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farther, I will allow that nature, without learning, is of greater efficacy towards the attainment of glory and virtue, than learning without nature: but then I affirm, that when, to an excellent natural disposition, are added the embellishments of learning, there always results from this union something astonishingly great and extraordinary.

Before the prolepsis in this passage, as generally in every other where it occurs, the voice falls into a low tone, as having concluded some branch of the discourse; this gives it a better opportunity of striking into the higher tone, proper to the objection; and when this is pronounced, the voice falls into a lower tone as it begins the answer, and rises again gradually with the importance of the subject.


Is a figure by which the orator pretends to conceal or pass by what he really means to declare and to enforce.

Whatever we seem to give up as a matter of small consequence, we generally pronounce in a higher and softer tone of voice than the rest: this is accompanied with an air of indifference that seems to make light of what we mention, and this indifference generally leads us to end the particulars with the suspension of voice, properly called the rising inflexion. Thus, Cicero, in his defence of Sextius, introduces his character in the following manner, with a design of recommending him to the favour of his judges :

I might say many things of his liberality, kindness to his domestics, his command in the army, and moderation during his office in the province; but the honour of the state presents itself to my view, and calling me to it, advises me to omit these lower matters.

The first part of this sentence should be spoken in a soft, high tone of voice, with an air of indifference, as if waving the advantages arising from his client's character; but the latter part assumes a lower and firmer tone, which greatly enforces and sets off the former.


Is a figure by which the speaker applies to his hearers or opponents for their opinion upon the point in debate. Thus, Cicero, in his Oration for Cæcina, appeals to Piso :

Suppose, Piso, that any person had driven you house by violence, how would you have behaved?

from your

It is plain that this figure ought to be pronounced in an easy, familiar, middle tone of voice; without passion, and with such a frankness of manner, as if we were fully satisfied of the justice of

our cause.


Becomes a figure when it virtually declares, or when it demands an answer in accordance with the conviction of the interrogator. If we consider it only as a departure from the declarative form, and not accompanied by any passion, it wonderfully varies and enlivens the style, by holding personal converse, as it were, with the reader or auditor, and urging him to attention by the answer, it leads him to expect. If this figure is formed by the verb only, and without the interrogative words, it frequently commences and continues with a monotone, and ends with an inflexion of voice, which not only pleases the ear by the striking variety it produces, but rouses the attention by its more immediate address to the understanding. But when, to these marking properties, we annex emotion or passion, this figure becomes the most powerful engine in the whole arsenal of oratory. How does Cicero press and bear down his adversary by the force of his interrogations! When pleading for his client, he thus addresses himself to his accuser :

I will make you this offer, Plancius: choose any one tribe you please, and show, as you ought, by whom it was bribed; but if you cannot, and, in my opinion, will not even attempt to do this, I will show you how he gained it. Is this a fair contest? Will you engage on this ground? It is an open, honourable challenge to you. Why are you silent? Why do you dissemble? Why do you prevaricate? I repeatedly insist on this point, I urge you to it, press it, require it, nay, I demand it of you.


Is an assemblage of particulars forming a whole, in such a manner, that the last idea in the former member becomes the first in the latter, and so on, step by step, till the climax or gradation is completed.

Nor did he commit himself only to the people, but also to the senate; nor to the senate only, but likewise to the public forces; nor to these only, but also to the power of him with whom the senate had entrusted the whole commonwealth.

In this climax, the circumstances rise in importance, and should therefore have an increasing force and elevation of voice as they proceed. The two first members must end with the falling inflexion, these only with the rising inflexion, and the last with the falling, but in a more forcible and elevated tone than the rest.*

*The propriety of this elevation of tone in the last member may be questioned. As was noticed before in Emphasis, the voice may increase in intensity, and yet adopt a depressed tone.


Is a figure in which we interrupt the current of our discourse, and turn to another person, or to some other object different from that to which our address was at first directed. This figure is seldom used; but when, in a violent commotion, the speaker turns himself on all sides, and appeals to the living and the dead, to angels and to men, to rocks, groves, and rivers, for the justice of his cause, or calls upon them to sympathise with his joy, grief, or resent


The tone of voice to be employed in pronouncing this figure is as various as the passions it assumes; but as these passions are ge nerally very vehement, a higher and louder tone of voice is generally necessary in the apostrophe than on that part of the oration that precedes it. When we address inanimate things, especially if they are supposed to be distant, the voice must rise in height and loudness, as if the speaker were resolved to make them hear him. In this manner we may presume Cicero pronounced that fine apostrophe in his oration for Milo, when, speaking of the death of Clodius, he says,

O ye judges! it was not by human counsel, nor by any thing less than the immediate care of the immortal gods, that this event has taken place. The very divinities themselves, who beheld that monster fall, seemed to be moved, and to have inflicted their vengeance upon him. I appeal to you, I call to witness, you, O ye hills and groves of Alba! You, the demolished Alban altars! ever accounted holy by the Romans, and coeval with our religion, but which Clodius, in his mad fury, having first cut down and levelled the most sacred groves, had sunk under heaps of common buildings; I appeal to you, I call you to witness, whether your altars, your divinities, your powers, which he had polluted with all kinds of wickedness, did not avenge themselves when this wretch was extirpated? And thou, O holy Jupiter! from the height of thy sacred mount, whose lakes, groves, and boundaries, he had so often contaminated with his detestable impurities: and you, the other deities, whom he had insulted, at length opened your eyes to punish this enormous offender. By you, by you, and in your sight, was the slow, but the righteous and merited, vengeance executed upon him.

In pronouncing this passage, it is evident that the speaker must raise his voice at "I appeal," &c., and, with a force and rapidity bordering on enthusiasm, continue the voice in this pitch till the in

vocation of Jupiter, who, as the Supreme Being, is supposed to be present, and to be too sacred to be addressed with the same violence as inanimate objects; for which reason, the speaker must lower his tone into a solemn monotone, and continue in his lower tone with increasing force to the end.


The management of passion in accordance with the character that is represented to labour under it, its natural sentiments, its fluctuations, and its combinations, must be intuitively present to the mind of the dramatic author. The person who acts a character, has, in some respects, a minuter and more delicate task to perform, as he must watch over every tone, look, and gesture, and keep them in consistency with the situation of the person represented. There is a smile of benignity, of love, of contempt; there is a smile of innocence and of guilt; of dignity, and of silliness; there is the smile of the peasant and that of the king. To vary the expression of passion, so as to preserve it in keeping with the character, to exhibit inferior and incidental passions, as modified by a dominant one, are the attainments of a great actor, who, in his delineations, is not always assisted by the composition of the dramatist. For, although in representations of passion, the dramatist exhibits the sentiment of passion in agreement with the character represented, yet the actor has the difficult task of preserving the consistency of the functions of voice, look, and gesture, in those parts where there is little excitement, and where the familiar parts of the dialogue are apt to make one forget the idiosyncrasy of the character. This preservation of the consistency of character in minute and incidental matter, is much more difficult to accomplish, than a forcible representation in some highly wrought scenes. Besides, written language is frequently so inexpressive, that different meanings are often attached to the same passages; for this reason, it is highly important to know the nature of passion, its natural sentiments, its combinations, and endurance, that we may be enabled to give that reading, as it is called, which a cultivated taste prefers. This subject has not been treated in our common class-books on Elocution in these compilations, too much attention has been paid to mere sounds; the influence of passion on pronunciation, and the analysis of the structure of eloquent composition, must be investi gated, if we wish the intellectual and tasteful to encounter the drudgery of a course of oratory.


Up with my tent. Here will I lie to-nightBut where to-morrow? Well, all's one for that. >Who hath descried the number of the traitors?

The guilty mind is full of starts, and will catch prophecies from its own inadvertent words. There is a marked pause after "night;"

the mention of "to-night" calls his mind to the future. where to-morrow" follows in a deep, slow, reflective voice.


The familiar direction and remark of " Up with my tent-Here will I lie to-night," are spoken not in a careless, light voice, but in a suppressed tone; the mind is oppressed with suspicion, and the fear of impending evil; and the most familiar expressions are tinged with a shade of the ruling passion.

The pronunciation of familiar, incidental remarks, then, must be in keeping with the colouring of the ruling passion. There is nothing which lends more life and reality to a picture than these trivialities; but their introduction requires a delicate appreciation of character, and of the varying moods of the mind. In the lines above, we observe that Richard's habitual state of mind would lead him to speak even common things in a tone of suppression. Accordingly, in certain tragedies, the tone of the principal character, from the beginning to the end, is what may be termed passion formed, and extends over the business of every scene. In the lines we have quoted, the familiar direction is tinged with the state of mind; in those which are to follow, the familiar remarks are strongly coloured by an incontrollable ruling passion at the moment, and courtesy is carried off in the whirlwind of rage.

Desdemona. I will not stay to offend you.
Lodovico. Truly an obedient lady:

I do beseech your lordship, call her back.
Othello. Mistress.

Desd. My lord?

Oth. What would you with her?

Lod. Who, I, my lord?

Oth. Ay, you did wish that I would make her turn :

Sir, she can turn, and turn, and yet go on,

And turn again; and she can weep, sir, weep;
And she's obedient, as you say, obedient,


Very obedient: Proceed you
your tears.
Concerning this, sir-Oh well-painted passion!
I am commanded home: Get you away;

I'll send for you anon. Sir, I obey the mandate,

And will return to Venice ;-Hence, avaunt!
Cassio shall have my place. And, sir, to-night,
I do entreat that we may sup together.

You are welcome, sir, to Cyprus.

Sometimes the familiar springs naturally from certain passions: in settled sorrow, the mind will sometimes find relief in trivial matters; thus, Desdemona, in her grief, reverts to a stranger, and even speaks of his appearance and demeanour.

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