Your face is but a lean one now,- Or tell a monstrous thumper: 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! (As soon as his turn came to speak,) My rates ar'n't paid, And so, perhaps, they'll scratch me out! Will raise their voices with me for the blue, And yet can't raise, In these starvation days, To A sous * their taxes! pay "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,— And shutting in his face the door. "You are safe now in the registration; '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!' We'll strain our throats But as to votes, Good lack!- I'm very sorry,-but we 've promised them 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,—or a mouthing and formal swell, on the other. A true elocution sustains the poetic elevation of the language by a chastened dignity of utterance.] 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* 1 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 with the vividness of the narration and description.] They led a lion from his den, The lord of Afric's sun-scorched plain; There's not of all Rome's heroes, ten His bright eye nought of lightning lacked; They brought a dark-haired man along, Blithely he stepped among the throng, And careless threw around A dark eye, such as courts the path Then shouted the plebeian crowd,- Joy was upon that dark man's face; And let my arms be free: He has a martial heart,' thou sayest;- A hero, when he fights for life, For home, and country, babes, and wife!" And thus I for the strife prepare: But ask th' imperial leave to spare The shield,—a useless thing. Were I a Samnite's rage to dare, The broad orb; but to lion's wrath And he has bared his shining blade, His long and loud death-howl is made; And when the multitude were calm, "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 Then flushed his cheek, but not with pride, No Roman wealth or rank can give My wife sits at the cabin door, With throbbing heart and swollen eyes ;- She bids my tender babes deplore I cannot let those cherubs stray |