to me, almost sublime spectacle, an immense drove of wild horses, for a long time hovering around our path across the prairie. I had often seen great numbers of them before, mixed with other animals, apparently quiet, and grazing like the rest. Here there were thousands unmixed, unemployed; their motions, if such a comparison might be allowed, as darting, and as wild as those of hummingbirds on the flowers.

The tremendous snorts, with which the front columns of the phalanx made known their approach to us, seemed to be their wild and energetic way of expressing their pity and disdain, for the servile lot of our horses, of which they appeared to be taking a survey.

They were of all colors, mixed, spotted, and diversified with every hue, from the brightest white to clear and shining black; and of every form and structure, from the long and slender racer, to those of firmer limbs and heavier mould; and of all ages, from the curvetting colt, to the range of patriarchal steeds, drawn up in a line, and holding their high heads for a survey of us, in the rear.

Sometimes they curved their necks, and made no more progress than just enough to keep pace with our advance. Then there was a kind of slow and walking minuet, in which they performed various evolutions, with the precision of the figures of a country-dance. Then a rapid movement shifted the front to the rear. But still, in all their evolutions and movements, like the flight of seafowl, their lines were regular, and free from all indications of confusion.

At times a spontaneous and sudden movement towards us almost inspired the apprehension of a united attack upon us. After a moment's advance, a snort and a rapid retrograde movement seemed to testify their proud estimate of their wild independence. The infinite variety of their rapid movements, their tamperings and manœuvres, were of such a wild and almost terrific character, that it required but a moderate stretch of fancy to suppose them the genii of these grassy plains.

At one period they were formed for an immense depth in front of us. A wheel, executed almost with the rapidity of thought, presented them hovering on our flanks. Then, again, the cloud of dust, that enveloped their movements, cleared away, and presented them in our rear. They evidently operated as a great annoyance to the horses and mules of our cavalcade. The frighted movements, the increased indications of fatigue, sufficiently evidenced, with their frequent neighings, what unpleasant neighbors they considered their wild compatriots to be.

So much did our horses appear to suffer from fatigue and terror, in consequence of their vicinity, that we were thinking of some way to drive them off; when on a sudden, a patient and laborious donkey of the establishment, who appeared to have regarded all their movements with philosophic indifference, pricked up his long ears, and gave a loud and most sonorous bray from his vocal shells.

Instantly this prodigious multitude, and there were thousands of them, took what the Spanish call the "stompado." With a trampling like the noise of thunder, or still more like that of an earthquake, a noise that was absolutely appalling, they took to their heels, and were all in a few moments invisible in the verdant depths of the plains, and we saw them no more,

THE CORSAIR'S ATTACK.

BYRON.

[This extract, from THE CORSAIR, is marked by all its great author's Wondrous power of description, and electric passion. It was selected by the late gifted authoress and actress MRS. MOWATT to first face a Boston audience with. She displayed such force, elegance and fervid eloquence in the recitation as to extort enthusiastic applause from the most critical audience that ever graced the "Temple " Hall in the Modern Athens. There is ample opportunity for both descriptive and dramatic ability to be shown in the recitation.]

IN Coron's bay floats many a galley light,
Through Coron's lattices the lamps are bright,
For Seyd, the Pacha, makes a teast to-night:
A feast for promised triumph yet to come,
When he shall drag the fetter'd Rovers home;
This hath he sworn by Alla and his sword,
And faithful to his firman and his word,

His summon'd prows collect along the coast,
And great the gathering crews, and loud the boast;
Already shared the captives and the prize,
Though far the distant foe they thus despise;
"Tis but to sail-no doubt to-morrow's Sun
Will see the Pirates bound-their haven won!
Meantime the watch may slumber, if they will.
Nor only wake to war, but dreaming kill.
Though all who can disperse on shore and seek
To flesh their glowing valor on the Greek;
How well such deed becomes the turban'd brave-
To bare the sabre's edge before a slave?
Infest his dwelling-but forbear to slay,
Their arms are strong yet merciful to-day,
And do not deign to smite because they may?
Unless some gay caprice suggests the blow,
To keep in practice for the coming foe.
Revel and rout the evening hours beguile,
And they who wish to wear a head must smile;
For Moslem mouths produce their choicest cheer,
And hoard their curses, till the coast is clear.

High in his hall reclines the turban'd Seyd;
Around-the bearded chiefs he came to lead.
Removed the banquet, and the last pilaff—
Forbidden draughts, 'tis said, he dared to quaff,
Though to the rest the sober berry's juice,
The slaves bear round for rigid Moslem's use;
The long chibouque's dissolving cloud supply,
While dance the Almas to wild minstrelsy.
The rising morn will view the chief's embark;
But waves are somewhat treacherous in the dark;
And revellers may more securely sleep
On silken couch than o'er the rugged deep,
Feast there who can―nor combat till they must,
And less to conquest than to Korans trust;
And yet the numbers crowded in his host
Might warrant more than even the Pacha's boast,

With cautious reverence from the outer gate,
Slow stalks the slave, whose office there to wait,
Bows his bent head-his hand salutes the floor,
Ere yet his tongue the trusted tidings bore:
"A captive Dervise, from the pirate's nest
Escaped, is here-himself would tell the rest."
He took the sign from Seyd's assenting eye.
And led the holy man in silence nigh.
His arms were folded on his dark green vest,

His step was feeble, and his look depress'd;
Yet worn he seem'd of hardship more than years,
And pale his cheek with penance, not from fears.
Vow'd to his God-his sable locks he wore.
And these his lofty cap rose proudly o'er:
Around his form his loose long robe was thrown,
And wrapt a breast bestow'd on heaven alone;
Submissive, yet with self-possession mann'd,
He calmly met the curious eyes that scann'd;
And question of his coming fain would seek,
Before the Pacha's will allow'd to speak.

"Whence com'st thou, Dervise ?"

"A fugitive-"

From the outlaw's den,

"Thy capture were and when ?"

"From Scalanova's port to Scio's isle.

The Saick was bound; but Alla did not smile
Upon our course, the Moslem merchant's gains
The Rovers won: our limbs have worn their chains.
I had no death to fear, nor wealth to boast,
Beyond the wandering freedom which I lost;
At length a fisher's humble boat by night
Afforded hope, and offer'd chance of flight;
I seized the hour, and find my safety here-
With thee, most mighty Pacha, who can fear?"

"How speed the outlaws? stand they well prepared Their plunder'd wealth, and robber's rock, to guard? Dream they of this our preparation, doom'd

To view with fire their scorpion nest consumed ?" "Pacha! the fetter'd captive's mourning eye, That weeps for flight, but ill can play the spy;

I only heard the reckless waters roar,

Those waves that would not bear me from the shore
I only mark'd the glorious sun and sky,
Too bright-too blue-for my captivity;
And felt, that all which freedom's bosom cheers,
Must break my chain before it dried my tears.
This mayst thou judge, at least, from my escape,
They little deem of aught in peril's shape;
Else vainly had I pray'd or sought the chance
That leads me here, if eyed with vigilance:
"The careless guard that did not see me fly,
May watch as idly when thy power is nigh.
Pacha! my limbs are faint, and nature craves
Food for my hunger, rest from tossing waves:
Permit my absence, peace be with thee! Peace
With all around! now grant repose, release."

"Stay, Dervise! I have more to question, stay,
I do command thee, sit, dost hear? obey!
More I must ask, and food the slaves shall bring;
Thou shalt not pine where all are banqueting:
The supper done-prepare thee to reply,
Clearly and full-I love not mystery."

"Twere vain to guess what shook the pious man,
Who look'd not lovingly on that Divan;
Nor show'd high relish for the banquet press'd,
And less respect for every fellow guest.
"Twas but a moment's peevish hectic pass'd
Along his cheek, and tranquilized as fast:
He sate him down in silence, and his look
Resumed the calmness which before forsook:
The feast was usher'd in-but sumptuous fare
He shunn'd as if some poison mingled there.
For one so long condemn'd to toil and fast,
Methinks he strangely spares the rich repast.

"What ails thee, Dervise? eat-dost thou suppose
This feast a Christian's? or my friends thy foes?
Why dost thou shun the salt? that sacred pledge
Which, once partaken, blunts the sabre's edge,
Makes even contending tribes in peace unite,
And hated hosts seem brethren to the sight !"

"Salt seasons dainties-and my food is still
The humblest root, my drink the simplest rill!
And my stern vow and order's laws oppose
To break or mingle bread with friends or foes;
It may seem strange-if there be aught to dread,
That peril rests upon my single head;

But for thy sway-nay more-thy Sultan's throne,
I taste nor bread nor banquet-save alone,
Infringed our order's rule, the Prophet's rage,
To Mecca's dome might bar my pilgrimage."

"Well-as thou wilt-ascetic as thou art-
One question answer; then in peace depart
How many? Ha! it cannot sure be day?
What star-what sun is bursting on the bay?
It shines a lake of fire!-away-away;
Ho! treachery! my guards! my scimitar!
The galleys feed the flames-and I atar!
Accursed Dervise! these thy tidings, thou
Some villain spy, seize, cleave him, slay him now!”
Up rose the Dervise with that burst of light,