Traveller. The choice at least Was kindly eft him; and for broken laws So I was told, sir. Woman. And I tried to think so; But 'twas a sad blow to me. I was used To sleep at nights, as sweetly as a child:- And then I seemed To feel that it was hard to take him from me Oh! very wrong, But he was wrong, a murrain on his traps! See what they've brought him to! Traveller. Well! well! take comfort. He will be taken care of, if he lives; And should you lose your child, this is a country Το weep for him in want. Woman. Sir, I shall want No succour long. In the common course of years, I soon must be at rest; and 'tis a comfort, When grief is hard upon me, to reflect [Humorous style, requires a playful freedom and flow of utterance, waich indulges every trait of "expression" to the utmost extent. Raillery borders often on laughter itself, and has usually a degree of that quality of voice.] THE following satirical sketch may be thought not inapplicable to the victims of fashion in other places than London. It is drawn from the papers of a plain-spoken but cordial friend to the sex, who takes a fancy to the diminutive name cf Punch. "By fair sufferers we mean about ninety-nine out of every hundred of those poor dear young ladies, condemned, through the accident of their birth, to languish, in silk and satin, beneath the load of a fashionable existence. 666 'Ah! little think the gay licentious' paupers, who have no plays, operas, and evening parties to be forced to go to, and no carriages to be obliged to ride about in, of the miseries which are endured by the daughters of affluence! "It is a well-known fact, that scarcely one of those tender creatures can be in a theatre or a concert-room ten minutes without being seized with a violent headache, which, more frequently than not, obliges her to leave before the performance is over, and drag a brother, husband, lover or attentive young man, away with her. If spared the headache, how often is she threatened with a fainting fit,-nay, now and then seized with it, — to the alarm and disturbance of her company! Not happening to feel faint exactly, still there is a sensation, a something,' as she describes it, 'she doesn't know what,' which she is almost sure to be troubled with. Unvisited by these afflictions, nevertheless, either the cold, cr the heat, or the glare of the gas, or some other source of pain, oppresses or excruciates her susceptible nerves. And when we take one such young lady, and put together all the public amusements which she must either go to, or die, in the course of a London season; and when we add up all the headaches, and swoons, and the 'somethings-she-does-n'tknow-what'; the shiverings, burnings, and other agonizing sensations which she has undergone by the end of it; the result is an aggregate of torture truly frightful to contemplate. "Suppose she is obliged to walk, this is sometimes actually the case-happy is she if she can go twenty yards without some pain or other, in the side, the back, the shoulder, the great toe. Thus the pleasure of shopping, promenading, or a pic-nic, is imbittered. 66 'If she reads a chapter in a novel, the chances are that her temples throb for it. She tries to embroider a corsair : doing more than an arm of him at a time, strains her eyes. Employ herself in what way she will, she feels fatigued afterwards, and may think herself well off if she is not worse. "Without a care to vex her, save, perhaps, some slight misgivings respecting the captain,' she is unable to rest though on a couch of down. Exercise would procure her slumber; but oh! she cannot take it. "Whether a little less confinement of the waist, earlier hours, plainer luncheons, more frequent airings in the green fields, and mental and bodily exertion, generally, than what, in these respects, is the fashionable usage, would in any way alleviate the miseries of our 'fair sufferers,' may be questioned. It may also be inquired how far such miseries are imaginary, and to what extent a trifling exercise of resolution would tend to mitigate them. Otherwise supposing them to be ills. that woman is necessarily heiress to, - unavoidable, irremediable, what torments, what anguish, must fishwomen, washerwomen, charwomen, and hay-makers, to say nothing and even ladies' maids, endure of servants of all work, every day of their lives!” EXERCISE XXXIII. THE DESERT. Translated from Countess Han-Han. [An example of "grave" tone, sinking to melancholy. The "pitch" of the voice, in such passages, is "low,” — the “force,” “moderate,” the "movement," slow. A degree of "monotone" pervades all the sentences which express the deeper feelings of the soul, called forth by solitude and desolation.] NEVER did the pilgrim tarry willingly upon this waste of sand. The great caravans of devotees on their pilgrimage to Mecca, and others of a trading character, leave behind them here no traces, save graves and scattered bones. Dead camels, in all the stages of decay, from those lately fallen to those of which the white skeletons are alone remaining, mark out the way. The graves of pilgrims who have died in the desert, from want, disease, or exhaustion, are marked out by little heaps of sand, with the bones of animals stuck around them, and are common objects. The In the air, large birds of prey sail slowly round and round: crows, with wild, harsh croakings, and heavy, flapping wings, are seen in great numbers; and cat-like beasts of prey lurk the low shrubs, among all seeking for corpses! desert is a raveyard in its most disconsolate form. The sea, the mountains, are solitary, and sometimes seem melancholy in their lone dreariness; but if there is no life in . On the granite peaks, them, there are no memorials of death. and on the foaming billows, there are no marks of human decay. The rocks and waves are undefiled with the dust of mouldering bones, and present to us, in their vastness, infinitude, and unbroken calmness, a symbol of eternity, in contrast with which this short earthly life seems but like a morning dream. There is something more than a mere pleasure for the eye in such solitudes. The heart beats more peacefully there. But here, in the desert, death keeps house; and all around are the remains of a once restless and miserable life. Death is sublime, when we consider him as the conqueror, and at the same time, the supporter of a life which he only overcomes that it may arise again. But here it is "dust to dust: " that is all. I tried to find a source of brighter thoughts in recurring to history; but here what a contrast between the sea and the desert! On the waves, how manifold the crossing tracks of gay fleets, armadas, and naval heroes! what a crowd of great thoughts and undertakings, colossal speculations, and adventurous enterprises! No passion, good or bad, is there that has not urged men over the waves. Gold, happiness, dominion, love, freedom, all have been pursued on the sea; avarice, love of glory, thirst for discovery, philanthropy, science, misery, restlessness, - all have played their part and sought to be carried to their desired objects on the waves. Of all these there is no trace left in the desert. Great armies have crossed the sands, it is true;-Cambyses with his Persians, Alexander, Zenobia, the proud woman, who degraded her husband, just as the oriental men now degrade their women, and other conquerors, have passed through the desert; but they have left only desolation behind them. Didactic style, requiring "serious" and "grave" utterance, — firm, and moderately "low" and "slow;" the enunciation perfectly distinct.] THE tolerated sin, denominated "white lying," is a sin which I believe that some persons commit, not only without being conscious that it is a sin, but, frequently, with a belief that, to do it readily, and without confusion, is often a merit, and always a proof of ability. Still more frequently, they do it unconsciously perhaps, from the force of habit; and, like * Monsieur Jourdain, the "Bourgeois gentil-homme," who found out that he had talked prose all his life without knowing it, these persons utter lie upon lie, without knowing that what they utter deserves to be considered as falsehood. I am myself convinced, that a passive lie is equally as irreconcilable to moral principles as an active one; but I am well aware that most persons are of a different opinion. Yet, I would say to those who thus differ from me, "If you allow yourselves to violate truth,- that is, to deceive, for any purpose whatever, who can say where this sort of self-indulgence will submit to be bounded? Can you be sure that you will not, when strongly tempted, utter what is equally false, in order to benefit yourself at the expense of a fellow creature?" All mortals are, at times, accessible to temptation; but, when we are not exposed to it, we dwell with complacency on our means of resisting it, on our principles, and our tried and experienced self-denial: but, as the life-boat, and the safety-gun, which succeeded in all that they were made to do, while the sea was calm, and the winds still, have been known to fail, when the vessel was tossed on a tempestuous ocean; so those who may successfully oppose principle to temptation, when the tempest of the passions is not awakened within their bosoms, may sometimes be overwhelmed by its power, when it meets them in all its awful energy and unexpected violence. But in every warfare against human corruption, habitual resistance to little temptations, is, next to prayer, the most efficacious aid. He who is to be trained for public exhibitions of feats of strength, is made to carry small weights at first, which are daily increased in heaviness, till, at last, he is almost unconsciously able to bear, with ease, the greatest weight possible to be borne by man. In like manner, those who resist the daily temptation to tell what are apparently trivial and innocent lies, will be better able to withstand *It is impossible to present, in any English combination of letters. the sounds of some French words. The reader's best resort, if she cannot direct herself, is to obtain the exact pronunciation of such words from a native of France. Accuracy can seldom be attained otherwise. |