is no doubt one of the chief causes of the smoothness of his verse. The greatest lovers of Browning wish at times that he had hummed over his lines. They would certainly have been smoother.

If this be true of the poetry of our own language, it is also true of the poetry of a foreign tongue. We can hardly feel quantity and rhythmic movement without vocal expression. The pronun, ciation of a foreign language is one of the highest attainments. Practice in the recitation of the masterpieces of other languages will bring us more immediately into contact with the true spirit of poetry and the true genius of the language.

Besides, this "melody," as Beethoven said to Bettina, "gives sensuous existence to poetry; for does not the meaning of a poem become embodied in melody?" George Henry Lewes in his " Life of Goethe" has some valuable suggestions upon the inadequacy of all translations of poetry. "Words in poetry," he says, "are not, as words in prose, simple representatives of objects and ideas: they are part of an organic whole; they are tones in the harmony. Substitute other parts and the result is a monstrosity, as if an arm were substituted for a wing; substitute other tones, and you produce a discord.... Words are not only symbols of objects, but centres of associations; and their suggestiveness depends partly on their sound." If all this be true, vocal expression is necessary to the adequate comprehension or feeling of any poem, and especially when that poem is in a foreign language.

This method of studying other languages is also a great help to vocal expression. It develops the altruistic instinct; it exercises the mind in mastering another point of view, and so develops assimilation and dramatic instinct. It exercises a greater number of faculties and with greater intensity of action than the recitation of our own language. It makes the reader more careful, more self-possessed. It not only exercises the organs of articulation and thus improves the utterance, but it gives breadth of culture. It quickens the imagination and sympathy.

Not only should a student study and recite a poem in its native language with the true spirit of that language; it is also very important for him to make translations, and to recite these also. This will give him a subtle discrimination of words. It will

enable him also to bring the results of the work he has done in another language into his own mother-tongue. The hard work of translation will furnish a deep realization of the nature of poetic expression. While it may not be possible to translate a poem adequately, reciting it in its native language will give the translator a better feeling of its metre and rhythm. Vocal expression will also assist criticism to find the weakness of any translation.

WER reitet so spät durch Nacht und Wind?

Es ist der Vater mit seinem Kind';

Er hat den Knaben wohl in dem Arm;

Er fasst ihn sicher, er hält ihn warm.

“Mein Sohn, was birgst du so bang dein Gesicht?”
"Sieh'st, Vater, du den Erlkönig nicht?

Den Erlenkönig mit Kron' und Schweif?"
"Mein Sohn, es ist ein Nebelstreif."

"Du liebes Kind, komm, geh' mit mir!
Gar schöne Spiele spiel' ich mit dir :
Manch' bunte Blumen sind an dem Strand;
Meine Mutter hat manch gülden Gewand."

Du Maurier.

"Mein Vater, mein Vater, und hörest du nicht, Was Erlenkönig mir leise verspricht ?"

"Sei ruhig, bleibe ruhig, mein Kind!

In dürren Blättern säuselt der Wind."

"Willst, feiner Knabe, du mit mir geh'n?
Meine Töchter sollen dich warten schön ;
Meine Töchter führen den nächtlichen Reih'n,
Und wiegen und tanzen und singen dich ein."

"Mein Vater, mein Vater, und siehst du nicht dort
Erlkönig's Töchter am düstern Ort?"

"Mein Sohn, mein Sohn, ich seh' es genau ;

Es scheinen die alten Weiden so grau."

"Ich liebe dich, mich reizt deine schöne Gestalt;
Und bist du nicht willig, so brauch' ich Gewalt."
"Mein Vater, mein Vater, jetzt fasst er mich an;
Erlkönig hat mir ein Leid's gethan."

Dem Vater grauset 's, er reitet geschwind;
Er hält in den Armen das ächzende Kind;
Erreicht den Hof mit Müh' und Noth;
In seinen Armen das Kind war todt.

THE ERL-KING.

WHO rides so late through a night so wild?

It is a father holding his child;

He tenderly clasps him with his arm,

To hold him safe and to keep him warm.

"My boy, why thus dost thou hide thine eye?"
"See'st thou not, father, the Erl-King nigh,
The Erl-King with his crown and his train?"
"My son, it is only the mist from the rain."
"Come, lovely boy, come, go with me,
Such beautiful plays I will play with thee.
The flowers are bright with colors untold,
And my mother has for thee robes of gold."
"My father, my father, and do you not hear
What Erl-King promises low in my ear?'
"Be still, draw closer, my child, my own;
Among the dead leaves the wind makes moan."

Goethe

'My father, my father, and see you not there
His daughters glide through the misty air?"
"My child, my child, I see it all plain;
The willows wave and gleam through the rain.”

"I love thee; thy form has charmed me so,
That, be you not willing, I force you to go."
"O father, my father, so fast he lays hold;
Erl-King has seized me with grasp so cold."

The father groans, like the wind he rides wild,
And clasps still closer the suffering child.
He reaches home in doubt and dread:

Clasped close in his arms the child was dead.

EIN Fichtenbaum steht einsam im Norden auf kahler Höh'.
Ihn schläfert; mit weisser Decke umhüllen ihn Eis und Schnee.
Er träumt von einer Palme, die fern im Morgenland
Einsam und schweigend trauert auf brennender Felsenwand.

As illustrations for this exercise, "Erlkönig," by Goethe, is given in the original and in a translation. It is most dramatic, and well suited for recitation on account of the transitions, variety of emotions, subjective and objective elements, and intensity of feeling. It is simple in thought and diction, and hence very difficult to translate. A little poem in French is given, with a literal translation, side by side, and an adaptation of it by Du Maurier; also a short poem by Victor Hugo, with a translation.

L. FAULTS AND DANGERS IN DRAMATIC EXPRESSION.

ON account of the universal misconception of the nature of dramatic instinct, there are many dangers into which a student is apt to fall, and many faults which he is liable to contract.

In the first place, many students have no appreciation whatever of the function of imagination in their work; sometimes they have contempt for the sublimest poetry, and refuse to do anything but rehearse plays or read pieces, usually of a low type.

Imagination is the first step toward assimilation. It is a spontaneous faculty; it creates, it realizes for each individual in its own way. It does not, like memory, merely receive impressions and mechanically reproduce them; it is the union of thought and passion; it is the mind of the heart; it is full of life, and is hence the essential element in dramatic instinct. There is little assimilation in memory, but there can be no imagination without assimilation. Imagination manifests as well as represents. It never imitates, it identities; it rouses passion and life.

Again, in the development of dramatic instinct, there is apt to be too much objective attention to mere differences in expression. There is frequently too great a desire for variety. The differences must be differences of situation, differences of thought, differences of feeling. Variety for the sake of variety is chaos. The only genuine variety is that which is expressive of unity; true variety is the result of unity, and of unity only. There must be direct opposition and harmonious relationship between each successive situation. It is unity in the midst of variety that is the secret of all beauty and the governing principle of all art; but it is especially the principle of dramatic art.

раз