Twilight and evening bell, and after that the dark!

And may there be no sadness of farewell, when I embark;

For tho' from out our bourne of time and place the flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face when I have crost the bar.

268. O CAPTAIN, MY CAPTAIN!

Tennyson.

O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But, O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies, fallen, cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;

Rise up-for you the flag is flung-for you the bugle trills,

For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths-for you the shores a-crowding; For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;

Here Captain! dear father! this arm beneath your head!

It is some dream that on the deck, you've fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;

My Captain does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage is closed and done;
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells! but I with mournful tread
Walk the deck my Captain lies, fallen cold and dead.
"On Lincoln."

269 A FOOL, a fool!-I met a fool i' the forest,
A motley fool;-a miserable world!-

As I do live by food, I met a fool,

Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun,
And rail'd on lady Fortune in good terms.

Walt Whitman.

In good set terms, — and yet a motley fool.
"Good morrow, fool!" quoth I: "No, sir," quoth he.
"Call me not fool, till Heaven hath sent me fortune."
And then he drew a dial from his poke,

And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye,
Says, very wisely, "It is ten o'clock.

Thus may we see," quoth he, "how the world wags,

'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine,
And after one hour more 'twill be eleven;
And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe,

And then from hour to hour we rot and rot,
And thereby hangs a tale." When I did hear
The motley fool thus moral on the time,
My lungs began to crow like chanticleer,
That fools should be so deep-contemplative;
And I did laugh, sans intermission,

An hour by his dial-O noble fool!

A worthy fool! Motley's the only wear.

Shakespeare,

XXXIIL TEXTURE AND TONE-COLOR.

270 SOME murmur when their sky is clear and wholly bright to view,
If one small speck of dark appear in their great heaven of blue:
And some with thankful love are filled, if but one streak of light,
One ray of God's good mercy gild the darkness of their night.
In palaces are hearts that ask, in discontent and pride,
Why life is such a dreary task, and all good things denied:
And hearts in poorest huts admire how Love has in their aid,
Love that not ever seems to tire, such rich provision made.

A

Trench.

NY change or modulation of the voice may be made a means of expression by being made salient in relation to thought or feeling. The possible changes seem infinite, but may be reduced to a few elementals, each of which discharges a specific function in expression. The modulation of the texture and color of the voice reveal the tenderness and delicacy of feeling. It emphasizes changes of emotion and sympathy.

Tone-color is the emotional modulation of resonance. Resonance is the result of sympathetic vibrations in the production of tone; a voice is resonant in proportion to the richness of its over-tones. On the one hand the resonance of the voice is the source of the greatest pleasure to the hearer, and on the other hand the destruction or perversion of the harmony of the sympathetic vibrations or over-tones causes faults of voice, and is always associated with the most disagreeable of all qualities.

The resonance of the voice is capable of almost infinite vari

ation and modulation. Among the many causes of these changes, the chief is the diffusion of emotional energy through the muscles of the body, especially those controlling the breath. Thus emotion changes the texture of the muscles, and necessarily the resonance of the voice. As every part of a violin vibrates sympathetically, the beauty of the tone depending upon the texture of the wood, so the beauty and resonance of the voice are caused by the modulation texture of the muscles by emotion.

If any one doubts the influence of the expressive actions of the body over the voice, let him try an illustration suggested by Dr. Taylor in his book, "Researches into the Early History of Mankind." Laugh heartily, then keep all the ordinary vocal conditions the same as nearly as possible, and draw down the corners of the mouth into the attitude of displeasure, and then laugh again; the result will convince any one. This change is more extreme and harsh than the ordinary contrasts and natural changes in true vocal expression. But though ordinary changes are more subtle, they are none the less real. Every emotion causes a texture of the muscles peculiar to itself. Love softens the muscles and so the voice; anger hardens the muscles, and so makes harsh the tone. Thus resonance is simply the material of tone-color. Tone-color is only its emotional modulation; at least that is the sense in which the word is here used.

While the resonance of the violin is fixed and constant, the resonance of the voice is continually being modulated by emotion. Hence, tone-color, or the modulation of this resonance, is one of the most important means of vocal expression. It is, however, the most unconscious and the least voluntary of all modes of vocal expression. A mechanical, artificial, or even deliberative use of tone-color is often offensive, as when a clergyman, in rendering the Litany, in some imaginary transition goes down suddenly into sepulchral tones, and tries to make it very impressive and solemn. Thus the least mechanical of modes can be made the most artificial.

Tone-color is most subtle and unconscious; it cannot be regulated by rule. Hence it is entirely overlooked in mechanical and artificial systems of elocution, such as that of Rush. It is the crowning glory, however, of true vocal art. It is that in vocal expression which reveals culture and imagination, nobleness of vision, and delicacy of feeling. It is the least intellectual of all modes of emphasis. It is not a means of manifesting the idea which is the centre of attention and the logical sequence of thought. It reveals rather the sympathy and point of view.

As a mode of emphasis it is emotional, —a change in the texture or color of the voice shows a change in the emotional conditions or situations. It manifests the man's point of view, the relations of the truth he utters to his ideals and his character; it expresses his sympathetic response to thought.

The function of tone-color is most important. A change in texture and a change in color may suggest marvellous changes in situation, and even the character of the subject of the mind's contemplation. Not only so, but it is always used in connection with the other modes of emphasis and displaces none that are sufficiently noble and dignified, ideal and suggestive.

Notice how Shakespeare expresses the two lines of passion swaying Queen Catherine. Not only is each made more emphatic by contrast with the other, but the immediate grasp of each situation in direct contrast enables the reader to express each more easily.

271 Queen Catherine. PRAY you keep your way;

When you are called, return. Now the Lord help me;
They vex me past my patience! Pray you pass on.

Problem LXV. Read and enter into definite sympathy with each successive situation, and allow the texture of the voice to change so as to emphasize strongly the contrasts the author wishes to make.

272 "O FATHER! I see a gleaming light; O say, what may it be?" But the father answered never a word, a frozen corpse was he.

273 A LITTLE spring had lost its way amid the grass and fern; a passing stranger scooped a well, where weary men might turn; he walled it in, and hung with care a ladle at the brink: he thought not of the deed he did, but judged that toil might drink. He passed again—and lo! the well, by summers never dried, had cooled ten thousand parching tongues, and saved a life beside.

274 Is Sparta dead? Is the old Grecian spirit frozen in your veins, that ye do crouch and cower like base-born slaves beneath your master's lash? O comrades! warriors! Thracians! if we must fight, let us fight for ourselves; if we must slaughter, let us slaughter our oppressors; if we must die, let us die under the open sky, by the bright waters, in noble, honorable battle." Kellogg.

275 THE gay will laugh

When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one as before will chase

His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave

Their mirth and their employments, and shall come

· And make their bed with thee.

276 THEY grew in beauty side by side, they filled one home with glee; Their graves are severed far and wide, by mount, and stream, and sea. "The Graves of a Household."

Mrs. Hemans.

277 WHEN the tide comes in, at once the shore and sea begin together to be glad. What the tide has brought no man has asked, no man has sought: what other tides have had the deep sand hides away; the last bit of the wrecks they wrought was burned up yesterday.

When the tide goes out, the shore looks dark and sad with doubt. The landmarks are all lost. For the tide to turn, men patient wait, men restless yearn. Sweet channels they have crossed, in boats that rocked with glee, stretch now bare stony roads that burn and lead away from sea.

When the tide comes in in hearts, at once the hearts begin together to be glad. What the tide has brought they do not care, they have not sought, all joy they ever had the new joy multiplies; all pain by which it may be bought seems paltry sacrifice.

When the tide goes out, the hearts are wrung with fear and doubt: all trace of joy seems lost. Will the tide return? In restless questioning they yearn with hands unclasped, uncrossed, they weep, on separate ways. Ah! darling, shall we ever learn love's tidal hours and days?

Helen Hunt Jackson.