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31. Em. Live, live to be a man, and love your mother!

[They embrace. — Albert runs off.]

Why should my heart shrink! 'T is for this we rear them! —

Cherish their tiny limbs, — pine if a thorn

But mar their tender skin, — gather them to us

Closer than miser hugs his bags of gold!

We send them forth into a wintry world

To brave its flaws and tempests! Nestling as

He is, he is the offspring of a bird

That owns no cowering wing!

[Re-enter Albert with a bow and arrows, and a rude target, which he seta up, laying the bow and quiver on the ground.]

What have you there?

32. Alb. My bow and arrow, mother.

33. Em. When will you use them like your father, boy?

34. Alb. Some time, I hope.

35. Em. You boast! There's not an archer In all Helvetia * can compare with him!

36. Alb. But I'm his son; and when I am a man I may be like him. Mother, do I boast

To think I some time may be like my father?

If so, then is it he that teaches me!

For, ever as I wonder at his skill,

He calls me boy, and says I must do more,

Ere I become a man.

37. Em. May you be such

A man as he, — if Heaven wills, better. I 'll
Not quarrel with its work; yet't will content me,
If you are only such a man!

38. Alb. I 'll show you

How I can shoot. [Shoots at the target.] Look, mother! there's

within m An inch!

39. Em. 0 fie! it wants a hand. [Goes out.]

* Hel-ve'ti-a, the Latin.nanie for Switzerland.

40. Alb. A hand's

An inch for me. I 'll hit it yet. Now for it! '[Shoots again.]

[Kilter Tell, watching Albert some time in silence.] I

41. Tell. That's scarce a miss that comes so near the mark!

Well aimed, young archer! With what ease he bends
The bow! To see those sinews, who'd believe
Such strength did lodge in them? That little arm,
His mother's palm can span, may help anon
To pull a sinewy tyrant from his seat;
And from their chains a prostrate people lift
To liberty. I'd be content to die,
Living to see that day. What, Albert!

42. Alb. Ah! My father! [Running to his father.]

43. Em. [Wife of Tell coming from the cottage.] William, welcome!

Welcome, William! I did not look for you till noon, and thought , How long't would be ere noon would come. You 're come! Now this is happiness! Joy's double joy That comes before the time!

44. Tell. You raise the bow

Too fast. [To Albert, who has returned to his practice.] Bring't slowly

to the eye. [Albert shoots.] You've missed! How often have you hit the mark to-day?

45. Alb. Not once yet.

46.' Tell. You 're not steady. I perceived
You wavered now. Stand firm ! — let every limb
Be braced as marble, and as motionless.

Stand like the sculptor's statue on the gate
Of Altorf, that looks life, yet neither breathes
Nor stirs. [Albert shoots.] That's better!

47. Em. William, William! O,
To be the parents of a boy like that! —

Why speak you not? and wherefore do you sigh?

[Albert shoots.]

48. Tell. You've missed again!

Dost see the mark? Rivet your eye to it !• * There let it stick, fast as the arrow would, Could you but send it there.

49. Em. Why, William, don't You answer me? [Albert shoots.]

50. Tell. Again! How would you fare
Suppose a wolf should cross your path, and you .
Alone, with but your bow, and only time

To fix a single arrow! 'T would not do
To miss the wolf! You said the other day,
Were you a man, you'd not let Gesler live.
'T was easy to say that. . Suppose you now,
, Your life or his depended on that shot! —

Take care! That's Gesler! — Now for liberty!

Right to the tyrant's heart! [Albert shoots ana hlta the mark.] Well

done, my boy!
Come here! — Now, Emma, I will answer you.
Do I not love you? Do I not love our child?
Is not that cottage dear to me, where I
Was born? How many acres would I give
That little vineyard for, which I have watched
And tended since I was a child? Those crags
And peaks ! — what spired city would I take
To live in, in exchange for them? Yet what
Are these to me? What is this boy to me?
'What art thou, Emma, to me, — when a breath
Of Gesler's can take all?

51. Em. O William! think

How little is that all to him, — too little

For Gesler, sure, to take! Bethink thee, William,

We have no treasure.

52. Tell. Have we not? Have we

No treasure? How! No treasure? What 1
Have we not liberty ? — that precious ore,
That pearl, that gem, the tyrant covets most, —
Yea, makes a pawn of his own soul to strip

The wearer of it? Emma,' we have that;
And that's enough for Gesler!

53. Em. Then, indeed,

My William, we have much to fear!

54. Tell. We have;

And best it is we know how much. 'Then, Emma,
Make up thy mind, wife, — make it up! Remember
What wives and mothers, on these very hills,
Once breathed the air you breathe!

55. Em. O William!

56. Tell. Emma, let the boy alone;

Don't clasp him so; 't will soften .him. Go, sir,
See if the valley sends us visitors

To-day. Some friend, perchance, may need thy guidance.

Away! [Albert leaves ] He's better from thee, Emma; the time

Is come, a mother on her breast should fold

Her arms, as if they'd done with such endearments,

And bid her children go from her, to hunt

For danger which will presently hunt them

The less to heed it.

57.. Em. William, you are right!
The task you set me, I will try to do.
I would not live myself to be a slave!
No! woman as I am, I would not, William!

Questions. Who teas William Tell? 3 -12. What questions did Albert's mother ask him, and what answers did he give? 15 -17. What did they say about content? 18 - 22. What, about his father? Where is Altar/? 26 - 30. What next did they talk about? 31. What were her reflections? 32-40. What did they talk about after Albert returned? Where, and what, is Helvetia? 41. What was Albert doing when his father came up? 44 - 48. What instruction did his father give him? 50. What did he say to him here? 50 - 56. What did Tell fear? 56. Why did he want Albert to leave his mother?

LESSON XC. ^ 0

3 Ca-pm'ciods, difficult to please. 4. Mox-te'ho, riding-cap.

4. Qurr'u-lous, complaining. 5. Cu'li-xa-ry, used in kitchens.

4. Gor'get, defense for the throat. 9. Loi'teb-isg, delaying.

Errors. — Orange for Or'onge; scar'hi t and scar'lit for scar'let; hick"ry for hick'o-ry } punk'in for pamp'kin.

AN AUTUMN SCENE. — Irving.

1. It was a fine autumnal day. The sky was clear and serene; and nature wore that rich and golden livery which we always associate with the idea of abundance. The forests had put on their sober brown and yellow; while some trees, of the tenderer kind, had been nipped, by the frosts, into brilliant dyes of orange, purple, and scarlet.

2. Streaming files of wild ducks began to make their appearance high in the air; the bark of the squirrel might be heard from the groves of beech and hickory; and the pensive whistle of the quail, at intervals, from the neighboring stubblefield.

3. The small birds were taking their farewell banquets. In the fullness of their revelry, they fluttered, chirping and frolicking, from bush to bush, and tree to tree, capricious from the very profusion and variety around them.

4. There was the honest cock-robin, the favorite game of stripling sportsmen, with its loud, querulous note; and the twittering blackbirds flying in sable clouds; and the goldenwinged woodpecker, with his crimson crest, his broad black gorget, and splendid plumage; and the cedar-bird, with its red-tippCd wings and yellow-tipped tail, and its little montero cap of feathers; and the blue jay, that noisy coxcomb, in his gay light-blue coat and white underclothes, screaming and

. chattering, nodding ahd bobbing and bowing, and pretending to be on good terms with every songster of the grove.

5. As Ichabod * jogged slowly on his way, his eye, ever open to every symptom of culinary abundance, ranged with' delight over the treasures of jolly autumn. On all sides ha

* Ichabod, the hero of the story (" Sleepy Hollow ") from which this piece is taken.

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