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them the falling inflection: without at all affecting the sense. -though it gives force to the idea conveyed by the words.
Bear in mind, therefore, that this emphasis of force, when it is made, is independent of and paramount to all general rule of inflection; which it controls and over-rules.
Emphasis of force is sometimes doubled, as
In which, the force is thrown on two words, and expresses as much as if the speaker said,
Can it be possible that you are what I consider so shock
ingly cruel !
There is also CUMULATIVE or accumulated emphasis of force ; that is, when the emphasis is heaped or accumulated on several words in succession, as
I tell you, I will not do it; nothing on earth shall persuade
This is the strongest expression of force. I shall have occasion to illustrate it more fully hereafter.(Part 3d of this Division.)
Let the Student now practise aloud-as an exercise on the foregoing rules—the following extract, until he can read it perfectly, as it is marked for PausE, INFLECTION, EMPHASIS; and till he have ascertained each particular rule under which it is so marked.
PORTIA'S SPEECH ON MERCY.
(Marked with Pause, Inflection, and Emphasis.)
The quality of Mercy is not strain'da-
The throned monarch better than his crown
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power
And that same prayer doth teach us all“ to render
The deeds of Mercy. I
PART I. OF THE SECOND DIVISION.
« PRESS ON.”
This is a speech, brief, but full of inspiration and opening the way to all victory. The mystery of Napoleon's career was this,-under all difficulties and discouragements, "PRESS ON !"
“PRESS ON !" It solves the problem of all heroes, it is the rule by which to weigh, rightly, all wonderful successes and triumphal marches to fortune and genius. It should be the motto of all, old and young, high and low, fortunate and unfortunate, so called.
“ PRESS ON !" Never despair; never be discouraged, however stormy the heavens, however dark the way; however great the difficulties, and repeated the failures, " PRESS ON !"
If fortune has played false with thee to-day, do thou play true for thyself to-morrow. If thy riches have taken wings and left thee, do not weep thy life away ; but be up and doing, and retrieve the loss by new energies and action. If an unfortunate bargain has deranged thy business, do not fold thy arms, and
give up all as lost; but stir thyself and work the more vigorously.
If those whom thou hast trusted have betrayed thee, do not be discouraged, do not idly weep, but
PRESS ON !" find others; or, what is better, learn to live within thyself. Let the foolishness of yesterday make thee wise to-day. If thy affections have been poured out like water in the desert, do not sit down and perish of thirst, but press on ; a beautiful oasis is before thee, and thou mayst reach it if thou wilt. If another has been false to thee, do not thou increase the evil by being false to thyself. Do not say the world hath lost its poetry and beauty ; 'tis not so; and even if it be so, make thine own poetry and beauty by a brave, a true, and, above all, a religious life.
STORM AT SEA.
THE storm increased with the night. The sea was lashed into tremendous confusion. There was a fearful, sullen sound of rushing waves and broken surges. Deep called unto deep. At times, the black volume of clouds over-head seemed rent asunder by flashes of lightning that quivered along the foaming billows, and made the succeeding darkness doubly terrible. The thunders bellowed over the wide waste of waters, and were echoed and prolonged by the mountain waves. I saw the ship staggering and plunging among these roaring caverns, it seemed miraculous that she regained her balance, or preserved her buoy.
ancy. Her yards would dip in the water; her bow was almost buried beneath the waves. Sometimes, an impending surge appeared ready to overwhelm her, and nothing but a dexterous movement of the helm preserved her from the shock.
When I retired to my cabin, the awful scene still followed me. The whistling of the wind through the rigging sounded like funeral wailings. The creaking of the masts, the straining and groaning of bulk-heads, as the ship labored in the weltering sea, were frightful. As I heard the waves rushing along the side of the ship, and roaring in my very ear, it seemed as if Death were raging round this floating prison, seeking for his prey; the mere starting of a nail, the yawning of a seam, might give him entrance.
The character of Milton was peculiarly distinguished by loftiness of thought; that of Dante by intensity of feeling. In every line of the Divine Comedy we discern the asperity which is produced by pride struggling with misery. There is perhaps no work in the world so deeply and uniformly sorrowful. The melancholy of Dante was no fantastic caprice. It was not, as far as at this distance of time can be judged, the effect of external circumstances. It was from within. Neither love nor glory, neither the conflicts of the earth, nor the hope of heaven, could dispel it. It twined every consolation and every pleasure