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In the groves of the soft Hesperian clime,
To the swan's wild note by the Iceland lakes,
Where the dark fir-bough into verdure breaks.
From the streams and founts I have loosed the chain;
They are flashing down from the mountain brows,
Come forth, O ye children of gladness, come!
TONE OF GLOOM.
(See Tone Drill No. 138.)
[Thof Gloom proclaims the dismal. It is tinged with mela y, and sometimes there is a mild resentment.]
No dawn-no dusk-no proper time of day
No sky-no earthly view
No distance looking blue
No road-no street-no "t'other side the way”—
No indications where the Crescents go
No top to any steeple
No recognitions of familiar people—
No traveling at all-no locomotion
No inkling of the way-no notion-
No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
TONE OF ASPIRATION.
(See Tone Drill No. 84.)
[As a rule the tone of aspiration suggests noble desire. It is allied to Ambition, Admiration, and is almost synonymous with Emulation.]
K. M. HUNTER.
I can conceive of nothing of which it is possible for human effort to obtain, greater than the destiny which we may reasonably hope to fulfill. If war has its dreams, dazzling in splendid pageantry, peace also has its visions of a more enduring form, of a higher and purer beauty. To solve by practical demonstration the grand problem of increasing social power consistent with personal freedom-to increase the efficiency of the human agent by enlarging individual liberty to triumph over, not only the physical, but more difficult still, the moral difficulties which lie in the path of a man's progress, and to adorn that path with all that is rare and useful in art, and whatever is highest in civilization, are,
in my opinion, the noblest achievements of which a nation is capable These are the ends to which our ambition should be directed.
If we reverse the old idea of the Deity who presides over our boundaries, let us see so far as we are concerned, that his movements are consistent with the peace of the world. The sword may be the occasional, but it is not the familiar weapon of our god Terminus. The axe and the hoe are his more appropriate emblems. Let him turn aside from the habitations of civilized man, his path is toward the wilderness, through whose silent solitudes, for more than two centuries, he has been rapidly and triumphantly advancing. Let him plunge still deeper into the forest, as the natural gravitation of the tide of population impels him onward. His progress in that direction is one of unmixed beneficence to the human The earth smiles beneath his feet, and a new creation arises as if by enchantment at his touch.
Household fires illuminate his line of march, and newborn lights, strange visitants to the night of primeval solitude, kindle on domestic altars erected to all the peaceful virtues and kindly affections which consecrate a hearth and endear a home. Victorious industry sacks the forest and mines the quarry, for materials for its stately cities, or spans the streams and saps the mountain to open the way for the advance of civilization still deeper into the pathless forest and neglected wild. The light of human thought pours in winged streams from sea to sea, and the lingering nomad may have but a moment's pause, to behold the flying car which comes to invade the haunts so long secured to savage life. These are the aspirations worthy of our name and race, and it is for the American people to decide whether a taste for peace or the habits of war are most consistent with such hopes. I trust that they may be guided by wisdom in their choice.
"Oh May I Join the Choir Invisible.”
Oh may I join the choir invisible
Of those immortal dead who live again
In minds made better by their presence: live
In pulses stirred to generosity,
In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn
For miserable aims that end with self,
In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars, And with their mild persistence urge man's search To vaster issues.
So to live is heaven.
To make undying music in the world,
For which we struggled, failed, and agonized
And what may yet be better-saw within
To higher reverence more mixed with love
That better self shall live till human Time
This is life to come,
Which martyred men have made more glorious
So shall I join the choir invisible
(See Tone Drill No. 126.)
[Strictly speaking Irony has no tone, and yet it may belong to all tones. Foreknowledge of the attitude of the speaker is, usually, the key to Irony. Its intelligibility as a tone rests upon a slight exaggeration of the genuine tone.]
J. PROCTOR KNOTT.
As I said, Sir, I was utterly at a loss to determine where the terminus of this great and indispensable road should be, until I accidentally overheard some gentleman the other day mention the name of “Duluth." Duluth! The word fell upon my ear with peculiar and indescribable charm, like the gentle murmur of a low fountain stealing forth in the midst of roses, or the soft, sweet accents of an angel's whisper, in the bright joyous dream of sleeping innocence. Duluth.