Part 4

Chapter 44,112 wordsPublic domain

“The occurrence of several successive unaccented syllables, lessening the due number of accents in any line, must be balanced by a short rest to supply the place of the deficient accent (_as in the_ 5_th and_ 6_th lines of the_ 6_th example._) By these means the due time of the verse will be preserved, and its movement will _echo_, (as it were,) or, at all events, aid and strengthen the sense.

“The above verses will accordingly be read with the division and accentuation following:

1. Smoothˊ | flow the wavesˊ, | the zephˊyrs gent | ly playˊ.

4. Fameˊ | sits aloftˊ, | and pointsˊ | them outˊ | their course.

5. Brightˊ | as the sunˊ, | her eyesˊ | the gaˊ | zers strikeˊ.

RESTS IN VERSE.

“There is another point, which properly comes under the head of _time_, in rhythmical reading, and the due observance of which is essential to the melody of verse: that is the rests or pauses peculiar to verse, viz.:

THE CÆSURAL REST, to divide the line; and THE REST AT THE CLOSE of each line.

“The duration of each of these pauses or rests is equal to that of the _short rhetorical pause_; subject, of course, to be increased by the pause of sense.

“‘The cæsural pause may fall,’ says Blair, ‘in heroic verse, after the fourth, the fifth, the sixth, or the seventh syllable.’

“The placing it is the poet’s business: it is the Elocutionist’s to mark it in delivery. But if its introduction would be absolutely repugnant to sense and just elocution, the poet must bear the fault, and his line lose some portion of its melody by the omission; for sense cannot be sacrificed to sound.

“The rest at the end of the line suggests itself, and must not be omitted: the sense will most frequently enforce it; when it does not, a rest must nevertheless be made by a suspension of voice at the end of each line, equal to the short pause in Elocution.

EXAMPLE.

Achilles’ wrath, | to Greece the direful spring | Of woes unnumbered, | heav’nly goddess sing!

EXERCISES.

“The following verses in heroic measure—that is, consisting of ten syllables to each line, the syllables being (with occasional variations, which are allowed) alternately light and heavy—I have marked with the cæsural pause and rest at the end of the line. Let the student read them _aloud_, marking these pauses, and duly observing _time_, _rhythm_, and _poetical intonation_.

THE TEMPLE OF FAME.—_Pope._

MELODY and CADENCE require that in reading poetry the inflections be more smooth, or less angular, than in prose. To make the inflections as sharp as they often are in ordinary composition, would interfere with that easy and graceful flow which is the chief charm of poetical composition. But while cadence adds much to the beauty of poetical expression, it must not be carried so far as to supersede the just inflection and emphasis which the sense demands. To do so, would be to give to the reading a _sing-song_ tone and sameness, both unmeaning and disagreeable. Melody may be said to relate to the whole verse in poetry; cadence applies only to the closing line or phrase.

[3] Pronouns used as _antecedents_, and also _relatives_, when _their antecedents are not expressed_, should obviously be pronounced with a certain degree of emphatic force; as, “_He_ that runs may read.” “_Who_ seeks for glory often finds a grave.” “_What_ man has done, man can do.”

[4] The following is Mr. J. Sheridan Knowles’s account of emphasis:—“EMPHASIS is of two kinds, absolute and relative. Relative emphasis has always an antithesis expressed or implied: absolute emphasis takes place when the peculiar eminence of the thought is solely, singly considered.

’Twas base and poor, unworthy of a _peasant_, To forge a scroll so villainous and loose, And mark it with a noble lady’s name.

Here we have an example of relative emphasis; for, if the thought were expressed at full, it would stand thus:—Unworthy not only of a _gentleman_, but of a _peasant_.

’Twas base and poor, unworthy of a _man_, To forge a scroll so villainous and loose, And mark it with a noble lady’s name.

Here we have an example of absolute emphasis; for, if the thought were expressed at full, it would stand thus:—Unworthy a being composed of such perfections as constitute a man.” Mr. Knowles adds: “I apprehend that, notwithstanding all that has been written on the subject, the true definition of emphasis remains still to be discovered.”

[5] _Single_ emphasis, is when there is _one_ pair of words opposed to each other in a sentence; _Double_ emphasis, when there are _two_ pairs; and _Treble_, when there are _three_.

PART SECOND.

I.—TEACHING AND CHARACTER OF JESUS CHRIST.

CHATEAUBRIAND.

Among the French writers of the nineteenth century, Chateaubriand has been one of the most distinguished. His “Genius of Christianity” is a remarkably brilliant and eloquent work.

1. JESUS CHRIST appears among men full of grace and truth; the authority and the mildness of His precepts[6] are irresistible. He comes to heal the most unhappy of mortals, and all His wonders are for the wretched. In order to inculcate[7] His doctrine, He chooses the apologue,[8] or parable, which is easily impressed[9] on the minds of the people. While walking in the fields, He gives His divine lessons.

2. When surveying the flowers that adorn the mead, He exhorts His disciples to put their trust in Providence, who supports the feeble plants, and feeds the birds of the air; when He beholds the fruits of the earth, He teaches them to judge of men by their works; an infant is brought to Him, and He recommends innocence; being among shepherds, He gives Himself the appellation of the _Good Shepherd_, and represents Himself as bringing back the lost sheep to the fold.

3. In Spring He takes His seat upon the mountain, and draws from the surrounding objects instruction for the multitude sitting at His feet. From the very sight of this multitude, composed of the poor and the unfortunate, He deduces His beatitudes. _Blessed are those that weep—blessed are they that hunger and thirst._ Such as observe His precepts, and those that slight them, are compared to two men who build houses, the one upon a rock, and the other upon the sand. When He asks the woman of Samaria for drink, He expounds unto her His heavenly doctrine, under the beautiful image of a well of living water.

4. His character was amiable, open, and tender, and His charity unbounded. The evangelist gives us a complete and admirable idea of it in these few words: _He went about doing good._ His resignation to the will of God is conspicuous[10] in every moment of His life; He loved and felt the sentiment of friendship: the man whom He raised from the tomb, Lazarus, was His friend; it was for the sake of the noblest sentiment of life that He performed the greatest of His miracles.

5. In Him the love of country may find a model. “O, Jerusalem, Jerusalem,” He exclaimed, at the idea of the judgments which threatened that guilty city, “how often would I have gathered thy children together, even as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, and ye would not!” Casting His sorrowful eyes from the top of a hill over this city, doomed for her crimes to a signal destruction, He was unable to restrain His tears: “_He beheld the city_,” says the evangelist, “_and wept over it_.” His tolerance[11] was not less remarkable: when His disciples begged him to command fire to come down from heaven on a village of Samaria, which had denied Him hospitality, He replied with indignation, “_Ye know not what manner of spirit ye are of_.”

[6] PREˊ-CEPTS, commands, rules or directions for moral guidance.

[7] IN-CULˊ-CATE, to urge, or enforce.

[8] APˊ-O-LOGUE (log), a parable, a moral fable.

[9] IM-PRESSˊ, to fix deep, to imprint.

[10] CON-SPICˊ-UOUS, plain, manifest, evident.

[11] TOLˊ-ER-ANCE, patient endurance, indulgence.

II.—LITTLE AT FIRST, BUT GREAT AT LAST

1. A traveler through a dusty road, Strewed[12] acorns on the lea,[13] And one took root, and sprouted up, And grew into a tree. Love sought its shade at evening time, To breathe its early vows, And Age was pleased, in heat of noon, To bask[14] beneath its boughs. The dormouse loved its dangling twigs; The birds sweet music bore; It stood a glory in its place— A blessing evermore.

2. A little spring had lost its way Amid the grass and fern: A passing stranger scooped a well, Where weary men might turn; He walled it in, and hung with care A ladle at the brink; He thought not of the deed he did, But judged that Toil might drink. He passed again—and lo! the well, By summers never dried, Had cooled ten thousand parching tongues, And saved a life beside.

3. A dreamer dropped a random[15] thought; ’Twas old, and yet ’twas new— A simple fancy of the brain, But strong in being true: It shone upon a genial[16] mind, And lo! its light became A lamp of life, a beacon[17] ray, A monitory[18] flame. The thought was small—its issue[19] great; A watch-fire on the hill, It sheds its radiance[20] far adown, And cheers the valley still!

4. A nameless man, amid a crowd That thronged the daily mart,[21] Let fall a word of hope and love, Unstudied, from the heart; A whisper on the tumult thrown— A transitory[22] breath— It raised a brother from the dust; It saved a soul from death. Oh germ! oh fount! oh word of love! Oh thought at random cast! Ye were but little at the first, But _mighty at the last_!

[12] STREWED, sowed, scattered.

[13] LEA, open land, meadow land.

[14] BASK, repose, recline.

[15] RANˊ-DOM, at hazard; without aim or purpose.

[16] GEˊ-NI-AL, sympathetic; adapted to receive it.

[17] BEAˊ-CON, guiding, warning against danger.

[18] MONˊ-I-TO-RY, admonishing, warning.

[19] ISˊ-SUE (ish’-shu), result, consequence.

[20] RAˊ-DI-ANCE, light, brightness.

[21] MART, a place of sale or traffic.

[22] TRANSˊ-I-TO-RY, fleeting, quickly passing away.

III.—THE DEVOTED SON AND THE GENEROUS STRANGER.

BROTHER PHILIPPE.

Brother Philippe is the present (1871) Superior General of the Brothers of the Christian Schools. He is the author of several very meritorious works. He resides in France, where during the late war he was remarkable, though a very old man, for his energy, courage and holy zeal in providing for the wants of the wounded and dying upon the battle fields.

1. A young man, named Robert, was waiting on the coast at Marseilles for some one to hire his boat. A stranger entered, and was on the point of stepping out again, notwithstanding the presence of Robert, whom he did not suppose to be the owner. “As the boat-man is not coming,” said he, “I shall pass into another boat.” “Sir,” said Robert, “this is my own boat, do you wish to get out of port?” “No; I merely thought of enjoying a row on the river before night closed in, but you don’t look like a sailor.” “True, Sir, I am not a sailor; but the want of money forces me to seek employment during my leisure hours.”

2. “What! avaricious[23] at your age? This is a shame which mars your youth, and lessens the interest inspired by your pleasing appearance.” “Ah! Sir, if you knew why I wish to make money, you would not, indeed, add to my sorrow by believing me guilty of such a low vice.” “I may have wronged you; but you have not explained yourself. Let us have a row; meantime you can tell me all your troubles, for your looks have disposed me in your favor.”

3. “I have but one trouble,” said the young man; “it is that of having a dear father bound in chains; and this may last I know not how long! My father was a broker in this city, and had obtained, by means of his own and my mother’s earnings, an interest in a merchant vessel bound to Smyrna. He took charge of the buying and the selling of the stock. The vessel was seized by a pirate ship, and taken to Tetuan, where my father remains prisoner, with the greater part of the ship’s crew. They demand ten thousand francs for his ransom;[24] but, as he had made large outlays so as to increase the business, we are far from possessing that sum. However, my mother and my sisters work day and night, and I contrive to do my part as a clerk in a jeweler’s shop, and I seek besides, as you perceive, to fill up my leisure hours. We have retrenched our mode of living in every possible way, and one room forms our lodging. At first I thought of going to take my father’s place, and thus release him from his cruel chains. I was about putting this idea into execution, when my mother assured me that such an undertaking was as rash as it was impracticable;[25] and she forbade all the captains of the Levant to take me on board.”

4. “Do you ever hear from your father? Do you know the name of his master in Tetuan, and in what manner is he treated?” “His master is the intendant of the king’s gardens; they treat him with humanity, and the labor to which he is subjected is not above his strength. But he is our father; he is so good, and we are not there to comfort him; he is far from us, from his dear wife and his three children, whom he loves tenderly.”

5. “What name does he bear in Tetuan?” “It is not changed; they call him Robert.” “Robert? in Tetuan? with the intendant[26] of the gardens?” “Yes, Sir.”

6. “I am touched at your sorrow, my good friend; and, in consequence of your noble sentiments, I predict[27] for you the accomplishment of your wishes, which, indeed, you richly merit. Meanwhile, let me now enjoy a few moments’ solitude in this spot.”

7. When it was night, Robert had orders to put him ashore. Then the stranger, slipping a purse into the young man’s hands, disappeared without allowing him time to express his thanks. The purse contained four hundred francs, mostly in gold coins. Such generosity gave Robert the highest opinion of the stranger, who had listened with so much interest to his sad tale. In vain did Robert seek him, to assure him of his lasting gratitude.

8. Six weeks elapsed since this extraordinary occurrence, and those good people worked on indefatigably,[28] to complete the sum mentioned. One day they were partaking of a frugal meal of bread and dried almonds, in the narrow room which was their home, when a man entered, and surprised them in the midst of their trouble and their misery. He was cleanly clad. Heavens! ... it is Robert, their father. What astonishment! What exclamations of joy! What tears were shed, in their happiness. Robert embraced his wife and his children, and told them how thankful he felt for the twelve thousand francs which he received at the moment he embarked on the vessel, where his passage had been already paid; clothes also were furnished him, and he knew not, he said, how to acknowledge so much solicitude[29] and attention.

9. The surprise of the mother and the children increased at every word spoken; they could not comprehend this mysterious language, and they looked at each other in their bewilderment. At length, the mother broke silence: she supposed that her son had done all this without consulting her; she told her husband how zealously he had labored since the beginning of his captivity; how he had endeavored to go and replace him, and how she had prevented him from so doing. “Ten thousand francs,” added she, “were necessary for the ransom; we had but a little more than the half, most part of which was acquired[30] by his attention to business; for the rest, friends must have aided him.”

11. All at once the disheartened father grew thoughtful and gloomy, and thus addressed his son: “Unhappy boy, can I owe you my liberty without regret? How could it have remained a secret to your mother, and not be bought at the price of virtue? At your age, unhappy son of a slave, one cannot easily obtain so much money. I shudder to think that filial piety may have made you culpable.[31] Confide in me, be sincere, do not conceal the truth; have you been guilty of dishonesty?”

12. “Banish your fears, dear father,” cried the virtuous son, as he embraced him tenderly; “your child is not unworthy of this title, nor lucky enough to have effected your freedom, which, in truth, you do not owe to me; I know your benefactor—oh, yes, I know him. Do you remember, dear mother, the stranger who gave me his purse—how he questioned me thus: ‘Where is your father? What is his name? Who is his master?’ Were I to spend my whole life, I shall find him again, and he shall admire the fruits of his generosity.”

Then his dutiful son related the incident which had taken place, restoring, meanwhile, the peace and the happiness which had, for a moment, given place to fear.

13. Restored to his family, the honest Robert found friends and means. Success surpassed his hopes. After ten years, he had acquired a little fortune; and his children, who were all settled in life, shared the happiness of their father and mother.

[23] AVˊ-A-RIˊ-CIOUS, greedy of wealth.

[24] RANˊ-SOM, the price paid to redeem a person or goods from an enemy.

[25] IM-PRACˊTI-CA-BLE, incapable of being done.

[26] IN-TENDˊ-ANT, an overseer.

[27] PRE-DICTˊ, to foretell.

[28] INˊ-DE-FATˊ-I-GA-BLE, untiring, not yielding to fatigue.

[29] SO-LICˊ-I-TUDE, anxiety, care, concern.

[30] ACˊ-QUIRE, to gain, to obtain.

[31] CULˊ-PA-BLE, blameable.

IV.—THE CHRISTIAN MOTHER.

MARY I. HOFFMAN.

Miss Hoffman is an American authoress of very marked ability. Her “Agnes Hilton,” “Alice Murray,” and “Felix Kent” are works of fiction of great and deserved popularity.

1. It was a poor, dilapidated[32] house in a narrow lane; no curtains shaded the small windows through which the glaring sun came mockingly in. A table stood in the middle of the room, with—we cannot say the remains of the last meal, for the meal had been too scant to have any remains—but with the soiled cups and plates still unremoved; the cold stove looked as if it had never known what it was to have a good fire blazing and burning within it; back by the wall was an old scuttle, in which were a few coals, evidently placed there away from the stove, lest too close proximity[33] might tempt to using them before the time to heat the teakettle for the next meal came round.

2. On a little bench sat a pale, thin-faced child of seven or eight years. An old, threadbare coat, very much too large, was wrapped around him, completely covering, or rather burying him in its ample folds. After one or two ineffectual attempts he succeeded in disengaging[34] his little hands, and then smoothed back the golden locks from his broad, handsome brow.

3. On the floor were two little girls, one five, the other three. They were playing with bits of cloth and shreds of ribbons, ever and anon pausing to look up in the face of a middle-aged woman sitting by the window, sewing on a jacket as fast as her hand could fly. She had on a faded dress of mourning, and her countenance looked sorrow-stricken and worn.

4. On a bed in one corner was lying a boy of fifteen or sixteen years. He was very pale, and with the sunken eyes closed, the chin slightly fallen, the ashen lips parted, displaying the large even teeth, a looker-on might have congratulated himself that the vital[35] spark had fled—that the spirit had found a happier home. But his languid eyes opened, and a groan escaped his lips.

5. His mother started and exclaimed:

“Oh, Alfred, that pain has again awakened you!”

“No, mother, no, I was not asleep,” he sorrowfully replied.

“Not asleep, Alfred! I thought you were, you lay so quiet.”

“I know it, but I only had my eyes closed, thinking of the time we lived in Stanton, and it all came back so plain, that I thought this poor, cold room was only a dream, but I opened my eyes, and oh, mother, it wasn’t, it wasn’t!” Clasping his hands, he cried: “What a change since father died, what a change!” and sobs choked the further utterance of the poor, sick boy.

6. “Oh, Alfred, dear Alfred,” said his mother, while unbidden tears came into her eyes; “your father was too good to be left here to suffer. He was called home to heaven—to heaven,” she slowly repeated, dropping her needle and pressing her hand upon her heart to keep down its tumultuous[36] throbbings. Then, after a moment’s pause, she added:

“But, Alfred, be patient; God will not forget us.”

“Forget us!” he exclaimed, starting up and looking wildly around, “why, mother, it seems we are already forgotten.”

“No, Alfred, don’t say that; God is so good and merciful, He sends us these trials to disengage our minds from the world, and prepare us for heaven; His beautiful heaven, child. You remember when, in Stanton, we used to read of it, and think we could even suffer martyrdom to show our love and gratitude to our dear Lord, who came on earth and died that we might enjoy it. And now, when pain and suffering come upon us, shall we murmur and repine?”

7. “Oh, mother, I don’t want to murmur,[37] but—oh, it is so much easier to talk of pain than it is to suffer it.”

“But, Alfred, dear, any pain or trial sent by God, if we only bear it with patience and resignation, will be showing the same love as if we died for Him.”

“Why, mother!” he exclaimed, forgetting, in his surprise, the great weakness that a moment before had gathered around his heart; “your words seem so strange, I will not say irreverent—but, mother, to compare our trials to martyrdom seems—seems so presumptuous.”[38]

8. Pausing an instant in her sewing, she fixed a steadfast gaze upon him; perceiving the conversation was not wearying him, she said:

“Alfred, I have often wished in this sickness to tell you my thoughts on this subject, for it seems they were suggested by my good angel, to strengthen and comfort me. You have been so weak, that I have not dared to dwell on any subject, or use more words than were absolutely necessary. But now I see you are able to hear me, and I will speak.”