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EXERCISES ON RULE X

(103.) THE MISER.

He was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone/ Scrooge--a squeezing/ wrenching/ grasping/ scraping/ clutching/ covetous old sinner. Hard and sharp as flint/ from which no steel had ever struck out generous fire: secret and self-contained/ and solitary as an oyster. The cold within him froze his old features/ nipped his pointed nose/ shrivelled his cheek/ stiffened his gait/ made his eyes red/ his thin lips blue/ and spoke out shrewdly in his grating voice.--Dickens.

(104.) PAUL AT ATHENS.

Animated by such feelings/ we may now regard Paul preparing himself to address an auditory of Athenians on behalf of Christianity. There would be the Priest/ astonished at an attempt so daring; and as the speaker's design opened on his mind/ anxiously and with alternate contempt and rage/ measuring the strength of the Samson who thus grasped the pillars of his temple/ threatening to whelm him/ his altars/ and his gods/ beneath their ruins. There would be the Stoic/ in the coldness of his pride/ looking sedately down/ as on a child playing with children/ to see what new game was afloat/ and what trick or toy was now produced for wonderment. There the Slave/ timidly crouching at a distance to catch what stray sounds the winds might waft to him/ after they had reached his master's ears/ of that doctrine/ so strange and blessed/ of man's fraternity. And there/ perhaps/ aloof/ some scowling Jew/ hating and hated/ loathing the contamination of idolaters/ but glaring with savage fury on the apostate son of Abraham (as he would deem him) who held so much communion with their souls/ as to invite them to an union of love and piety in the name of the detested Nazarene.-C. J Fox.

(105.) THE BELLS.

Hear the sledges with the bells-Silvery bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle/ tinkle/ tinkle/

In the icy air of night!
While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens/ seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight/
Keeping time/ time/ time/
In a sort of Runic rhyme/

To the tintinabulation that so musically wells
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

Hear the mellow wedding bells—Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night

How they ring out their delight!
From the molten golden notes/
What a liquid ditty floats!

What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells! how it dwells
On the future! how it tells
Of the rapture that impels

To the swinging and the ringing/

To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!

Hear the loud alarum bells-Brazen bells! What a tale of terror now their turbulency tells! In the startled ear of night

How they scream out their affright!

In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire/
What a tale their terror tells

Of Despair!

How they clang/ and clash/ and roar!
What a horror they outpour

On the bosom of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear it fully knows/

By the twanging/ and the clanging/
How the danger ebbs and flows;
Yet the ear distinctly tells/

In the jangling and the wrangling/

How the danger sinks and swells/

By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bellsIn the clamour and the clangour of the bells!

Hear the tolling of the bells! Iron bells!

What a world of solemn thought their monody compels! In the silence of the night/

How we shiver with affright

At the melancholy menace of their tone!

For every sound that floats/

From the rust within their throats/

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They that dwell up in the steeple/
All alone/

And who tolling/ tolling/ tolling/
In that muffled monotone/
Feel a glory in so rolling

On the human heart a stone-
They are neither man nor woman-
They are neither brute nor human-
They are Ghouls;

And their king it is who tolls;
And he rolls/ rolls/ rolls/
A pean of the bells-
And his bosom proudly swells
With the pean of the bells-
And he dances/ and he yells;
Keeping time/ time/ time/
In a sort of Runic rhyme/
To the pean of the bells-
To the throbbing of the bells—
To the sobbing of the bells-
To the rolling of the bells--

To the tolling of the bells

To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. Poe.

RULE XI.

A climax should be read with an increasing swell of the voice, the last clause should be accompanied by a pause, before each member, not dropping the voice at either semicolons, colons, breaks, or periods.

EXERCISES ON RULE XI.

(106.) If thou dost slander her/ or torture me/ abandon all remorse. On horror's head horrors accumulate. Do deeds to make heaven weep. All earth amazed. For nothing can condemnation addgreater than that.—The cloud-capped towers/ the gorgeous palaces/ the solemn temples/ the great globe itself; yea/ all which it inherits shall dissolve and like the baseless fabric of a vision/ leave not a wreck behind.—Shakspere.

(107.) CURSE OF KEHAMA.

I charm thy life from the weapons of strife/ from stone and from wood/ from fire and from flood/ from the serpent's tooth and the beasts of blood; from sickness/ I charm thee/ and time shall not harm thee: but earth/ which is mine/ its fruits shall deny thee; and water shall hear me and know thee/ and fly thee; and the winds shall not touch thee/ when they pass by thee; and the dews shall not wet thee/ when they fall nigh thee. And thou shalt seek death to release thee in vain; thou shalt live in thy pain whilst Kehama shall reign/ with a fire in thy heart/ and a fire in thy brain. And sleep shall obey me/ and visit thee never; and the curse shall be on thee for ever and ever.—Southey.

(108) SCOTS WHA HAE.

Scots/wha hae wi' Wallace bled/
Scots/wham Bruce has aften led;
Welcome to your gory bed/
Or to Victory!

Now's the day/ and now's the hour;
See the front o' battle lour;

See approach proud Edward's power....
Chains and slavery!

Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha can fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave?
Let him turn and flee!

Wha/ for Scotland's king and law/
Freedom's sword will strongly draw;
Freeman stand/ or freeman fa'/
Caledonia on wi' me!

By oppression's woes and pains!
By your sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins/
But they shall be free!

Lay the proud usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow!—

Let us do or die!-Burns.

D

(109.) BARDELL VERSUS PICKWICK.

But Pickwick/ gentlemen/ Pickwick/ the ruthless destroyer of this domestic oasis in the desert of Goswell Street-Pickwick/ who has choked up the well/ and thrown ashes on the sward—Pickwick/ who comes before you to-day with his heartless tomato sauce and warming-pans-Pickwick still rears his head with unblushing effrontery/ and gazes without a sigh on the ruin he has made. Damages/ gentlemen-heavy damages is the only punishment with which you can visit him; the only recompense you can award to my client. And for those damages she now appeals to an enlightened/ a high-minded/ a right-feeling/ a conscientious/ a dispassionate a sympathizing/ a contemplative jury of her civilized countrymen.-Dickens.

(110.) THE TEMPEST.

'Tis listening fear and dumb amazement all/ when to the startled eye the sudden glance appears far south/ eruptive through the cloud; and following slower in explosion vast/ the thunder raises his tremendous voice. At first heard solemn o'er the verge of heaven/ the tempest growls: but as it nearer comes/ and rolls its awful burden on the wind/ the lightnings flash a larger curve/ and more the noise astounds; till over head a sheet of livid flame discloses wide; then shuts and opens wider; shuts and opens still/ expansive/ wrapping ether in a blaze: follows the loosen❜d aggravated roar/ enlarging/ deepening/ mingling; peal on peal crash'd horrible/ convulsing heaven and earth.-Shakspere.

(111.) ADJURATION.

I conjure you by that which you profess (howe'er you come to know it) answer me: tho' you untie the winds and let them fight against the churches; tho' the yesty waves confound and swallow navigation up; tho' bladed corn be lodged and trees blown down/ tho' castles topple on their warders' heads: tho' palaces and pyramids do slope their heads to their foundations/ tho' the treasures of Nature's germens tumble altogether/ ev'n till destruction sicken/ answer me.— Shakspere.

(112.) FAME.

High is the delight of the warrior/ when returning to the bosom of his family/ heralded by the trumpet of fame/ crowned with the

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