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5. Learning is wealth to the poor, and an ornament to the rich.

6. I have been accused of ambition in presenting this measure.

Emphasis of Stress, Emphasis of Stress is either the prevailing Stress intensified or un entire change of Stress.


1. O change! O wondrous change !

Burst are the prison bars. 2. But all, thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death.

RADICAL STRESS, 1. Whence and what art thou, execrable shape?

2. Be ready, gods, with all your thunder-bolts, dash him to pieces.


1. Back to thy punishment, false fugitive ! 2. Thou slave! thou wretch ! thou coward !


1. Ecstacy ! my purse, as yours, doth temperately keep time.

2. Banished from Rome! What's banished but set free from daily contact with the things I loathe ?


1. O Rome! O Rome! thou hast been a tender nurse to me.

2. Arm! arm! ye heavens, against these perjured kings!

Emphasis of Quality. Emphasis of Quality is a change in certain words and phrases, from the prevailing quality to that of some other. This change is usually from a Pure Tone or Orotund to Aspirate, Pectoral, or Guttural. It is a very impressive form of Emphasis.

ASPIRATE. 1. And then I cried for vengeance.

2. If I were an American, as I am an Englishman, while a foreign troop remained upon my country's shores, I would never lay down my arms. Never ! never ! never !

1. Revenge is stamped upon my spear,

And blood's my battle cry.
2. O that the slave had forty thousand lives !

My great revenge had stomach for them all.

Emphasis of Pitch. Emphasis of Pitch is a sudden raising or lowering of Pitch on certain words and phrases, either through the Discrete or Concrete Movement.

VERY HIGH PITCH. 1. Simpson came up with his face pale as ashes, and said, “ Captain, the ship is on fire."

Then “ Fire! fire! fire!” on shipboard.


1. And hark, the deep voices replying, From the graves where your fathers are lying,

Swear, O swear !


1. O upright judge! Mark, Jew! a learned judge!

Emphasis of Movement. Emphasis of Movement is a sudden change on certain words and phrases, from the prevailing movenient.

1. Not among the prisoners-Missing!

That was all the message said.

EXAMPLE. (The following selection contains a great variety of Emphasis and several different combinations.

The Painter of Seville.


'Twas morning in Seville; and brightly beamed

The early sunlight in one chamber there;
Showing where'er its glowing radiance gleamed,

Rich, varied beauty. 'Twas the study where
Murillo, the famed painter, came to share,

With young aspirants, his long-cherished art,
To prove how vain must be the teacher's care,

Who strives his unbought knowledge to impart,
The language of the soul, the feeling of the heart.

The pupils came, and glancing round,
Mendez upon his canvas found,
Not his own work of yesterday,
But, glowing in the morning ray,
A sketch, so rich, so pure, so bright,

It almost seemed that there were given
To glow before his dazzled sight,

Tints and expression warm from heaven.
'Twas but a sketch—the Virgin's head-
Yet was unearthly beauty shed
Upon the mildly beaming face;
The lip, the eye, the flowing hair,
Had separate, yet blended grace-

A poet's brightest dream was there!
Murillo entered, and amazed,
On the mysterious painting gazed;
Whose work is this?-speak, tell me!-he

Why to his aid such power can call,”
Exclaimed the teacher eagerly,

“Will yet be master of us all;

Would I had done it!-Ferdinand! Isturitz! Mendez !-say, whose hand Among ye all?" With half-breathed sigh, Each pupil answered, ""Twas not I!"

"How came it then?" impatiently
Murillo cried; "but we shall see,
Erelong into this mystery.

At the summons came

A bright-eyed slave,

Who trembled at the stern rebuke

His master gave.

For, ordered in that room to sleep,
And faithful guard o'er all to keep,
Murillo bade him now declare
What rash intruder had been there,
And threatened-if he did not tell
The truth at once-the dungeon-cell.

"Thou answerest not," Murillo said; (The boy had stood in speechless fear.)

"Speak on!" At last he raised his head And murmured, "No one has been here.” "Tis false!" Sebastian bent his knee, And clasped his hands imploringly, And said, "I swear it, none but me!"

"List!" said his master. "I would know
Who enters here-there have been found
Before, rough sketches strewn around,
By whose bold hand, 'tis yours to show;
See that to-night strict watch you keep,
Nor dare to close your eyes in sleep.
If on to-morrow morn you fail
To answer what I ask,

The lash shall force you-do you hear?
Hence! to your daily task."

'Twas midnight in Seville; and faintly shone From one small lamp, a dim uncertain ray Within Murillo's study-all were gone

Who there, in pleasant tasks or converse gay, Passed cheerfully the morning hours away.

'Twas shadowy gloom, and breathless silence, save, That to sad thoughts and torturing fear a prey, One bright-eyed boy was there-Murillo's little slave.

Almost a child-that boy had seen

Not thrice five summers yet,
But genius marked the lofty brow,
O'er which his locks of jet

Profusely curled; his cheek's dark hue
Proclaimed the warm blood flowing through
Each throbbing vein, a mingled tide,
To Africa and Spain allied.

"Alas! what fate is mine!" he said,
"The lash, if I refuse to tell
Who sketched those figures—if I do,

Perhaps e'en more—the dungeon-cell!"
He breathed a prayer to Heaven for aid;
It came for soon in slumber laid,
He slept, until the dawning day
Shed on his humble couch its ray.

"I'll sleep no more!" he cried;

"and now

Three hours of freedom I may gain,
Before my master comes; for then
I shall be but a slave again.
Three hours of blessed freedom! how
Shall I employ them?-ah! e'en now
The figure on that canvas traced
Must be-yes, it must be effaced."

He seized a brush-the morning light
Gave to the head a softened glow;
Gazing enraptured on the sight,

He cried, "Shall I efface it? No!
That breathing lip! that burning eye!
Efface them?-I would rather die!"

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