, som'etimes, (each dreary pause bet'ween,)
Dejected Pity/ at his side,
Her sou'l-subduing voice/ appli’ed, Yet still he kept his wi'ld/ unaltered-mi'en; While each strained ball of si'ght --- seemed bur'sting from
his he'ad. Thoy numbers, (Jé'alousy,) to nouoght were fix'ed ;
(Šad proof of thoy/ distressful-state :) Of differing themes/ the veering song was mi'xed/
And, no'w, it courted L'ove: n'ow, (ra’ving,) ca’lled-on H‘ate. With eyes-upra'ised, (as one insp'ired.) Pale Melancholy/ sat re'tired ; And from her wild sequ'estered se'at, (In not'es by distance/ made more sw'eet,) Poured through the mellow hoʻrn/ her pensive so‘ul :
And, dashing so'ft, from rocks arou'nd,
Bubbling run'nels/ joined the soʻund:
(Round a holy calm diffus'ing,
Lo've of peace and lonely m'using)
Her bo'w/ across her shoulder flun'g,
Her bus kins/ gemmed with morning de'w,
The hun’ter’s-call, to Fa'un and Dr'yad kno'wn;
Sa'tyrs, and syl'van-Boys, were se'en,
And Spo'rt leap'ed-up, and seized his be'echen sp'ear.
First to the lively pi'pe/ his hand addr'essed;
Whose sw'eet/ entra'ncing vosice/ he loʻved the best. Th'ey would have thou’ght, (who heard the strain,)
They sa'w, in Tem pe’s-vale, her native m'aids
(Amid the festal-sounding sh'ades, To soʻme, unwe'aried min'strel dan cing;
Wh'ile, (as his flying fingers kis'sed the str’ings,)
(Loose were her tr'esses se'en, her zo'ne unb'ound),
As if he would the charming air repay,)
MONODY TO THE MEMORY OF MR. GARRICK,
R. B. SHERIDAN.