exhibit them decidedly enough for the purpose. We have only to keep our ear alive to the stronger stress, and let the weaker go for nothing. And as the stress on the last syllable of such words as "liberty" is very faint, and as in a word of such length as "moderation," we may choose which we will for the stronger, the difficulty is overcome. For example, the word "moderation" will suit the iambic structure, as in

To móderátion gíve her dúe,

or the dactylic, as in

Gíve moderátion her dúe.

Again, the stress on the adjective may be weakened, compared with that of its following substantive, so that such a combination as "the black déep," shall answer to an anapast, though here the adjective should have a short syllable, as will be seen if we substitute wide for black; the long syllable requiring a stress too strong to be sufficiently weakened. A similar arrangement may made between the verb and its noun; and in general, since in the case of two stresses coming together in one foot, one can be made weaker than the other, we can sufficiently annul its force, in comparison with that of the other. Still the metre will be clumsy and hobbling whenever we come to

be

such an expedient, in proportion to the force of stress which we conventionally forego: and thus we see within what narrow bounds of harmony, stress, as compared with quantity, confines us. As a defective means of harmony, it has an analogy to the defective syntax of our modern tongues. They both compel us to exercise judgment and taste, and therefore to conventional usage, where the ancients had precluded such exercise by having already provided through it rigid rules of utterance, and definite forms of inflection. They could have known no such wide distinction between good and bad readers of poetry and prose as we are forced to admit, who must determine a dactyl from a cretic by the metre, and a nominative from an accusative from position

or common sense.

17. There remains the consideration of the stress on monosyllables. It may at first sight seem necessary that the stress should fall on every monosyllable. But then we must bear in mind that there is in every language a class of words which contain no especial meaning in themselves, but only in relation to the neighbouring words, to which, therefore, we attach them with scarcely a sensible break in our pronunciation. Hence they can have no stress upon themselves, but add it instead to the stress of the word to which they

are joined, as in "he wént," "gíve me," "to tówn," &c. Such are conjunctions, as "and, but, if," &c.; pronouns, as "I, me, who," &c. ; articles, adverbs, prepositions; auxiliary verbs, as "shall, will, am," &c. All such monosyllables are without stress, except when emphatic in sense; thus, "I will go" may be pronounced "I will gó,” merely intimating the intention of going; or "I' will gó," signifying that none else shall go; signifying a determination to go.

or "I will gó,"

When two or

three such come together, then we must begin the stress with the most emphatic, and lay it on the rest so as not to leave more than two running without one, as in "Bút and íf he shall gó.”

18. And here we see the remarkable advantage which our language possesses in having its auxiliary verbs under the monosyllabic form; for when they are unemphatic they slide unto the verb, and practically make one word with it, so that "he will dó" is almost as compact as "faciat." Thus they do not clog our sentences any thing like so much (to the ear at least, though not to the eye) as they do in French and Italian, where they are mostly dissyllabic. And in the next place, when they are emphatic, they convey a force of expression which cannot be conveyed in Greek and Latin; for those languages must either employ

с

the same form to represent "he shall gó,” and "he shall gó," or vary the phrase.

Nothing shows the scholarlike pronouncer of his own language more decidedly than the proper attention shown to the place of the stress, especially in such clusters of unemphatic words as were specified above. Without it no one can have any sense of harmony, either in verse or prose: and yet how little is commonly shown, and how little instruction is bestowed on a point so necessary to good reading. The common habit of false emphasis arises out of this ignorance, which confounds stress with emphasis. And surely no habit among those which are tolerated rouses one's prejudice more quickly against the reader on the score of his proper requirements for a man of education.

CHAPTER IV.

ON THE CONSTRUCTION OF A VERSE.

19. A VERSE is determined in quality by the order of the intervals and returns formerly mentioned, and in quantity by the number of them.

20. Each combination of interval and return, by which this order proceeds, is called a foot, being that on which the verse walks as it were. The interval may contain several syllables; the return consists in general but of one.

21. The most simple combinations are of course dissyllabic, affording but one syllable for interval, as in Latin words, rēgnă, pudēns, and in the English, státely, remote. The latter of these feet is called in the classical tongues an iambus, the former a trochee. And the same terms are applied in modern languages, though improperly, wherever stress takes the place of the long syllable, as in the above English words.

22. The next in order are trisyllabic, affording two syllables for the interval, as in the Latin word