North, east, and south there are reefs and breakers,
You would never dream of in smooth weather,
That toss and gore the sea for acres,

Bellowing and gnashing and snarling together;
Look northward, where Duck Island lies,
And over its crown you will see arise,
Against a background of slaty skies,
A row of pillars still and white

That glimmer and then are out of sight,
As if the moon should suddenly kiss,

While you crossed the gusty desert by night,
The long colonnades of Persepolis,

And then as sudden a darkness should follow
To gulp the whole scene at a single swallow,
The city's ghost, the drear, brown waste,
And the string of camels, clumsy-paced :-
Look southward for White Island light,

The lantern stands ninety feet o'er the tide;
There is first a half-mile of tumult and fight,
Of dash and roar and tumble and fright,

And surging bewilderment wild and wide,
Where the breakers struggle left and right,
Then a mile or more of rushing sea,
And then the light-house slim and lone;

And whenever the whole weight of ocean is thrown
Full and fair on White Island head,

A great mist-jotun you will see

Lifting himself up silently

High and huge o'er the light-house top,

With hands of wavering spray outspread,

Groping after the little tower,

That seems to shrink, and shorten and cower,

Till the monster's arms of a sudden drop,

And silently and fruitlessly he sinks again into the sea.

You, meanwhile, where drenched you stand,
Awaken once more to the rush and roar
And on the rock-point tighten your hand,
As you turn and see a valley deep,

That was not there a moment before,
Suck rattling down between you and a heap
Of toppling billow, whose instant fall
Must sink the whole island once for all
Or watch the silenter, stealthier seas

Feeling their way to you more and more;
If they once should clutch you high as the knees
They would whirl you down like a sprig of kelp,
Beyond all reach of hope or help ;-

And such in a storm is Appledore.

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

Gratiano,

Let me play the Fool:

With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come;
Why should a man, whose blood is warm within,
Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster?

Sleep when he wakes? and creep into the jaundice
By being peevish? I tell thee what, Antonio,
I love thee, and it is my love that speaks;
There are a sort of men, whose visages
Do cream and mantle like a standing pond;
And do a willful stillness entertain,
With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion
Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit;
As who shall say, 1 am Sir Oracle,
And when I ope my lips let no dog bark'
I'll tell thee more of this another time;
But fish not with this melancholy bait.
"Merchant of Venice. "

Shakespeare.

THE SECOND STEP IN RENDERING.

CONVERSATIONAL STYLE.

Conversation is a talking with ; familiar intercourse; intimate association; colloquial discourse; informal dialogue. Conversation implies not only one or more listeners but the speaker himself must be a listener. In song we sing to "; in Oratory we speak to the listeners. In the Dramatic style the speaker talks “for” the listener. In Conversation the speaker" talks with. " In the Conversational style we must not only express our own thoughts but ever be mindful of the listener and aim to bring him out. In reading this style suggest the comments from the listener wherever an opportunity presents itself.

Elements belonging particularly to the conversational style:

I. Directness.

II. Pauses varied in length.

III. Weight of words, light and heavy.
IV. Speaker shows how he feels about it.
V. Suggest a response from the listener.
VI. Conversation includes good listening.

The Conversational style is the simplest and the most common. Much of our literature comes under this class. Talk of all kinds is largely conversational, yet this style is not always the easiest to render. Because of its simplicity, it is too often rendered in an affected, stiff, artificial, unnatural manner. Let us profit by attention to the following.

An important and effective element in the conversational style is Directness of utterance. This action of the speak er's mind toward his listener keeps the listener alert and wide awake, and following closely that he may be ready to reply. Thought given out in a diffuse, general way leaves the listener passive, while directness makes him active. Even an animal knows when spoken to directly, by whatever name it may be called. When the mental action is direct the response rebounds like a ball.

A common fault in rendering the Conversational style a fault that often defeats and stamps as unnatural and without the true ring that which has points of excellence, is a continuous flow of words and a uniform length of pauses.

It would really seem that the antique rule for pauses to count ten and let the voice fall. is being observed to the letter. In conversation the stream of words does not flow evenly, but in pulses, regulated by the depth and intensity of the thought. Observing what the listener thinks about it and considering what to reply will vary the length of pauses. There can be no more tiresome monotony than pauses of the same length.

Another peculiarity of the Conversational style is a tendency to pass lightly over groups of words, harely touching some, yet giving as much weight to some one word as is given to a whole phrase. Illustrated in the following.

"Hast thou named all the birds without a gun ?
Loved the wild rose, and left it on its stalk?
At rich men's tables eaten bread and pulse?
Unarmed, faced danger with a heart of trust?
And loved so well a high behavior,

In man or maid, that thou from speech refrained,
Nobility more nobly to repay ?

Oh, be my friend, and teach me to be thine. "

"Well," said the judge, " I won't detain you any longer. The case is dismissed.”

The family group had reached the door, the court and audience were laughing and talking within when Granny suddenly turned back, and rattling on the door to attract attention, said: "Ax yo' pardon, Jedge, but who won de case, please, Sir? "

In all the world of borrowed things I don't believe anything can be so completely lost, however, as a borrowed book. Now, if I should drop a book overboard far out at sea; or if I should let it fall into the crater of Vesuvius, or if some sudden tornado should come along and blow it off the earth before my astonished eyes, I am not sure that I would be in too great haste to replace it. I think I would wait, in the faint hope that maybe, some how or other, some way or other, some time or other, it might come back from the realms of space; it might return from the drifting smoke, the sea might yield it up. But when a man comes along and borrows a book, then I go down town and buy another copy for myself, if I want to read it again. That book is gone. Isn't it? (Cries of "Yes! Yes!" and "That's so !") "Chimes From A Jester's Bells.

99

Robert J. Burdette.

Perhaps the greatest fault in rendering the Conversational style, making it unnatural, is the tendency to give only words, words, words in a colorless manner. But in animated conversation, it will be observed, the speaker shows how he feels about it. He is giving away himself in all he says, if he merely mentions a person's name, the careful listener can detect what he thinks · much or little, well or otherwise. The words themselves carry comparatively little significance the running comment of feeling adds life