E'en at the base of Pompey's statue,
(Which all the while ran blood) great Cesar fell.
O what a fall was there, my countrymen !
Then I, and you, and all of us fell down;
Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us.
O, now you weep; and I perceive you feel
The dint of pity! These are gracious drops.
Kind souls! What, weep you when you behold
Our Cesar's vesture wounded? Look you here !—
Here is himself-marr'd, as you see, by traitors.

Good friends! Sweet friends! Let me not stir you up
To such a sudden flood of mutiny!

They that have done this deed are honourable!
What private griefs they have, alas, I know not,
That made them do it! They are wise and honourable,
And will, no doubt, with reason answer you.

I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts !

I am no orator, as Brutus is;

But, as you know me all, a plain, blunt man,
That love my friend-and that they know full well,
That gave me public leave to speak of him!
For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth,
Action, nor utterance, nor power of speech,
To stir men's blood-I only speak right on,
I tell you that which you yourselves do know-
Show you sweet Cesar's wounds, poor, poor, dumb
mouths,

And bid them speak for me. But, were I Brutus,
And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony
Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue
In every wound of Cesar, that should move
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.

XXII.-Falstaff's Soliloquy on Honour.-HENRY IV. OWE heaven a death! 'Tis not due yet; and I would be loth to pay him before his day. What need I be so forward with him that calls not on me? Well, 'tis no matter-honour pricks me on.- -But how, if honour prick me off when I come on? How then? Can honour set to a leg? No; an arm? No; or take away the grief of a wound? No. Honour hath no skill in surgery, then? No. What is honour? A word. What is that word honour? Air; a

trim reckoning. Who hath it? He that died a Wednesday. Doth he feel it? No. Doth he hear it? No. Is it insensible, then? Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living? No. Why? Detraction will not suffer it. Therefore, I'll none of it. Honour is a mere 'scutcheon-and so ends my catechism.

XXIII-Part of Richard III's Soliloquy the night preceding the Battle of Bosworth.-TRAGEDY OF RICHARD III. 'TIS now the dead of night, and half the world

Is with a lonely solemn darkness hung;

Yet I (so coy a dame is sleep to me)

With all the weary courtship of

My care tir'd thoughts, can't win her to my bed,
Though e'en the stars do wink, as 'twere, with over
watching.

I'll forth, and walk a while. The air's refreshing,
And the ripe harvest of the new mown hay

Gives it a sweet and wholesome odour.

How awful is this gloom! And hark! From camp to camp

The hum of either army stilly sounds,

That the fix'd sentinels almost receive

The secret whisper of each other's watch!

Steed threatens steed in high and boasting neighings,
Piercing the night's dull ear. Hark! From the tents,
The armourers, accomplishing the knights,
With clink of hammars closing rivets up,
Give dreadful note of preparation: while some,
Like sacrifices, by their fires of watch,

With patience sit, and inly ruminate

The morning's danger. By yon heaven, my stern
Impatience chides this tardy gaited night,

Who, like a foul and ugly witch, does limp

So tediously away. I'll to my couch,

And once more try to sleep her into morning.

XXIX-The World compared to a Stage.-As YOU LIKE IT. ALL the world is a stage;

And all the men and women, merely players.

They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man, in his time, plays many parts,

33

386

LESSONS IN SPEAKING.

[PART. II.
His acts being seven ages. At first, the Infant ;
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
And then the whining Schoolboy; with his satchel,
And shining morning face, creeping like a snail,
Unwillingly to school. And, then the Lover,
Sighing like furnace; with a woeful ballad

Made to his Mistress' eyebrow. Then, a Soldier;
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard;
Jealous in honour; sudden and quick in quarrel;
Seeking the bubble reputation,

Even in the cannon's mouth. And then, the Justice;
In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd;
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut;

Full of wise saws and modern instances:

And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon;
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side;
His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again towards childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second Childishness, and mere Oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.

APPENDIX.

CONCISE PASSAGES, EXEMPLIFYING CERTAIN PARTICULARS, ON THE PROPER EXPRESSION OF WHICH, THE MODULATION AND MANAGEMENT OF THE VOICE IN READING AND SPELL ING PRINCIPALLY DEPEND.

I.-Examples of ANTITHESIS; or, the Opposition of Words or Sentiments.

1. THE manner of speaking is as important as the matter.Chesterfield,

2. Cowards die many times; the valiant never taste of death but once.Shakespeare.

3. Temperance, by fortifying the mind and body, leads: to happiness; intemperance, by enervating the mind and body, ends generally in misery.-Art of Thinking.

4. Title and ancestry render a good man more illustrious; but an ill one more contemptible. Vice is infamous, though in a prince; and virtue honourable, though in a peasant.- -Spectator.

5. Almost every object that attracts our notice, has its bright and its dark side. He who habituates himself to look at the displeasing side, will sour his disposition, and, consequently, impair his happiness; while he who constantly beholds it on the bright side, insensibly ameliorates his temper, and, in consequence of it, improves his own. happiness, and the happiness of all around him.--World.

6 A wise man endeavours to shine in himself; a fool to outshine others. The former is humbled by the sense of his own infirmities; the latter is lifted up by the discovery of those which he observes in others. The wise man considers what he wants; and the fool what he abounds in. The wise man is happy when he gains his own approbation; and the fool, when he recommends himself to the applause of those about him.--Spectator.

7. Where opportunities of exercise are wanting, temperance may in a great measure supply its place. If exercise throws off all superfluities, temperance prevents them; if exercise clears the vessels, temperance neither satiates nor overstrains them ;-exercise raises proper ferments in the humours, and promotes the circulation of the blood, temperance gives nature her full play, and enables her to exert herself in all her force and vigour; if exercise dissipates a growing distemper, temperance starves it.Spectator.

8. I have always preferred cheerfulness to mirth. The latter I consider as an act, the former as a habit of the mind. Mirth is short and transient, cheerfulness fixed and permanent. Those are often raised into the greatest transports of mirth, who are subject to the greatest depressions of melancholy. On the contrary, cheerfulness, though it does not give the mind such an exquisite gladness, prevents us from falling into any depths of sorrow. Mirth is like a flash of lightning, that breaks through a gloom of clouds, and glitters for a moment; cheerfulness keeps up a kind of day light in the mind, and fills it with a steady and perpetual serenity.Spectator.

9. At the same time that I think discretion the most useful talent a man can be master of, I look upon cunning to be the accomplishment of little, mean, ungenerous minds. Discretion points out the noblest ends to us, and pursues the most proper and laudable methods of attaining them; cunning has only private, selfish aims, and sticks at nothing which may make them succeed; discretion has large and extended views, and like a well formed eye, commands a whole horizon; cunning is a kind of shortsightedness, that discovers the minutest objects, which are near at hand, but is not able to discern things at a distance.---Spectator.

10. Nothing is more amiable than true modesty, and nothing more contemptible than the false. The one guards virtue; the other betrays it. True modesty is ashamed to do any thing that is repugnant to the rules of right reason; false modesty is ashamed to do any thing that is opposite to the humour of the company. True modesty avoids every thing that is criminal; false modesty, every thing that is unfashionable. The latter is only a general undetermined instinct; the former is that instinct, limited