imagination or feeling. In the same way the language of attention, such as touch and inflexion, is more under our control, while the sympathetic modulation or the color of the voice is less voluntary and comes from the diffusion of feeling over the whole body.

THE SNOWDROP

A snowdrop lay in the sweet dark ground,
"Come out," said the Sun, come out!"
But she lay quite still and she heard no sound;
66 Asleep,"
"said the Sun, no doubt!"

The Snowdrop heard, for she raised her head,
"Look spry," said the Sun, "look spry!"
"It's warm," said the Snowdrop, "here in bed."
"Oh, fie!" said the Sun, "oh, fie!"

"You call too soon, Mr. Sun, you do!"

66 No, no," said the Sun, "oh, no!"

"There's something above and I can't see through.”
"It's snow," said the Sun, "just snow."

"But I say, Mr. Sun, are the Robins here?"
66 Maybe,"
"said the Sun, "maybe."

"There was n't a bird when you called last year."
"Come out," said the Sun, "and see!"

The Snowdrop sighed, for she liked her nap,
And there was n't a bird in sight,

But she popped out of bed in her white night-cap;
"That's right," said the Sun, "that's right!"

And, soon as that small night-cap was seen,

A Robin began to sing,

The air grew warm, and the grass turned green.

""Tis spring!" laughed the Sun, "'t is spring!"
Isabel Ecclestone Mackay

There is an exact correspondence between our spontaneous mental actions, such as imagination and feeling, and the language or the natural signs of these, such as tone color, change of pitch and movement. The natural signs of feeling are more spontaneous than the signs or language of ordinary or discursive thinking, such as inflexion. Inflexion is more conscious and voluntary than change of pitch. All these natural signs, however, even inflexion, have elements that are always in part, if not wholly, spon

taneous; and yet tone color is usually indirect and is the most spontaneous of all the voice modulations.

NESTS

Make yourselves nests of pleasant thoughts! None of us yet know, for none of us have been taught in early youth, what fairy palaces we may build of beautiful thoughts, proof against all adversity; bright fancies, satisfied memories, noble histories, faithful sayings, treasure-houses of precious and restful thoughts which care cannot disturb, nor pain make gloomy, nor poverty take away from us; houses built without hands, for our souls to live in.

John Ruskin

Take some passage and multiply all the modulations, but observe that in proportion to the imaginative realization of the picture and the emotion it awakens, change of color will have a prominent place. On the contrary, if the passage is read in a cold, didactic way without any imagination or feeling, tone color will be eliminated.

THE LEGEND BEAUTIFUL

"Hadst thou stayed, I must have fled!"
That is what the Vision said.

In his chamber all alone,

Kneeling on the floor of stone,
Prayed the Monk in deep contrition
For his sins of indecision,
Prayed for greater self-denial
In temptation and in trial;
It was noonday by the dial,
And the Monk was all alone.

Suddenly, as if it lightened,
An unwonted splendour brightened
All within him and without him

In that narrow cell of stone;
And he saw the Blessed Vision

Of our Lord, with light Elysian
Like a vesture wrapped about Him,
Like a garment round Him thrown.

Not as crucified and slain,
Not in agonies of pain,

Not with bleeding hands and feet,
Did the Monk his Master see;

But as in the village street,

In the house or harvest-field,
Halt and lame and blind He healed,
When He walked in Galilee.

In an attitude imploring,

Hands upon his bosom crossed,
Wondering, worshipping, adoring,
Knelt the Monk in rapture lost.

Lord," ," he thought, "in Heaven that reignest Who am I that thus thou deignest

To reveal Thyself to me?

Who am I, that from the centre
Of Thy glory Thou shouldst enter
This poor cell my guest to be?"

Then amid his exaltation,
Loud the convent bell appalling,
From its belfry calling, calling,
Rang through court and corridor
With persistent iteration
He had never heard before.
It was now the appointed hour
When alike, in shine or shower,
Winter's cold or summer's heat,
To the convent portals came
All the blind and halt and lame,
All the beggars of the street,
For their daily dole of food
Dealt them by the brotherhood;
And their almoner was he

Who upon his bended knee,
Wrapt in silent ecstasy

Of divinest self-surrender,

Saw the Vision and the splendour.

Deep distress and hesitation

Mingled with his adoration;

Should he go or should he stay?
Should he leave the poor to wait
Hungry at the convent gate
Till the Vision passed away?
Should he slight his radiant guest,
Slight his visitant celestial,
For a crowd of ragged, bestial
Beggars at the convent gate?
Would the Vision there remain?
Would the Vision come again?

Then a voice within his breast
Whispered, audible and clear,
As if to the outward ear:
"Do thy duty; that is best;
Leave unto thy Lord the rest!"

Straightway to his feet he started,
And with longing look intent
On the Blessed Vision bent,
Slowly from his cell departed,
Slowly on his errand went.

At the gate the poor were waiting,
Looking through the iron grating,
With that terror in the eye
That is only seen in those
Who amid their wants and woes
Hear the sound of doors that close
And of feet that pass them by;
Grown familiar with disfavour,
Grown familiar with the savour
Of the bread by which men die!
But to-day, they know not why,
Like the gate of Paradise
Seemed the convent gate to rise,
Like a sacrament divine

Seemed to them the bread and wine.
In his heart the Monk was praying,
Thinking of the homeless poor,
What they suffer and endure;
What we see not, what we see;
And the inward voice was saying
"Whatsoever thing thou doest
To the least of Mine and lowest,
That thou doest unto Me."

Unto Me! But had the Vision
Come to him in beggar's clothing,
Come a mendicant imploring,
Would he then have knelt adoring,
Or have listened with derision
And have turned away with loathing?
Thus his conscience put the question,
Full of troublesome suggestion,
As at length, with hurried pace,
Toward his cell he turned his face,
And beheld the convent bright

With a supernatural light,

Like a luminous cloud expanding
Over floor and wall and ceiling.

But he paused with awestruck feeling
At the threshold of his door;
For the Vision still was standing
As he left it there before,
When the convent bell appalling,
From its belfry calling, calling,
Summoned him to feed the poor.
Through the long hour intervening
It had waited his return,
And he felt his bosom burn,

Comprehending all the meaning,
When the Blessed Vision said:

"Hadst thou stayed I must have fled!"

XXX. MELLOWNESS OF TONE

H. W. Longfellow

Blow loud for the blossoms that live in the trees,
And low for the daisies and clover;
But as soft as I can for the violet shy,
Yes, softly and over and over.

Mary Mapes Dodge

Do you observe that some tones please you and that others displease you? The tones that give you pleasure seem soft, rich, and full. Those that are disagreeable are harsh, cold, husky or impure.

Did you ever notice what effect your feeling has upon tone? If you are antagonistic, full of anger, your tone will be hard and unpleasant. If you whine, your tone will be narrow, weak and disagreeable, while if you express love or tenderness or joy, your tone will be open, rich and pleasing to everyone.

You have found that excitement, joyous emotion, sympathetic animation, great admiration or any deep feeling will cause a gentle expansion all over your body. It fills all your muscles with life. Anger, and ignoble emotions cause your body and voice to constrict and become hard. The habit of indulging in anger or antagonism will make the tone habitually hard.

We may allow even earnestness to cramp our voice, but this is not the effect of true earnestness. True earnestness is sympathetic and courageous, and will expand the body