The difference between speech stripped of resonance and accompanied with it is best illustrated by a simple experiment.  Take a violin-string in your hand:  touch it, and mark the sound produced—­how weak and thin.  Now, attach the string to the violin:  touch it again, and see how the resonating instrument converts the feeble sound of the detached string into a sonorous wave of vibrating music.  Now, the vocal chords are placed in the throat midway between two resonators—­the chest and the head.  These are to the chords what the body of the violin is to the string.  When the stream of air has passed the chords it is already accompanied by the vibrations of the chest, but the head is the main contributor.  The residual air in the upper portions of the throat, mouth and nasal cavities is thrown into vibration.

Here the importance of the subject reveals itself.  The art that can convert a screech into pleasing cadences of soft sound is no trifle.  Nasal resonance must not be confounded with nasal twang.  The one is produced by vibrating the air in the cavities, the twang by expelling it from them.  The part played by each organ in voice production may be briefly summarised:—­The lungs send out a stream of air; the vocal chords, principally, modulate it; the head and chest give it resonance.

Now, that it is clearly evident God intended us to speak and sing to the accompaniment of these aerial orchestras concealed in the head and chest, the only remaining question is—­How we shall use them?

[Side note:  Advice how to avoid screech]

Take care never to exhaust these reservoirs of air; if you do the result will be screech and shout.  No matter what demand is made on you, be sure to hold a reserve supply of residual air:  set it vibrating, and your voice on its outward passage will receive an enrichment of volume, force, and music.

[Side note:  Inflection:  its necessity]

“Go slowly and articulate well” are not sufficient.  “Inflect your language” must be added.  A student should practise assiduously till his sentences become as flexible as a cutting whip, capable of being bent to every mood and of lending themselves to every passion.  In pathos his words should sink almost to a sob, tearful in their plaintiveness; in denunciation they should rise, muttering the voices of the storms; and in narrative the proper pitch is ordinary middle tone.

[Side note:  French and English want inflection]

It is in this want of inflective grace that English, and more especially French, speakers lose so much of their force.  Both read admirably and articulate with precision, but the unvaried straight line tone, so suited to reading, will not serve the purpose when we not only wish to make people understand, but also endeavour to move their passions.

[Side note:  The secret power of a good story-teller]

Recall a good story-teller or speaker of whom you never wearied; go back in memory and see how much he owed to the power contained in the inflected voice—­the varied tones that sank or swelled as suited the mood or passion.