was opposed to the treaty. If the dead could have been counted, it could never have been made; but, alas! though they stood around, they could not be seen or heard. Their tears came in the rain-drops, and their voices in the wailing wind; but the pale-faces knew it not; and our land was taken away.

Brother: We do not now complain. The Choctaw suffers, but he never weeps. You have the strong arm; and we cannot resist. But the pale-face worships the Great Spirit. So does the red man. The Great Spirit loves truth. When you took our country, you promised us land. There is your promise, in the book. Twelve times have the trees dropped their leaves; and yet we have received no land. Our houses have been taken from us. The white man's plough turns up the bones of our fathers.

Brother: Is this truth? But we believe, now our Great Father knows our condition, he will listen to us. We are as mourning orphans in our country; but our father will take us by the hand. When he fulfils his promise, we will answer his talk. He means well. We know it. But we cannot Grief has made children of us.

think now.

Brother: You stand in the moccasins of a great chief; you speak the words of a mighty nation; and your talk was long. My people are small; their shadow reaches to your knee; they are scattered and gone: when I shout, I hear my voice in the depths of the woods; but no answering shout comes back. My words, therefore, are few. I have nothing more to say, but ask you to tell what I have said to the tall chief of the pale-faces.

GENERAL RULE FOR THE READING OF SPECIMENS OF INDIAN ELOQUENCE.

Speeches and addresses, such as the preceding, need much attention from young readers, to the due SLOWNESS of utterance, the great LENGTH of PAUSES, and the perfectly DISTINCT ARTICULATION indispensable to right effect.

EXERCISE VII.

AN INDIAN'S REPROOF.- Anon.

[The following piece requires attention to lively and easy utterance, distinct enunciation, natural and vivid changes of tone, — particularly in the dialogue part.]

A Shoshone* warrior possessed a beautiful mare: no horse in the prairie could outspeed her; and, in the buffalo or bear hunt, she would enjoy the sport as much as her master, and run alongside the huge beast, with great courage and spirit. Many propositions were made to the warrior to sell or exchange the animal, but he would not listen to them. The dumb brute was his friend, his sole companion; they had both shared the dangers of battle and the privations of prairie travelling;- why should he part with her?

The fame of that mare extended so far, that, in a trip he made to San Francisco, several Mexicans offered him large sums of money for her: nothing, however, could shake him in his resolution. In those countries, though horses will often be purchased at the low price of one dollar, it often happens that a steed, well known as a good hunter or rapid pacer, will bring sums equal to those paid in England for a fine race-horse.

--

One of the Mexicans, a wild young man,- resolved to obtain the mare, by whatever means. One evening, when the Indian was returning from a neighboring plantation, the Mexican lay down in some bushes at a short distance from the road, and moaned as if in the greatest pain. The good and kind-hearted Indian having reached the spot, heard his cries of distress, dismounted from his mare, and offered any assistance. It was nearly dark; and although he knew the sufferer to be a pale-face, yet he could not distinguish his features. The Mexican begged for a drop of water; and the Indian dashed into a neighboring thicket, to procure it for him. As soon as the Indian was sufficiently distant, the Mexican vaulted upon the mare, and apostrophized the Indian :

'You fool of a red-skin, not cunning enough for a

* Pronounced, 'Shoshonay.'

Mexican,

you refused my gold: now I have the mare for nothing; and I will make the trappers laugh, when I tell them how easily I have outwitted a Shoshone.' The Indian looked at the Mexican a few moments in silence ; for his heart was big, and the shameful treachery wounded him to the very core. At last he spoke. 'Pale-face,' said he, for the sake of others, I may not kill thee. Keep the mare, since thou art dishonest enough to steal the only property of a poor man: keep her; but never say a word how thou camest by her; lest, hereafter, a Shoshone, having learned distrust, should not hearken to the voice of grief and woe. Away, away with her! let me never see her again; or, in an evil hour, the desire of vengeance may make a bad man of me.'

The Mexican was wild, inconsiderate, and not over-scrupulous; but not without feeling. He dismounted from the horse, and putting the bridle into the hand of the Shoshone, he said: 'Brother, I have done wrong; pardon me! from an Indian I learn virtue; and, for the future, when I would commit any deed of injustice, I will think of thee.'

EXERCISE VIII.

THE PALACE AND THE COT.- Mrs. Crawford.

[In all pieces such as the following, -in which the main point is the expression of sentiment, a clear, distinct enunciation, with the tone of vivid feeling, is indispensable to right effect. Rapid utter ance, and dead monotony, with metrical chant, are the faults into which young readers commonly fall in such passages.]

In yon pile of renown, dear to ages of glory,

Whose walls are enriched with the trophies of old;
Where the windows are blazoned with legend and story,
And cornice and roof are all fretted with gold,
There is one magic circle, where care may not enter,
Where state for a season may throw off its load;
The hearth, the bright hearth, is the shrine and the centre
Of union and bliss, in that gorgeous abode.

In yon cottage of peace, where the smoke is ascending,
The setting sun lingers, and throws his last look:

There the thrush and the black-bird their wild notes are blending;

There murmurs the breeze; and there ripples the brook. The rose, in the glory which Nature has lent her,

Vies there with the brightest, and blossoms as sweet; And the hearth, the dear hearth, is the shrine and the centre Of union and bliss, in that lowly retreat.

Oh! the palace shines brighter, 'midst splendor and pleasure,
When these purest of joys are its highest renown;
And the cottage is blest, when it boasts for its treasure,
These richest of gems as the glory and crown.

Yes, - there's one magic circle, where care may not enter,
Or if for a season, how soon 't is forgot!

The hearth, the bright hearth, is the shrine and the centre Of endearment and peace, both in palace and cot.

tives

EXERCISE IX.

THE FAITHFUL DOG.- Anon.

[This piece like all other interesting and affecting narraneeds attention to lively and natural tones of feeling. The reader should give up the heart entirely to the story, and read not with the tone of a lesson or a task, but with the genuine emotion which every true-hearted girl or boy must feel, in reading such a tale, — which, moreover, is not one of fiction but of fact.]

Alabama was originally a part of Mississippi Territory. Its contiguity to Georgia and the Carolinas, induced numberless families from those States to remove there. The route pursued by them led through the Cherokee nation; and, like the Israelites of old, the emigrants experienced difficulties in reaching the land of promise.

In some seasons of the year, the rivers and creeks are so swollen by the frequent rains, as to render them troublesome. It was during one of those periods, that a family, consisting

of a man, his wife, and four children, left North Carolina, to settle themselves at Cahawba, the original seat of government; but, in crossing some stream, they were upset, and precipitated, with all their earthly goods, into the water. With the greatest difficulty, the head of the family succeeded in rescuing his wife, and three of the children, together with the wagon and horses, from their perilous situation; -but the baby, with the principal part of the baggage, had gone to the bottom.

Half distracted, the mother bethought her of endeavoring to rescue the child; and, holding up one of its little frocks, she directed their dog, of the Newfoundland breed, to seek for it, at the spot in which it was believed to have perished. Diving under the water, the dog disappeared. The most intense distress was of course experienced, with faint hopes of his ultimate success; but, in a few seconds, the agitation of water announced his coming;—and the dog arose to the surface, with the child, holding his clothes firmly griped between his teeth, and, swimming to the land, deposited it safely at the feet of the mother.

By the untiring exertions of the parents, the child was restored to life again; and, without further detention, they arrived safely at their destination.

Until the accident, the dog had never manifested any particular attachment for the child; but, from the time of rescuing it from a watery grave, the animal acted as if he considered it under his own superintending charge. He would never leave it. Sleeping or waking, he sat crouched beside the child, who soon discovered for the dog a corresponding degree of affection.

The mother soon died from the effects of the baneful fever of the country;—then followed one of the children, then another, and yet another; and the only remaining survivors of the once happy family, were the father, the child, and the faithfully attached dog.

And now the storms of fate gathered around this poor offspring of misfortune. The father sunk under the weight of his accumulated misfortunes, and fell into intemperate habits. The child was neglected, left for hours to the companionship of his dog, and the loneliness of his own melancholy lot. Young as he was, for he was then only three years of age, he was suffered to wander where he listed; and he would