According to these remarks we may observe, that all words are pronounced either with emphatic force, accented force, or unaccented force: this last kind of force we may call by the name of feebleness; or in other words, where the words are in contra-distinction to other words, or to some sense implied, we may call them emphatic; where they denote contra-distinction, and yet are more important than the particles, we may call them accented; and the particles and lesser words, we may call unaccented or feeble; for if we observe the pronunciation of these latter words, we shall find that they have exactly the same feebleness as the unaccented syllables of a word whose accented syllable is pronounced with some degree of force: we shall see likewise, that an accented word, which has a degree of force, when compared with unaccented words, when it is joined with an emphatic one, and pronounced immediately before or after it, sinks into feebleness equal to the unaccented words; and that the unaccented syllable, even of an emphatic word, is pronounced with as much less force than the accented syllable, as the unaccented syllables of an accented word are less forcible than the accented syllable of an emphatic word.

ACCENT AND EMPHASIS IN SINGING.

The warbling of sounds, says Dr. Kitchiner, in his Housekeeper's Ledger,* without the distinct articulation of words pronounced with proper accent and proper emphasis, does not deserve to be called singing: it is merely playing upon the voice-"A concerto on the larynx"-and as comparatively interesting, as a frame without a picture. Briefly, the art of singing effectively is to sing every word with exactly the same accent and emphasis as you would speak it.

When the singer does not affect to be inarticulate, this fault is more frequently either in the composer, or the writer: It is the fault of the composer, when, in adopting his notes, he neglects the preservation of the due emphasis to be placed on the words, and the proper accent and length of the syllables. It is the fault of the writer, when the numbers of his verse do not flow in regular succession. The composer sometimes wants a poetical ear as much as the writer does a musical one; and it is very seldom that either of them are capable of reading or declaiming with tolerable propriety.

* Rather an odd work for such remarks; but the Doctor is in the practice of such things.

A dancing-master, who should not be able to stand or walk, would doubtless be a droll professor of his art; and yet we have singers, singing-masters, and composers of vocal music, who are much in the same circumstances with regard to their own profession: that is, they cannot either read or speak. How far persons so qualified are likely to display the union of musical and poetical harmony, we presume not to determine.

The reciprocating power, says Mr. Bacon, which sentiment and sound have of aiding each other, should be made the constant object of study. It frequently happens, that a singer, either from his peculiar talents, or the composition itself, will have the means of transferring the delight from the words to the music, or vice versa. The knowledge of this power is often the most useful in raising a weak passage, and art can never be more safely or better demonstrated, than in manifesting such a modification of expression, and in preserving an interest throughout the whole of a composition, as far as it is possible. The idea of throwing one part into shade, in order to give another a stronger light, appears to be erroneous. Every part should return as much interest as possible; for certain passages must give a stronger incitement to the mind than others, and it follows

that it is a capital mark of accomplishment not to permit any part of the performance to languish.

Sometimes, however, good emphasis in reading or declaiming will be found to vary from good emphasis. Melody receives an accentuation from its particular measure, which is unknown to the speaker. Prose has none of this; and even poetry, when well read, submits to little of fixed accent. In music, the accent which recurs with certain parts of the bar, must more or less interrupt the emphasis upon the words. It is not only from their importance in the sentence, but their position in the bar, that words become emphatic; and however the best composers have been led to consider and avoid this objection in their works, such instances are so common among all masters, that they can hardly be considered exceptions to a rule, but rather a radical and necessary defect, so far as regards the matter of which we are treating, in the union of words and music.

A singer will often find that by the judicious use of the finest notes in his compass, he can aid the effect both of the sentiment and the music. He may therefore constantly avail himself of this knowledge, to pause or swell, or diminish the tone more particularly upon those notes, than upon others less perfect, where it does not interfere with the peculiar importance of the sentence, or the time of the music.

The best method, perhaps, is first to consider the appropriate delivery of the words before he tries them, in combination with the air. Having thus determined how the words ought to be read, he will proceed in the adaptation of them to the melody. The first difficulty to be encountered is the synchronous delivery of the words and the notes; for if the syllable expire before the termination of the note, he will be under the necessity of substituting some letter or syllable, which never fails to introduce a vitiated tone, as well as impurity of speech. The greatest attention is necessary to this point, for the tone is not alone in danger. A too sudden or too great change in the aperture of the mouth or lips, will affect the intonation also; and there is nothing more difficult than to preserve the tone pure, and the tune perfect, under the various changes which the different vowels and the different motions produce. Whenever a syllable is prolonged through a division, the nicest regard should be paid to the vowel upon which the pronunciation of the syllable depends. The slightest deviation is felt: the e is always liable to degenerate into a, the a into o, and i into e. A very minute change in the mouth effects this: the master (or in his absence, the student himself) must watch the syllable most carefully, and stop on the instant; the evil consequences of a bad