strictly reflective or intellectual phases, the motives cause the pitch to "rise" or "fall" in accordance with the tendency or direction of the ideas,-and this mainly in the inflections. The balance maintained between the instinctive and the reflective tendencies-that is, between the different kinds of keys and of the "rising" and "falling" movements, determines the melody, and represents, of course, the tendency in one or the other direction of the psychic nature.

Considering pitch, first, as influenced by the instinctive nature, it has been noticed that when a man is lighthearted, carrying the least amount of thought, either in quantity or quality,-in other words, when there is nothing to weigh him down, and that which is moving him is light, gay, and lively in its character, he uses high pitch, as in uttering this:

O, then I see Queen Mab has been with you.

-Romeo and Juliet, i., 4: Shakespear.

But if, on the contrary, his reflective nature is in operation to such an extent and with such subjects that he does feel weighed down, as is the case when that which is moving him is serious, grave, and dignified in its character, calling for more or less expression of soul from him, he uses low pitch, and keeps his voice on it, as in this:

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll.

-Childe Harold: Byron.

It is hardly necessary to add that, as related to these two extremes, words conveying intelligence of merely ordinary matters, would be uttered at a medium pitch, somewhere between the two. It is equally evident that in dramatic elocution a high key imitates sounds that are high, as in the cry, "Yell! yell! why don't you!"; and a

low key imitates sounds that are low, as in saying, "Who's there? he growled."

In discoursive elocution, again, the rising and falling movements of the voice, whether used in continuous passages or in the inflections given to single words, represent, as has been said, the direction or tendency of the current of ideas in the mind of the speaker. To extend and explain this, they represent the flowing or checking of his motives as influenced by the instinctive or reflective operations of his mind. The rising movement opens, and, if an inflection, emphatically opens, the channel of thought, as if to speed its current forward. Those listening to it feel, therefore, that the speaker has not yet arrived at a word, or completed an idea, upon which he wishes them very particularly to reflect. This movement produces, therefore, an anticipative or indecisive effect, and indicates what, as compared with the falling movement, is subordinate, negative, or questionable. The downward movement closes, and, if an inflection, emphatically checks, the current of thought, points out to the audience that which has been said, leads them to reflect upon it, and so produces a conclusive, decisive effect, and indicates what is comparatively important, positive, or affirmative. Besides this, there is often, on the same passage or syllable, a movement both upward and downward, or what, if on a single word, is termed a circumflex inflection. This, of course, imparts something of the effects of both the rising and falling movements, though often, especially in the inflections, in accordance with the principle of contrast, it is chiefly employed to give increased effect to the rising or falling movement of the voice with which the circumflex ends, the end of this inflection being that which indicates its main significance.

To recognize the accuracy of these explanations of the meanings of the inflections, we have only to notice how the significance of the following sentences is changed upon our uttering them with a rising () or falling () or with a circumflex inflection, ending with a rising (~)or a falling (4)movement.

If só I will gó.

It must be so.
It depends.

John declaims well.

Of course it is.

You are not to do that.

Is n't she beautiful?
You-you meant no hărm.

If so I will go.

It must be so.

It depends.

John declaims well.

Of course it is.

You are not to do that.

Is n't she beautiful?
You-you meant no hârm.

Sidney Lanier, in his "Science of English Verse," has directed attention, as had been done before, to the way in which this truth, with reference to the different meanings that may be conveyed by the simple movements of the voice, wholly aside from the words used, is brought out by Shakespear in his All's Well that Ends Well, where he makes the clown declare:

I have an answer will serve all men.

Countess.-Marry; that's a bountiful answer, that fits all questions.

Clown.-From below your duke to beneath your constable; it will fit any question.

Countess.-It must be an answer of most monstrous size, that must fit all demands.

Clown.-But a trifle, neither, in good faith, if the learned should speak truth of it. Here it is, and all that belongs to 't ... Ask me if I am a courtier.

Count.-I pray you, sir, are you a courtier ?

Clown.-O Lord, sir,—there's a simple putting off,-more, more, a hundred of them.

Count.—Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves you.

Clown.-O Lord, sir,-thick, thick, spare not me.

Count. I think, sir, you can eat none of this homely meat.
Clown.-O Lord, sir,—nay, put me to 't, I warrant you.
Count. You were lately whipped, sir, as I think.
Clown.-O Lord, sir,-spare not me.

Count.-I play the noble housewife with the time
To entertain it so merrily with a Fool.

Clown.-O Lord, sir,—why there 't serves well again.

-All's Well that Ends Well, ii., 2.

In dramatic elocution, rising, falling, or circumflex movements of the voice, simply imitate things with which movements or sounds of these kinds are in some way associated. The following, for instance, require movements of the voice in both directions:

He saw a crowd assembled round
A person dancing on the ground,
Who straight began to leap and bound
With all his might and main.

To see that dancing man he stopped,

Who twirled and wriggled, skipped and hopped,
Then down incontinently dropped.

And then sprang up again.

-The Bishop of Rum-ti-Foo: Gilbert.

But the babe with a dig that would startle an ox,

With his "C'ck! Oh, my !—

Go along wiz 'oo, fie!"

Would exclain: "I'm affaid 'oo a shocking ole fox."

Now a father it shocks,

And it whitens his locks,

When his little babe calls him a shocking old fox.

-Precocious Baby: Gilbert.

As has been said, the blending of the effects of high and low key with those of the rising and falling of phrases and syllables, leads to what is termed melody, the general character of which represents the mental motive as influ

enced by the soul, or the higher emotive nature. If the key be greatly varied, therefore, it represents a minimum of self-control or poise; if slightly varied or monotonous, a maximum of this,-statements which will be sufficiently illustrated while we go on to apply, as we shall now do, all these elocutionary principles of pitch to the subject immediately before us.

Probably few have noticed to what an extent pitch enters as a factor into the effects of poetry. They know in a general way, of course, that in early modes of communicating thought, intonations, like gestures, were almost as significant as words; but they do not realize that the same is true in our own day, least of all that changes in pitch are and always must be elements entering into the significance of the effects produced by poetic rhythm. They know, again, if at all acquainted with the history of the art, that there was a time when poetry was associated with both dancing and music. It was so, as we are told, in the time of King David, who, on one occasion, at least, danced as well as sang his psalms before the ark. In Greece, not only lyric but dramatic poetry was chanted, and often accompanied by the lyre. As late as the sixteenth century, declamation accompanied by music, flourished in England and in Italy. In the latter country it then passed into the opera, which did not follow, as some suppose, but preceded all that is noteworthy in the development of the pure music, unaccompanied by words, of modern times. In our own day, however, when poetry is merely read, the movements of the waltz, the polka, the sonata, the symphony, seem to belong to an art so different, that it is difficult to conceive that it was once appropriate to speak of ballad poetry, because the Italian ballare meant to dance, or of a sonnet, because the lute