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But it is not merely three millions of people, the produce of America we have to contend with in this unnatural struggle ; many more are on their side, dispersed over the face of this wide empire. Every Whig in this country and in Ireland is with them.
Who, then, let me demand, has given, and continues to give, this strange and unconstitutional advice ? I do not mean to level at one man, or any particular set of men; but thus much I will venture to declare, that, if his Majesty continues to hear such counsellors, he will not only be badly advised, but undone.
He may continue indeed to wear his crown ; but it will not be worth his wearing. Robbed of so principal a jewel as America, it will lose its lustre, and no longer beam that effulgence which should irradiate the brow of majesty.
In this alarming crisis I come, with this paper in my hand, to offer you the best of my experience and advice, which is, that a humble petition be presented to his Majesty, beseeching him, that in order to open the way towards a happy settlement of the dangerous troubles in America, it may graciously please him that immediate orders be given to General Gage for removing his Majesty's forces from the town of Boston.
And this, my lords, upon the most mature and deliberate grounds, is the best advice I can give you at this juncture. Such conduct will convince America that you mean to try her cause in the spirit of freedom and enquiry, and not in letters of blood.
There is no time to be lost. Every hour is big with danger. Perhaps, while I am now speaking the decisive blow is struck, which may involve millions in the consequence. And, believe me, the very first drop of blood which is shed will cause a wound which may never be healed.
IMMORTALITY OF TRUE GREATNESS.
BY EDWARD EVERETT. To be cold and breathless, to feel not and speak not, this is not the end of existence to the men who have breathed their spirits into the institutions of their country, who have stamped their characters on the pillars of the age, who have poured their hearts' blood into the channels of the public prosperity. Tell me, ye who tread the sods of yon sacred height, is Warren dead? Can you not still see him, not pale and prostrate, the blood of his gallant heart pouring out of his ghastly wound, but moving resplendent over the field of honour, with the rose of heaven upon his cheek and the fire of liberty in his eye ? Tell me, ye who make your pious pilgrimage to the shades of Vernon, is Washington indeed shut up in that cold and narrow house ? That which made these men, and men like these, cannot die.
The hand that traced the charter of Independence is, indeed, motionless ; the eloquent lips that sustained it are hushed ; but the lofty spirits that conceived, resolved, and maintained it, and which alone, to such men, “ make it life to live,” these cannot expire :
“ These shall resist the empire of decay,
When time is o'er, and worlds have passed away ;
DRAMATIC STYLE. This covers practically all styles combined. The sudden changes from one style to the other, and the combinations which occur, render it of course very difficult. Take the following as a sample. FROM ON BOARD THE CUMBERLAND,
March 7, 1862.
By GEORGE H. BOKER.
Small need to pass the word ;
Before the drum was heard.
And then began the sailors’ jests :
“What thing is that, I say ?”
Is standing down the bay!”
The strange, dark craft he knew :
Manned by a rebel crew.” In the above extract, “Stand to your guns, men !” should be given in the Shouting Style ; " Morris cried,” changes to the Didactic Style; “Small need to pass the word,” etc., should be given in the Grave Style ; “And then began the sailors' jests,” requires the Lively Style ; while “What thing is that, I say ?” etc., can only be appropriately given in the Gay or Joyous Style.
“A frown came over Morris' face,” etc., requires the Grave Style, while “That is the iron Merrimac,” etc., will require the Oratorical Style.
Thus, it will be seen, there is a constant change of style with almost every line.
An analysis of any dramatic selection will disclose a similar combination of styles. No one should attempt to read or speak a selection of the Dramatic Style without first carefully analysing it, not merely to comprehend clearly the thought, but to discover the various styles of utterance it will require. It cannot be too earnestly impressed upon the mind of the pupil that the comprehension of the sentiment does not imply the appropriate vocal delivery.
By LEIGH Hunt.
THE BARON'S LAST BANQUET.
By A. G. GREENE.
Had thrown its latest ray,
The stern old Baron Rudiger,
Whose frame had ne'er been bent By wasting pain, till time and toil
Its iron strength had spent.
My days of life are o'er-
And lead my band no more ;
To tell me now, that I,
That I-ha! ha!-must die !
" And what is death ? I've dared him oft
Before the Paynim's spear-
Has come to seek me here ?
When the fight was raging hot-
Defy, and fear him not !
And fire the culverin !
Call every vassal in !
The banquet board prepare ?
And bring my armour there !”
The banquet forth was spread,
With many a martial tread;
Along the vaulted wall,
spear, O’er the proud Gothic hall. Fast hurrying through the outer gate,
The mailed retainers poured
And thronged around the board ;
Carved oaken chair of state, Armed cap-a-pie, stern Rudiger,
With girded falchion, sate.
“Fill every beaker up, my men ;
Pour forth the cheering wine ;
Thanksgiving to the vine !
Mine eyes are waxing dim :
Each goblet to the brim !
Draw forth each trusty sword,
Clash once around my board ! I hear it faintly-louder yet!
What clogs my heavy breath ? Up, all! and shout for Rudiger,
Defiance unto death !'"
Bowl rang to bowl, steel clanged to steel,
And rose a deafening cry,
And shook the flags on high :
Slaves ! traitors ! have ye flown ? Ho! cowards, have ye left me
To meet him here alone ?
Down rang the massy cup,
Came flashing half-way up ;
Scarce trembling on his head,
Old Rudiger sat-dead !
By TROWBRIDGE. We
Te are two travellers, Roger and I.
Roger's my dog. Come here, you scamp! Jump for the gentlemen-mind your eye!
Over the table-look out for the lamp ! The rogue is growing a little old;
Five years we've tramped through wind and weather, And slept out-doors when nights were cold,
And eat and drunk—and starved together.