CHAPTER I.
OF PRONUNCIATION.
SECTION I.
OF ACCENT.
Though penetrated ourselves by the desire of imparting instruction, we are far from wishing to bore our readers; and therefore we shall endeavour to repeat nothing here that we have said before.
Accent is the marking with a peculiar stress of the voice a particular letter or syllable in a word, in such a manner as to render it more distinct or audible than the rest. Thus, in the word théatre, the stress of the voice should be on the letter e and first syllable the; and in cóntrary, on the first syllable con. How shocking it is to hear people say con-tráry, the-átre! The friends of education will be reminded with regret, that an error in the pronunciation of the first of these words is very early impressed on the human mind.
“Mary, Mary,
Quite contráry,
How does your garden grow?”
How many evils, alas! arise from juvenile associations!
Words of two syllables never have more than one of them accented, except for the sake of peculiar emphasis. Gentlemen, however, whose profession it is to drive certain public vehicles called cabs, are much accustomed to disregard this rule, and to say, “pó-líte” (or “púr-líte”), “gén-téel,” “cón-cérn,” “pó-líce,” and so on: nay, they go so far as to convert a word of one syllable into two, for the sake of indulging in this style of pronunciation; and thus the word “queer” is pronounced by them as “ké-véer.”
The word “á-mén,” when standing alone, should be pronounced with two accents.
The accents in which it usually is pronounced are very inelegant. Clerks, now-a-days, alas! are no scholars.
Dissyllables, formed by adding a termination, usually have the former syllable accented: as, “Fóolish, blóckhead,” &c.
The accent in dissyllables, formed by prefixing a syllable to the radical word, is commonly on the latter syllable: as, “I protést, I decláre, I entréat, I adóre, I expíre.”
ALL FOR LOVE.
Protestations, declarations, entreaties, and adorations, proclaim a swain to be simply tender; but expiration (for love) proves him to be decidedly soft.
A man who turns lover becomes a protest-ant; and his conduct at the same time generally undergoes a reformation, especially if he has previously been a rake.
The zeal, however, of a reformed rake, like that of Jack in Dean Swift’s “Tale of a Tub,” is sometimes apt to outrun his discretion.
When the same word, being a dissyllable, is both a noun and a verb, the verb has mostly the accent on the latter, and the noun on the former syllable: as,
“Molly, let Hymen’s gentle hand
Cemént our hearts together,
With such a cément as shall stand
In spite of wind and weather.
“I do preságe—and oft a fact
A présage doth foretoken—
Our mutual love shall ne’er contráct,
Our cóntract ne’er be broken.”
There are many exceptions to the rule just enunciated (so that, correctly as well as familiarly speaking, it is perhaps no rule); for though verbs seldom have an accent on the former, yet nouns frequently have it on the latter syllable: as,
“Mary Anne is my delíght
Both by day and eke by night;
For by day her soft contról
Soothes my heart and calms my soul;
And her image while I doze
Comes to sweeten my repóse;
Fortune favouring my desígn,
Please the pigs she shall be mine!”
The former syllable of most dissyllables ending in y, our, ow, le, ish, ck, ter, aye, en, et, is accented: as, “Gránny, nóodle,” &c.
Except allów, avów, endów, bestów, belów.
“Sir, I cannot allów
You your flame to avów;
Endów yourself first with the rhino:
My hand to bestów
On a fellow belów
Me!—I’d rather be—never mind—
I know.”
“Music,” in the language of the Gods, is sometimes pronounced “mú-síc!”
Nouns of two syllables ending in er, have the accent on the former syllable: as, “Bútcher, báker.”
It is, perhaps, a singular thing, that persons who pursue the callings denoted by the two words selected as examples, should always indicate their presence at an area by crying out, in direct defiance of Prosody, “But-chér, ba-kér;” the latter syllable being of the two the more strongly accented.
Dissyllabic verbs ending in a consonant and e final, as “Disclose,” “repine,” or having a diphthong in the last syllable, as, “Believe,” “deceive,” or ending in two consonants, as “Intend,” are accented on the latter syllable.
“Matilda’s eyes a light disclóse,
Which with the star of Eve might vie;
Oh! that such lovely orbs as those
Should sparkle at an apple-pie!
“Thy love I thought was wholly mine,
Thy heart I fondly hoped to rule;
Its throne I cannot but repíne
At sharing with a goosb’ry fool!
“Thou swear’st no flatterer can decéive
Thy mind,—thy breast no coxcomb rifle;
Thou art no trifler, I beliéve,
But why so plaguy fond of trifle?
“Why, when we’re wed—I don’t inténd
To joke, Matilda, or be funny;
I really fear that you will spend
The Honey Moon in eating honey!”
Most dissyllabic nouns, having a diphthong in the latter syllable, have the accent also on that syllable: as,
“A Hamlet that draws
Is sure of appláuse.”
A Hamlet that draws? There are not many who can give even an outline of the character.
In a few words ending in ain the accent is placed on the former syllable: as, “Víllain,” which is pronounced as the natives of Whitechapel pronounce “willing.”
Those dissyllables, the vowels of which are separated in pronunciation, always have the accent on the first syllable: as, lion, scion, &c.
When is a young and tender shoot
Like a fond swain? When ’tis a scíon.
What’s the most gentlemanly brute
Like, of all flow’rs? A dandy líon.
Trisyllables, formed by adding a termination or prefixing a syllable, retain the accent of the radical word: as, “Lóveliness, shéepishness, Whíggery, knávery, assúrance.”
The first syllable of trisyllables ending in ous, al, ion, is accented in the generality of cases: as in the words “sérious, cápital,” &c.
“Dr. Johnson declared, with a sérious face,
That he reckoned a punster a villain:
What would he have thought of the horrible case
Of a man who makes jokes that are killing?
“In his díction to speak ’tis not easy for one
Who must furnish both reason and rhyme;
Sir, the rogue who has utter’d a cápital pun,
Has committed a cápital crime.”
Trisyllables ending in ce, ent, ate, y, re, le, and ude, commonly accent the first syllable. Many of those, however, which are derived from words having the accent on the last syllable, and of those of which the middle syllable has a vowel between two consonants, are excepted.
They who would elegantly speak
Should not say “ímpudence,” but “cheek;”
Should all things éatable call “prog;”
Eyes “ogles,” cóuntenance “phisog.”
A coach should nóminate a “drag,”
And spécify as “moke,” a nag:
For éxcellent, use “prime” or “bang up,”
Or “out and out;” and “scrag,” for hang up.
The théatre was wont to teach
The public réctitude of speech,
But we who live in modern age
Consult the gallery, not the stage.
Trisyllables ending in ator have the accent placed on the middle syllable; as, “Spectátor, narrátor,” &c. except órator, sénator, and a few other words.
Take care that you never pronounce the common name of the vegetable sometimes called Irish wall-fruit, “purtátor.”
A diphthong in the middle syllable of a trisyllable is accented: as also, in general, is a vowel before two consonants: as, “Doméstic,” “endéavour.”
An endeavour to appear domesticated, or in common phraseology, to “do” the domestic, is sometimes made by young gentlemen, and generally with but an ill grace. Avoid such attempts, reader, on all occasions: and in particular never adventure either to nurse babies, or (when you shall have “gone up to the ladies”) to pour water into the tea-pot from the kettle. A legal or medical student sometimes thinks proper, from a desire of appearing at once gallant and facetious, to usurp the office of pouring out the tea itself, on which occasions he is very apt to betray his uncivilised habits by an unconscious but very unequivocal manipulation used in giving malt liquor what is technically termed a “head.”
Many polysyllables are regulated as to accent by the words from which they are derived: as, “Inexpréssibles, Súbstituted, Unobjéctionably, Désignated, Transatlántic, Délicacy, Decídedly, Unquéstionable.”
Words ending in ator are commonly accented on the last syllable but one, let them be as long as they may: as, respirátor, regulátor, renovátor, indicátor, and all the other ators that we see in the newspapers.
A cockney, quoting Dr. Johnson, said, “Sir, I love a good ator.”
Words that end in le usually have the accent on the first syllable: as, “Ámicable, déspicable,” &c.: although we have heard people say “despícable.” “I never see such a despícable fellow, not in all my born days.”
Words of this class, however, the second syllable of which has a vowel before two consonants, are often differently accented: as in “Respéctable, contémptible.”
“A respectable Man.”
Many words ending in ion, ous, ty, ia, io, and cal, have their accent on the last syllable but two: as, “Con-si-de-rá-ti-on, pro-dí-gi-ous, im-pe-ne-tra-bíl-i-ty, en-cy-clo-pæ´-di-a, brag-ga-dó-ci-o, an-ti-mo-nárch-i-cal,” all of which words we have divided into syllables, by way of a hint that they are to be pronounced (comically speaking) after the manner of Dominie Sampson.
Having, in compliance with grammatical usage, laid down certain rules with regard to accent, we have to inform the reader that there are so many exceptions to almost all of them, that perhaps there is scarcely one which it is worth while to attend to. We hope we have in some measure amused him; but as to instruction, we fear that, in this part of our subject, we have given him very little of that. Those who would acquire a correct accent had better attend particularly to the mode of speaking adopted in good society; avoid debating clubs; and go to church. For farther satisfaction and information we refer them, and we beg to say that we are not joking—to Walker.
SECTION II.
OF QUANTITY.
The quantity of a syllable means the time taken up in pronouncing it. As there is in Arithmetic a long division and a short division, so in Prosody is Quantity considered as long or short.
A syllable is said to be long, when the accent is on the vowel, causing it to be slowly joined in pronunciation to the next letter: as, “Flēa, smāll, crēature.”
A syllable is called short, when the accent lies on the consonant, so that the vowel is quickly joined to the succeeding letter: as “Crăck, lĭttle, dĕvil.”
The pronunciation of a long syllable commonly occupies double the time of a short one: thus, “Pāte,” and “Brōke,” must be pronounced as slowly again as “Păt,” and “Knŏck.”
We have remarked a curious tendency in the more youthful students of Grammar to regard the quantity of words (in their lessons) more as being “small” or “great” than as coming under the head of “long” or “short.” Their predilection for small quantities of words is very striking and peculiar; food for the mind they seem to look upon as physic; and all physic, in their estimation, is most agreeably taken in infinitesimal doses. The Homœopathic system of acquiring knowledge is more to their taste than even the Hamiltonian.
It is quite impossible to give any rules as to quantity worth reading. The Romans may have submitted to them, but that is no reason why we should. We will pronounce our words as we please: and if foreigners want to know why, we will tell them that, when there is no Act of Parliament to the contrary, an Englishman always does as he likes with his own.
SECTION III.
OF EMPHASIS.
Emphasis is the distinguishing of some word or words in a sentence, on which we wish to lay particular stress, by a stronger and fuller sound, and sometimes by a particular tone of the voice.
A few illustrations of the importance of emphasis will be, perhaps, both agreeable and useful.
When a young lady says to a young gentleman, “You are a nice fellow; you are!”—she means one thing.
When a young gentleman, addressing one of his own sex, remarks, “You’re a nice fellow; you are;”—he means another thing.
“Your friend is a gentleman,” pronounced without any particular emphasis, is the simple assertion of a fact.
“Your friend is a gentleman,” with the emphasis on the words “friend” and “gentleman,” conveys an insinuation besides.
So simple a question as “Do you like pine-apple rum?” is susceptible of as many meanings as there are words in it; according to the position of the emphasis.
“Do you like pine-apple rum?” is as much as to say, “Do you, though, really like pine-apple rum?”
“Do you like pine-apple rum?” is tantamount to, “Can it be that a young gentleman (or lady) like you, can like pine-apple rum?”
“Do you like pine-apple rum?” means, “Is it possible that instead of disliking, you are fond of pine-apple rum?”
“Do you like pine-apple rum?” is an enquiry as to whether you like that kind of rum in particular.
And lastly, “Do you like pine-apple rum?” is equivalent to asking if you think that the flavour of the pine-apple improves that especial form of alcohol.
A well-known instance of an emphasis improperly placed was furnished by a certain Parson, who read a passage in the Old Testament in the following unlucky manner: “And he said unto his sons, Saddle me the ass; and they saddled him.”
Young ladies are usually very emphatic in ordinary discourse. “What a little dear! Oh! how sweetly pretty! Well! I never did, I declare! So nice, and so innocent, and so good-tempered, and so affectionate, and such a colour! And oh! such lovely eyes! and such hair! He was a little duck! he was, he was, he was. Tzig a tzig, tzig, tzig, tzig, tzig!” &c. &c. &c.
This emphatic way of speaking is indicative of two very amiable feelings implanted by nature in the female occiput, and called by the Phrenologists Adhesiveness and Philoprogenitiveness. Those who attempt to imitate it will be conscious, while forcing out their words, of a peculiar mental emotion, which we cannot explain otherwise than by saying, that it is analogous to that which attends the act of pressing or squeezing; as when, with the thumb of the right hand, we knead one lump of putty to another, in the palm of the left. Perhaps we might also instance, sucking an orange. In all these cases, the organ of Weight, according to Phrenology, is also active; and this, perhaps, is one of the faculties which induce young ladies to lay a stress upon their words. Nevertheless, we fear that a damsel would hardly be pleased by being told that her weight was considerable, though it would, at the same time, grievously offend her to accuse her of lightness. Here we need scarcely observe, that we refer to lightness, not of complexion, but of sentiment, which is always regarded as a dark shade in the character. This defect, we think, we may safely assert, will never be observed in emphatic fair ones.
But we have not yet quite exhausted the subject of emphasis, considered in relation to young ladies. Their letters are as emphatic as their language is, almost every third word being underlined. Such epistles, inasmuch as they are addressed to the heart, ought not to be submitted to the ear; nevertheless we must say that we have occasionally been wicked and waggish enough to read them aloud—to ourselves alone, of course. The reader may, if he choose, follow our example. We subjoin a specimen of female correspondence, endeared to us by many tender recollections, and admirably adapted to our present purpose.
My dear Paul,
When we left Town on Wednesday last the weather was so very rainy that we were obliged to have the coach windows up. I was terribly afraid that Matilda and I would have caught our Death of cold; but thank Goodness no such untoward event took place. It was very uncomfortable, and I so wished you had been there. When we got home who do you think was there? Mr. Sims; and he said he thought that I was so much grown. Only think. And so then you know we took some refreshment, for I assure you, what with the journey and altogether we were very nearly famished; and we were all invited to go to the Chubbs’ that Evening to a small Tea Party, for which I must own I thought Mr. Chubb a nice man. After tea we had a carpet waltz, and although I was very tired I enjoyed it much. There were some very pretty girls there, and one or two agreeable young men; but oh! &c.
The remainder of this letter being of a nature personally interesting to ourselves only, and likely, in the opinion of some readers, to render its insertion attributable to motives of vanity, we shall not be found fault with for objecting to transcribe any more of it.
SECTION IV.
OF PAUSES.
A Pause, otherwise called a rest, is an absolute cessation of the voice, in speaking or reading, during a perceptible interval, longer or shorter, of time.
Comic Pauses often occur in Oratory. “Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking,” is usually followed by a pause of this sort. A young gentleman, his health having been drunk at a party, afforded, in endeavouring to return thanks, a signal illustration of the Pause Comic. “Gentlemen,” he began, “the Ancient Romans,”—(A pause),—“I say, Gentlemen, the Ancient Romans,”—(Hear!)—“The Ancient Romans, Gentlemen,”—(Bravo! hear! hear!)—“Gentlemen—that is—the Ancient Romans”—“were very fine fellows, Jack, I dare say,” added a friend, pulling the speaker down by the coat-tail.
That notable Ancient Roman, Brutus, is represented by Shakspere as making a glorious pause: as,
“Who’s here so vile that would not love his country? If any, speak, for him have I offended. I pause for a reply.”
Here, of course, Brutus pauses, folds his arms, and looks magnanimous. We have heard, though, of an idle and impudent schoolboy, who, at a public recitation, when he had uttered the words “I pause for a reply,” gravely took out his penknife and began paring his nails.
This was minding his paws with a vengeance.
A very long pause, particularly accompanied by a very serious look on the part of the speaker, as good as tells the audience that something of great importance is coming. It is therefore necessary to have something of real consequence to bring out. The following extract from a political harangue will show how essential it is to attend to this point:—
“And, Gentlemen, when I consider, I say, when I consider the condition of the masses of this country, I do think, and it is my opinion, that the Government has much to answer for. But not to dwell on that point, what have been the deeds, what have been the proceedings, I may say, of the Government itself? They have increased taxation, they have swelled the National Debt, they have assailed the liberty of the subject, they have trampled the poor man in the dust; he asked for liberty, and they made him a slave; he demanded the Charter, and they loaded him with fetters; he knelt for protection, and they gave him the Poor Law; he cried for bread, and they gave him the bayonet. By what name, by what term, by what expression, are we to designate such tyranny? (A long pause) ... Gentlemen!—it is unconstitutional!!!”
SECTION V.
OF TONES.
Tones consist of the modulations of the voice, or the notes or variations of sound which we use in speaking: thus differing materially both from emphasis and pauses.
An interesting diversity of tones is exhibited by the popular voice at an election.
Also by dust-men, milk-women, and pot-boys; and by fruiterers, hearth-stone-venders, ballad-singers, Last-Dying-Speech-hawkers, and old clothesmen itinerant.
We cannot exactly write tones (though it is easy enough to write notes), but we shall nevertheless endeavour to give some idea of their utility.
A lover and a police-magistrate (unless the two characters should chance to be combined, which sometimes happens, that is, when the latter is a lover of justice) would say, “Answer me,” in very different tones.
Observe, that two doves billing resemble two magistrates bowing;—because they are beak to beak.
A lover again would utter the words “For ever and ever,” in a very different tone from that in which a Parish Clerk would repeat them.
A young lady, on her first introduction to you, says, “Sir,” in a tone very unlike that in which she sometime afterwards delivers herself of the same monosyllable when she is addressing you under the influence of jealousy.
As to the word “Sir,” the number of constructions which, according to the tone in which it is spoken, it may be made to bear, are incalculable. We may adduce a few instances.
“Please, Sir, let me off my imposition.”
“No, Sir!”
“Waiter! you, Sir.”
“Yes, Sir! yes, Sir!”
“Sir, I am greatly obliged to you.”
“Sir, you are quite welcome.”
“Your servant, Sir” (by a man who brings you a challenge).
“’Servant, Sir” (by a tailor bowing you to the door).
“Sir, you are a gentleman!”
“Sir, you are a scoundrel!”
We need not go on with examples ad infinitum. If after what we have said anybody does not understand the nature of Tone, all we shall say of him is, that he is a Tony Lumpkin.