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of both hands and arms are to be avoided. Hogarth has laid it down as an axiom that the "Line of Beauty" is a flowing curve; and though this cannot be adapted to the whole system of action, the principle may be safely made the general basis for its theory to rest upon.

Rarely-very rarely indeed-should the hands be raised above the eyes or extended beyond the range of vision, the action of the right generally commencing on the left side and terminating on the right side; and, vice versâ, the same rule applies to the movement of the left hand. The stroke which marks the emphatic word must descend on that word alone at the instant of its utterance. The movement of the arm and hand also should be sustained and suspended through the duration of a passage, and terminate precisely with it: and we may very well conceive this timing of the gesture to be the probable if not the actual meaning of Shakspeare when, in his direction to the players, he says, "Suit the action to the word—the word to the action;" for it can hardly be believed that he alluded to descriptive or appropriate action simply, such as raising the hand when appealing to heaven, or sinking it when speaking of the earth. And, in mentioning Shakspeare, it will scarcely be necessary to remind the student of his remarks concerning sawing the air, which is nothing more than the incessant repetition of the obnoxious straight-lined description of action before noticed.

Having spoken of the indiscriminate use of both hands, it is proper to add that neither should be used invariably alone.

Nothing can appear more ungraceful, not to say ridiculous, than to see one hand (either the right or left) constantly in motion, while the other hangs uselessly by the side, as if it had no sympathy in the discourse, or that the one-handed orator was afflicted with a partial paralysis. The fact is, that either hand should accommodate itself to and support the action of the other. The principal, which is called the Dominant, from the position of the orator as respects the side to which he directs his attention, having the greatest extension and elevation, being always supported or seconded by the Subjective hand, which is held somewhat below it, and approximately nearer to the body. For the separate or com

bined action of the hands, thus positioned as the nature of the subJect may demand, it is utterly impossible to lay down any specific rules; and here it is that plates and diagrams must fail in describing the transitions that are constantly occurring, creating to the uninitiated "confusion worse confounded,"-resulting in a pedantic, affected, and unnatural gesture, without meaning, force, or grace. In demonstrating, appealing, and on some other special occasions, the hands may be moved forward almost on a level; but when no active movement is required, they should be raised, in general as high as the breast, or sometimes a little below it, easily curved, but on no account are they to be suffered to fall down lifelessly by the side.

It should be perfectly understood, that no art depends so much on constant and almost unremitting practice as elocution, and the appropriate gesture that should attend it. Neither grace nor facility can possibly be otherwise attained; theory alone is worse than useless, and even the best instructions must, without it, entirely and invariably fail. The best mentor that a young orator or reciter can appeal to, in this indispensable private practice, is the lookingglass. Much, however, has been said in way of dissent from this opinion, but certainly without mature consideration of the subject.

It has been objected, for instance, that an earnest speaker must, from the impulse of nature, use appropriate action; but if we grant this, it by no means follows that it will be graceful, and it is the combination of the natural with the graceful that alone makes the perfect orator.

Besides, are there no Bad Habits to be corrected? We daily see that such have been contracted by men who enjoy a reputation as speakers, yet doubtless they are influenced by the impulses of nature; among which habits we may mention a few, and then judge whether they are appropriate: such, for instance, as nodding with the head, pocketing the hands, trifling with the dress, placing the arms a-kimbo, tucking them behind, ducking the body or jerking it, leaning on table, crossing the legs, standing sideways or with the feet together, fixing the eyes on the ceiling or opposite wall, exaggeration of action or constant repetition of it. Many more might be instanced, but these will serve for the present purpose, as they cannot have escaped the

notice of any acute observer interested in the subject of public oratory.

Now as good habits are full as easy to be acquired as those of an opposite description, though the latter, in the process of being got rid of, present a somewhat greater difficulty, yet the means of their acquisition is very similar, viz., constant repetition. If, therefore, the rules laid down for appropriate and graceful action are studied assiduously and frequently in the faithful reflections of the mirror, those principles will become so impressed on the mind of the student, as ever after to influence his bearing and general style of gesture, and that too without stiffness or artificiality; for it is not for a moment pretended that the action which he may then consider appropriate must of necessity be precisely the same he is called upon to use when speaking or reciting in public. This exercise aims alone at the acquisition of grace and ease by the appeal to his own judgment, which this practice will habitually confirm, and ever after influence the involuntary gestures that arise from the emotions of his mind. It is probable that the action may differ-may take a wider sweep, a more extended character-may be more elevated or depressed, slower or more abrupt: it matters not; it will bear the impress of his general study, and manifest itself in force, expression, and grace.

CHAPTER VII.

ON READING VERSE.

ALTHOUGH the rules laid down in the preceding chapters apply alike to poetry and prose, a few observations on the reading of rhymed verse may not be out of place.

There are many excellent readers of prose who entirely fail to distinguish the equable and harmonious flow of sound which distinguishes poetry from ordinary unmeasured composition. These are devoid of what a musician would call "ear," and hence their delivery of rhymed couplets becomes tame and insipid, familiar and commonplace, and too frequently degenerates into mere "sing-song," utterly beneath the dignity of inspired verse. To such persons Mr. Walker recommends (and other writers on elocution have repeated his

advice-some having gone so far as to run on the examples they have given in the prose form) that they should "read verse exactly as if it were prose." Surely this would be an injustice to any living poet and a desecration of the writings of the dead, who if they had intended to convey their thoughts in plain prose, to ignore the measure and the flow, the music and the metaphor, and all the elegances and fancies which distinguish one from the other, would have adopted that form. Many of the transpositions of words or phrases allowable in poetry for the sake of the rhythm (sometimes for the sake of a rhyme) would not be admissible in prose composition; it is obvious, therefore, that to read poetry as prose is to read it as the authors would not have written had they been unfettered by the exigencies of verse.

If, as Walker admits, "poetry without song (i.e., musical flow) is a body without soul," it would be far better that those who are devoid of the power of appreciating should abstain altogether from reading it, rather than they should deliver it in a style that must always be obnoxious to correct taste and sound judgment.

Perhaps one of the greatest difficulties felt by every professor of elocution in teaching youth to recite poetry, is the almost universal inability of the pupil to understand and grasp the meaning of the poem. Unless the author be thoroughly appreciated and his intention, not only expressed but implied, mastered, the natural emotions (and consequently the proper inflexions and varieties of voice) cannot possibly arise, and, if not, how can they be expressed save by a studied, stilted, and artificial style? It is, perhaps, not saying too much to aver that only a poet can read poetry properly: at any rate only those who are perfectly imbued with the poetic feeling can do so. Given all these qualifications, and action, voice, and gesture will follow naturally and spontaneously; the electric fire will flash from the speaker to his audience, enthusiasm will be kindled, and a result that only true genius can achieve will be accomplished.

The great secret in reading poetry is to exercise the art that conceals art, or rather the art that seems to heighten and improve nature and to subdue it, so that it is never apparent that the speaker is delivering the words of others. To the hearers it should

be as though the speaker were giving the utterances of his own heart, and his own brain, an impulsive and involuntary outpouring excited by existing and surrounding circumstances. It was thus Shakspeare wrote, assisted by no rule, his guiding power being only his exquisite sense of the fitness of all things. It was thus that Edmund Kean produced his finest effects,-not from calculation, but from knowledge, impulse, and appreciation, lit by the light that was within him.

But in our schools and colleges teaching must begin before experience has ripened. All that can be done is to apply certain rules, and these, if diligently attended to, will have so far forwarded the work of perfection at which all may arrive when the mind comes to maturity. We would premise that it is essential in all cases that the master should fully explain to the pupil the subject, the meaning, and all the surroundings of the poem or extract he is about to teach.

The rules for the delivery of poetry may be thus briefly stated.

1. In all cases it is better to commence a poem in a simple, natural, and easy style, warming with the subject as the poet becomes passionate or emotional.

2. If the poetry be written correctly, every word should have the same accent as in prose, but as many of our best poets have accented words that change their accent when used as verbs or nouns alike, it is better to sacrifice the sense to the sound rather than the rhythm of the poem should be destroyed.

3. The article the must never be strongly accented in reading or reciting verse.

4. Elisions, so frequently found in our earlier poets, must seldom or never be attended to in reading verse-thus in "gen'rous" the dropped "e" must be sounded as in "generous."

5. The end of every line in poetry must be delicately marked, care being taken not to interfere with the intimate or remote connexion subsisting between the subsequent lines.

6. The rhetorical pauses should be taken at the commencement, and never in the middle of a poetic foot, or the power of what Sheridan calls "making the ear sensible of the versification" will be lost.

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