No. 4.-See Appendix.

While ALBERT continues to shoot, TELL enters and watches him some

time, in silence,

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!

Too fast. (ALBERT continues shooting.)

Ah!

Bring it slowly to the eye.-You've missed.

How often have you hit the mark to-day?

Alb. Not once, yet.

Tell.

You wavered now.

You're not steady. I perceive
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 !
See well the mark. Rivet your eye to it
There let it stick, fast as the arrow would,
Could you but send it there. (ALBERT shoots),
You've missed 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? "Twould not do
To miss the wolf! You said, the other day,"
Were you a man you'd not let Gesler live-
'Twas 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! (hits the mark) Well done, my boy!
Come here. How early were you up?

Alb. Before the sun.

Tell. Ay, strive with him. He never lies abed

When it is time to rise. Be like the sun.

Alb. What you would have me like, I'll be like,
As far as will to labor joined can make me.

52

THE BOY ARCHER.

Tell. Well said, my boy! Knelt you when you got up To-day ?

Alb. I did; and do so every day.

Tell. I know you do! And think you, when you kneel, To whom you kneel?

Alb.

To Him who made me, father.

Tell. And in whose name?
Alb.

The name of Him who died

For me and all men, that all men and I
Should live

Tell. That's right. Remember that, my son:
Forget all things but that-remember that!

'Tis more than friends or fortune; clothing, food;
All things on earth; yea, life itself!-It is

To live, when these are gone, when they are naught—
With God! My son remember that!

Tell. I'm glad you value what you're taught.

That is the lesson of content, my son;

He who finds which has all-who misses, nothing.
Alb. Content is a good thing.

Tell.

A thing, the good
Alone can profit by. But go, Albert,

Reach thy cap and wallet, and thy mountain staff.
Don't keep me waiting.

[Exit ALBERT

TELL paces the stage in thought. Re-enter ALBERT.

Alb. I am ready, father.

Tell (taking ALBERT by the hand). Now mark me. Albert!
Dost thou fear the snow,

The ice-field, or the hail flaw? Carest thou for
The mountain mist that settles on the peak,
When thou art upon it? Dost thou tremble at
The torrent roaring from the deep ravine,
Along whose shaking ledge thy track doth lie?
Or faintest thou at the thunder-clap, when on
The hill thou art o'ertaken by the cloud,
And it doth burst around thee?

All night.

Thou must travel

Alb. I'm ready; say all night again.

Tell. The mountains are to cross, for thou must reach

Mount Faigel by the dawn.

HAMLET'S ADVICE TO THE PLAYERS.

Of the point? I think 'tis loose. No-stay! 'Twill do.
Caution is speed when danger's to be passed.

Examine well the crevice.

'Tis well there is a moon to-night.

Do not trust the snow!

Quite sure.

The buskin of

You're sure of the track?

Alb.

Tell.

That leg's untied; stoop down and fasten it.
You know the point where you must round the cliff?
Alb. I do.

Tell.

Thy belt is slack--draw it tight.
Erni is in Mount Faigel: take this dagger
And give it him; you know its caverns well.
In one of them you will find him. Farewell.

53

HAMLET'S ADVICE TO THE PLAYERS.

SHAKESPEARE.

This lecture can never be too often read, or too deeply pondered over, by all who aim at distinction either in the pulpit, the forum or on the stage. In a nutshell it contains nearly all the golden rules of oratory :

Enter HAMLET, and certain players.

Ham. Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue: but if you mouth it, as many of your players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus; but use all gently: for in the very torrent, tempest, and (as I may say) whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance, that may give it smoothness. O, it offends me to the soul, to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings; who, for the most part, are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb shows, and noise: I would have such a fellow whipped for o'er-doing Termagant; it out-herods Herod pray you, avoid it.

First Play. I warrant your honor.

Ham. Be not too tame neither, but let your own discretion be your tutor: suit the action to the word, the word to the action; with this special observance, that you o'er-step not the modesty of nature: for anything so overdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first, and now, was, and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her