WILLIAM TELL.-JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES. GESLER, TELL, and ALBERT, VERNER, SARNEM, and Soldiers. Ges. What! he so famed 'bove all his countrymen For guiding o'er the stormy lake the boat! And such a master of his bow, 'tis said His arrows never miss!-[Aside.] Indeed! I'll take Tell. Name it. Ges. I would see you make A trial of your skill with that same bow You shoot so well with. Tell. Name the trial you Would have me make. Ges. You look upon your boy, As though instinctively you guessed it. Tell. Look [Tell looks on Albert.] Upon my boy!-What mean you? Look upon My boy, as though I guessed it! Guessed the trial Instinctively! You do not mean-No-no You would not have me make a trial of My skill upon my child! Impossible! I do not guess your meaning. Ges. I would see Thee hit an apple at the distance of A hundred paces. Tell. Is my boy to hold it? Ges. No. Tell. No!-I'll send the arrow through the core ! Ges. It is to rest upon his head. Tell. Great Heaven, Thou hear'st him! Ges. Thou dost hear the choice I give Such trial of the skill thou'rt master of, Or death to both of you, not otherwise To be escaped. Tell. O, monster! Ges. Wilt thou do it? Alb. He will! he will! Tell. Ferocious monster! Make A father murder his own child! Ges. Take off His chains, if he consents. Tell. With his own hand! Ges. Does he consent? Alb. He does. [Gesler signs to his Officers, who proceed to take off Tell's chains, Tell all the while unconscious of what they do.] You know for what?—I will not make the trial, To take him to his mother in my arms, And lay him down a corse before her! Ges. Then He dies this moment; and you certainly Do murder him, whose life you have a chance To save, and will not use it. Tell. Well-I'll do it! I'll make the trial. Alb. Father! Tell. Speak not to me. Let me not hear thy voice-thou must be dumb; And so should all things be-earth should be dumb And heaven-unless its thunders muttered at Tell. I will be thankful, Gesler!-Villain, stop! You measure to the sun. [To the Attendant.] Ges. And what of that? What matter, whether to or from the sun? Tell. I'd have it at my back.-The sun should shine Upon the mark, and not on him that shoots, I cannot see to shoot against the sun: I will not shoot against the sun! Ges. Give him his way!-Thou hast cause to bless my mercy. Tell. I shall remember it. I'd like to see The apple I'm about to shoot at. Ges. Show me The basket. There! [Gives a very small apple.] Tell. You've picked the smallest one. Ges. I know I have. Tell. Oh! do you?-But you see The color of 't is dark-I'd have it light, To see it better. Ges. Take it as it is: Thy skill will be the greater if thou hitt'st it. Tell. True-true-I didn't think of that. I wonder I did not think of that.-Give me some chance To save my boy! [Throws away the apple.] I will not murder him, If I can help it-for the honor of The form thou wear'st, if all the heart is gone. Ges. Well! choose thyself. [Hands a basket of apples.-Tell takes one.] Tell. Have I a friend among The lookers on? Verner. Here, Tell! Tell. I thank thee, Verner!-Take the boy And set him, Verner, with his back to me.- Set him upon his knees; and place this apple More briefly than I tell it thee. Ver. Come, Albert! [Leading him out.] Alb. I would only kiss his hand Ver. You must not. Alb. I must-I cannot go from him without! Alb. His will, is it? I am content, then; come. Tell. My boy! [Holding out his arms to him.] Alb. My father! [Running into Tell's arms.] Tell. If thou canst bear it, should not I?-Go now, My son-and keep in mind that I can shoot. Go, boy-be thou but steady, I will hit The apple. Go: God bless thee!-Go. My bow! [Sarnem gives the bow.] Thou wilt not fail thy master, wilt thou ?-Thou Hast never failed him yet, old servant.-No, I'm sure of thee-I know thy honesty; Thou'rt stanch-stanch;-I'd deserve to find thee treacherous, Could I suspect thee so. Come, I will stake [Retires.] My all upon thee! Let me see my quiver. Tell. Is't so you pick an arrow, friend? The point, you see, is bent, the feather jagged; Another. [Tell examines it.] Tell. Why, 'tis better than the first, But yet not good enough for such an aim As I'm to take. 'Tis heavy in the shaft: I'll not shoot with it! [Throws it away.] Let me see my quiver Bring it! 'tis not one arrow in a dozen I'd take to shoot with at a dove, much less A dove like that!-What is't you fear? I'm but A naked man, a wretched naked man! Your helpless thrall, alone in the midst of you, With every one of you a weapon in His hand. What can I do in such a straît With all the arrows in that quiver?..Come, Will you give it me or not? Ges. It matters not, Show him the quiver. [Tell kneels and picks out an arrow, then secretes one in his vest.] Tell. See if the boy is ready. Ver. He is. Tell. I'm ready too.-Keep silence for Heaven's sake! and do not stir, and let me have [To the people.] Your prayers-your prayers:-and be my witnesses, That if his life's in peril from my hand, 'Tis only for the chance of saving it. Now, friends, for mercy's sake, keep motionless And silent! [Tell shoots; and a shout of exultation bursts from the crowd.] Ver. [Rushing in with Albert.] Thy boy is safe; no hair of him Alb. Father, I'm safe!—your Albert's safe! Dear father, Ver. He cannot, boy! Open his vest, And give him air. [Albert opens his father's vest, and an arrow drops; Tell start, fixes his eyes on Albert, and clasps him to his breast.] Tell. My boy! my boy! Ges. For what Hid you that arrow in your breast? Speak, slave ! A THANKSGIVING DINNER.-MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS. Oh, I love an old-fashioned thanksgiving, It is pleasant to draw round the table, Sits down in his old oaken chair. It is pleasant to wait for the blessing, Amid all the varieties of architecture-Grecian, Gothic, Swiss, Chinese, and even Egyptian, to be met with on Long Island, there may yet be found some genuine old farms, with barns instead of carriage-houses, and cow-sheds in the place of pony stables. To these old houses are still attached generous gardens, hedged in with picket-fences, and teeming with vegetables, and front yards full of old-fashioned shrubbery, with thick grass half a century old mossing them over. These things, primitive, and full of the olden times, are not yet crowded out of sight by sloping lawns, gravel walks and newly acclimated flowers; and if they do not so vividly appeal to the taste, those, who have |