smooth; and then the stone itself will sink or crumble, and the wanderer of another age will pass, without a single call upon his sympathy, over our unheeded graves.- Greenwood.

Illustrating Modulation in Emotional Language. (Marked for Expressive Tones, also for Inflections, Pauses, and Emphasis.)

High slow.

THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO.

and THERE was a sound | of revelry | by night,

Moderate.

Loud high. Gentle slow.

High.

And Belgium's capital | had gathered | then |

| 1

Her beauty and her chivalry; and bright

The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave

men:

and A thousand hearts | beat happily, and when

and

Soft, low and

quick, aspirated chest

tone.

Loud,

Music | arose | with its voluptuous swell,

Soft eyes look'd love | to eyes | which spake again;

And all went merry | as a marriage bell:

But HUSH! HARK!

-

a deep sound | strikes | like

a rising knell!

high Did ye not HEAR it?

and quick.

Loud and

No; 'twas but the wind,

Or the car rattling o'er the stony street;

On with the dance! let joy | be unconfined;

and No sleep till morn, when Youth | and Pleasure | meet,

|

To chase the glowing hours | with flying feet —

Soft and low. But HARK!-that heavy sound | breaks in | once

more,

As if the clouds | its echo | would repeat;

Increase force

and rate. And nearer, clearer, DEADLIER than before! Very loud, high and quick, aspirated.

ARM! -ARM!—it is, it is, -the cannon's open

ing roar!

-

Soft, low and Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro,

quick. Aspirated.

And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which | but an hour ago | Blush'd at the praise | of their own loveliness; Plaintive and And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs |

tremulous.

Low and slow. Which ne'er might be repeated; who could guess | If ever more should meet those mutual eyes,

Since upon night | so sweet, such awful morn | could rise!

Loud quick.

Full

and And there was mounting | in hot haste; the steed,
The mustering squadron, and the clattering car,
Went pouring forward | with impetuous speed,
And swiftly forming | in the ranks of war:

chest tone, loud and slow.

Increase rate.

High.

Aspirated, explosive.

Loud

high.

And the deep thunder, peal on peal | afar;

And near, the beat of the alarming drum |
Roused up the soldier | ere the morning star;
While thronged the citizens | with terror dumb,
Or whispering, | with white lips, | "The FOE! They
COME, they COME!"

and And wild and high | the " Cameron's gathering"

rose !

The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills |

Pure falsetto Have heard | and heard, too, have her Saxon foes

register.

Moderate, in- How in the noon of night | that pibroch thrills, Savage | and shrill! But with the breath which fills | Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers |

creasing in

force.

With the fierce native daring | which instils |

The stirring memory | of a thousand years;

And Evan's, Donald's fame | rings | in each clansman's ears!

Soft, low and And Ardennes | waves above them | her green leaves,

slow.

Plaintive, median

stress.

Dewy, with nature's tear-drops, as they pass,
Grieving,—if aught inanimate | e'er grieves,—

Over the unreturning brave,- alas!

Very low and Ere evening | to be trodden | like the grass |

slow.

Full tone.

Increasing

Force.

Loud.

Full

chest

tone.

Which now beneath them, but above shall grow,

In its next verdure, when this fiery mass |

Of living valor | rolling | on the foe,

And burning with high hope, shall moulder | cold and low.

Last noon | beheld them | full of lusty life,

Last eve in beauty's circle | proudly gay,

The midnight | brought the signal sound | of strife,
|
The morn | the marshalling in arms,—the day |
Battle's magnificently stern array!

Low and slow. The thunder-clouds | close o'er it, which | when rent,

Very low.

Very slow.

|

The earth is covered thick | with other clay, Which her own clay shall cover, heap'd and pent, Rider and horse, friend, foe,-in one | red | burial|

blent.-Byron.

WARREN'S

READING SELECTIONS.

L

THE NINETEENTH CENTURY.

ET us have faith. No; let us not allow ourselves

to be crushed. To despair is to desert. Let us look at the future. The future- one does not know what tempests separate us from the port; but the port, radiant, though distant, is in view; the future, let us repeat it, is the Republic for all; let us add, the future is peace with all.

Let us not fall into the vulgar whim, and dishonor the century in which we live.

Erasmus called the sixteenth century the “excrement of the times," fex temporum; Bossuet thus characterizes the seventeenth century: "A time wicked and small;" Rousseau stigmatizes the eighteenth century in these terms: "This great rottenness in which we live." Posterity has decided against these illustrious minds. She has said to Erasmus, "The sixteenth century is grand;" she has said to Bossuet, "The seventeenth century is grand;" she has said to Rousseau, “The eighteenth century is grand." The infamy of these. centuries must have ben real, yet these strong men