a burden, but it is imposed by God. What you make of it, it will be to you, whether a millstone about your neck, or a diadem upon your brow. Take it up bravely, bear it on joyfully, lay it down triumphantly.

QUESTIONS.-1. What are some of the duties of women? 2. What is said of goodness? 3. What was the adage of the old Greek? 4. What is said of discontent and murmuring?

Emma. I never knew a weary night before!
I have seen the sun a dozen times go down,
And still no William,—and the storm was on,
Yet have I laid me down in peace to sleep,
The mountain with the lightning all a-blaze,
And shaking with the thunder,-but to-night

Mine eyes refuse to close. (sl.) The old man rests:

Pain hath outworn itself, and turned to ease.

How deadly calm's the night! (") What's that? I'm grown An idiot with my fears. I do not know,-

The avalanche! Great Power that hurls it down,
Watch o'er my boy, and guide his little steps!

What keeps him? 'tis but four hours' journey hence:

He'd rest; then four hours back again. What keeps him? Erni would sure be found by him, he knows

The track, well as he knows the road to Altorf!
Melchtal. Help! (in his sleep.)

Emma. What's the matter? Only the old man dreaming
He thinks again they're pulling out his eyes.
I'm sick with terror! Merciful powers! what's this

That fills my heart with horrible alarm?

And yet it can not see.

Melch. (waking.) Where am I?

Emma. Father' !

Melch. My daughter, is it thou'? Thank Heaven, I'm here! Is't day yet'?

Emma. No'

Melch. Is't far on the night'?

Emma. Methinks, about the turn on 't.

Melch. Is the boy

Come back'?

Emma. No', father'.

Melch. Nor thy husband'?

Emma. No'.

Melch. A woeful wife and mother have I made thee!

Would thou hadst never seen me.

Emma. Father'!

Melch. Child'!

Emma. Methinks I hear a step!—I do! (knocking.) A

knock !

Melch. 'Tis William !

Emma. No; it is not William's knock.

(Opens the

Enter STRANGER.

Stran. Seeing a light,

I e'en made bold to knock, to ask for shelter;

For I have missed my way.

Emma. Whence come you', friend' ?
Stran. From Altorf.

Emma. Altorf'! Any news from thence'?

Stran. Ay'! News to harrow parents' hearts, and mak The barren bless themselves that they are childless! Emma. May Heaven preserve my boy!

Melch. What say'st thy news?

Stran. Art thou not Melchtal-he whose eyes, 'tis said, The tyrant has torn out'?

Melch. Yes, friend', the same.
Stran. Is this thy cottage'?

Melch. No'; tis William Tell's.

Stran. 'Tis William Tell's-and that's his wife-GoodEmma. (Rushing between him and the door.) [night. Thou stirr'st not hence until thy news be told!

Stran. My news! In sooth 'tis nothing thou wouldst heed. Emma. 'Tis something none should heed so well as I! Stran. I must be gone.

Emma. Thou seest a tigress, friend,

Spoiled of her mate and young, and yearning for them. Don't thwart her! Come, thy news! What fear'st thou, man? What more hath she to dread, who reads thy looks,

And knows the most has come? Thy news! Is't bondage'? Stran. It is.

Emma. Thank Heaven, it is not death! Of oneOr two?

Stran. Of two.

Emma. A father and a son,

Is't not?

Stran. It is.

Emma. My husband and my son

Are in the tyrant's power! There's worse than that!
What's that is news to harrow parents' breasts,
The which the thought to only tell, 'twould seem,
Drives back the blood to thine ?-Thy news, I say!
Wouldst thou be merciful, this is not mercy!
Wast thou the mark, friend, of the bowman's aim,
Wouldst thou not have the fatal arrow speed,
Rather than watch it hanging in the string?
Thou'lt drive me mad! Let fly at once!

Melch. Thy news from Altorf, friend, whate'er it is!
Stran. To save himself and child from certain death,
Tell is to hit an apple, to be placed

Upon the stripling's head.

Melch. My child! my child!

Speak to me! Stranger, has thou killed her?
Emma. No!

No', father'. I'm the wife of William Tell;
Oh, but to be a man! to have an arm

To fit a heart swelling with the sense of wrong!
Unnatural-insufferable wrong!

When makes the tyrant trial of his skill?
Stran. To-morrow.

Emma. Spirit of the lake and hill,

Inspire thy daughter! On the head of him

Who makes his pastime of a mother's pangs,

Launch down thy vengeance by a mother's hand.

Know'st the signal when the hills shall rise'? (To Melchtal.}

Melch. Are they to rise'?

Emma. I see thou knowest naught.

Stran. Something's on foot! 'Twas only yesterday, That, traveling from our canton, I espied

Slow toiling up a steep, a mountaineer
Of brawny limb, upon his back a load
Of fagots bound. Curious to see what end
Was worthy of such labor, after him

I took the cliff; and saw its lofty top
Receive his load, which went but to augment
A pile of many another.

Emma. 'Tis by fire!

Fire is the signal for the hills to rise! (Rushes out.)
Melch. Went she not forth?

Stran. She did,—she's here again,
And brings with her a lighted brand.
Melch. My child,

What dost thou with a lighted brand?

(Re-enter EMMA with a brand.)

Emma. Prepare

To give the signal for the hills to rise!

Melch. Where are the fagots, child, for such a blaze?

Emma. I'll find the fagots, father. (Exit.)

Melch. She's gone

Again!

Stran. She is,-I think into her chamber.

Emma. (Rushing in.)— Father, the pile is fired!

Melch. What pile, my child?

Emma. The joists and rafters of our cottage, father! Melch. Thou hast not fired thy cottage ?--but thou hast ;

Alas, I hear the crackling of the flames!

Emma. Say'st thou, alas! when I do say, thank Heaven. Father, this blaze will set the land a-blaze

With fire that shall preserve, and not destroy it,

(f.) Blaze on! BLAZE ON! Oh, may'st thou be a beacon To light its sons enslaved to liberty!