the change in the position of the words also has much influence.

4. As a fourth stage in the development of rhythm may be considered the case when two or more sentences, which are connected together as protasis and apodosis or in some other logical relation, and accordingly constitute a logical period, assume the relation to each other of elevation and depression (high and low tone) in the higher sense of the terms. Two sentences, e.g. antecedent and consequent:

And God' spake | let there be light || and there was' light'.

Antithesis:

"

And God' called the light' Day" | and the darkness he called Night'. When more than two sentences form a period they unite according to their logical affinities in the rising or the falling scale, and constitute compound members in the parallelism. Examples of the most manifold logical relations and arrangements of sentences in a period - at the same time rhythmically controlled by the symmetry of the parallelism, and extending even to the strophe - are given in Hebrew poetry and in the discourses of the prophets (cf. the compilation in De Wette's Commentary on the Psalms, Introd. vii., or Introd. to the Old Test. § 129 sq.). As an example of a longer rhetorical period, composed of several smaller periods, we adduce only Isa. i. 15:

When-ye-spread-forth your-hands, I-will-hide mine-eyes; when-ye-make many prayers, I will not hear: || for your hands are full of blood.

Here two smaller periods, consisting of antecedent and consequent, compose the first member, the elevation preceding the concluding sentence, which contains the explanation (the reason) of what goes before; the first period constitutes the first stage in the elevation; the other, the second, or the climax of the rising tone. Within these again each antecedent rises while the consequent falls; but these depressions are only relative and are suspended because they belong to the rising part of the period (especially the latter, which belongs to the second stage of the rising scale); only in the concluding sentence is the fall an absolute one. In general, every depression is lower, the nearer it leaves the sense complete, i.e. the greater the whole is which it terminates, and vice

versa.

This is the melody of speech, which was above simply shown to belong to the logical accent, but which is made complete only by the co-operation of the logical and the rhythmical principle, in which also is alone to be found the full notion of accent. Properly to express or render this melody is the business of elocution or declamation. On account of the manifold shades in the accent - which image forth the logical relations of the sense - this melody is richer than that of music; but its extreme high and low tones - even in the most elevated intonation of rhetorical feeling - are confined within smaller intervals of the musical scale, and its tones can accordingly no more be represented musically (by notes) than can these gradations or intervals. Not till rhetorical tones rise into musical tones does the voice rise and fall in intervals that are strictly musical.1

This leads now to the further question: What is the relation of the rhythm of common speech just considered, to that of poetry, or rhythmical discourse properly so called (of the numerosa oratio to the numeris adstricta); what is the relation of the melody of speech to strict melody, or that of song; and how does the latter grow out of the former? For if, as we have seen, rhythm and melody are not peculiarly the ornament of poetry and song, but belong by a general law to all human speech, how does it happen that men generally attribute them only to poetic language, and call it (exclusively or pre-eminently) " rhythmical," in contradistinction to ordinary language, as though the latter were unrhythmical and irregular (prosa numeris soluta)? And if this, as being an error or an inaccuracy, needs no further consideration, why is poetry characterized by a rhythm so much more regular and palpable than that of prose, by a rhythm which even in its external features is so unmistakable, and strikes every one's eye and ear by the form of the words themselves and the sentences, (also in writing outwardly represented by breaks or lines), as well as by the whole movement of the thought, all of which are throughout shaped according to a definite rhythmical law and set form, and which seem to constitute the specific difference between poetry and prose? Is rhythm in this form and application nothing but an arbitrary, artificial ornament and embellishment of poetry? or is it the product of a law of human nature, the natural utterance of a particular state of the human mind, as was above demonstrated with regard to rhythm in general? If, now, only the latter can be assumed, what is the law or impulse of human nature which produces such a rhythm, and what is that state of the mind which naturally expresses itself in it? The question likewise presents itself: Of what mental state is song the natural utterance rather than common language, and how are its particular tones formed? To this more intricate question - a full answer to which would require a more extended anthropological investigation than I can here enter upon - we devote a brief discussion in conclusion.1

Although rhythm, as a fundamental law of human speech, cannot be lacking in any kind of discourse, it is yet susceptible of very different degrees of development and cultivation. It is more prominent and distinct, the more forcibly the voice pronounces its intonations and, as it were, swells its waves, and thus increases the force and momentum of the movement; for then its elevations and depressions are separated more widely from each other and thus come more decidedly to balance one another, just as the wave rises the higher, the greater the quantity of water and the force which sets it in motion. This strength of intonation or of the undulation of the voice may indeed be arbitrarily produced, but it is naturally the effect of an elevated state of the mind; primarily, of a state of excitement or emotion, which raises the undulation of the blood, and hence increases the force of the voice, as well as of all other vital manifestations. But this only to a certain point. An intellectual element must interpose, by which the emotion is kept from breaking out into a wild tumult, controlled and conducted in a particular direction, and thus brought into a regular undulation; so that the modulation of the voice flows from a similar movement of the soul. Now this is the case in the poetic mood or enthusiasm. This is that state of the mind in which emotional excitement is produced by a poetic idea, i.e. by a conception which rouses the feelings and at the same time attracts to itself the intellectua lcontemplation, thus occupying at once both the intellect and the feelings; a state, therefore, in which neither the one nor the other onesidedly sways the soul, but each permeates the other, and is thus held in balance; in which consequently the excited fountain of emotion, curbed and guided by the intellectual element of thought, is brought into an undulatory, vibratory (i.e. rhythmical) motion, swinging, as it were, upon which the soul can pour out its feelings and meditations in no other way than in wave-like or symmetrical (i.e. rhythmical) sentences.1

This rhythmical movement of the soul in the poetic mood seizes the whole man with irresistible force, and hence expresses itself through all the human organs which are capable of movement or activity, external or internal, bodily or mental. Externally (physically), in the first place, by the rhythmical movement of the feet, and accompanied by corresponding movements of the whole body, i.e. by dancing, in its original significance - the rudest and most expressive utterance of the poetic mood in a state of nature. Next by rhythmico-musical tones or sounds of the voice, i.e. by singing, which even without words serves to express poetic moods, especially joyous moods. This is an elevation or intensification of common language, yet specifically different from it, i.e. not only in the degree of force, but also in the kind of intonation. Its tones arise not only from the stronger intonation of the voice (which is produced also in crying or shouting in a still greater degree, yet without becoming song), but also from the peculiar swell and oscillation which the