the art of delivering written language with propriety, force, and elegance.

"We must not judge so unfavourably of eloquence or good reading (says the illustrious Fenelon), as to reckon it only a frivolous art, that a declaimer uses to impose upon the weak imagination of the multitude, and to serve his own ends. It is a very serious art, designed to instruct people; to suppress their passions and reform their manners; to support the laws, direct public councils, and to make men good and happy."

Reason and experience demonstrate, that delivery in reading ought to be less animated than in interested speaking. In every exercise of the faculty of speech, and should be those expressions of countenance and gesture with which it is generally attended, we may be considered to be always in one of the two following situations: First, delivering our bottom sentiments on circumstances which relate to ourselves or others; or, secondly, repeating something that was spoken on a certain occasion for the amusement amusement or information of an auditor. Now, if we observe the deliveries natural to these two situations, we shall find, that the first may be accompanied with every degree of expression which can manifest itself in us, from the lowest of sympathy to the most violent and energetic of the superior passions; while the latter, from the speaker's chief business being to repeat what he heard with accuracy, discovers only a faint imitation of those signs of the emotions which we suppose agitated him from whom the words were first borrowed.—The use and necessity of this difference of manner is evident; and if we are attentive to these natural signs of expression, we shall find them conforming with the greatest nicety to the slightest and most minute movements of the breast.

This repetition of another's words might be supposed to pass through the mouth of a second or third person; and in these cases, since they were not ear and eye witnesses of him who first spoke them, their manner of delivery would want the advantage necessarily arising from an immediate idea of the original one; hence, on this account, this would be a still less lively representation than that of the first repeater. But as, from a daily observation of every variety of speech and its associated signs of emotion, mankind soon become pretty well acquainted with them, and this in different degrees, according to their discernment, sensibility, &c., experience shows us that these latter repeaters (as we call them) might conceive and use a manner of delivery which, though less characteristic perhaps, would on the whole be no way inferior to the first, as to the common natural expression proper for their situation. It appears, therefore, that repeaters of every degree may be esteemed upon a level as to animation, and that our twofold distinction above contains accurately enough the whole variety of ordinary delivery;—we say ordinary, because

There is another very peculiar kind of delivery sometimes used in the person of a repeater, of which it will in this place be necessary to take some notice. What we mean here is mimicry; an accomplishment which, when perfectly and properly displayed, never fails of yielding a high degree of pleasure. But since this pleasure chiefly results from the principle of imitation respecting manner, and not from the purport of the matter communicated; since, comparatively speaking, it is only attainable by few persons, and practised only on particular occasions;—on these accounts it must be refused a place among the modes of useful delivery taught us by general nature, and esteemed a qualification purely anomalous.

These distinctions with regard to a speaker's situation of mind premised, let us see to which of them an author and his reader may most properly be referred, and how they are circumstanced with regard to one another.

The matter of all books is, either what the author says in his own person, or an acknowledged recital of the words of others: hence an author may be esteemed both an original speaker and a repeater, according as what he writes is of the first or second kind. Now a reader must be supposed either actually to personate the author, or one whose office is barely to communicate what he has said to an auditor. But in the first of these suppositions he would, in the delivery of what is the author's own, evidently commence mimicry; which being, as above observed, a character not acknowledged by general nature in this department, ought to be rejected as generally improper. The other supposition therefore must be accounted right; and then, as to the whole matter of the book, the reader is found to be exactly in the situation of a repeater, save that he takes what he delivers from the page before him instead of his memory. It follows then, in proof of our initial proposition, that, if we are directed by nature and propriety, the manner of our delivery in reading ought to be inferior in warmth and energy to what we should use, were the language before us the spontaneous effusions of our own hearts in the circumstances of those out of whose mouths it is supposed to proceed.

Evident as the purpose of this reasoning is, it has not so much as been glanced at by the writers on the subject we are now entered upon, or any of its kindred ones; which has occasioned a manifest want of accuracy in several of their rules and observations. Among the rest, this precept has been long reverberated from author to author as a perfect standard for propriety in reading, "Deliver yourselves in the same manner you would do, were the matter your own original sentiments uttered directly from the heart." As all kinds of delivery must have many things in common, the rule will in many articles be undoubtedly right; but, from what has been said above, it must be as certainly faulty in respect to several others; as it is certain nature never confounds by like signs two things so very different, as a copy and an original, an emanation darted immediately from the sun, and its weaker appearance in the lunar reflection.

The precepts we have to offer for improving the above-mentioned rule, shall be delivered under the heads of accent, emphasis, modulation, expression, pauses, &c.

I. Accent.—In attending to the affections of the Accent voice when we speak, it is easy to observe, that, independent of any other consideration, one part of it differs from another, in fire, energy, or force of utterance. In words we find one syllable differing from another with respect to this mode; and in sentences one or more words as frequently vary from the rest in a similar manner. This fire with regard to syllables is called accent, and contributes greatly to the variety and harmony of language. Respecting words, it is termed emphasis; and its chief office is to affix the sense, force, or perspicuity of the sentence—of which more under the next head.

"Accent (as described in the Lectures on Elocution) is made by us two ways; either by dwelling longer upon one syllable than the rest, or by giving it a smarter percussion of the voice in utterance. Of the first of these we have instances in the words glory, father, holy; of the last in battle, habit, borrow. So that accent with us is not referred to tune, but to time; to quantity, not quality; to the more equable or precipitate motion of the voice, not to the variation of the notes or inflexions."

In theatric declamation, in order to give it more pomp and solemnity, it is usual to dwell longer than common upon the unaccented syllables; and the author now quoted has endeavoured to prove (p. 51, 54.) the practice faulty, and to show (p. 55.) that "though it (i.e. true solemnity) may demand a slower utterance than usual, yet (it) requires that the same proportion in point of of quantity be observed in the syllables, as there is in musical notes when the same tune is played in quicker or slower time." But that this deviation from ordinary speech is not a fault, as our author affirms; nay, that on the contrary it is a real beauty when kept under proper regulation, the following observations it is hoped will sufficiently prove.

(I.) It is a truth of the most obvious nature, that those things which on their application to their proper senses have a power of raising in us certain ideas and emotions, are ever differently modified in their constituent parts when different effects are produced in the mind: and also (II.) that, within proper bounds, were we to suppose these constituent parts to be proportionally increased or diminished as to quantity, this effect would still be the same as to quality. For instance: The different ideas of strength, swiftness, &c., which are raised in us by the same species of animals, is owing to the different form of their corresponding parts; the different effects of music on the passions, to the different airs and movements of the melody; and the different expressions of human speech, to a difference in tone, speed, &c., of the voice. And these peculiar effects would still remain the same, were we to suppose the animals above alluded to, to be greater or lesser, within their proper bounds; the movement of the music quicker or slower, provided it did not palpably interfere with that of some other species; and the pitch of the voice higher or lower, if not carried out of the limits in which it is observed on similar occasions naturally to move. Farther (III.) since, respecting the emotions more especially, there are no rules to determine a priori what effect any particular attribute or modification of an object will have upon a percipient, our knowledge of this kind must evidently be gained from experience. Lastly, (IV.) In every art imitating nature we are pleased to see the characteristic members of the pattern heightened a little farther than perhaps it ever was carried in any real example, provided it be not bordering upon some ludicrous and disagreeable provinces of excess.

Now for the application of these premises.—To keep pace and be consistent with the dignity of the tragic muse, the delivery of her language should necessarily be dignified; and this it is plain from observation (I.) cannot be accomplished otherwise than by something different in the manner of it from that of ordinary speech; since dignity is essentially different from familiarity. But how must we discover this different manner? By attending to nature: and in this case she tells us, that besides using a slower delivery, and greater distinctness of the words (which every thing merely grave requires, and gravity is a concomitant of dignity, though not its essence), we must dwell a little longer upon the unaccented syllables than we do in common. As to what our author observes in the above quotation, of dignity's only requiring a slower utterance than ordinary, while the proportion of the syllables as to quantity continues the same; it is apprehended the remark (II.) respecting quickness and slowness of movement will show it to be not altogether true. For since the delivery is not altered in form, its expression must be still of the same kind, and perhaps what may be rightly suggested by the term gravely familiar.

But something farther may be yet said in defence of this artificial delivery, as our author calls it. Is not the movement of any thing, of whatever species, when dignified or solemn, in general of an equable and deliberate nature (as in the minuet, the military step, &c.)? And in theatrical declamation, is not the propensity to introduce this equability so strong, that it is almost impossible to avoid it wholly, were we ever so determined to do it? If these two queries be answered in the affirmative (as we are persuaded they will), while the first supports our argument for the propriety of the manner of delivery in question, the second discovers a kind of necessity for it. And that this manner may be carried a little farther in quantity on the stage than is usual in real life, the principle (IV.) of heightening nature will justify, provided fashion (which has ever something to do in these articles) give it a sanction; for the precise quantity of several heightenings may be varied by this great legislator almost at will.

II. Emphasis.—As emphasis is not a thing annexed to Emphasis-particular words, as accent is to syllables, but owes its rise chiefly to the meaning of a passage, and must therefore vary its seat according as that meaning varies, it will be necessary to explain a little farther the general idea given of it above.

Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste Brought death into the world, and all our woe, &c. Sing heav'nly muse, &c.

Supposing, in reference to the above well-known lines, that originally other beings, besides men, had disobeyed the commands of the Almighty, and that the circumstance were well known to us, there would fall an emphasis upon the word man's in the first line, and hence it would be read thus:

Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit, &c.

But if it were a notorious truth, that mankind had transgressed in a peculiar manner more than once, the emphasis would fall on first, and the line be read,

Of man's first disobedience, &c.

Again, admitting death (as was really the case) to have been an unheard of and dreadful punishment brought upon man in consequence of his transgression; on that supposition the third line would be read,

Brought death into the world, &c.

But if we were to suppose mankind knew there was such an evil as death in other regions, though the place they inhabited had been free from it till their transgression; the line would run thus,

Brought death into the world, &c.

Now from a proper delivery of the above lines, with regard to any one of the suppositions we have chosen, out of several others that might in the same manner have been imagined, it will appear that the emphasis they illustrate is effected by a manifest delay in the pronunciation, and a tone something fuller and louder than is used in ordinary; and that its office is solely to determine the meaning of a sentence with reference to something said before, presupposed by the author as general knowledge, or in order to remove an ambiguity where a passage is capable of having more senses given it than one. But, supposing in the above example, that none of the senses there pointed out were precisely the true one, and that the meaning of the lines were no other than what is obviously suggested by their simple construction; in that case it may be asked, if in reading them there should be no word dignified with the emphatic accompaniments above described?—The answer is, Not one with an emphasis of the same kind as that we have just been illustrating; yet it is nevertheless true, that on hearing these lines well read, we shall find some words distinguished from the rest by a manner of delivery bordering a little upon it (A). And these words will in general be such as seem the most important in the sentence, or on other accounts to merit this distinction. But as at best it only enforces grace, or enlivens, and not fixes the meaning of any passage, and even caprice and fashion (B) have often a hand in determining its place and magnitude, it cannot properly be reckoned an essential of delivery. However, it is of too much moment to be neglected by those who would wish to be good readers; and, for the sake of distinction, we may not unaptly denominate both the kinds of energies in question, by the terms emphasis of sense, and emphasis of force (C).

Now from the above account of these two species of emphasis it will appear, “that in reading, as in speaking, the first of them must be determined entirely by the sense of the passage, and always made alike: But as to the other, taste alone seems to have a right of fixing its situation and quantity.”—Farther: Since the more essential of these two energies is solely the work of nature (as appears by its being constantly found in the common conversation of people of all kinds of capacities and degrees of knowledge), and the most ignorant person never fails of using it rightly in the effusions of his own heart, it happens very luckily, and ought always to be remembered, that provided we understand what we read, and give way to the dictates of our own feeling, the emphasis of sense can scarce ever avoid falling spontaneously upon its proper place.

Here it will be necessary to say something by way of reply to a question which will naturally occur to the mind of every one. As the rule for the emphasis of sense requires we should understand what we read before it can be properly used, it is incumbent upon us never to attempt to read what we have not previously studied for that purpose? In answer to this, it must be observed, that though such a step will not be without its advantages; yet, as from the fairness of printed types, the well-known pauses of punctuation, and a long acquaintance with the phraseology and construction of our language, &c. experience tells us it is possible to comprehend the sense at the first reading, a previous perusal of what is to be read does not seem necessary to all, though, if they would wish to appear to advantage, it may be expedient to many; and it is this circumstance which makes us venture upon extemporary reading, and give it a place among our amusements.—Similar remarks might be made with regard to modulation, expression, &c. did not what is here observed naturally anticipate them.

III. Modulation (D). Every person must have observed, that

(A) The following lines will illustrate both these kinds of stresses: For, to convey their right meaning, the word any is evidently to be pronounced louder and fuller than those with the accent over them.

Get wealth and place, if possible with grace; If not, by any means get wealth and place.—POPE.

This couplet is accented in the manner we find it in the Essay on Elocution by Mason. And if, according to the judgment of this author, the words thus distinguished are to have an emphatical stress, it must be of the inferior kind above mentioned, and which a little farther on we call emphasis of force; while the word any in a different type alone possesses the other sort of energy, and which is there contradistinguished by the term emphasis of sense.

(B) Among a number of people who have had proper opportunities of learning to read in the best manner it is now taught, it would be difficult to find two, who, in a given instance, would use the emphasis of force alike, either as to place or quantity. Nay some scarcely use any at all: and others will not scruple to carry it much beyond anything we have a precedent for in common discourse; and even now and then throw it upon words so very trifling in themselves, that it is evident they do it with no other view, than for the sake of the variety it gives to the modulation.—This practice, like the introduction of discords into music, may without doubt be indulged now and then; but were it too frequent, the capital intent of these energies would manifestly either be destroyed or rendered dubious.

(C) The first of these terms answers to the simple emphasis described in the Lectures on Elocution, and the second nearly to what is there called complex. The difference lies in this. Under complex emphasis the author seems (for he is far from being clear in this article) to include the tones simply considered of all the emotions of the mind; as well the tender and languid, as the forcible and exulting. Our term is intended to be confined to such modes of expression alone as are marked with an apparent stress or increase of the voice.

(D) The author of the Introduction to the Art of Reading, not allowing that there is any variation of tone, as to high and low, in the delivery of a complete period or sentence, places modulation solely in the diversification of the key-note and the variety of syllables, as to long or short, swift or slow, strong or weak, loud or soft. As we are of a different opinion, our idea of modulation is confined purely to harmonious inflexions of voice. These qualities of words, it is true, add greatly both to the force and beauty of delivery; yet, since some of them are fixed and not arbitrary (as long and short), and the others (of swift and slow, strong and weak, loud and soft) may be considered as modes of expression which do not affect the modulation as to tone, it will agree best with our plan to esteem ved, that, in speaking, the voice is subject to an alteration of sound, which in some measure resembles the movement of a tune. These sounds, however, are evidently nothing like so much varied as those that are strictly musical; and we have attempted to show in the preceding chapter, that, besides this, they have an essential difference in themselves. Nevertheless, from the general similitude of these two articles, they possess several terms in common; and the particular we have now to examine is in both of them called modulation.

This affection of the voice, being totally arbitrary, is differently characterized in different parts of the world; and, through the power of custom, every place is inclined to think their own the only one natural and agreeable, and the rest affected with some barbarous twang or ungainly variation (f). It may be observed, however, that though there is a general uniform cast or fashion of modulation peculiar to every country, yet it by no means follows that there is or can be anything fixed in its application to particular passages; and therefore we find different people will, in any given instance, use modulations something different, and nevertheless be each of them equally agreeable.

But, quitting these general remarks, we shall (as our purpose requires it) consider the properties of modulation a little more minutely.

First, then, we may observe, that, in speaking, there is a particular sound (or key-note, as it is often called) in which the modulation for the most part runs, and to which its occasional inflexions, either above or below, may in some respects be conceived to have a reference, like that which common music has to its key-note. Yet there is this difference between the two kinds of modulation, that whereas the first always concludes in the key-note, the other frequently concludes a little below it (f). This key-note, in speaking, is generally the sound given at the outset of every complete sentence or period; and it may be observed on some occasions to vary its pitch through the limits of a musical interval of a considerable magnitude. The tones, that fall a little lower than the key at the close of a sentence or period, are called cadences. These cadences, if we are accurate in our distinctions, will, with respect to their offices, be found of two kinds; though they meet so frequently together, that it may be best to conceive them only as answering a double purpose. One of these offices is to affix the sense, and the other to decorate the modulation. An account of the first may be seen in the section on Pauses; and the latter will be found to show itself pretty frequently in everything grave and plaintive, or in poetical description and other highly ornamented language, where the mind is by its influence brought to feel a placid kind of dignity and satisfaction. These two cadences, therefore, may be conveniently distinguished by applying to them respectively the epithets significant and ornamental.

We have already observed, that reading should in some things differ from speaking; and the particular under consideration seems to be one which ought to vary a little in these arts. For,

Modulation in reading serves a twofold purpose. At the same time that it gives pleasure to the ear on the principles of harmony, it contributes through that medium to preserve the attention. And since written language (when not purely dramatical) is in general more elegant in its construction, and musical in its periods, than the oral one; and since many interesting particulars are wanting in reading, which are present in speaking, that contribute greatly to fix the regard of the hearer; it seems reasonable, in order to do justice to the language, and in part to supply the incitements of attention just alluded to, that in the former of these two articles a modulation should be used something more harmonious and artificial than in the latter. Agreeably to this reasoning, it is believed, we shall find every reader, on a narrow examination, adopt more or less a modulation thus ornamented: though, after all, it must be acknowledged there are better grounds to believe, that

esteem these properties as respectively belonging to the established laws of pronunciation and the imitative branch of expression mentioned in the end of the ensuing head.

(f) From what accounts we have remaining of the modulation of the ancients, it appears to have been highly ornamented, and apparently something not unlike our modern recitative; particularly that of their tragic declamation was music in its strictest sense, and accompanied with instruments. In the course of time and the process of refinement, this modulation became gradually more and more simple, till it has now lost the genius of music, and is entirely regulated by taste. At home here, every one has heard the sing-song cant, as it is called, of

Ti ti dum dum, ti ti dum ti dum de; Ti dum ti dum, ti dum ti dum dum de;

which, though disgustful now to all but to mere ruffians on account of its being out of fashion, was very probably the favourite modulation in which heroic verses were recited by our ancestors. So fluctuating are the taste and practices of mankind! But whether the power of language over the passions has received any advantage from the change just mentioned, will appear at least very doubtful, when we recollect the stories of its former triumphs, and the inherent charms of musical sounds.

(f) As musical sounds have always an harmonical reference to a key or fundamental note, and to which the mind is still secretly attending, no piece of music would appear perfect, that did not close in it, and so naturally put an end to expectation. But as the tones used in speech are not musical, and therefore cannot refer harmonically to any other sound, there can be no necessity that this terminating sound (and which we immediately below term the cadence) should either be used at all, or follow any particular law as to form, &c. farther than what is imposed by taste and custom. the practice has been hitherto directed intuitively by nature, than that it was discovered by the inductions of reason. We shall conclude this head with a rule for modulation in reading. "In every thing dramatic, colloquial, or of simple narrative, let your modulation be the same as in speaking; but when the subject is flowery, solemn, or dignified, add something to its harmony, diversify the key-note, and increase the frequency of cadences in proportion to the merit of the composition."

It will readily be seen, that the precepts here drawn from a comparison between speaking and reading, would be very inadequate, were they left destitute of the assistance of taste, and the opportunity of frequently hearing and imitating masterly readers. And indeed, to these two great auxiliaries we might very properly have referred the whole matter at once, as capable of giving sufficient directions, had we not remembered that our plan required us to found several of our rules as much on the principles of a philosophical analysis, as on those more familiar ones which will be found of greater efficacy in real practice.

IV. Expression. 1. There is no composition in music, however perfect as to key and melody, but, in order to do justice to the subject and ideas of the author, will require, in the performing, something more than an exact adherence to tune and time. This something is of a nature, too, which perhaps can never be adequately pointed out by any thing graphic, and results entirely from the taste and feeling of the performer. It is that which chiefly gives music its power over the passions, and characterizes its notes with what we mean by the words sweet, harsh, dull, lively, plaintive, joyous, &c., for it is evident every sound, considered abstractedly, without any regard to the movement, or high and low, may be thus modified. In practical music, this commanding particular is called Expression; and as we find certain tones analogous to it frequently coalescing with the modulation of the voice, which indicate our passions and affections (thereby more particularly pointing out the meaning of what we say) the term is usually applied in the same sense to speaking and reading.

These tones are not altogether peculiar to man.—Every animal, that is not dumb, has a power of making several of them. And from their being able, unassisted by words, to manifest and raise their kindred emotions, they constitute a kind of language of themselves. In this language of the heart man is eminently conversant; for we not only understand it in one another, but also in many of the inferior creatures subjected by providence to our service.

The expression here illustrated is one of the most essential articles in good reading, since it not only gives a finishing to the sense, but, on the principles of sympathy and antipathy, has also a peculiar efficacy in interesting the heart. It is likewise an article of most difficult attainment; as it appears from what follows, that a masterly reader ought not only to be able to incorporate it with the modulation properly as to quality, but in any degree as to quantity.

Every thing written being a proper imitation of speech, expressive reading must occasionally partake of all its tones. But from what was said above, of the difference between reading and speaking, it follows, Reading, that these signs of the emotions should be less strongly characterized in the former article than in the latter. Again, as several of these tones of expression are in themselves agreeable to the mind, and raise in us agreeable emotions (as those of pity, benevolence, or whatever indicates happiness and goodness of heart), and others disagreeable (as those of a boisterous, malevolent, and depraved nature, &c.) it farther appears, since reading is an art improving and not imitating nature, that, in whatever degree we abate the expressions of the tones above alluded to in the first case, it would be eligible to make a greater abatement in the latter. But as to the quantities and proportional magnitudes of these abatements, they, like many other particulars of the same nature, must be left solely to the taste and judgment of the reader.

To add one more remark, which may be of service on more accounts than in suggesting another reason for the doctrine above. Let it be remembered, that though in order to acquit himself agreeably in this article of expression, it will be necessary every reader should feel his subject as well as understand it; yet, that he may preserve a proper ease and matterliness of delivery, it is also necessary he should guard against discovering too much emotion and perturbation.

From this reasoning we deduce the following rule, for the tones which indicate the passions and emotions.

"In reading, let all your tones of expression be borrowed from those of common speech, but something more faintly characterized. Let those tones which signify any disagreeable passion of the mind, be still more faint than those which indicate their contrary; and preserve yourself so far from being affected with the subject, as to be able to proceed through it with that peculiar kind of ease and matterliness, which has its charms in this as well as every other art."

We shall conclude this section with the following observation, which relates to speaking as well as reading. When words fall in our way, whose "sounds seem an echo to the sense," as squirr, buzz, hum, rattle, hiss, jay, &c., we ought not to pronounce them in such a manner as to heighten the imitation, except in light and ludicrous subjects. For instance, they should not in any other case be sounded squir.r.r—buzz.z.z—hum.m.m—r.r.rattle, &c. On the contrary, when the imitation lies in the movement, or flow and structure of a whole passage (which frequently happens in poetry), the delivery may always be allowed to give a heightening to it with the greatest propriety; as in the following instances, out of a number more which every experienced reader will quickly recollect.

In these deep solitudes and awful cells, Where heav'nly pensive Contemplation dwells, And ever-musing Melancholy reigns— Pope's Eloisa to Abelard.

With easy course The vessels glide unless their speed be stopp'd By dead calms, that oft lie on these smooth seas. Dyer's Fleece.

Softly sweet in Lydian measure, Soon he sooth'd her soul to pleasure. Dryden's Ode on St Cecilia's day. Still gathering force it smokes, and, urg’d amain, Whirls, leaps, and thunders down impetuous to the plain.

POPE’s Iliad, b. 13.

For who to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being ere resign’d, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing lingering look behind?

GRAY’s Elegy.

2. Besides the particular tones and modifications of voice above described, which always accompany and express our inward agitations, nature has in these cases endowed us with another language, which, instead of the ear, addresses itself to the eye, thereby giving the communications of the heart a double advantage over those of the understanding, and us a double chance to preserve so ineffable a blessing. This language is what arises from the different, almost involuntary, movements and configurations of the face and body in our emotions and passions, and which, like that of tones, every one is formed to understand by a kind of intuition.

When men are in any violent agitation of mind, this co-operating expression (as it is called) of face and gesture is very strongly marked, and totally free from the mixture of any thing which has a regard to graceful-ness, or what appearance they may make in the eyes of others. But in ordinary conversation, and where the emotions are not so warm, fashionable people are perpetually infusing into their countenance and action, whatever they imagine will add to the ease and elegance of their deportment, or impress on the spectator an idea of their amiableness and breeding. Now, though the above-mentioned natural organic signs of the emotions should accompany everything spoken, yet from what was observed in the introductory part of this article (like the tones we have just treated upon), they should in reading be much less strongly expressed, and those suffer the greatest diminution that are in themselves the most ungainly. And as it was in the last section recommended to the reader to preserve himself as far from being affected in all passionate subjects as to be able to keep a temperate command over the various affections of the voice, &c. so under the sanction of this subordinate feeling he may accompany his delivery more frequently with any easy action or change of face, which will contribute to set off his manner, and make it agreeable on the principles of art.

As these calm decorations of action (as we may call them) are not altogether natural, but have their rise from a kind of institution, they must be modelled by the practices of the polite. And though mankind differ from one another scarce more in any particular than in that of talents for adopting the graceful actions of the body, and hence nothing determinate can be said of their nature and frequency, yet even those, most happily calculated to acquit themselves well in their use, might profit by considering that it is better greatly to abridge the display, than to over-do it ever so little. For the peculiar modesty of deportment with which the inhabitants of this kingdom are endowed, makes us in common endeavour to suppress many signs of an agitated mind; and in such cases the bodily ones in particular are very sparingly used. We have also a natural and rooted dislike to any kind of affectation; and to no species, that we can recollect, a greater, than to that which is seen in a person who pretends to mimicry and courtly gesture, without possessing the advantages and talents they require; and of which not many people, comparatively speaking, have any remarkable share.

The inference of this is too obvious to need drawing out, and we would particularly recommend it to the consideration of those readers who think the common occurrences of a newspaper, &c., cannot be properly delivered without a good deal of elbow-room.

Although it is impossible to come to particulars in any directions of this kind, yet there is one article of our present subject on which a serviceable remark may be made. In ordinary discourse, when we are particularly preying and earnest in what we say, the eye is naturally thrown upon those to whom we address ourselves: And in reading, a turn of this organ now and then upon the hearers, when anything very remarkable or interesting falls in the way, has a good effect in gaining it a proper attention, &c. But this should not be too frequently used; for if so, besides its having a tendency to confound the natural importance of different passages, it may not be altogether agreeable to some to have their own reflections broken in upon by a signal, which might be interpreted to hint at their wanting regulation.

One observation more, and then we shall attempt to recapitulate the substance of this section in the form of a precept. Though it is, when strictly examined, inconsistent, both in speaking and reading, to imitate with action what we are describing, yet as in anything comic such a practice may suggest ideas that will accord with those of the subject, it may there be now and then indulged in either of these articles.

"In a manner similar to that directed with regard to tones, moderate your bodily expressions of the signs of the emotions. And in order to supply, as it were, this deficiency, introduce into your carriage such an easy gracefulness, as may be consistent with your acquirements in these particulars, and the necessary dread which should ever be present of falling into any kind of affectation or grimace."

V. Pauses. Speech consisting of a succession of distinct words, must naturally be liable (both from a kind of accident, and a difficulty there may be in beginning certain sounds or portions of phrases immediately on the ending of others) to several small intermissions of voice; of which, as they can have no meaning, nothing farther need here be said. There are, however, some pauses, which the sense necessarily demands; and to these the substance of this section is directed.

The pauses are in part to distinguish the members of sentences from one another, the terminations of complete periods, and to afford an opportunity for taking breath. Besides this, they have a very graceful effect in the modulation, on the same account they are so essential in music.—In both articles, like blank spaces in pictures, they set off and render more conspicuous whatsoever they disjoin or terminate.

Were language made up of nothing but short colloquial sentences, these pauses, though they might do no harm, and would generally be graceful, would however be superceded as to use by the completeness and narrowness Reading, rows, as we may say, of the meaning. But in more diffuse language, composed of several detached sentences, and which require some degree of attention in order to take in the sense, the intermissions of voice under consideration are of the greatest service, by signifying to the mind the progress and completion of the whole passage. Now, though in extensive and differently formed periods there may be members whose completeness of sense might be conceived of various degrees, and hence might seem to require a set of pauses equally numerous; yet, since the sense does not altogether depend upon these intermissions, and their ratios to one another, if capable of being properly defined, could not be accurately observed, grammarians have ventured to conceive the whole clas of pauses as reducible to the four or five kinds now in use, and whose marks and ratios are well known (c); presuming that under the eye of taste, and with the assistance of a particular to be next mentioned, they would not fail in all cases to suggest intermissions of voice suitable to the sense. But in many of these extensive and complex periods, rounded with a kind of redundancy of matter, where the full sense is long suspended, and the final words are not very important, there would be some hazard of a misapprehension of the termination, had we not more evident and infallible notice of it than that which is given by the pause. This notice is the cadence, referred to in the section on Modulation; which, as is there observed, besides the ornamental variety it affords, appears from these remarks to be a very necessary and serviceable article in perspicuous delivery.

As this cadence naturally accompanies the end of every entire sense, circumstanted as above mentioned, it may sometimes fall before the semicolon, but more generally before the colon, as well as the period: For these marks are often found to terminate a complete sense; and in these cases, the relation what follows has to what went before, is signified to the mind by the relative shortness of the stop, and the form of introducing the additional matter. Nor can any bad consequence arise from thus founding distinctions on ratios of time, which it may be said are too nice to be often rightly hit upon: for if a confusion should happen between that of the colon and period, there is perhaps so trifling a difference between the nature of the pauses they succeed, as to make a small inaccuracy of no consequence. And as to the rests of the semicolon and period, it will not be easy to mistake about them, as their ratio is that of two to one. Add to this the power which the matter and introduction of the subsequent passages have to rectify any slight error here made, and we shall be fully satisfied, that the pauses, as usually explained, with the cadence above described, and a proper knowledge of the language, will convey sufficient information to the understanding of the constructive nature of the passages after which they are found.

It may be observed, that in natural speech, according to the warmth and agitation of the speaker, the rests are often short and injudiciously proportioned, and hence that everything thus delivered cannot be so graceful as it might have been from a proper attention to their magnitude and effects.

Pauses then, though chiefly subjected to the sense, are, as was remarked at the outset, serviceable in beautifying the modulation, &c.—And since books are often inaccurately printed as to points, and people's tastes differ some little about their place and value, it appears, that, "although in reading great attention should be paid to the stops, yet a greater should be given to the sense, and their correspondent times occasionally lengthened beyond what is usual in common speech;" which observation contains all that we shall pretend to lay down by way of rule for the management of pauses in the delivery of written language.

As there are two or three species of writing, which have something singular in them, and, with regard to the manner in which they should be read, a few particular remarks seem necessarily required, we shall conclude this article with laying them before the reader:

1. Of Plays, and such like Conversation-Pieces. Writings of this kind may be considered as intended for two different purposes; one to unfold subject matter for the exercise of dramatic powers; and the other to convey amusement, merely as fable replete with pleasing incidents and characteristic manners. Hence there appears to be great latitude for the display of a confident delivery of these performances; for while, on one hand, a good reader of very inferior talents for mimicry may be heard with a tolerable degree of pleasure; on the other, if any person is qualified to give a higher degree of life and force to the dialogue and characters by delivering them as an actor, he must be fully at liberty to start from the confinement of a chair to a posture and area more suited to his abilities; and, if he be not deceived in himself, his hearers will be considerable gainers by the change.—The next article is,

2. Sermons or other Orations, which in like manner may be conceived intended for a double purpose. First, as matter for the display of oratorical powers; and, secondly, as persuasive discourses, &c., which may be

(c) Supposing the comma (;) one time, the semicolon (;) will be two; the colon (:), three, and the period (.): as also the marks of interrogation (?) and admiration (!) four of these times. The blank line (— or ---), and the breaks between paragraphs, intimate still greater times; and by the same analogy may be reckoned a double and quadruple period respectively. Now and then these blank lines are placed immediately after the ordinary points, and then they are conceived only as separating for the eye the different natures of the matter;—as a question from an answer,—precept from example,—premises from inferences, &c., in which case their import is evident. But of late some authors have not scrupled to confound these distinctions; and to make a blank serve for all the pauses universally, or the mark of an indefinite rest, the quantity of which is left to the determination of the reader's taste. A practice, it is imagined, too destructive of the intended precision of these typical notices to be much longer adopted. be read like any other book. Therefore it appears (for reasons similar to those above) that according as clergymen are possessed of the talents of elocution, they may consistently either rehearse their sermons, in the manner of an extemporary harangue, or deliver them in the more humble capacity of one who is content to entertain and instruct his hearers with reading to them his own or some other person's written discourse.

That either of these manners of delivery (or a mixture of them), in either of the cases above mentioned, is agreeable, we find on a careful examination. For this will show us how frequently they run into one another; and that we are so far from thinking such transitions wrong, that, without a particular attention that way, we scarce ever perceive them at all.

3. Poetry is the next and last object of our present remarks. This is a very peculiar kind of writing, and as much different from the language of ordinary discourse as the movements of the dance are from common walking. To ornament and improve whatever is subservient to the pleasures and amusements of life, is the delight of human nature. We are also pleased with a kind of excess in anything which has a power to amuse the fancy, inspire us with enthusiasm, or awaken the soul to a consciousness of its own importance and dignity. Hence one pleasure, at least, takes its rise, that we feel in contemplating the performances of every art; and hence the language of poetry, consisting of a measured rhythm, harmonious cadences, and an elevated picturesque diction, has been studied by the ingenious, and found to have a powerful influence over the human breast in every age and region. There is such an affinity between this language and music, that they were in the earlier ages never separated; and though modern refinement has in a great measure destroyed this union, yet it is with some degree of difficulty in rehearsing these divine compositions we can forget the singing of the muse.

From these considerations (and some kindred ones mentioned in sect. iii.) in repeating verses, they are generally accompanied with a modulation rather more ornamented and musical than is used in any other kind of writing. And accordingly, as there seems to be the greatest propriety in the practice, the rule for this particular in the section just referred to, will allow any latitude in it that can gain the sanction of taste and pleasure.

Rhymes in the lighter and more soothing provinces of poetry are found to have a good effect; and hence (for reasons like those just suggested) it is certainly absurd to endeavour to smother them by a feeble pronunciation, and running one line precipitately into another, as is often affected to be done by many of our modern readers and speakers. By this method they not only destroy one source of pleasure intended by the composer (which though not great is nevertheless genuine), but even often supply its place with what is really disagreeable, by making the rhymes, as they are interruptedly perceived, appear accidental blemishes of a different style, arising from an unmeaning recurrence of similar sounds. With regard then to reading verses terminated with rhyme, the common rule, which directs to pronounce the final words full, and to distinguish them by a slight pause even where there is none required by the sense, seems the most rational, and consequently most worthy of being followed. See Declamation, Narration, and Oratory.

town of Berkshire in England, pleasantly situated on the river Kennet, near its confluence with the Thames. It had once a fine rich monastery, of which there are large ruins remaining. It had also a castle built by King Henry I. but it was afterwards levelled with the ground. It is a corporation, enjoys several privileges, and sends two members to parliament. The two navigable rivers render it a fit place for trade. W. Long. i. o. N. Lat. 51° 25'.