city, in two columns,-one by the main street, and the other by a street running parallel to it, on which the house of Mr. Poinsett, the American ambassador, was situated. In order to check the advance of these columns, the government troops were posted in the towers and steeples of the convents and churches; and traverses, mounted with cannon, were constructed across the streets.

One of these works was situated about one hundred yards from Mr. Poinsett's house, and immediately under the tower of a convent on which men were stationed. After several ineffectual attempts had been made to carry this work by an attack of infantry in front, suddenly a squadron of cavalry, that had succeeded in turning the flank of the battery, which was unprotected, came thundering upon the artillery, and sabred the men at their guns.

The soldiers on the tower, who for a time were afraid to use their arms, lest they should kill their comrades, at length poured down an effective fire upon the cavalry. Several fell; some dashed down the street; and others threw themselves off their horses, and took refuge under the eaves of the very tower whence this destructive fire had proceeded. The horses, whose riders had been killed, ran about wild with terror; but those of the dismounted cavaliers instinctively leaned up against the wall of the tower, as closely as their riders did, and both escaped the shots from above. When the cannon of this battery was silenced, the troops were soon driven from the convent.

The convent of Saint Augustine, situated in the rear of Mr. Poinsett's house, was the last to yield to the besiegers. While the firing was going on at this post, Madame Yturrigaray, widow of the former viceroy of Mexico, who lived in the adjoining house, rushed into her balcony, almost frantic with fear, and implored Mr. Poinsett to protect her house. While he was giving her assurances of protection, and trying to calm her fears, a shot was fired at him from the roof of the convent opposite his house. The ball passed through his cloak, and buried itself in the shutter of the balcony window.

He retired within the house, and shortly after the besiegers were heard advancing. They were composed of the common people of the city, and the peasants of the neighbouring villages, mingled with the civic guard of Mexico, and deserters from different regiments. The tramp of armed men, and the hum of voices, alone indicated their approach; but when they reached the house, there arose one wild shout; and a

desperate rush was made to burst open the door. The massive gates resisted the utmost efforts of the crowd. A cry arose to fire into the windows, to bring up cannon, to drive in the door; and bitter imprecations were uttered against the owner of the house, for sheltering their enemies, the European Spaniards, many of whom had sought an asylum in Mr. Poinsett's house.

At this moment Mr. Poinsett directed Mr. Mason, the secretary of the American legation, to throw out the flag of the United States. This was gallantly done; and they both stood on the balcony, beneath its waving folds. The shouts were hushed: the soldiers slowly dropped the muzzles of their guns, which were levelled at the balcony and windows. Mr. Poinsett seized this opportunity to tell them who he was, and what flag waved over him, and to claim security for all who were under its protection. Perceiving that the crowd was awed, and began to consult together, he retired from the balcony to despatch his servant with a note to the commander of the besieging army. The servant returned, and reported that the press was so great, that the porter was afraid to open the door, lest the crowd should rush in.

Mr. Poinsett instantly resolved to go down himself, and have the door opened. As he descended the stairs, he was joined by Mr. Mason. They proceeded together across the court-yard to the door, which the porter was ordered to open. As they stepped over the threshold, the dense crowd which filled the street, rolled back like a wave of the ocean. The servant, who was a Mexican, mingled with them; and before the people recovered from their astonishment, the two gentlemen returned into the court-yard, and the door was closed by the porter.

Before they reached the front of the house, they heard the rapid advance of a body of cavalry. It was commanded by a friend of the legation. The gates were thrown open; the horsemen rode into the court-yard; their commander stationed sentinels before the door; and Mr. Poinsett had the satisfaction of redeeming his promise of protection to Madam Yturrigaray. Her house was respected amidst the wildest disorder; and those who had sought an asylum under the flag of the United States, remained in perfect safety, until tranquillity was restored.

23

EXERCISE X.-—ELECTION ANECDOTE.—Anonymous.

[The practice of pieces characterized by wit and humour, is of the utmost service, in breaking up dull and lifeless habits of utterance. Nothing has so much effect in moulding the tones of a young reader, or imparting ease and flexibility of manner, in speaking. The great security for exemption from faults, and for the attainment of perfection, in reading or reciting such pieces, is, to enter heartily and fully into the humorous mood.—Such exercises are to be regarded as intellectual 'play';—and, like all other forms of play, demanding full life and activity.]

Hail, glorious day, on which the Bill was pass'd, -
That gave at last

Reform to Britons free!

The Boroughs which had long been rotten,
Are dead, and clean forgotten,
As they ought to be.

No more can seats be bought and sold,—
We've done with such abuses;

No more can gold,

Or flimsy notes,

Purchase base votes:

The poorest man can now vote as he chooses.

But what's a moral without illustration ?

None can avail,

Without a tale

To fit it :

:-so here goes for my narration.

At the last election for the borough town
Of Guttlebury,

A spick and span new candidate came down,
A fit and proper person, very :—

He vowed that he the people's man was,
And drew a glowing picture on his canvass

Of rights and wrongs, and England's Charter,

And swore, for liberty he'd die a martyr.

He called upon a cobbler in his rounds,
One Jacob Sneak,

His vote and interest to bespeak:
Says he, "You are a patriot to the bone,
And, zounds!

A cobbler now may say his sole's his own :-
Come, friend, your name enroll,

And show your face, when I display my poll;

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! you 'll but make a stand,-I'll get a seat."

If

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 *

To 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,—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