Your face is but a lean one now,—
I must allow,—

Or tell a monstrous thumper:

It shows dejection;

But on the day of our election

I hope to see you with a plumper.

True blue's the colour that can ne'er be beat!
If you'll but make a stand,—I'll get a seat.”
Says Mr. Sneak,

(As soon as his turn came to speak,)
"I'd like to give a vote, no doubt,
But I'm afraid

My rates ar'n't paid,

And so, perhaps, they'll scratch me out!
What's worse than all, I know a dozen more,
Good men and sure,

Will raise their voices with me for the blue,

If I but axes,

And yet can't raise,

In these starvation days,
A sous *

То pay their taxes!"

"A dozen votes in jeopardy!" exclaims

Th'impatient squire;

"There's surely some mistake,-I'll straight inquire; Give me their names."

They parted; and, no matter how or when,—
The rates were paid of these same men,
Who never paid a rate before,

Except by rating the collector soundly,
And roundly,

And shutting in his face the door.
The candidate his visit soon repeated,
And for their votes his friends again entreated.
"All's right," said he;

"You are safe now in the registration;
And if you will but vote for me,

"T will be

For the good of the nation!"

"What!" replies Sneak, "and have you done the trick

So quick?"

*Pronounced soo.

Now, that's what I calls clever!

Me and

my

friends must all shout 'Blue for ever!'. And so we will, my hearty!

We'll strain our throats
Until they crack;

But as to votes,—

Good lack!—

A-hem,

I'm very sorry, but we 've promised them
To th' opposite party!"

EXERCISE XI.—OREGON.-Knickerbocker Magazine. [The following passage is designed as an exercise in the full tones of lofty and expansive description. The common errors in reading such pieces, are, a flat and inexpressive tone, on one hand,mouthing and formal swell, on the other. A true elocution sustains the poetic elevation of the language by a chastened dignity of utterance.]

-or a

Mr. Parker, whose book has suggested our subject, was sent out by the American Board of Foreign Missions; and he appears to have been eminently faithful to his trust, amidst numerous perils and privations, which are recorded, not with vain boasting and exaggeration, but with becoming modesty and brevity. His descriptions, indeed, are all of them graphic, without being minute and tedious.

Before reaching the Black Hills, he places before us their prairies, rolling in immense seas of verdure, on which millions of tons of grass grow up but to rot on the ground, or feed whole leagues of flame; over which sweep the cool breezes, like the trade winds of the ocean; and into whose green recesses bright-eyed antelopes bound away, with halfwhistling snuff, leaving the fleetest hound hopelessly in the rear. There herd the buffaloes, by thousands together, dotting the landscape,-seeming scarce so large as rabbits, when surveyed at a distance, from some verdant bluff, swelling in the emerald waste.

Sublimer far, and upon a more magnificent scale, are the scenes among the Rocky Mountains. Here are the visible footsteps of God! Yonder, mountain above mountain, peak above peak, ten thousand feet heavenward, to regions of perpetual snow, rise the Titans of that mighty region. Here the traveller threads his winding way through passages so narrow, that the towering, perpendicular cliffs throw a dim twilight gloom upon his path, even at mid-day. Anon he

emerges; and lo! a cataract descends a distant mountain, like a belt of snowy foam girding its giant sides.

On one hand, mountains spread out into horizontal plains; some rounded like domes, and others terminating in sharp cones and abrupt eminences, taking the forms of pillars, pyramids, and castles; on the other, vast circular embankments thrown up by volcanic fires, mark the site of a yawning crater; while, far below, perchance, a river dashes its way through the narrow, rocky passage, with a deep-toned roar, in winding mazes in mist and darkness.

Follow the voyager, as he descends the Columbia, subject to winds, rapids, and falls; two hundred miles from any whites, and amid tribes of stranger Indians, all speaking a different language. Here, for miles, stretches a perpendicular basaltic wall, three or four hundred feet in height; there, foam the boiling eddies, and rush the varying currents; on one side opens a view of rolling prairies, through a rocky vista, on the other, rise the far-off mountains, mellowed in the beams of the morning sun.

Now the traveller passes through a forest of trees, standing in their natural positions, in the bed of the river, twenty feet below the water's surface. Passing these, he comes to a group of islands, lying high in the stream, piled with the coffin canoes of the natives, filled with their dead, and covered with mats and split plank. He anchors for a while at a wharf of natural basalt, but presently proceeds on his way, gliding now in solemn silence, and now interrupted by the roar of a distant rapid, gradually growing on the ear, until the breaking water and feathery foam, arise to the view.

Passing under a rocky cavern, by the shore, formed of semi-circular masses which have overbrowed the stream for ages, frowning terrible, impossible to climb,' he awaits the morning; listening during the night watches to hear the distant cliffs

reverberate the sound

Of parted fragments tumbling from on high.'

Such are the great features of the Missionary's course, until the boundary of the Far West,' is reached, and he reposes for a time, from his long and toilsome journey.

23*

EXERCISE XII. THE GLADIATOR.-Jones.

[A bold, graphic, and occasionally dramatic, style of reading or recitation, is required in the following piece, to keep up wra the vividness of the narration and description.]

They led a lion from his den,

The lord of Afric's sun-scorched plain ;
And there he stood, stern foe of men,
And shook his flowing mane.

There's not of all Rome's heroes, ten
That dare abide this game.

His bright eye nought of lightning lacked;
His voice was like the cataract.

They brought a dark-haired man along,
Whose limbs with gyves of brass were bound
Youthful he seemed, and bold, and strong,
And yet unscathed of wound.

Blithely he stepped among the throng,

And careless threw around

A dark eye, such as courts the path
Of him, who braves a Dacian's wrath.

Then shouted the plebeian crowd,-
Rung the glad galleries with the sound;
And from the throne there spake aloud
A voice," Be the bold man unbound!
And, by Rome's sceptre, yet unbowed,
By Rome, earth's monarch crowned,
Who dares the bold, the unequal strife,
Though doomed to death, shall save his life."

Joy was upon that dark man's face;
And thus, with laughing eye, spake he;
"6 Loose ye the lord of Zaara's waste,
And let my arms be free:

He has a martial heart,' thou sayest;—
But oh! who will not be

A hero, when he fights for life,

For home, and country, babes, and wife!”

And thus I for the strife prepare:
The Thracian falchion to me bring;

But ask th' imperial leave to spare

The shield,—a useless thing.

Were I a Samnite's rage to dare,
Then o'er me would I fling

The broad orb; but to lion's wrath
The shield were but a sword of lath."

And he has bared his shining blade,
And springs he on the shaggy foe;
Dreadful the strife, but briefly played ;-
The desert-king lies low:

His long and loud death-howl is made;
And there must end the show.

And when the multitude were calm,
The favourite freed-man took the palm.

"Kneel down, Rome's emperor beside!"
He knelt, that dark man ;-o'er his brow
Was thrown a wreath in crimson died;
And fair words gild it now:

"Thou art the bravest youth that ever tried To lay a lion low;

And from our presence forth thou go'st
To lead the Dacians of our host."

Then flushed his cheek, but not with pride,

And grieved and gloomily spake he:

66

My cabin stands where blithely glide

Proud Danube's waters to the sea:

I have a young and blooming bride,
And I have children three :—
No Roman wealth or rank can give
Such joy as in their arms to live.

My wife sits at the cabin door,

With throbbing heart and swollen eyes ;-
While tears her cheek are coursing o'er,
She speaks of sundered ties.

She bids my tender babes deplore
The death their father dies;
She tells these jewels of my home,
I bleed to please the rout of Rome.

I cannot let those cherubs stray
Without their sire's protecting care;
And I would chase the griefs away
Which cloud my wedded fair."