athletic exercises in some form or other, and well for us that we do. Parents send their sons to be taught drilling, dancing, fencing, and other exercises that tend to give strength, flexibility, ease, and elegance to the movements of the limbs; and very excellent are such accomplishments in their way. But, after all, the limbs are portions of our frame less noble and characteristic of man than the tongue; and yet, while no gentleman who can afford it hesitates at expending time, and money too, in sending his son to the drilling, dancing, or fencing master, how few comparatively send as systematically their children to the Elocution master, to be taught the right use of that which is the crowning glory of mankind—the divine gift of speech.

More than a century ago an eminent writer on the art (Dr. Burgh) remarked that the delivery, manner, and address of a speaker are of the utmost importance, and that a just and pleasing style of delivering either our own compositions or those of others is far too much neglected among our countrymen. The charge is still in a great degree true, though I must say in the last few years I think there has decidedly been a change for the better, and there has been a growing desire to make the art I advocate a more prominent part of a gentleman's education than was the case some years ago. It is greatly to the honour and credit of this great college that it was the first among the eminent educational establishments of the metropolis to make the art of public reading and speaking a prominent feature in its regular course of instruction. Its importance has been felt, and now, at several institutions in London and the provinces that I could name, institutions for the education of young women as well as men, the art of reading aloud is one of the accomplishments regularly taught. I rejoice that this is so on every account, and particularly that the young of both sexes are now being systematically taught at these places to speak and read their own glorious native language clearly, elegantly, and effectively.

It is an art, indeed, well worthy the diligent study and practice of every lady and gentleman in the land. I may mention, as a proof of the estimation in which good reading, simply as a social accomplishment, is held in some of the highest circles of society, that I have in the last few years been present at many literary and musical "soirées," where the reader has contributed equally with the musician and the vocalist to the intellectual enjoyment of the evening.

It is to me, therefore, a source of great gratification to find that at nearly all our literary institutions Elocution classes are increasing and yearly becoming more and more popular, and I earnestly hope that their good influence will be felt far and wide, and extend even to societies of a humbler social grade, such as working men's clubs and institutes; for a real pleasure, a thoroughly pure enjoyment, such as good reading is, ought not to be the exclusive privilege of any one class, but should extend to all, be cultivated by all, and appreciated by all.

It has been well said, if in our ideas of the Fine Arts we include all those embellishments of civilised life which combine in a high degree the gratification of a refined taste with the exercise of an enlightened intellect, then must reading aloud hold a prominent place amongst

those arts which impart a charm to social intercourse and purity the associations of ordinary life. But it must be good reading, or the enjoyment is exchanged for unspeakable annoyance. When all the necessary requisites for a good reader are taken into account, we wonder not so much that this accomplishment is neglected, as that it does not constitute, with all who look upon education in its true light, an important means of refining and elevating the mind, of cultivating the sympathies, and of improving those habits of perception and adaptation which are so valuable to all.

However, there is yet another ground I may take in reference to this subject. Has it ever struck you, as a general rule, that the higher the station of life, the greater the refinement and the more finished the taste of the individual, so much the more pure and polished will you find the tone of the voice and corresponding clearness of articulation? I remember, in one of the earlier works of that admirable writer, the Rev. Charles Kingsley,* he describes the hero of his tale as being present at a village revel, and endeavouring, but vainly, to make out the meaning of what he heard around him. The passage is as follows:-"Sadder and sadder, Lancelot tried to listen to the conversation of the men around him. To his astonishment, he hardly understood a word of it. It was half-articulate, nasal, guttural, made up almost entirely of vowels, like the speech of savages. He had never been struck before with the significant contrast between the sharp, clearly-defined articulation, the vivid and varied tones of the gentleman, when compared with the coarse half-formed growls, as of a company of seals, which he heard round him. That single fact struck him perhaps more deeply than any; it connected itself with many of his physiological fancies; it was the parent of many thoughts and plans of his after-life."

I have alluded before to the objections that are sometimes urged against Elocution as an art to be studied and practised in general, but especially by those who are in any way likely to take part in public life. If we search into the sources of these objections, I think we should find them chiefly to consist of two classes, viz., those persons who think that a certain impulse, or what they call a natural gift, is enough to ensure success in public speaking, and those who contend that so long as the matter of the discourse is sound and good, the manner and delivery are of very little, if any, importance. Now, to the one class of objectors I answer, granting that public speaking is more or less a "natural gift," it is no more so than any other special aptitude for art which God has given us, such as the genius for music, painting, or sculpture, and, like them all, requires acquaintance with principles as well as study and practice to reach a high standard of excellence; and to the other class of objectors I say, without any hesitation, that with audiences in general the sterling quality, sound sense, and excellent matter of a speech or sermon are but little felt or properly appreciated unless accompanied by, at all events, an apparently earnest manner and effective delivery. Do not let me be misunderstood. I am not so much speaking here of discourses or sermons which may perhaps be intended chiefly for publication hereYeast, p. 184.

after, and may trust to their effect being chiefly produced on the thinker and student as they quietly read and ponder over such compositions in their studies, but I am speaking here of discourses, the effects of which are intended to be felt, and the aims of the speaker attained, at the time of delivery; and I am not speaking of what may be the impressions produced on a select few, but of what is felt by the great majority in audiences or congregations.

It is not always our good fortune to address refined and cultivated assemblies, who are willing to overlook a dull, prosy, wearisome delivery, and awkward or defective manner, for the sake of the excellence of the matter. A preacher has not always a learned university for his congregation, and a barrister is not always, as I have said already, arguing abstruse and intricate points of law before the Courts of Chancery, a Judicial Committee of the Privy Council, or judges sitting in banco. The minister of religion has to endeavour to rouse the torpid mind, the apathetic disposition or stolid ignorance of millions of village labourers and "city arabs" throughout the land; and the barrister has to address juries drawn from many varied sources in London and on circuit, as well as learned, courteous, and patient judges. And so, too, if a man is looking to the Senate as the object of his ambition, let him remember that election meetings and dinner assemblies of constituents have to be addressed, as well as a critical and fastidious House of Parliament.

I do not hesitate, then, to say that public speaking, public reading, or, in one comprehensive word, Elocution, should be studied by every man who is intended for professional life, or likely at any time to be called upon to address popular assemblies. I believe this to be true as regards all professional or public life, but I think it bears with peculiar force upon those who are designed for clerical life. And for this reason -when we speak in public, we warm with the feelings of the moment, we are carried away often by the rush of our emotions and the flow of our ideas, and even the man who in ordinary circumstances is of a lethargic or unexcitable temperament, often, under the influence of powerful passions, rouses up and seems to become almost a different being. This, too, will hold equally good with regard to extempore preaching, but it is often the reverse in the case of the clergyman who has written his sermon, and afterwards reads it aloud to his congregation. In reading, especially if the subject is one very familiar to us, such as the form of morning and evening prayer in the Church Service repeated by the minister every Sunday, and often every day, there is a tendency, I fear, even if the voice be audible and the articulation distinct, to pronounce the words tamely and monotonously, and to make the reading seem, at least in extreme cases, as if it were a mechanical task that must be got through in a given space of time. Now we want something more, whether it be the reading of the Bible, the Church Liturgy, or the delivery of a discourse from the pulpit, than mere audibility of tone and distinctness of utterance. We want that full pure voice, with its proper inflection, modulation, and poise, which will make the reading thoroughly significant, and bring out all the meaning contained in each sentence of the discourse with the utmost power and expression consistent with

personal ease and the dictates of good taste. When this is done there seems indeed to be a soul, a life (if I may use such a metaphor) pervading the sentences so read, and we perceive at once a power and beauty which before we scarcely seemed to feel or recognise.

Now, with regard to public reading, I cannot but think (as I do of most things in life), if it be worth doing at all, it is worth doing well. "Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might :" and I say, whatsoever words we have to utter, let us speak them so as to bring them home to our hearers' minds and hearts with all the truth and power of which they are capable.

I cannot think it is a matter of indifference whether a man opens the sacred volume and reads to his congregation a chapter in the hurried and unmeaning "gabble" (to use a plain but most expressive AngloSaxon word), or drawls through it in the weary, listless, monotonous tone and manner with which some of us, I am sure, must ere now in our wanderings have heard the Word of God—I was about to say-profaned; or whether, in voice and accents full and clear, solemn in tone and emphatic in meaning, he makes every word of the inspired page fall not merely on the ear, but on the heart, there abiding, there awakening, there comforting.

Surely, if there be such an art, such a power, that art is worth studying, that power is worth acquiring.

I was much struck with the truth of a passage I met with while perusing a very well-known work by the Rev. James Pycroft-I mean "Twenty Years in the Church." In the chapter to which I allude, Mr. Pycroft says: "To read in a church is no easy matter. You are required to use your voice in a manner wholly new to you. You have to pitch your voice in a certain key, to dwell upon your vowels, and to read much louder than you ever read before. If really natural, you seem artificial, and you must become in a degree artificial to seem natural. Like an actor, you really must, till habit forms a second nature, appear to yourself to exaggerate, that you may not sound flat and feeble to your audience.

"The adventures of any poor curate in quest of a proper tone of voice would often be amusing indeed. At one time I was told I was too low; next Sunday this made me thin and wiry. Then I read in a monotone, to avoid which I became uneven, as if trying every note of the gamut by turns. When at last I was settling down into some regular habit, our doctor, who had been reading some paper on Elocution, asked me if I happened to have a pretty good stomach, for he could tell me that I tasked that department not only with my Sunday dinners, but also with my Sunday duty: for, in short, I read from my stomach. Then, in altering this, I was alarmed at being told that I read from my throat, and what with bending my chin, and with a stiff cravat, the dreaded 'clerical sore throat' must come in no time. Add to this, I was informed anatomically that the roof of the mouth was nature's sounding-board, and that the nostrils were intended to act like the holes of a flute, and that what was called 'reading through the nose' was a misnomer; for I really ought to read through my nose, and that I had

only to hold my nose while I read to acquire at once the true conventicle twang.

"I am only relating a simple fact when I say that every error in the use of my poor lungs, stomach, throat, palate, tongue, teeth, and nasal organ, had their day with me; and rarely do I hear a clergyman read but I recognise one or more of the same blunders.

"A common fault in reading is the monotone; and when, as I sometimes hear, there is this drowsiness of tone, added to a 'drift' or see-saw of measured cadences at the same time-why, then even the old nursery tune of 'lullaby baby' itself cannot be compared to such soothing sounds for rocking the cradle of the hearer's brains.

"Now, reading in church requires so much breath, you cannot afford to waste any. The labour is so great to vocal organs (especially, I may add, when not accustomed to the work), that you cannot afford to tire them needlessly. The voice required is so loud, you cannot afford to lose any of the aids of intonation, articulation, or reverberation. In one word, your lungs, throat, and mouth form one most complicated machine. In reading in church these organs are applied to a new purpose, almost as different as singing is from talking, and the very wisest thing a young curate can do is to take a course of lessons from a good Elocution master. Nor could any benevolent Churchman spend his money better than by maintaining a clerical reading master for the benefit of the diocese.

The

"Many a clergyman, for want of knowing the benefit he could derive from a course of reading lessons, inflicts a cruel drawl upon his congregation, and most unnecessary labour upon himself. As to the clerical sore throat,' the barrister and the speaker are alike free from it. dissenting preacher is also free from it. It is for the most part a truly orthodox complaint. It arises not from talking, but from reading, and no doubt from reading badly. Though I would impress that any man may sustain injury if he reads when he has a sore throat. To show what may be attained by taking a course of reading lessons, I will add an anecdote relating to one of the most able and experienced elocutionists of the day. A certain eminent actor, being rather indisposed, resolved one night, not actually to absent himself, but to deliver his part without exertion. Much to his surprise, he was told he never spoke so distinctly or could be heard so well before. From that observation he discovered the grand secret of reading audibly without effort, or comparative fatigue, and Mr. formed his system of

instruction accordingly.'

Now there is very great truth contained in the passages I have just read to you, and the experience of the poor curate who is the hero in "Twenty Years in the Church," must, I am convinced from my own observations, be the experience of thousands.

But there are many other ways in which men, whether clerical or lay, may find it of inestimable value to be able to speak at the right time the right word in the right way, and possessing this power, may find results flowing from it scarcely calculable by human wisdom.

Though it is in the Senate, in the Church, and at the Bar that the advantages of being skilled in the art of Elocution will be most manifest,