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
Exquisite vengeance!-Mark! I'll spare thy life,
Thy boy's, too. Both of you are free-on one
Condition.

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
You'd have me make! Guessed it

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
The deed, and sent a bolt to stop it! Give me
My bow and quiver!

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
Upon his head, so that the stem may front me-
Thus, Verner; charge him to keep steady tell him
I'll hit the apple!-Verner, do all this

More briefly than I tell it thee.

Ver. Come, Albert! [Leading him out.]
Alb. May I not speak with him before I go?
Ver. No-

Alb. I would only kiss his hand

Ver. You must not.

Alb. I must-I cannot go from him without!
Ver. It is his will you should.

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.
Ges. Give him a single arrow. [To an Attendant.]

Tell. Is't so you pick an arrow, friend?

The point, you see, is bent, the feather jagged;
That's all the use 'tis fit for. [Breaks it.]
Ges. Let him have

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
is touched!

Alb. Father, I'm safe!—your Albert's safe! Dear father,
Speak to me! speak to me!

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 !
Tell. To kill thee, tyrant, had I slain my boy!

A THANKSGIVING DINNER.-MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS.

Oh, I love an old-fashioned thanksgiving,
When the crops are all safe in the barn;
When the chickens are plump with good living,
And the wool is all spun into yarn.

It is pleasant to draw round the table,
When uncles and cousins are there,
And grandpa, who scarcely is able,

Sits down in his old oaken chair.

It is pleasant to wait for the blessing,
With a heart free from malice and strife,
While a turkey that's portly with dressing,
Lies, meekly awaiting the knife.

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