Page 77 - The model orator, or, Young folks' speaker : containing the choicest recitations and readings from the best authors for schools, public entertainments, social gatherings, Sunday schools, etc. : including recitals in prose and verse ...

bonds upon his steed, hi-; frenzied face covered with sweat, and dust,
and blood. H e lays his hand on that bold rifleman's shoulder; and
as though living fire bad been poured into his veins, he seizes bis rifle
and starts toward the rock. Now look as that black steed crashes up
the steep cliff! That steed quivers! be totters! he falls! N o! no!
.-■ti:l on, still up the cliff, still on towards the fortress ! The rider turns
his face and shouts, “ Come on ! men of Quebec ' come o n ! ” That
call is needless. Already the riflemen arc on the rock. Mow.
British cannon, pour your fires, and lay your dead upon the rock in
tens and twenties. Now, red-coat hirelings, shout your battle-cry if
you c a n ; for look ■ there, in the gate of the fortress, as the smoke

clears away, stands the black horse and his rider. That steed fhl’s
dead, pierced by a hundred balls. But his rider, as the British cry for
quarter, lifts up his voice, and shouts to Horatio Gates, fitting yonder
in his tent, “ Saratoga is w on!" A s that cry goes up to heaven, he
falls, his leg shattered by a cannon ball.
W ho was the rider of that black horse? Do you not guess Ids
name? Then bend down and ga^c on that shattered limb, and you
will see that it bears the mark of a former wound. That wound was.
received at the storming of Quebec. That rider of the black horse
was Benedict Arnold.— G i:okge L tppakd.

ECHO A N D THE PERRY,

[T he rpfider should imitate t.he ucliots tills selection.]

A Y , O L I V E R ! I was but seven, and he was eleven ;
Ide looked at me non ting and rosy. 1 blushed where I stood-
T hcv had told us to nlay in the orchard (and I only seven !
v S. J •
A small guest at the farm); but he said, ;| Ob ! a g:r! is no good i "
So he whistled and went, he went over the stde to the wood.

It "-a': sad, it was sorrowful ! O nly a yirl— only seven !
r v i f •*
A.t 0.110 in the dark London smoke I had not found it out.
I he pear-trees looked on in their white, and hluc-birds flashed about.