rolled over and over, and tore out each | brutes: the old bear must have weighed at other's greyish-brown wool in great masses. least 1500 lbs., the she-bear 1000 lbs., and The old bear had the best of it, however, the smaller bear 800 lbs. and sat up, uttering frightful growls at the smaller bear. By this moment I had reloaded, and sent a bullet into the brute near the heart. With one bound it leapt on its foe, which tried to escape it, but the old bear held it tight in its fore-claws, and dug its monstrous teeth into the other's back. The other bear defended itself desperately, and soon found that the old brute's strength was giving way: it sprang on it and buried its tusks in its chest, and standing over it, tore it up with its two hind-paws. I was certain of the victory, and was so careless as not to reload my rifle, but fired my second barrel at the younger bear without concealing myself properly behind the rock. I hit it well, but it scarce felt my bullet ere it turned its savage head towards me, and galloped towards the rock with an awful roar. In an instant it reached the base of my fortress, and sprang with its forelegs on the first layer, while it opened its blood-stained throat, and, with smoking breath, uttered the most fearful sounds. At the moment when it raised itself on the rock I held my revolver as near as I could, and fired between its small glowing eyes: it fell back, but at once got up again, and tried still more furiously to scale the rock, by springing with all four feet at once upon the first stage, and raised its blood-dripping face just under me. I had pulled out my second revolver, and held it cocked in my left hand. I pointed both barrels at the monster's head and fired them together: it turned over, and rolled motionless on to the ground. which still lay quiet side by side, and could scarce believe my eyes as they gazed down on the victory which I had gained over these three terrors of the desert. I quickly reloaded, and looked around carefully from my fort, especially in the direction from whence the brutes had come, for other male bears might easily follow their track. could see nothing to alarm me, and now sprang down from the rock with Trusty, went cautiously up to the bears, and found them all lifeless. They were three monstrous I looked at the two others I These beasts are often found on the Rocky Mountains, where they are very numerous, as the hunters do not care to pursue them. Everybody is glad to get out of their way, and only uses weapons against them when he is attacked, or can fire at them from a place of safety, such as a boat on a river, when the bears are on land, or from a stout tree. The Indians also only fight them in self-defence, and hence their claws are considered the greatest mark of honour with which they can adorn themselves. The value of a "grizzly" stands in no proportion to the danger the hunter incurs in pursuing it, for its hide is too heavy, and its hair not so fine as that of the black bear: it never becomes so fat as the latter, and its flesh is not so delicate. Hence people are glad to avoid it, and the hunter willingly surrenders his booty to it, when, on following the bloody track of a head of game, he runs a risk of being caught up by the " grizzly." This animal does not know what fear is, and once irritated it will fight and hit as long as it is able. I know instances in which a “grizzly” had some thirty bullets in its body ere it was killed; but if hit at the right spot, it falls as easily as any other animal. The she-bear gives birth, from November to January, to two or four cubs, which soon follow it on its forays, and are trained to hunt, which speedily develops the savage, cruel qualities of the young monsters. It hunts both in the mountains and on the prairies: in the former it lays in wait for the game, and darts down from the rocks on its unhappy victim, while on the latter it will chase its terrified quarry for miles, and mercilessly rend it when captured. For instance, it seizes buffaloes, horses, wild cattle, &c., at full gallop by the hocks, tears out the sinews, and in a second renders them incapable of flying farther. When caught quite young and trained, these animals become very tame, but they must never be trusted, as any negligence may cost one's life, and I knew several instances on the frontier of men being torn by such tamed bears, or at least losing an arm or a leg. THE BOY'S RECITER. 12. SUNSET. (Shelley.) This beautiful example of calm and tranquil expression, requires attention, principally to the perfect" purity" and smoothness of the voice, quiet, level tones, and long pauses. The action is but slight and occasional. "Tis the set of sun. How like a hero who hath run his course, In glory doth he die! His parting smile Hath something holy in it, and doth stir Regret, but soft and unallied to pain,To see him quietly sink and sink away, Until on yonder western mountain's top, Lingering he rests at last, and leaves a look More beautiful than e'er he shed before: A parting present, felt by all that loved And flourished in his warm creative smile. Nor unattended does he quit the world, For there's a stillness in this golden hour, Observable by all; the birds that trilled, And shook their ruffled plumes for joy to see His coming in the morning, sing no more: Or if a solitary note be heard, Or the deep lowing of the distant beast, "Tis but to mark the silence. Like to this, In the great city, the cathedral clock, Lifting its iron tongue, doth seem to stay Time for a moment, while it calls aloud To student's or to sick man's watchful ear, "Now goes the midnight." Then I love to walk, And hearkening to the church memorial, deem That sometimes it may sound a different tale, And, upwards to the stars and mighty moon, Send hollow tidings from this dreaming world, Proclaiming all below as calm as they. 13. JUBAL AND CAIN. (Montgomery.) The main distinction of epic style in recitation lies in dignity of effect, arising from firm and well-sustained voice, deliberate utterance, and full-toned expression, though not so varied as in lyric style. The action is, in such passages, elevated and energetic, but not vehement, unless in the more graphic and dramatic parts. HERE Jubal paused; for grim before him lay, Couched like a lion watching for his prey, With blood-red eye of fascinating fire, An awful form, that through the gloom appeared, Half brute, half human; whose terrific beard, And hoary flakes of long dishevelled hair, Like eagle's plumage ruffled by the air, Veiled a sad wreck of grandeur and of grace ; Limbs torn and wounded, a majestic face Deep-ploughed by Time, and ghastly pale with woes, That goaded till remorse to madness rose; Haunted by phantoms, he had fled his home, With savage beasts in solitude to roam; Wild as the waves, and wandering as the wind, No art could tame him, and no chains could bind: Already seven disastrous years had shed Mildew and blast on his unsheltered head; His brain was smitten by the sun at noon, His heart was withered by the cold night moon. Such tones of terror, dissonance, despair, Cold, breathless, motionless, through all his frame: But soon his visage quickened into flame, When Jubal's hand the crashing jargon To melting harmony, and nimbly ranged changed From chord to chord, ascending sweet and clear, Then rolling down in thunder on the ear; With power the pulse of anguish to restrain, Fixed, like the gazing serpents, on the lyre, | And charm the evil spirit from the brain. Slowly recovering from that trance profound, Bewildered, touched, transported with the sound, Cain viewed himself, the bard, the earth, While wonder flashed and faded in his eye, When windy Darkness rides upon the clouds, dew, Poured through the sufferer's breast delicious balm, And soothed remembrance till remorse grew Till Cain forsook the solitary wild, Oh! had you seen him to his home re- How young and old ran forth to meet their lord; How friends and kindred on his neck did fall, care Lowered on his brow, and saddened to des- The lyre of Jubal, with divinest art, to bind In chains of harmony the mightiest mind: Which the first stroke of coming strife From many necks the ignoble yoke, And now the work of life and death Hung on the passing of a breath: The fire of conflict burned within,--- Would they not feel their children tread 14. ARNOLD WINKELRIED. (James Mont- All Switzerland is in the field; gomery.) She will not fly,--she can not yield,- But every freeman was a host, And felt as though himself were he It did depend on one indeed; Behold him,-Arnold Winkelried! And by the motion of his form Tell where the bolt would strike, and how. Ten spears he swept within his grasp;- Their keen points met from side to side ;- Rout, ruin, panic, scattered all :— Thus Switzerland again was free; 15. THE PHANTOM MILKMAN; OR, THE HAUNTED PUMP. (J. G. Watts.) PROLOGUE. SOME don't believe in ghosts. I do; A white cat flying down the stairs; And when her uncle's ship was lost, And all his money, goods, and land Fell to her share, a red-hot purse Jumped from the fire, and scorched her hand; That when with measles I fell ill, A winding-sheet was in the taper; She showed my Pa, who shouted, "Fudge! I'll stop your superstitious caper," And flung the candle in the street, By which she says-the charm was broken; For I got well within a week, And since she never had a token. Put by, prepare to shed it now; Ease your cravat, nor heed revealings; And, grandsire, get your snuff-box out, For this will surely touch your feelings. THE STORY. Hard by the Old Kent Road, there lived, A man who dressed in corded breech, In coat of velvet green, and vest He was not short, he was not tall, He said he was a dairyman, But still no cows had he; He to a cow-yard hied each morn, For fresh supplies-some said he passed And that he stopped as he returned; And vulgar men would chaff, And shout as he cried "Milk Be-low!" "Let's 'ave some arf-an'-arf." But, heedless of their vile attacks, He cheerly took his round; And with his "Milk Be-low-wo-woe," He never flirted with the maids And did not mean to wed. But still he gave a civil word Where'er he pitched his can; And all the women-servants said He was a nice young man.” One morning, as he went to serve He slipped upon the greasy spot, He lost his feet, let go his can, A sympathetic housemaid flew, She led him to the kitchen fire, Some comforts to bestow; And as she gave him toast and tea, Sly Cupid struck a blow: For ere he'd had the seventh round, He twirled his thumbs, he rolled his eyes, The maiden blushed, and cried, " Get out!" If you'll 'ave me, why I'll 'ave you, And then the matter's done." Said she, "What do you earn per week ?" Said she, "When you earns one pun-ten, I I'll do it in a month; I'll break My neck, but I'll succeed." Ah, love! ah woe! poor Milk Be-low, Would that you ne'er had seen that girl, Would that you'd never made a slip, Would that you'd shunned that fatal cup! A week passed on, and by his smiles Each day he tarried at the pump Much longer than of yore, Forgetting that, while he grew rich, His milk was growing poor. At last his customers began To grumble and complain, And one, a waggish doctor, said, And ere a fortnight had expired His milk had grown so thin, That five-and-twenty all at once Refused to take it in. But worse than all, his lady-love, That night—it was a foggy one- Down the Kent Road, with a clothes-line At length he paused before a pump, He placed his foot upon the spout, Scarce had the morrow dawned, when one, Came there to wash some water-cress, A jury on his body sat, And when they had deplored The suicidal deed, they found— "Died of his own a(c)cord." One would have thought that of this world He'd had enough; but no, Each midnight by the pump is seen The Ghost of Milk Be-low. He fills his can, then softly says, "Gad, but it's growin' thin; I hate adulteration, or I'd put some whitening in." And when the early village cock He mutters, "Yes, the breakfast milk," |