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not asserted, that in some cases there may not be liberty of choice.*

I. INFLUENCE OF THE DEAD ON THE LIVING.

The relations between man and man cease not with life.5 The dead leave behind them their memory, their example, and the effects of their actions.2 Their influence still abides with us." Their names and characters dwell in our thoughts and hearts.5 5 We live and commune with them in their writings. We enjoy the benefit of their labors.2 Our institutions have been founded by them. We are surrounded by the works of the dead.5 Our knowledge and our arts are the fruit of their toil. Our minds

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have been formed by their instructions. We are most intimately 10 connected with them by a thousand dependencies.1 Those whom we have loved in life, are still objects of our deepest and holiest affections.2 Their power over us remains. They are with us in our solitary walks; and their voices speak to our hearts in the silence of midnight.2

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Their image is impressed upon our dearest recollections, and our most sacred hopes. They form an essential part of our treasure laid in heaven.2 Far above all, we are separated from them but for a little time. We are soon to be united with them. If we follow in the path of those whom we have loved, 20 we too shall soon join the innumerable company of the spirits of just men made perfect. Our affections and our hopes are not buried in the dust, to which we commit the poor remains of mortality. The blessed retain their remembrance and their love for us in heaven; and we will cherish our remembrance and 25 our love for them while on earth.5

Creatures of imitation and sympathy as we are, we look around us for support and countenance even in our virtues. We recur for them most securely to the examples of the dead." * NOTE TO THE TEACHER.-It is believed that the learner will derive essential advantage from a careful review, at this point, of the subject of the Diatonic Slides, p. 63; and, after having marked the emphatic words in some selections of plain narrative, then let him apply the rules and principles there developed, to the other por tions, at the same time with the principles of this section.

There is a degree of insecurity and uncertainty, about living 30 worth. The stamp has not yet been put upon it, which precludes all change, and seals it as a just object of admiration for future times. There is no service which a man of commanding intellect can render to his fellow-creatures, better than that of leaving behind him an unspotted example.2

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If he do not confer upon them this benefit; if he leave a character dark with vices in the sight of God, but dazzling with shining qualities to the view of men; it may be that all his other services had better been forborne, and he had passed inactive and unnoticed through life. It is a dictate of wisdom, 40 therefore, as well as feeling, when a man, eminent for his virtues and talents, has been taken away, to collect the riches of his goodness, and add them to the treasury of human improvement.1 The true Christian liveth not for himself, and dieth not for himself; and it is thus, in one res-pect, that he dieth not for him45 self.8 Norton.

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II. CATO'S SOLILOQUY.

It must be so-Plato, thou reasonest well!5
Else, whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,
This longing after immortality ?2

Or, whence this secret dread, and inward horror,

Of falling into nought 26 Why shrinks the soul
Back on herself, and startles at destruction ?2
"Tis the Divinity that stirs within us;

"Tis Heaven itself that points out-an hereafter,
And intimates-eternity to man.3

Eternity!'-thou pleasing-dreadful thought!5
Through what variety of untried being,

Through what new scenes and changes must we pass !3
The wide, the unbounded prospect, lies before me;
But shadows, clouds, and darkness, rest upon it.2
Here will I hold. If there's a power above us—

And that there is, all nature cries aloud

Through all her works-He must delight in virtue;
And that which he delights in must be happy.2

But when? or where? This world-was made for Cæsar.4

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I'm weary of conjectures-this must end them.^

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[Laying his hand on his sword.
Thus am I doubly armed.1 My death and life,
My bane and antidote, are both before me.4
This in a moment, brings me to an end;
But this-informs me I shall never die."
The soul, secured in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point.-6
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself
Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years;
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
Unhurt amid the war of elements,

The wreck of mat-ter, and the crush of worlds.

Addison.

CHAPTER III.

GENERAL PRECEPTS.

SECTION I.

OF THE MEASURE OF SPEECH.

Ir belongs rather to the physiologist than the elocutionist to explain the mechanism of the voice, and the causes which limit or regulate the exercise of its powers. It entirely falls in with our purpose however, to state the principles deduced from this mechanism, so far as it is understood, and the rules, by which a conformity to the laws of the voice is secured. Nor is this a matter of mere speculative interest, in as much as a conformity to these laws is absolutely essential to ease in the use of the vocal organs; and on it are often suspended the health and even the life of the speaker.

In the proper places, the principles of Time and of Accent have been developed. It has long been conceived, that by the aid of these, poetic numbers are capable of being subjected to measure. But by the light which modern elocutionists have thrown on this subject, it appears that even the harmonious arrangements of verse are capable of a rhythmus in their vocal execution, which is not at all recognised by the principles of Prosody.

The following lines are divided into prosodical feet, and each syllable is marked as long or short* according to the usual notation.

The terms long and short are here employed, as used by English prosodists, with reference to accent and emphasis rather than quantity.

I cōme-not friends-to steal-ǎwäy-your hearts;
I ǎm-nō ōr-ător,-ǎs Brū-tus is;

Būt ǎs-you know-mě âll-ă pläin-blünt mãn,
That love-my friend;-ănd that-they knōw-füll well
5 That gave-mě pub-lic leave-to speak-ŏf him.
For I-have nei-ther wit,-nor words,-nor worth,
A ̄ction,-nor út-těrănce,-nor thě pōw-ěr of speech,
To stir-men's blood.-I ōn-ly speak-right on:
I' tell-you that-which you-yourselves-dŏ know;
10 Shōw you-sweet Caē-săr's wounds,-pōor, pōor-dūmb mouths,
And bid-thēm spēak-fōr mě.—But wĕre I-Brūtůs,
A°nd Brū–tüs Antony,there were ăn–Antony
Would ruf-flě up-your spir-its, and put-ǎ tongue
́I'n ĕv-ěry wound-of Cae-săr, that should move
15 The stōnes-of Rōme-tŏ rise-in mū-tiny.

By examining these measures, it will be seen, that they vary in length from the hurried pyrrhic, consisting of two short syllables, to the long drawn spondee, heard on the words "men's blood." On the contrary, the measures into which the good reader or speaker divides his periods are, at least in theory, equal as to the time of their utterance; and that, whether he is pronouncing verse or prose. The following divisions of the same passage will admit of being read by the vibrations of a pendulum, observing the rests indicated by the new symbol 1, here introduced. The poetic notation of heavy and light syllables is retained for convenience of future reference.

I come not, | friends,

hearts; I

to steal a- | way your

I am no | ōrător, |ås | Brūtus | is;

Būtǎs you | know mě | all, | ¶ă | pläin | blūnt ▼| mån, 1

That love my | friend;

full well

and that they know | | | |

5 That gave mě | public | leave to speak of | him.

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